An Enchanting Tale, a Skyrim Fanfiction

by Dennisauthor

This is a fanfiction based on The Elder Scrolls series of video games and incorporates the worlds from Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim. An Enchanting Tale is free, thus eliminating any copyright infringement. This novel is not intended for profit. S'maash is a young dark elf bent on making new discoveries in the field of enchanting. After discouraging words form his fellow mages

Based on the Elder Scrolls series

An Enchanting Tale

This story is meant to be entirely free. No one is to make any financial profit from the publications of this story including, but not limited to; the author, editor, readers, reviewers, or publishers.

An Enchanting Tale is fanfiction based on The Elder Scrolls series and especially Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim.

This story is not meant to infringe upon any copyrights. Any similarities to real places, people, or events is purely coincidental.

An Enchanting Tale was originally published as fanfiction by Aaron Dennis on March of 2012

Published on Smashwords by Aaron Dennis on May of 2015

3rd Edition published on Smashwords on Octber of 2016

Chapter One

S'maash always had an affinity for magick—enchanting especially—his natural talent was rivaled only by his love for the art. In his days as a child of Morrowind, he ran about with his friends and siblings stirring up all sorts of trouble. While they tried to stow away on silt striders, large insects utilized for the purposes of traveling long distances, S'maash normally found himself in trouble for different reasons, such as skulking into a mage's workshop to catch a glimpse of a master spell craftsman at work. Most of his endeavors ended with a slap to the back of the head followed by the derogatory you s'wit, but that did little dissuade him.

Upon reaching adulthood in the year 4 E 221, S'maash, a striking, young, dark elf with a shock of gray hair on his head, and a gray-blue complexion, took a job as an inventory manager for a local union of mages in the town of L'Thu Oad. It was a small settlement southwest of Narsis, and his home town.

Working with the Mages' Coalition consisted of little more than taking notes on their studies and cataloging their findings. Other, menial tasks involving the organizing of reagents, soul gems, and magickal equipment kept him busy enough. Although he did learn a great deal about enchantments, the dunmer's curiosity was never satiated. His knowledge of over fifty enchantments was a testament to the fact that knowledge led only to more curiosity, and that led him to speak to one of the elder mages, an old altmer—or high elf—named Rosoleola, the head of the Mages' Coalition in L'Thu Oad. Ancient and surly with a shimmering, gold hue to his skin, he was not an easy person to approach.

"Master?" S'maash called.

The old altmer was stooped over an arcane enchanter, a malevolent-looking table adorned with the skull of a three-eyed beast, several candles, and a misty, green bauble. Rosoleola turned to the young dunmer while flipping through the pages of a journal.

"What now?" he barked.

"I couldn't help, but notice you're attempting to enchant that steel dagger with fire damage," S'maash stated the obvious. Rosoleola winced as he returned his steady gaze to his journal. He remained quiet, absorbed, so S'maash stirred nervously before breaking the silence. "Why is it that we can imbue a weapon with fire damage, but not a shield or gauntlets?"

"S'wit…must you ask such a foolish question?" The altmer's voice was raspy and condescending.

"I'm afraid, I don't understand, Sir. I've been watching and taking notes for these past, seven years. Along the way, I have realized many truths, but some of them seem to have no logical base."

Rosoleola turned to the youngster with contempt. He pushed an errant strand of silver hair behind his ear.

"What are you babbling about now, boy?"

"Sir, a flame cloak spell can be cast by a mage. This provides him the ability to damage an opponent by merely standing adjacent him without so much as warming his own skin. Why not can a piece of iron armor be enchanted as such?"

Rosoleola was taken aback. He stared at the youth for a moment longer, squinting. The boy stood under torchlight with his feet firmly planted on the stone floor. The fires of passion and knowledge burned brightly in his red eyes.

The old elf adjusted his burgundy robes before answering. "Well now that is a question, isn't it…?"

His tone had changed as he looked up to the ceiling. S'maash detected a hint of ancient wonder, of memories long forgotten. The torch fires wavered with the forces of magicka in the workshop, casting shadows of the banners and tapestries depicting the progression of arcane studies, yet the elf kept his gaze on the old altmer, still awaiting a response; unnerved, he tugged at his faded, blue robes. Rosoleola took a pensive inhalation before providing insight.

"I can't really answer that," he said and paused. The furrow in his brow was indicative of wonder, something rarely experienced by the aged. "Get back to work. You have better things to do than question magickal theory. Go make sure all the reagents are accounted for. Last time I looked for comberry, it took me twenty minutes to find where Naralia put them!"

The response given was less impressive than he had anticipated, or perhaps, it was less inspiring. Rosoleola eyed the boy, who nodded and left. Truthfully, the old elf was impressed, but altmer were not given to displaying such emotions, especially not to non-altmer.

Since the duty of reorganizing reagents was a tedious task, S'maash was still in the storage room when the argonian, Barters-with-Whispers, walked in. "Dunmer, fetch me the tome, The Studies of Wards," the green, lizard-woman hissed.

He stood from his crouching position as he turned a jar of bone meal so the label faced out. He looked upon her. Barters-with-Whispers was ancient and decrepit; faded, yellow robes draped off her wiry figure. Still, her demeanor was rather imposing.

"Yes, Ma'am."

S'maash traveled through the short hallway over bronze carpeting to the study. While the floor of the workshop was of cold stone, its walls were gorgeous mahogany with darkened hues of deep brown. Massive, wooden shelving lined the walls of the library. Each shelf was filled from one end to the other with timeworn tomes. A mental segue took S'maash from his intended task. Dwemer Magick of Old, caught his attention; a leather-bound book.

Gingerly, he took it. The leather creaked as he opened it. While scanning over the pages, he saw the name Volendrung, an ancient war hammer. The dwemer knew quite a bit about forging magick items.

"What are you doing, you lazy layabout?" Barters-with-Whispers shouted from across the room.

Startled, S'maash dropped the book. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He gave a weak smile, picked the tome from the floor, and replaced it on the shelf before grabbing what he was supposed to have grabbed in the first place. He handed the book over.

It was difficult to read argonians. Their scales made it nearly impossible to detect emotional cues in their faces; although, that day it was obvious she was not pleased.

"Apologies," S'maash said.

"S'wit."

Narrowing her eyes, she blinked then left the young elf. A new curiosity brewed, and he immediately ran out of the study, down the hall, and back to the arcane enchanter, where Rosoleola was picking soul gems for his next task. The magickal gems were shades of blue and purple.

"Master," S'maash called.

"Mmm? What now?" The old elf didn't turn from his work.

"Which is the closest, dwemer ruin?"

"Oh, let's see, should be Damlzthur. Why?"

"I need to study their artifacts. I have to know how they were able to create Volendrung."

Rosoleola sighed as he shook his head in desperation. "What nonsense are you spouting? Don't you have better things to do?"

"With respect, Master, no I don't. I need to understand…."

The altmer stood as straight as his creaky body allowed, and finally he turned. "Mmm," Rosoleola muttered, stroking his long beard. "Well… it isn't safe, you know?" S'maash was slightly surprised. Not only did Rosoleola's voice lose the twinge of aggravation, he had not expected understanding, much less the concern for his safety. "You really care about enchanting don't you? I've watched you, you know? You've come a long way in a short time," the old elf said as his head bobbed up and down a bit. "I undertook a few quests of my own around your age. I'll tell you what. I'll give you an advance on your pay. Hire some men from the Reyda Tong. Maybe you can find what you're looking for."

Again, S'maash was astonished. "Thank you, Master!"

"Yes, yes. Here, this should be enough," He smiled as he handed S'maash a small, coin purse. "Don't get yourself killed! You have a brilliant mind, but I fear that some things simply are what they are, so don't get your hopes up. You hear me?!"

"Yes, Master. Thank you again," S'maash replied taking the gold.

Rosoleola made a shooing motion. S'maash smiled from pointy ear to pointy ear while running out of the workshop. He crossed the paved road to a large, stone building, the home base of the Reyda Tong, which was a sort of guild for fighters in Morrowind. Its appearance came about after the dissolution of the Empire's grip.

It was a warm evening in L'Thu Oad and a bead of sweat ran down S'maash's face as he knocked on the wooden doors. A sign above read: Reyda Tong Fighters. The door opened seconds later, revealing another dark elf, who looked much like S'maash.

"Oh, it's you. Come in, brother," the elf replied.

"S'maath, Rosoleola gave me an advance on my pay. I need to hire a few of you to travel into Damlzthur!"

S'maath was a few years older than his brother and much stockier. His thick, gray hair grew sharply and unkempt all about his head.

"Sounds dangerous. What has he got you searching for?"

"You misunderstand. The research is mine. I was reading through a tome on dwemer magick. As you well know, I've been enthralled with the mysteries of enchanting for some time. I believe there may be some answers stowed away in their old ruins."

The brothers walked through the foyer, passing a rack of swords. Much like the mages' workshop, the Reyda Tong's office was bedecked with amazing tapestries depicting its own history, a much, more, violent one. Further inside, the two found themselves among mixed company; an imperial lad, a redguard woman, and another dark elf.

Amidst a room of etched stone and mahogany walls, the warriors all greeted their guild mate's brother with a simple nod of the head. The dunmer brothers took seats on a cushioned bench between a rack of mead and a rack weapons. A fire burned in the stone pit at the far end of the room. The gentle crackling unleashed a bit of smoke.

"Fara, my brother says he wants to hire us for a trip into Damlzthur," S'maath announced.

Fara, the redguard, adjusted the straps of her iron breastplate as she fidgeted in her seat.

Her dark face crinkled a bit while she snipped. "We have plenty of work here."

"I have payment," S'maash interjected.

"How much," the imperial asked.

S'maath turned to his brother. "Well," S'maash started as he pulled the string on the pouch. He poured the gold coins onto a round table. "Twenty five gold."

The three warriors laughed at the paltry sum, but S'maath was sympathetic. Once the laughter died down, he took his glare off his comrades to look at his brother to ask how long the trip was to be. Taking a moment to think, S'maash said it was only a week long.

"We're not riskin' life an' limb for twenty five gold, boy," the other dark elf replied.

S'maash looked at his brother questioningly.

"Why don't you go home for now? I'll see what we can do," the elder brother instructed.

S'maash put the coin away and left for home, slightly ashamed, but not defeated. The walk home was a rather slow one. Night had just settled in before he arrived at his front door. He heard the chirps of insects for a moment then entered his family's abode. The shutting of the door behind him shut out the noise as well.

With their parents deceased, S'maath and S'maash lived in the modest home together. The young elf busied himself with dinner for the two. Not long after, S'maath entered the house to find rat stew warming over the fire.

"I had a long conversation with Fara," he yelled out from the common area.

S'maash entered from the kitchen. "What did she say?"

"So long as the Reyda Tong can lay claim to any profitable artifacts, they'll back your endeavor."

"Good news, then. I'd like to set out as soon as possible."

"We can leave first thing in the morning. Numerius, the imperial, will join us as well as Fara. It will just be the four of us, so we'll need to be cautious"

"Of course."

Chapter Two

The night passed relatively quickly, though S'maash scarcely slept. By the time the sun shone through the window, he was already packed for the week and ready to go. Moments later, his brother awoke. He had also packed the previous night.

The dark elf brothers locked their abode behind them before setting out for the Reyda Tong office, where they met up with Fara, who wore heavy armor, but no helmet. An iron mace hung from her right hip. Numerius was covered in leather armor, hiding his thick, black hair. He wore his imperial bow and quiver over his shoulders.

"I've brought your gear," Numerius said.

More leather apparel sat by his feet, awaiting S'maath's body. After donning his protective equipment, the elf sheathed his steel sword.

"Is the boy going to wear anything," Fara asked with a tinge of incredulity.

She looked him over. He wore only his blue robes. The clothing possessed a minor enchantment; the ability to recover magicka more quickly. No weapons hung about his waist, and no armor was draped over his body.

"I'm fine. Listen, I very much appreciate your help in this matter," S'maash started. "This is very important to me. For a first trip, I don't expect to find much. My hopes are that we may come across a tome on magickal theory. The dwemer employed a slight variation on the schools of magick we use today. I–"

"I don't care about magickal theory," Fara interrupted with a wave of her hand. "If you're looking for a tome, that's well and good. You keep your eyes open for books. We're looking for something to sell. Let's move."

S'maath smiled at his brother. It was evident Fara was the leader of the small band. S'maash was unfamiliar with rank in the Reyda Tong, but understood well enough that seniority dictated the taking of charge, so the crew pressed on and left for Damlzthur.

Moments of silent reverie passed while boots trudged over early morning dew. It was not long before paved roads turned to dirt. Then, the chatter began.

The young elf listened to the warriors. They were hoping for all sorts of valiant battles, riches, and stories to be told afterwards. He, however, was uninterested by such things. His happiness was predicated on obtaining more knowledge. As he followed behind his hired guard, his mind turned to questions.

Will we find anything? Dwemer ruins have been around for so long. It's hard to imagine anything might have been left behind after numerous expeditions. If anything were left behind, it would likely be books, though. Bull headed warriors often leave behind the most valuable treasure, knowledge. His ponderings had left him oblivious to the fact that the warriors were twenty paces ahead of him. A sudden sound demanded his attention.

He turned towards the direction of the noise. They had entered a forested area known to harbor alits, and one charged right at him; its awkward gait was a consequence of having only two legs and a large mouth. Unable to utter a sound, the elf simply stood there in shock. Gaping maw with razor teeth ambled closer. The leathery-skinned, purple, menace was hungry, slobbering. A fraction of a second later, S'maash heard the screams and battle cries of his crew as they fought the beast.

Alits were not altogether difficult to kill. The creature did not so much as manage to bite anyone. In fact, Fara had already struck it across the top of its head with her mace. It swooned from the blow, and S'maath ran it through with blade. The redguard shook some gunk from her weapon then approached S'maash. Her dark eyes were fierce.

"You have to be more careful. Keep pace with us or go back home," she scolded.

He swallowed hard before nodding in accordance. He wanted to thank her, but she walked away. They continued their journey as though nothing had happened, yet the young elf's heart was still pounding. It soon settled in his chest while the warriors joked over the fun of the fight. It was not fun for S'maash; it was dangerous and scary, but it was only an alit after all.

S'maath looked back to his brother, who was then keeping pace quite well. "Not too shaken up, are you?"

"No, not anymore," he smiled.

"Never were a fighter," S'maath chuckled, hitting him in the shoulder.

"Is that so bad?"

"Of course not, you're a scholar, and that's good, but you know destruction magick. You could have burned that thing to a crisp."

"I suppose. I've never actually used an attack spell in defense before," S'maash admitted.

"Maybe you'll learn more about magick by using it than reading about it in books."

It was a sound proposition. The brothers held each other's eyes for a moment longer. S'maash knew most knowledge was derived from practical applications. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anymore to be gained by practical enchanting. The past, few, hundred years yielded no real advancement in that field.

The remainder of the day passed by quietly, only S'maash thought a little less and looked around a little more. The group then broke for a rest. Heat had turned morning dew to midday humidity during their trek.

"We could keep moving," Numerius said with a harsh voice.

"No. My brother grows weary. His mind could roam for hours, but his feet tire quickly, besides, I hunger," S'maath countered.

"Yes, and I thirst," Fara added.

The group took seats on the leaf covered ground. They had moved off the dirt road to a beaten path. Overhead, the sun shone brightly. Shadows of the surrounding foliage bounced along the ground.

S'maash relaxed his back against a tree, basking in the cool of the shade. He was not a big eater, but thirsted instead. He noticed the fighters were eyeing him. Their stares did not hold disdain or contempt. They were, after all, often hired to accompany less athletic travelers on unsafe business, yet he grew curious.

"What is it," he asked, addressing them all.

S'maath looked his compatriots over. With his mouth slightly open, his eyes darted about a bit as he gauged the looks on everyone's faces. He then turned to his brother as the others answered.

"Damlzthur might be infested with dangerous creatures…or worse," Fara stated.

"Aye, automatons," Numerius added.

S'maash ran long fingers through his mowhawk. Automatons were bizarre contraptions created by the long gone dwemer. The mechanical guardians were known to roam the halls of ruins like Damlzthur.

"I am well aware, but I have to…to find something," he said, looking away.

"And if you don't," his brother asked.

S'maash was pensive, yet he looked back to the group. "It is a possibility, I know. I can't sit around L'Thu Oad pouring over the same monotony, though," his voice trailed off as he looked away again.

Fara stood and stretched her legs. "I hear you, elf. It was a similar reason my family moved to Morrowind ages ago."

S'maath smiled at his brother. Soon after, they put away their food and drink for more walking. The sun slowly worked its way over the sky, and the horizon grew dark. Once the sun set, the small creatures of Morrowind began their ritual music and dance. Several insects chirped in unison. The journey had lasted most of the day.

By the time the moons came out, Fara decided it was time to make camp. Pelt tents were erected and sleeping rolls unfurled. Numerius opted for first watch, but S'maash interjected.

"I can take it. I won't fall to sleep easily with so much excitement and wonder on my mind."

Numerius laughed as though it were a joke. S'maash was put off by his response, but before he formulated a reply, his brother jumped in.

"I'll take first with my brother. How's that?"

"Fine by me," Fara replied.

She then looked to Numerius, who did not dream of contradicting her. With that, he nodded to the elf brothers.

"Thank you," S'maash said.

"Of course," S'maath answered.

First watch held little interested. The brothers discussed possible hazards Damlzthur might hold. Conversations then turned to magickal theory, which was enough to put S'maath to rest. Once S'maash heard his brother's snores, he woke Numerius for second watch. He then slept. No dreams entered his vision that night.

The following morning, Fara roused them. It took only minutes to pack their gear and continue the long journey. It was believed their arrival was less than twelve hours away. That time around, although sore, S'maash did not want to stop.

"There will be time for rest once we make our entrance," he said.

"Fair enough, then," Fara replied.

They continued their journey. They passed the beautiful mushrooms and flowers of Morrowind as they made jaunty discussions about treasures to be found. Numerius was hoping to bring back some dwemer metal for their house smith. Fara wanted only coin, so she spoke of artwork and small tools.

"And you, brother," S'maash asked.

"I appreciate the experience. I have a good home, food, friends, and family. My life is good. You might think it simple, and you might be right, but it is good to me."

S'maash always took his brother's words to heart. But it is not enough for me. My experience will come from unraveling these mysteries. I must find something, some way. I refuse to accept these limitations…. His thoughts dwindled once his feet ached. Fortunately, Damlzthur was in sight.

Chapter Three

The once, mighty, city walls of Damlzthur stood as little more than rubble; brown hills with scattered, gray, stone architecture. The group pressed on beyond the fallen stones. Searching for an entry, Numerius rounded a large wall to the east with Fara as the brothers rounded it to the west. Appearances suggested a former tower long since abandoned.

"I have located the exterior door," Fara yelled.

The elves bounded over the rubble. There, she stood before an askewed, brass-like door. Evidently, time and pressure had forced the foundation beneath the soil to list a bit towards the north end, their own right hand side. The group worked quickly to clear debris from the door then pushed their way in.

Stale winds assaulted their olfactory senses for a moment. Immediately, the droning of gears and steam rushing through pipes assaulted their auditory senses. The excitement was palpable. For a lingering moment, they simply gawked, awed by the ancient dwemer.

"Alright, we need to be wary of traps," S'maash said.

All four of them peered down the tall, long, stone hallway. At the end of the hallway was only darkness. Numerius produced a torch. Before he lit it, S'maash raised a right hand overhead, casting a candle light spell. The illumination from his magickal beacon did little to bring radiance to the far end of the hall, but so long as the team stood together while moving slowly, the spell—a wavering bauble of light—remained over the wizard's head.

"Nicely done," Fara said. She took the forefront, leading the team. "S'maath, Numerius, keep your eyes peeled for floor traps."

"Aye," both man and mer replied.

They treaded carefully and quietly, their footsteps drowned out by the sound of the ruin itself. Like a living, breathing beast, it ticked, clanked, and sent roaring steam through its walls. The candle light revealed the entry hall was quite extensive. While the others had little trouble moving, S'maash was thrown off by the tilt in the floor. Like the door, the entire hallway listed slightly. Then, they reached a corner.

Fara raised a hand, calling the group to a halt. She stepped forwards to peer around the juncture. The wizard saw beautiful filigree carved into the walls and brass-like metal, which adorned the junctures. Small, dwemer shelving lined the left side of the corridor, which was much straighter than the previous one. It was difficult to tell, but there seemed to be some doorways along their left. Finally, the redguard motioned to resume movement.

"I thought we were going to rest upon arrival," Numerius remarked.

"Don't be a fool. We'll rest after having taken stock of our surroundings," Fara chastised.

He winced, but she was right. They pressed on. After inspecting the shelving, and a few of the other rooms, they found little in the way of treasures. Weary and hungry, the group took a rest in one of the rooms. Fara shut the door as the others unpacked. S'maash stopped to look at her quizzically.

"In the case of intrusion, whatever might be coming will at least have to get through this door," she said to him before he uttered a word.

"This is why she leads us," S'maath added.

After garnering an hours' rest, the group left their gear in the room as a sort of base camp. S'maath pulled some parchment from his robes. With charcoal, he started sketching a map, providing the luxury of referring back to where they had started should the need arise.

Hours and hours of searching yielded only ruined tomes, old dishes, bed sheets, and broken tools. Apart from the unnerving clatter of dwemer gears built into the stonework, there was nothing extraordinary. The first day of the expedition ended with moving camp to a new location, one quieter than the previous.

As was custom when traveling, the group took watch once more, and once more they all rose to Fara's calling. She led them in a similar fashion the following day. As they progressed into the ruins, the floors and stairs led deeper. Most of the paths were blocked by cave-ins or rubble, but one hall led the group to a large, round room. That particular room provided excellent lighting from a gas-powered lamp at its center. The light was more than ample for S'maash to catch a depiction of dwemer forging along the walls. Carvings provided a glimpse into the ancient dwemer's passion for smithing.

"What is this room," S'maath asked.

They all looked to his brother. "I am not sure. Some kind of study hall?"

There were ruined, stone seats and tables. Books were scattered about the floor, but there was little else. No gears or pipes led into the room. The carvings in the walls were magnificent, but provided no insight towards any mystery into which they were looking. As they moved about, a distinct clicking sound echoed. Numerius's eyes went wide as he felt his foot sink just a bit into the floor.

With lightning speed, Fara bolted across the room, hopped over a chair, and crashed into the imperial. A plethora of darts flew over them for a moment. A maddening sound of metal shards crashing into the stone prevailed for seconds; then, dead silence.

"Be more careful, you idiot," she yelled at him.

"Thanks, and get off me. Your armor is heavy, you know," Numerius said in jest.

After recovering, they all garnered a refreshed respect for the old traps still lining the dwemer ruins. "Pretty close," S'maash whispered.

"Aye," S'maath answered.

"It's nothing," Numerius said.

Fara simply eyed him and shook her head. They carefully left the round room, proceeding down another, sloped corridor. Dwarven metal piping lined both sides of the ceiling. S'maath spotted a thin slit running along the center of the floor.

"Hold!" he called out. A pang of fear jolted everyone's heart as he scanned the floor. "Careful, I believe there might be more traps," he was pointing at the furrow in the floor.

They pressed on prudently a little ways when S'maash's candle light revealed a pressure plate. His brother had been correct. The ruin was dangerous enough as it was, but no creatures or automatons were in sight, which aroused S'maash's suspicions. Should there not at least be wreckage left behind? He wondered, but there was no way to know, and so another day of nothing went by. Again camp was moved. The wizard grew despondent as he tried to sleep; he knew it was not long before it was time to move back to the surface and finally home, likely empty handed.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Dreams of home washed over his mind and heart. The journey had been his first trip from home to an uninhabited area. When he awoke, he was happy to see his friends. While Fara and Numerius had been hired, they had become accustomed to his presence. He was, after all, their guildmate's brother.

"After tonight's rest, we need to make our return," Fara stated.

"Aye, we'll be camping back here then," S'maath asked.

"Yes. S'maath, let me see your map," she said. The elf brought it forth. Taking it gently, she scanned it a moment before handing it back. "We'll work our way back to the large door we passed yesterday."

Fara's reasoning had dictated an organized search rather than trying to run all over the ruin, and after days in the abandoned city, which led her to discover an architectural pattern from which Damlzthur was built, she figured that behind the large door was a new wing rather than just another room. Upon their arrival, she and Numerius pushed the massive door open.

"Good," she said as they walked through.

The new area appeared larger in general, more spaced out. The corridor they traversed was broader and lined with dwarven metal bars that housed dwemer, steam contraptions. They traversed the large hall for a time. Finally, they came to an area—still within the great hall—with lighting built into both sides of the structure. More, gas lamps sat in alcoves high above them. Suddenly, a loud roar pushed through the walls. Something was on the move.

With ears pressed against the stonework, the group exchanged glances. Slowly, they followed the sound as it moved. It ceased by a sort of porthole. The lid dropped open and a large, metal ball fell before their feet. The plates from which it was constructed spun as an automaton unfolded- a dwarven sphere.

Quick and powerful, the automaton stood over six feet in height when erect. Its spherical bottom allowed for easy movement in any direction. Built from gears, plates, and bars, the metallic menace was deigned to defend its creators.

S'maash was startled by the new situation. With wide eyes, he slowly turned his head. For a second, he considered running.

As the sphere lurched forwards, Numerius and S'maath jumped back. Fara drew her mace. She ducked beneath the sword arm of the dwemer machine then smashed her mace across its face.

S'maash was then witness to something magnificent, beautiful even; the warriors moved as one; they fought as part of a whole. After Fara dealt her blow, she stepped her left foot over her right then spun away from the sphere to its left flank. It was then that Numerius—sword drawn—thrust his blade into the gears of the machine's sword arm. With one arm disabled, the sphere pointed its crossbow at S'maath, who was one step behind Numerius. He followed Fara's maneuver, and both of them stood behind the machine, taking whacks at its weaker hinges protruding from the spherical bottom.

Although the warriors were fighting well, the machine managed to fire a bolt from its crossbow, striking Numerius while he was trying to dislodge his blade. The pain in his flank folded him over. A subtle grunt of pain escaped his lips.

"Do something!" Fara yelled to S'maash.

The scene had played out rather quickly, but he snapped to attention. With one hand, he casted an iron flesh spell for protection. A blue glow covered his being. The other hand took hold of frozen magicka, and he fired an ice spike. The crystalline projectile did little damage upon impact, but the cold effect of the spell slowed the creature. To the elf's dismay, the dwarven sphere quickly reloaded a bolt and pointed at him. He took a deep breath, preparing for the worst.

S'maath stepped onto the rear side of the sphere's leg joints and jammed his blade underneath the machine's head. His sword protruded between the automaton's metal frame, so Fara continued to rain iron blows against its back plates. In response, the sphere spun then rolled backwards into the walls, causing S'maath to fall.

Biting his lip, the wizard fired another ice spike into the the enemy's face. His brother scrambled to his feet for an attempt to recover his sword, which had fallen during the skirmish. Once more, the sphere lurched, striking with a sword arm. The damaged gear and lodged blade hindered its movement, yet the large sword crashed over Fara's chest plate. She fell from the impact, relatively unharmed. S'maath—with sword in hand—charged the machine and struck it repeatedly. Small plates and levers broke off. The redguard recovered and helped to end the machine's onslaught.

The battle was over, so they ran over to Numerius. He was on his side; a small pool of blood had dripped onto the ground beneath him. Fara placed her hand on his shoulder. He groaned in reply.

"Can you do something," S'maath asked.

S'maash nodded, saying, "We need to remove the bolt first."

"Do it," Numerius growled.

They rolled him over. S'maath placed a knee onto his abdomen, gripped the bolt with both hands, and pulled it out. The imperial screamed in pain, but S'maash quickly held palms poised for a healing hands spell. Numerius was enveloped in warm light. After mere seconds, he was returned to fighting shape. Upon standing, the fighter looked down to S'maash, placed a firm grip on his shoulder, and nodded in approval.

"You handled yourself well, S'maash," Fara said.

The young elf looked to his brother, who was beaming with pride. Together, they attempted to sort through the remaining scraps of the defeated enemy. From it, they recovered some bent, dwemer metal, and a common soul gem, but little else. Fara handed the gem to S'maash, who pocketed it.

"We should press on," he suggested.

"Aye," Fara replied.

They pushed onwards by following the pipes and lighted ceiling, and reached a barred gate. Numerius shook the gate with both hands.

"Locked," he said turning to S'maath.

The elf nodded. Taking a knee before the lock, he produced his tools. Carefully, S'maath set to work, feeling the tumblers with the pick. After what felt like an eternity, and two picks later, the tumblers were properly aligned. The gate was unlocked.

It had been difficult to see what was beyond the gate, but with S'maash's newly lit candle light spell, they found nice vases. Fara took one, rolling it between her hands. It was not large, less than a foot high, and a watery blue with gold trim.

"This should fetch a few Septims," she cheered. Apart from the vases was a set of dwemer cogs and a beautiful diamond. The diamond left a glint in Fara's eye; a smile grew over her dark face. "Well, I'm sold."

"And I got some metal, so…we could turn back now," Numerius said.

He prodded at the hole in his leather armor. The others understood his sentiment. They turned to S'maash for his input as they were in his employ. He passed a glance over each of them.

"Just a little deeper," he replied.

They nodded and pressed forwards. Hours went by as they traversed the monstrous hallway. After taking a break for food and water, they reached a large door. It took all of the men and mer to push it open. What was revealed to them was rather frightening. Spiraling, stone bridges with no rails led into the deep. Far, far below them, they saw only bubbling lava.

"Didn't expect this," S'maash said.

"We…could head down," Fara added, hesitantly.

"I don't know," S'maath replied.

S'maash moved his lips over his teeth. He was unsure. Logically, if there was some amazing discovery to be made it would be down there…. His thoughts trailed away. He knew the answer.

"No. We should turn back," he said.

His brother was shocked. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. We should leave for now. We can always come back, and perhaps, with a few more men. The last thing we want is to run short on supplies down there."

"Excellent decision," Fara commented.

They treaded the hall back to their camp. After a deep sleep, and being awakened by Fara, they packed their tents and rolls. Their return to Damlzthur's entry was a long and uneventful sojourn. The trip back home was much of the same. It had taken one day less, since they had not found what they were looking for, and it was a welcomed respite. The following morning, S'maash returned to the mages' workshop.

Chapter Four

"Mmm, I thought as much. It's good to hear you made a safe return from that damnable ruin, but you need to know there's nothing down there; nothing but death and ash. Settle down here, and keep working away," Rosoleola said.

His tone had not been condescending. Some of the other mages were much more arrogant, however; they chastised S'maash. They pointed out all the flaws in his search. Secretly, they were envious of his challenging magickal theory. Moreover, they disliked the fact that he was willing to try something different. After they succeeded in weakening his spirit, S'maash went home for the night. His brother was already home and happy to greet him.

"We all received promotions," S'maath smiled.

"Truly? That is excellent, but why?"

"Because travelers of all sorts are willing to pay top coin for escorts who can say I have braved dwemer ruins, fought their machines, and lived."

S'maash smiled weakly. He was happy for his brother, but was growing despondent over his own lack of success. Words of his fellow mages rang throughout his mind. He had not noticed his brother moved closer to squat beside him.

"What troubles you," S'maath asked. S'maash told him what the more experienced mages had said. "Don't be foolish, brother. You need not listen to them. You are the only person I have met who can truly discover something new. I admit your studies bore me, but still, you must follow your passion, your heart." S'maath stated with concern.

"Thank you. I will consider it."

It was days later that the elf was caught off guard. As normal, he was rearranging reagents and dusting tomes at the mages' workshop when a glint off the welkynd stone caught his eye. He stared at it. The soft, greenish light held his gaze.

Mages were aware that those stones allowed one to replenish the spirit. Ayleids believed fire was a corruption of the true form of magick, light. I wonder, did the ayleids have light enchantments? Rosoleola might have been correct about Damlzthur, but he mentioned nothing of traipsing through ayleid ruins. S'maash, impetuous, made his decision once more.

The young, dark elf simply left work without telling anyone of his plans. Rosoleola had been kind enough, but the rest were just arrogant know nothings who mimicked what little they garnered from known studies. Their scorn was of little concern, so he ran home to make plans for a move to Cyrodiil. He hoped his brother would join him.

It was hours before his brother came home. During the slow passage of time, S'maash thought out a speech, but whatever words he strung together felt contrived. The warrior entered the living space, passing the fire beneath the mantle as he approached S'maash. The elder brother was all smiles.

"Some good news, I take it," S'maash asked.

"Indeed. I'm going to accompany some priests on their journey to Balmora. The coin is more than ample."

"Oh," S'maash said, his tone almost depressing.

"What's this? I thought my brother might be happier for me."

"I am, truly. I just…I think I'm moving to Cyrodiil. I was hoping you might join me."

S'maath, in total surprise, took a seat on a wicker chair next to his brother. "Where did this come from?" The younger brother explained his theories once more, that time referring to some notes he had made on ayleid ruins, just copies from texts, nothing concrete. "Fascinating. You should go…."

S'maath was concerned, yet he was aware that an insatiable yearning for magickal studies brewed inside his brother. It would be wrong to try to talk him out of it, he thought. The flicker of flame reflected off S'maash's red eyes.

"Maybe, I can wait for your return. Then, we could go together," the wizard smiled.

The elder brother placed a hand on Smaash's shoulder. "No. My life is here with the Reyda Tong. This is my future, and I enjoy it. Your future rests in your hands alone. It will not be an easy road, but if you postpone once, you will postpone again. The longer you wait, the slimmer your chances of going then the less likely it will be for you to discover what you are meant to.

"You are ready, S'maash. The time for you to begin is now. It is reasonable for you to be wary of traveling on your own, away from your family, from familiar surroundings, but if you don't follow this path—the road you were born for—you will live with regrets and scorn," S'maath spoke, sincerely.

"I don't know that I can do this on my own," S'maash complained.

"You are capable, and you are not alone. Our ancestors are with you. Focus on your goals. Nothing will stand in your way."

For a moment, they were silent. The fire crackled quietly beside them. S'maash stirred first.

"I'll have to hire a silt strider to Bravil," he started.

"I can give you extra coin. I've saved quite a bit. I could spare…oh, about a hundred Septims."

"That is appreciated. I really don't have much to pack. I can leave tomorrow," S'maash said, ambivalently.

The brothers looked each other over. They had been there for one another for years. It was difficult to part ways, but they both knew a reunion was in their future. A bittersweet emotion hung in the air. While S'maash was indeed nervous, he was also quite excited.

"Then, you should rest tonight, and we will say goodbye tomorrow," S'maath replied.

The warm night passed slowly. Both elves had a hard time falling morning finally came, S'maash rose to find that his brother had packed some extra gear for him. He had included a steel dagger for protection, new, fur boots, and extra food and drink. S'maash gathered his equipment before finding his brother outside, sitting on the stoop.

"So, you're all set then? I will walk you to the silt strider," S'maath smiled.

They slogged along the paved road, speaking of plans for arrival in Cyrodiil. S'maash was going to stay in Bravil until he found the best ayleid ruin to study. Then, he spoke of hiring guides for protection in case there was trouble in the area. Slow, meaningful steps took them towards the large insect.

Cyrodiil had suffered tremendously over the past many years, and the recent decades especially. After the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, the Empire had become a puppet for the Aldmeri Dominion. If that alone had not been enough, Alduin, the World Eater, had risen. While it was Skyrim he had terrorized, the dragons had found their way across the borders. They had a small effect on Morrowind, not as drastic as in Cyrodiil; it was unfortunate that during the same time, the Stormcloaks began a rebellion.

The defeat of General Tullius and the death of many imperial soldiers left the Empire in a weakened state. Furthermore, the murder of Emperor Titus Mede the Second at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood left the Empire all but destroyed. While this bolstered the stranglehold of the Aldmeri Dominion, it also created a wave of crime and uncertainty in all of Cyrodiil.

News had reached Morrowind that the whole of the imperial province was awash in blood and terror. S'maash was aware of the fact. He was not so much afraid of the crime, but afraid of the possibility of being marooned in Cyrodiil with no options short of working for scraps at a local inn. He expressed that last bit of information to his brother as he boarded the giant insect.

"You will find a way, brother, and if not, you will write me, and I will come get you. There is no shame in failing at a task, so long as you do not allow that failure to prevent you from further attempts at success," S'maath assured him.

They smiled to each other and waved. S'maash sat on the silt strider's cart, and the creature let out a prolonged wail before starting off for Cyrodiil. The ride was rather slow paced. He glanced at the landscape from high above, riding all the way to the border.

A small settlement of dunmer had built cabins along the eroded mountains. They were always looking for new pilgrims to accompany into Bravil or the Nibenay, so, S'maash hired a group for a two-day walk to Bravil.

The dunmer were little more than a band of friends, warriors, and mages, well versed in the local terrain. Their leader, an older woman named Sahla, was aging, but lean. She led the group by deciding when to break, resume, and also teaching about the paths they traversed. Upon arrival, S'maash paid the remainder of the gold, as they had asked for half up front and the remainder upon safe arrival. He bid them safe travels and spent the night at The Lonely Suitor Lodge, Bravil's inn.

The city was comprised of little more than wooden homes. While they were neatly designed, the rustic appeal was nothing overly special. At the center of the town, the lucky, old lady—an eerie statue—awaited travelers. It was legend that the statue of the elderly woman might bless them with good luck. Other legends, ones no longer told, indicated something quite a bit more sinister.

The Lonely Suitor Lodge was as modest as the town of Bravil. It, too, was rather simple in its design of wooden walls and floors. At least, it was clean and warm. It was there that the elf heard an interesting bit of information.

A bard was performing a song about Umaril, the Unfeathered, who had apparently reappeared during the time of Martin Septim. The song spoke of the reunion of the Knights of the Nine. A few patrons booed the poor bard, shouting that Talos was no God and the Knights of the Nine were a false creation. S'maash did not believe it a coincidence that upon his arrival the mention of ayleids was foremost on the citizens' tongues. He waited for the poor, blonde haired lad to finish his song, and approached him at the counter.

"They do not believe in Talos," S'maash said, taking a seat next to the man.

"They do not appreciate a good song. Regardless of his existence, it is a good tale," the bard complained.

"I am called S'maash."

"And I am Ruterius, the Rich…though, not so much at this moment," Ruterius replied with a weak smile. "What brings you to The Lonely Suitor? You have the look of a traveler."

"I have plans to study an ayleid ruin. I'm conducting important research."

He went on to explain his mission to the young imperial and shared mugs of ale to pass the time. S'maash learned where the nearest ruin was located, who to ask in town for protection, and who in town to avoid. Ruterius also revealed some political issues in Cyrodiil.

Ulfric Stormcloak's rise to High King of Skyrim had inspired some imperials to unite and attempt to overthrow the Aldmeri Dominion. To date, they had been slaughtered. The remnants attempted to petition Skyrim for help. It was unclear as to whether or not Ulfric was going to provide support.

"Yes, these are difficult times," Ruterius said. "I wish you luck on your endeavor. If the Mages' Guild were still in existence you might be better off, but…well…the Synod has no interest in travelers' research."

"I left a guild of sorts in Morrowind. We were not the Mages' Guild, per se, but we were a guild of practitioners of magick. They were not much help in my field. I find that most people, even very capable people, refuse to question their predecessor's knowledge. I am not one such person," S'maash explained.

The night ended for the two. S'maash rose early the following morning and walked around town, talking to the guard, and anyone else who might point him in the direction of Barbas, the Brute, a mighty nord who had sided with the Empire during the Stormcloaks' uprising. Upon reaching the nord's house, S'maash knocked on the wooden door.

An older woman answered. "Yes?"

She was tall, slender, and wore her graying hair in a tight ponytail. Her garments were nice, but aged, giving her the appearance of a retired merchant.

"Apologies, I'm looking for Barbas. I was told he might help me," S'maash said.

"Looking for protection," she asked with a haggard tone.

"Yes. I need a group to accompany me to Anutwyll. Ruterius said I might conduct my studies inside. If there's any trouble, it will be nice to have some help. I have coin."

She nodded. Seconds later, she returned with the biggest man S'maash had ever seen. He stood close to seven feet tall and was wide as a house. Barbas was a bald man with a monstrous, gray beard, and all too many scars. His grin showed an abundance of empty spots where teeth may have once resided. Large muscles and a round belly pushed through drab, green clothing.

"I am Barbas, the Brute. My wife, Celia, tells me you need assistance," he said with a thick, nord accent.

"Yes. I just need to make sure it's safe to journey through Anutwyll. I've journeyed through Damlzthur, a dwemer ruin, with a small group from L'Thu Oad's Reyda Tong. They're not unlike your Fighters' Guild. I was hoping for something similar," S'maash explained.

"Of course. I'll need payment upfront, so that I may pay my men to join me."

"That's fine."

"Myself and four others comes to two hundred and fifty Septims per day. What do you say," Barbas asked.

S'maash was taken aback. He had not expected the cost to be so high. He barely had enough for one day.

"What about you and two men? And you can keep most of the treasures. I'm only looking for something to advance my research on magickal theory."

Barbas stroked his beard. "You play a good game, elf. Myself and two men for one hundred Septims per day, and we keep the spoils if there are any left."

S'maash handed the man two hundred Septims. "When can we leave?"

"Eager to start, eh? Meet me at The Lonely Suitor in two hours. We will journey," Barbas said and shut the door in S'maash's face.

With nothing left to do, he returned to the inn, packed his gear, and waited for Barbas and crew to arrive. As he waited at the bar, the innkeeper looked him over, but said nothing. The stocky imperial with thick, dark, hair was not one to converse freely with dunmer.

Finally, Barbas had arrived and with a massive, orcish, war hammer strapped to his back. The crescent head of the green, metal hammerhead looked menacing. Barbas was also flanked by two others.

"Greetings to you, dark elf. This is my crew, Freya, who is my cousin, and Elohar, the bosmer," Barbas said.

Freya, a thick, nord lass with long, braided, red hair nodded. Elohar, the bosmer, was a wood elf with bronze skin. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. They appeared more than capable to S'maash. Suddenly, he was reminded of his brother and the warriors of the Reyda Tong back home. The bosmer then tipped his fancy hat.

"Thank you for your help," S'maash said.

He picked his pack off the ground and promptly left the inn. Barbas took the lead once they reached the outskirts of town. As they rounded the walls of Bravil to the northwest, birds chirped in the distance. During the trip, S'maash told them of his expedition through Damlzthur. They were surprised to find that he had some experience.

"You think you'll find what you're after in two days," Elohar asked in disbelief.

"Unlikely. My goal is merely to ascertain that it is safe enough in the ruin to begin conducting my studies. After that…well, time will tell."

The rolling plains and subtle hills of Bravil's region were a radically different sight from the normality of Morrowind. S'maash was unable to stop staring at the verdant foliage and wonderful flowers. Along the way, they spoke of their respective homelands. The migratory trees of Valenwood were a strange concatenation of the Gods as far as anyone who was not wood elf was concerned, and the cold snowstorms of Skyrim sounded brutal to anyone who wasn't nord.

Chapter Five

Freya stepped before Barbas. She walked lithely up the steps to the square, white, stone door. Gorgeous arches stood partially covered by earth, moss, and insects. Small pieces of rubble were strewn about in the area above the door, where the rest of them stood waiting for Freya.

"Let's head in then," she announced.

S'maash casted a candle light spell. As the undulating sphere created awkward shadows of the party, he was amazed by the difference of architecture between the ayleids and the dwemer. While dwemer ruins were sharp and angular with their stonework, the ayleids had a softer touch to the eye. Smooth, white walls lined the interior hall. It was very short and winding with an odd, scintillating, green glow hanging in the air. An unnerving hum emanated from an unseen source.

The view before them was of white pillars. The ground below was down quite a few steps. Those steps were exposed on either side. Boots echoed off the far walls of the massive structure beneath them. Barbas and his crew noticed S'maash pause; he was taking in the sights.

"It's a beautiful piece of architecture," Elohar commented.

"Aye, that it is," S'maash replied.

Freya started walking down a winding hallway. The rest followed suit. A delicate grating of unknown metal lined the hallway on one side. White, stone walls lined the other. Beyond the grating, S'maash saw a chandelier hanging from the ceiling; its subtle, green radiance provided enough light to see without the use of magick.

A short trek through the hall led to an immediate dead end on the group's right hand side. On the floor near the wall was a small, hexagonal cask. Elohar smiled as he pried it open. A tiny cloud of dust wafted away. Inside was nothing; whoever had traveled through prior to their arrival had already pilfered its contents.

"What a shame," he commented.

The noise drew the attention of a handful of giant rats. The squeaky beasts whined as they thundered over, ringed tails flailing. S'maash allowed the warriors to work for their money.

Barbas did not even move. Elohar fired three arrows quicker than S'maash had ever witnessed. Three of the rats perished immediately. The fourth and final reached Freya's feet. She kicked it in the face. As it writhed, she chopped its head clean off with her war axe. Battle over.

"You elves eat these, no," Freya asked while looking at Elohar.

S'maash smiled. The bosmer made a face of disgust.

"Wood elves eat a lot of different meats, but it'll be a cold day in Oblivion before this one feasts on vermin," Elohar grumbled.

They turned to S'maash, but he simply shrugged. The left side of the hall rounded a corner to a tombstone shaped gate. Barbas pulled it open then stopped abruptly.

"See this press block? Ayleid ruins are full of these. They're easy enough to spot if you look for the green jewel," he said.

"What do they do," S'maash inquired.

"It's how you open doors, disable traps, and other such things," Elohar answered.

The four continued beyond the gate. Several chambers were visible on their left as they progressed. There was also a set of stairs leading down. The crew continued beyond the chambers into a large room. Gas canisters lined the floor, emitting a strange, noxious cloud. They all paused.

"This is one of the old traps," S'maash asked.

"Aye. Cover your faces with these," Freya ordered as she handed out pieces of cloth.

The gas was a poisonous concoction of unknown agents, but with cloth over their faces, it did little more than obscure their vision as they progressed. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, Elohar ran through the large chamber. The others followed suit. Beyond the gas, they paused for a moment to catch their breath and wipe tears from their eyes.

Their excursion beyond the gas chamber led them to a wall with another press block. Barbas nodded to S'maash, who pushed it. A trio of stone pillars slowly slid into the ground, thus revealing an opening through the wall and into another room. S'maash was impressed at how smoothly the stones moved. They created very little sound.

Inside was a stone platform. Its utility was unknown, though it appeared to be more for aesthetics than actual use. On its top was a black, steel pedestal. Atop it, was a varla stone; its gorgeous, white crystal was a feast for the eyes; varla stones were multi-faceted works of beauty.

"These fetch a few Septims," Freya said.

"They function to replenish a weapon's magickal property," S'maash added.

"They function to replenish my coin purse," Elohar added in jest. They had a little laugh as Brabas plucked it from its resting place. "Good start, so far."

After recovering that small fortune, the group rounded a set of stairs back to the gate they had entered originally. They pressed on through the ruin for sometime, but it didn't appear to be very large, and its simple design made it easy to navigate. Before much longer, they came upon a tombstone shaped door depicting a glowing tree.

"These are strange doors," S'maash commented.

"Let us press onwards and discover what lies beyond," Barbas replied.

"Yes. I'm anxious to continue, but I am somewhat surprised," S'maash said.

"Why's that," Elohar asked.

"I suppose I thought there would be more…well more objects. The dwemer left behind many things. While not all valuable, their ruins hold many vases, pots, books, all types of things. I don't see any of that here. It's as though the whole of the ayleid culture has vanished," S'maash stated with wonder.

"I don't know about any of that," Freya remarked.

"How could you say that, cousin? When we traveled through Raldbthar we saw all those things S'maash mentioned," Barbas said.

"That's not what I meant, Barbas. I'm saying I don't know about these ancient elves," Freya snapped.

The nords appeared to be growing irritated with on another. Elohar bumped S'maash with his elbow and motioned with his head.

"Nords are a loud bunch, eh?" he said it loud enough to draw their attention.

"Why don't you be quiet before I string you up with your own bow?" Freya joked.

Again, they laughed. Their happy bickering echoed throughout the whole of Anutwyll. S'maash felt a bit of elation. His journey for knowledge had taken a very entertaining turn.

Ultimately, they progressed beyond the door into another expanse. It, too, held a scintillating hum as green light emanated from sources unseen. Silence prevailed for a short while. Then, S'maash spoke.

"I'm surprised there are no monsters lurking about in here."

"Some say the dead roam the halls of ayleid ruins. Reminds me of the draugr in our homeland's burial halls," Freya replied.

She had peculiar way of speaking, S'maash noticed. She always rolled her R's quite heavily. Elohar did not comment on the enemy situation, but raised an eyebrow in a comical fashion.

"This one does not like the undead," Barbas said and chuckled.

"I can't say I do, either," S'maash shrugged.

"What do you hope to find behind these doors," Freya asked.

"Something pertaining to old enchantments; I understand the ayleids viewed the four forces of magick as being earth, water, wind, and light; fire being a corruption of light. If that is in fact truth then we, as modern mages, aren't fully utilizing our enchanting potential.

"I believe the dwemer also held ancient secrets regarding enchanting. The artifact, Volendrung, somehow fell into the hands of Malacath. It's very curious. I understand that some artifacts cannot be disenchanted. Normally, an item is reduced to ash or debris, but somehow, these powerful artifacts resist the very force of disenchanting. I hope to find some clues here," S'maash explained.

The nords exchanged a tiresome look. "You should join the College of Winterhold. The crisp, snowy air of the north will do you well, dark elf," Barbas said.

"What is this College?"

Barbas and Freya told S'maash what little they knew. Being nord warriors, they had respect for magick, but no use for it, themselves.

"Then, once I finish I here I might make that journey," S'maash replied, intrigued.

"You'll freeze 'til your blue…er, blue-er, in the face," Elohar joked.

After the laughter subsided, they found a place to rest for the day. Soon, the food supply dwindled, so they took turns sleeping. The following morning, they eagerly resumed their search. It was not long before more gates were located. Elohar had taken the lead during their second day. A trip down flights of stairs brought them to an area full of welkynd stones. Again, the hired muscle pocketed the treasure.

While the group debated how to split the money to be made from selling the riches, S'maash appreciated the sights. Several, glowing, rocky formations lined the ceiling. He paced around the room then approached the warriors.

"What are these gems," he asked, pointing to the jagged, green formations.

"Don't know. All the ruins have them," Freya answered.

S'maash made a mental note. While he stood in awe, Elohar sniffed about the large room. Spotting a long cask, he called them all over.

"Good, finally a chest. Bound to be something in there," Barbas said. A cask sat in a dusty corner. Barbas knelt down before it in an attempt to open it. It was locked. "Blasted elves…sorry," he said with a gap-toothed grin.

"Blah, blah, blah," Elohar responded.

The bosmer made a pitiful attempt at pushing Barbas aside to check the chest's lock, but Barbas, being as massive as he was, did not so much as budge. He, instead, grinned more widely. Freya laughed.

"Just move," Elohar chuckled.

"No need. I'll handle it," Barbas replied.

He stood with such power that Elohar had to hop back lithely. He moved, as all wood elves did, with an almost dance-like motion, thus avoiding a fall onto his seat. Barbas then raised his war hammer over his head. Once it reached its apex, all too close to the ceiling, the nord pulled it down along with all his body weight. The head of the hammer smashed the chest open.

"A little elbow grease is all you need," he said.

"You'd better hope you didn't break anything worthwhile, you, you…brute!" Freya chastised.

Barbas shrugged before stepping away, allowing Freya to check the contents. Inside, she found a rotted, coin purse with thirty, old, gold coins, which predated the current Septim, stone jars containing bone meal, and some, ancient elven equipment; one dagger, one bow, and some boots.

"So, we'll be taking these as payment," Elohar said, immediately.

He snatched the bow from Freya's hand, looking it over. The string had rotted away ages ago, but the bow itself was in excellent condition. S'maash noticed something about the boots. They possessed an eerie glow, something almost undetectable. He motioned to Freya for them.

"Now, hold on, you agreed we got the spoils," she said.

"No, it's not that. I think they're enchanted. That's why I came here. Remember," S'maash replied.

Looking the boots over, he felt the living vibration all enchanted gear possessed. He was sure they held some form of magick.

"Well," Barbas asked.

S'maash met his eyes. "I have never come across this one before. I don't know what it is."

"Let him have them. Not like they could fit our feet, anyway," Barbas announced.

"They could fit mine," Elohar interjected.

"Never mind, that; you've already got something," Barbas retorted.

Elohar shrugged.

"Thank you. Let us continue," S'maash said.

"There must be another press block in here somewhere," Elohar said, looking about. "Normally dead ends like these have something hidden away. Ah, beneath the rubble."

The chest had been set before the block, and since Barbas smashed the container, Elohar booted the debris aside to step on the mechanism, which caused another set of stone pillars to slide away from the far wall at the other end of the room. Like all ayleid designs, Anutwyll held secret hallways for quick access to all areas within. They journeyed through the hall, passing more, green gems, and back to the ruin's entrance.

"There you have it then," S'maash grinned. "I will set up here and do some research on those odd, rock formations. You're all free to go, and everything we recovered is yours, except these boots, I guess."

The warriors nodded, took their spoils, and left S'maash to his own devices. He was glad to have found something worth studying, but was unclear as to what exactly he had discovered. A few return trips to Bravil took place during which he purchased supplies. Unfortunately, the town didn't have an arcane enchanter, so he wasn't able to learn what the ancient, elven boots did.

In an attempt to discern it for himself, he put them on his feet. They were the proper size. As he paced around the town, under the moonlight, he felt no difference. He jumped, ran, even stuck his fingers over an open flame. It burned as he had anticipated. After another night at The Lonely Suitor Lodge, the elf returned to Anutwyll where he pried some samples of the gems from the ruin's walls. Satisfied, he intended to take a break before returning to town and plan his next move.

"Well, well, well. What 'ave we got, 'ere?" an unfamiliar voice echoed behind him.

He turned to see some bandits in furs and leather. One of them, likely the leader, was an imperial brandishing a malevolent-looking, ebony dagger. The blade's length was as ominous as the embossed, black metal from which it was forged.

The imperial addressed the rest of his crew: a khajiit, orc, and two, imperial lasses. "Think we should gut him?"

They grinned.

"I'm just conducting studies," S'maash choked.

"No, no, no. You're just conductin' studies in my 'ome," the imperial mocked.

S'maash furrowed his brow in thought. There had been no bedrolls or tents defining it as their home. It was obvious the bandits intended to make Anutwyll their new base camp. The dark elf hoped to avoid confrontation.

"Listen," S'maash started.

Before he continued, the imperial lunged for him. He delivered a powerful, left fist to S'maash's midsection, causing him to bend over and drop to his knees. With no air in his lungs, the khajiit and orc easily took his arms behind his back and held his head in place by the hair. The elf tried to speak, but only gasped.

"This is the part where you fall down and bleed to death," the imperial said.

Then, the man punched S'maash in the face until he blacked out.

Chapter Six

S'maash slowly came to. He was lying on the cold floor of Anutwyll. Only able to open one eye, he searched his surroundings. The bandits were gone, so were his dagger and coin purse. He sighed then winced in pain as he stood. At least, I left some of my goods back at the inn. Injured and discouraged, he made his way back to town.

The painful walk of shame provided the wizard ample time to mull over his next course of action. A warm sun sat atop the sky. S'maash looked into the blue expanse. Some clouds were rolling in. He thought about the College of Winterhold. I hope it's not like the Mages' Coalition back home. I'd hate to travel all the way out there just to face the same problems. Suppose I won't know until I go….

He strolled through Bravil, avoiding the gaze of the townsfolk. After pushing aside the doors to the inn, he plopped down at the bar. The innkeeper's daughter stood behind the counter. She, like her father, had dark eyes and thick hair. Her apron was smeared with early morning's breakfast.

"Looks painful," she remarked. S'maash looked at her with his one, good eye. She was a cute, young, woman. "How about one on the house…if you tell me your story."

S'maash obliged her. He started with work in L'Thu Oad then told her about the trip through Damlzthur. She listened intently as he drank and spoke. By the end of the tale, he arrived at the point where the bandits gave him a sound thrashing, and put forth his dilemma.

"So, now you're going to move to Skyrim," she asked.

"I don't know; it's either that or go home, I guess. I wish my brother was by my side."

The lass shrugged before leaving him to tend to the next customer. S'maash left the bar for his room. After a quick nap, he checked the remainder of his gear. He figured selling off all things unnecessary was sufficient to afford a ride to Cheydinhal. From there, he needed to find someone to take him into Skyrim. Then, it was only a matter of finding the College of Winterhold, if Skyrim was his destination.

Rapping his fingers on the table, he recalled S'maath's words, and so he wrote a letter to his brother explaining the circumstances. After handing the letter to a courier, the elf went to the local, supply store. He sold off his camping gear, some potions, and other, miscellaneous items. By the end of the transaction, he had only his traveling pack, the magick boots he had found, food, water, the stones he took from Anutwyll, the clothes on his back, and forty seven Septims.

It was an early Middas when he reached the stables outside Bravil. There, he spoke to a stableman, an orc named Grogot no Grob. Though brutish and pig-like in appearance, the orc wore fine clothes and spoke quite eloquently.

"Yes, dark elf. We do have a carriage we can arrange for you to take. It will cost you a paltry, twenty Septims for a journey to Cheydinhal. I'm from there, you know?"

"Do you know the best way into Skyrim from Cheydinhal?"

Grogot stroked his thin beard. "I do not, though I have heard of nord clans living in the Jeralls. Perhaps, you may find someone in Cheydinhal who can tell you more. I haven't actually been to Cheydinhal for many years. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to gather my son, horses, and carriage for your departure," Grogot said, holding out a green, open palm.

S'maash nodded as he placed the twenty Septims in Grogot's hand. Shortly thereafter, he was on his way to Cheydinhal. Rorgot, the wagon driver, made four stops along the way to allow the horses some rest. Throughout the trip, the chatty orc asked many questions for which S'maash had only guesses. While Rorgot wasn't interested in magickal theory, he did listen to the elf's ramblings.

"Do you miss Morrowind," Rorgot asked one night as they rested by a fire.

"I do not miss the land so much as the people I knew…mostly, my brother. This traveling is lonely and difficult…."

They stared into the fire for many minutes before fatigue set in. The area chosen for camp was somewhat rocky, but level. Native insects buzzed around, but didn't disturb the campers' rest. After waking, they took back to the paved roads. If nothing else, Cyrodiil's streets were easy to traverse; the imperials had built quite the road system between their towns.

They arrived in Cheydinhal on Freddas. It was a well-to-do town with fine, dark elf architecture. From the gates, S'maash immediately located the tavern. Inside, he listened to conversations. Once he found the right person, he asked around for a guide through the Jerall mountains. He was directed to clan Snow-Shield; they were known to make most of their money doing just what he needed.

Upon meeting with them in a cabin just north of town, they agreed to help him for a small fee. He learned they also helped couriers and merchants move to and from Skyrim. Many deliveries had to go through the dangerous, mountain passes. The matriarch of clan Snow-Shield was a hearty, old woman by the name of Sigryud. She led her two sons, Sigurd and Thurro, as well as S'maash, through the mountains. Their specific route took them over some iced over rocky hills.

"Soon, we will come across the cavernous Pale Pass. It has a lively history dealing with the Akaviri," Thurro said.

Like Barbas, he too spoke with a heavy, nord accent. Both the sons were rough and tumble types wearing heavy armor. Their mother preferred the use of destruction spells.

"I thought nords were not overly fond of magick," S'maash commented while carefully traversing the rocky terrain.

"What nonsense. If that were true, why would we have the College of Winterhold," she asked.

He shrugged, admitting that perhaps it was a stupid comment to have made. "I didn't mean disrespect. You're right, of course. Do nords prefer destruction over the other schools?"

"I do, but we hail from a family of warriors," Sigryud replied.

"We were warriors until Ulfric and his uprising," Sigurd stated.

S'maash had some difficulty keeping up with their hurried pace. The sun reflected quite fiercely off the poweder at his feet, and the air was thin and bitter cold. Some sparsely growing trees peppered the landscape.

"You did not agree with his decision to rebel," S'maash asked.

"We agreed with his decision. We did not care for his purpose. He said it was about a free Skyrim, but we all had our doubts," Thurro interjected.

"So, you moved into the Jeralls during his rebellion?"

"Aye, and never looked back," Sigryud answered. "It is not an easy life, but it pays well and keeps us safe. Other than a few trolls or cave bears, we don't face much adversity."

The journey through Pale Pass into the town of Riften was not an easy one, but upon its completion, S'maash was glad to have time to rest. Mighty, city walls of stone were in sight.

"There it is, Riften. Once, a great city, now it is little more than a place for trouble. Keep an eye out for thieves," Sigurd stated.

The Snow-Shields didn't enter the city; they left S'maash to his adventure. Riften was surprisingly lively. He took a stroll into the market area above the ratway, an underground home to beggars, and then asked around for work. He needed coin to continue his journey to Winterhold, and he had none left. Few were willing to provide, but an old man at a forge motioned for him. The smith was a nord by the name of Balimund.

"I can always use a little help around the forge," the smith said.

S'maash accepted the offer. He liked Riften. The town was quite lively with its stone mansions and wooden homes. A waterway led out to the docks. While the elf didn't care too much for sailing, he did enjoy traipsing around town. Days of menial tasks passed by before Balimund gave away his secret.

"See, this forge is unique. Fire salts fuel its flames, thus allowing for easier manipulation of steel."

As S'maash worked the bellows, he listened to Balimund's explanation of alchemy's uses in smithing. "I had never taken alchemy as a relevant study," the elf confessed.

"You have to. I'd expect as an enchanter, you'd want to further your studies by utilizing alchemy," Balimund said.

The old man's bulky body, thick, gray hair, and gruff exterior effectively masked his intelligence. S'maash listened to him and followed up with questions.

"How would alchemy boost my enchanting?"

"I heard tales from Ingun Blackbriar; she used to study under Elgrim. She said some reagents specific to Skyrim can be mixed into a potion. When imbibed, the potion draws on the innate talent of the enchanter. I don't know the specifics. You'd have to ask at the College of Mages," Balimund said.

"Well, that's what brings me to Skyrim. What can you tell me about the College?"

"Not much, I'm afraid, but you can head there yourself. There's a carriage that comes by here. You can purchase a ride to Winterhold."

S'maash continued his work with Balimund for a week before earning enough coin to purchase that ride. At the week's end, he learned it was going to be another couple of days before the wagon came to Riften. While waiting, he found himself outside Haelga's Bunkhouse. Upon entering for the night, he realized something was off. The older, attractive woman at the counter greeted him profusely.

"Welcome, welcome to Haelga's Bunkhouse. I'm Haelga. Will you be staying all night, my young traveler," she purred.

S'maash raised an eyebrow, quizzically. "Why? Doesn't everyone stay the whole night?"

"No. Some only stay an hour or so. Very disappointing, but I don't judge. If I did…I'd judge you could stay all night."

"How much do you charge," S'maash asked.

"Is it me you want to pay? Maybe Irulia is a better fit for you?" she asked with a hand on her curvy hips.

She then motioned with her head to a voluptuous, lady, dark elf. S'maash saw her across the room. She wore lighter clothing, revealing shapely legs and other, such, feminine parts. He smiled to himself.

"Then, I will see how much she charges," he replied.

He had buried himself in his work for far too long. One night of passion was worth the ten Septims. After bedding down in the bunkhouse, he awoke well rested and ready to round out the last day before setting off to join the College of Winterhold. That Loredas lingered on.

While Skyrim was known for its cold days, Riften had been a little warmer than other establishments due to its low altitude and proximity to both Cyrodiil and Morrowind. It was certainly warmer than the Jeralls. When the Sundas morning sun rose, S'maash was all set to leave.

He went to the stables where he purchased a ride to Winterhold. The journey took almost two days, during which he learned how cold Skyrim truly was. A snowstorm brewed as they approached Windhelm, the home of Ulfric Stormcloak. S'maash kept his eyes on the surrounding view.

The ice capped mountains and blustery snowstorms were a sight to behold. The closer they came to Winterhold the more difficult it was to see. Heavy winds and thick snow obscured the vision. Skyrim's hardy horses had little difficulty pushing through, though. Late Mundas evening, S'maash arrived at his final destination.

The place was not what he had expected. Winterhold was little more than a provisions store, the Jarl's Longhouse, and an inn. At the north end of town was the enormous bridge leading to a great tower. Knowing the bridge led to the College, the elf walked past the wooden homes, and right up to the mighty arch, and the stones buried beneath the snow packed ground. An altmer woman in bluish robes stood before him.

"You seek entrance to the College of Winterhold," she asked, looking down upon him.

"Yes. I am S'maash. I wish to join and further my works on the art of enchanting," he replied.

"Hmmm. How droll. Most do not come for such…dull work," she said. "I am Faralda. I challenge those who seek entry to prove themselves worthy of joining. What can you do?" Slightly irritated by altmer demeanor, S'maash explained his research. "That means nothing to me. I need to see something. Can you even cast a spell," she asked in her most condescending tone.

"I could pop you in the chest with an ice spike if you like," he retorted.

"No need to be rude, dunmer. Just cast it over the bridge."

So he did; the crystalline shard of frozen magicka soared away. She then bid him follow her as she ignited the magickal wells along the way. The precarious bridge held great portions with no railing. S'maash carefully looked over the side as a flurry of snow blew over him. Upon reaching a large statue of a mage, she gave information regarding each section of the College.

"The Archmage, Tolfdir, will meet you in the Hall of the Elements when you are ready. It is the centermost entry. For now, I will show you to your room in the Hall of Attainment."

They both entered a large, round tower; a perfect circle of gray stone. His room, a very modest area, contained a bed, a trunk for his belongings, and scattered reagents and soul gems. He quickly unloaded what little he possessed before making his way to the Hall of the Elements.

The second tower was much like the first. The only real difference was the large practicing area in place of rooms with beds. On either side of the tower were doors leading to areas unknown. An old nord in blue robes stood before young mages, explaining the difference between alteration and illusion. His calm demeanor was a welcome respite from recent events.

"So, you see, alteration is a practical change in the flow of magick, whereas illusion is the appearance of change granted by one's control of the flow of magick," Tolfdir said.

"Reminds me of the Response to Bero's Speech," a nord boy claimed.

He had a peculiar way of speaking. While his accent was obviously nord, there was something strange about the way he accentuated his S's.

"Aye, good call Wulfbore," another nord said.

"Thank you, brother," the first boy replied.

"What's this, a prospective student? A traveler with questions, perhaps," Tolfdir asked as he approached S'maash.

The entire class turned to look. "Yes…prospective student. I have studied quite a bit in the field of enchanting. I am S'maash."

"Excellent. Settle into the class and follow along," Tolfdir instructed.

The following days passed by with little incident. S'maash met the instructors of each school. He found it odd, however, that he had come all that way to find there was no instructor for the school of enchanting. Of the instructors, a few stood out for one reason or another. The khajiit, conjuration master, J'zargo, only eyed S'maash. The illusion master was friendly enough, but S'maash had little interest in illusion.

Brelyna, a middle aged dunmer, was instructor of the school of alteration. Collete Marcene, a strange and annoying breton, taught restoration, but her constant self-judgment was a nightmare. Lastly, Faralda taught destruction, though it was a rare occurrence.

Forced to confinement after hours in the Hall of Attainment, S'maash made some friends with the students. One night, while drinking some mead with the nord brothers, he posed a question to them.

"Why is there no instructor for the school of enchanting?"

"I don't know. Far as I can tell, they don't focus on enchanting or alchemy here," Wulfgar said.

Wulfgar was taller and broader than his older brother, Wulfbore. Wulfgar also kept his thick, red, hair long and braided while Wulfbore kept his neatly trimmed.

"I heard a story of someone who used to teach here. He sought help from the Dragonborn shortly after the defeat of Alduin. Word is, he was looking into the disappearance of the dwarves, but it might just be a tale," Wulfbore explained.

"That is most intriguing. I have done some studies on the dwemer. My brother and I explored Damlzthur in Morrowind," S'maash said.

They passed the night exchanging stories of adventure. Unfortunately, no one had any answers regarding the school of enchanting.

Chapter Seven

The following morning, after further lessons in alteration provided by Brelyna, S'maash asked her for assistance. During their conversation, she decided to allow him access to her arcane enchanter and provided him with soul gems. He took to it immediately with the ancient, elven boots he had recovered from Anutwyll.

She observed him as he efficiently broke down the enchantment. First, he placed the golden boots on the table. Focusing his intent on the force of magick as it broke free from the boots, he learned they had been enchanted with the ability to muffle footsteps, something he had missed while he wore them. Once the enchantment was freed from the boots, their physical structure became unstable. They fell to pieces. He then turned to Brelyna.

"Why do some artifacts resist disenchantment?"

"If the force of the enchantment exceeds that of the arcane enchanter, it is incapable of releasing the enchantment from the item. Furthermore, if the item is held together by a powerful enchantment, the physical nature of the piece cannot be destroyed, so the enchantment can't be freed."

"A form of alteration?"

"Yes, actually; many fail to realize that enchanting is directly correlated to the school of alteration," she answered.

"I heard about a former enchanter, here. Where did he go?"

"Sergius Turrianus?" she chirped. S'maash shrugged. "He was our only instructor for the school of enchanting."

"The nords, Wulfgar and Wulfbore, said he worked with the Dragonborn."

"You must mean Arniel Gane…no one knows for certain. Weeks after his disappearance, we went through his room. There were some journals he left behind.

"It seems he and the Dragonborn had been working on some way to find the dwemer. Arniel was convinced that by using a warped soul gem he could replicate the power of Lorkhan's Heart. He then obtained Keening, a dwemer artifact. I don't know what happened after that. He simply vanished. I'm afraid the Dragonborn hasn't been seen in Skyrim for somtime, so there's no way to know just what happened…."

S'maash's heart pounded. He knew the story of how General Nerevar battled Dumac, and was familiar with the subsequent change of the chimer into the dunmer; it involved the Heart of Lorkhan, and the disappearance of the dwemer.

"Is anyone living in Arniel's room," he asked.

"No. No one wants to set foot in there. It's been twenty years, and still people are scared; nonsense, if you ask me, but I have no need to be in there."

"Do you think I could take his room?"

"I'll check with Tolfdir. If he approves, it's all yours," she said.

During the next few days, S'maash wrote his brother another letter explaining he had finally found his place in life. Next, he poured over the many, dusty tomes kept by Urag, the orc, in the Arcaeneum. The librarian's abrasive personality softened a tad once he realized the young elf was serious about reading. Finally, S'maash was given Arniel Gane's old room. With free reign over an arcane enchanter, endless soul gems, and complete silence, he engrossed himself in reading, working, and also writing down every question he came upon.

A week went by before he amassed an entire journal brimming with questions. What is the origin of the arcane enchanter? Are they ingrained with the force of alteration? Can they be amplified? How do soul gems function? Why do they shatter after use? What is it about the Star of Azura that allows it to remain in existence and subsequently refilled? For the most part, his questions remained unanswered.

While conducting studies, he also attempted to discern the nature of the gems he removed from the ayleid ruin. Brelyna, having grown close to S'maash, decided to take some time and assist in that endeavor. After crushing one gem to a fine powder, and refining it into a liquid at her alchemy table, she then ran the contents through the glass and steel apparatus. It turned out to be a solidified version of the ayleid fluid found in glowing pools, pools that were collected and crystallized into a welkynd stone.

While the ayleids had a process for speeding along the results, the liquid itself, or the liquid while in mist form, had the potential to bind and coalesce into a solid state. Only rarely and under specific conditions did the stone truly become a welkynd stone, so the ayleids refined the process through artificial means.

"So, it's just a welkynd stone in its infancy," S'maash asked her that night.

They were sitting on the edge of the well before the statue of the once great Shalidor outside the College. It appeared as though its stone robes fluttered in the wind. The moons sat perfectly atop the center of the starry sky. Brelyna, clutching her fur-lined, blue robes, peered into the darkness.

"Yes. Has there been any progress on your research?"

"Not much, truthfully, but then I did not expect to make leaps and bounds after a mere fortnight," S'maash replied.

"What will you do next?"

He looked up as he brought his thoughts together. "I want to understand why an alteration spell, such as stone flesh, doesn't permanently alter the living, while a similar enchantment, such as fortify heavy armor, permanently alters the equipment," he stated.

"Well, I can assure you, at least part of that reason has to do with the magicka reserves in a person. Equipment such as armor doesn't have a reserve of magicka," she answered.

"But weapons with charges behave as though they do and can be recharged with the same force, souls, as used to enchant…every item enchanted is infused with the living essence," S'maash's voice trailed away.

Brelyna was impressed. She had never met one so inquisitive.

"So, you think the souls have more to do with the enchantment than the effect or spell," she asked.

"If the souls—once filtered into the soul gem—adopt the same energy flux as magicka…is that what it is? It can't be just magicka; by that logic, a welkynd stone could be used to cast an enchantment. What am I missing, here?"

"Souls and magicka are different forces, though both magickal. If Sergius were still here, he might explain it a little better," Brelyna said.

"Who taught him?"

"I assume someone in Cyrodiil."

S'maash rubbed the hairless sides of his head. The bitter night's cold nipped at his ears. With a glance at Brelyna, he stood and made for the door into the Hall of Countenance. For a second, she felt rebuffed, but followed suit. Upon entering, Brelyna went to her room, beside the stairs. S'maash collapsed onto his bed, one floor above. He wanted to think, but his mind was weary. His body was not. He stared at the ceiling for a moment then closed his eyes.

Not good enough, he thought. He quickly rolled out of bed. Shock overtook him for a brief second. He thought he had seen a large, purple mass over by the arcane enchanter, but there was nothing. A mental concatenation from stress? He took a breath before brushing it off and making his way back to the Arcaeneum.

He was alone in the massive study that night. As he perused more volumes amidst the endless, wooden shelves, one caught his eye, one he had overlooked in the past.

"Twin Secrets," he said.

He decided to take it out for a read. Hoping that a topic not regarding enchanting might give him a new perspective, he was surprised to find just the opposite. Twin Secrets explained the story of a man who met a dragon. The dragon taught him how to use two enchantments at once. S'maash did not know it was possible to do such a thing, but it did explain daedric artifacts. The reasoning behind the limitation of two enchantments was physical anatomy.

Is it possible then, that because of my physical structure, I cannot create specific enchantments? Furthermore, which ones can I utilize? Obviously, the dwemer knew something…they only have two eyes, two hands, and so forth. After finishing the book, the wizard wondered if approaching a dragon was a reasonable step to undertake. There were some left, high on mountaintops, or deep underground. He laughed at the silly thought.

Two weeks passed during which he spent several hours meditating and practicing the art of dual enchanting. With some level of mastery, S'maash and Brelyna crafted items to improve her alchemy skills. She, in turn, provided him with potions to fortify enchanting. With his temporarily improved abilities, he crafted a second set of more powerful equipment for her. The cycle continued a couple of times, but they reached a limit.

He tested this limit by creating a simple ring of fortify carry weight. His best enchantment was unable to push beyond an additional forty seven stones. One, sunny day, out in the courtyard, Brelyna and some of the other students watched him amble about with an overstuffed pack on his back.

"Perhaps you should just eat more, no," Wulfgar joked.

"This is important research. My own fondness for alchemy has me intrigued," Zolara, the argonian, commented.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Tolfdir interrupted after coming upon the scene. "We're off on an expedition. There is a tome in Snow Veil Sanctum I want to recover. Along the way, I will explain the effects of overcharging conjuration spells. Who's coming?"

Zolara stayed behind to watch S'maash as well as speak to Brelyna about some alchemy studies on which he was working. The rest made their trip with Tolfdir. The elf, exhausted, fnally dropped the pack on the ground.

"Is it me? Is it because I'm limited physically that I only cast limited enchantments," he asked out loud.

The two observers had no answer. In frustration, S'maash kicked the pack before making his way back to his room. There, he sat perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the arcane enchanter. I wonder…I have never read why it is that enchanting doesn't work on creatures.

"I can enchant a ring; the ring itself does not carry the weight. It is the wearer, who does. So…the ring transfers the enchantment upon the physical structure of the being. Can I skip over the ring as a medium? And what about dead creatures? Are they not as inanimate as a ring? Can they be enchanted? I have to find out."

Zolara and Brelyna were still outside when S'maash exited the tower. The two sat together as snow fell upon them. The elf was uninterested in what they were discussing, but Brelyna saw the look of angry determination in S'maash's eye.

"Wait! Where are you going," she asked.

"To get some chickens," he yelled without looking back to her.

He ran across the bridge into Winterhold. Upon stepping off the bridge, one of the guards spotted him. He wore a full helmet, covering his face, and some quilted armor to ward off the cold.

"Don't suppose you could enchant my sword? Dull old blade can barely cut butter," he said.

S'maash looked him over. "I need a chicken."

"Come again?"

"Can I take a chicken with me back to the College?"

"I suppose. There's one right over there," the guard, said pointing to a bird.

S'maash snatched it from its snowy perch and ran it back to his to room at the College. His quick pace kept him from freezing. In the room, he held the chicken on the arcane enchanter. Once the bird settled down, the elf took a soul gem and attempted to enchant the chicken with a fortify carry weight spell. S'maash learned it was not as simple a matter as he hoped.

Upon initiating the ritual, a flash of light assaulted him. A violent force immediately followed the blinding light. Before he knew it, he was knocked onto his rear. He let out a wild scream. Brelyna and Zolara heard the scream from outside. They ran to S'maash's room and found him still on his rear and covered in blood, feathers, and other bits of chicken. He looked up at them.

"S'maash," Brelyna gasped with her hands over her mouth.

He slowly came to his feet. Awkwardly, he moved his hands, wanting to clean himself.

"Cloth," he asked.

Zolara nodded before leaving.

"What happened? Are you hurt," Brelyna asked.

"It's not my blood. I…I exploded a chicken." S'maash spat feathers, looking around his room.

By the time Zolara returned with the cloth, the elf was busy trying to gather everything that had been covered in blood, feathers, and entrails, which was just about everything. Upon cleaning the room, he tried to explain his attempt at enchanting.

"That's preposterous," Brelyna said, astonished.

"Is it? I'm trying to push the boundaries. I have not read in any tome why enchanting doesn't work on creatures. I still don't know why. Perhaps I should have started with a plant," S'maash said, nipping his bottom lip.

"I think maybe you should sleep on it," Zolara suggested.

That night, he tried again with a plant. A similar situation unfolded. While S'maash utilized only a small plant, the still large explosion knocked him over again. At least that time, he was not covered in anything more than chaff and leaves.

He shook his head in exasperation before logging the results in his journal. Perhaps, I should cast the weakest form of the enchantment. That, too, yielded similar results. He scratched his head and rubbed his rear, which was growing sore from all the repeated falls.

Eventually, exhaustion settled in. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands. For a minute, he pondered over what an appropriate next step might be. Suddenly, he felt an ominous presence. Looking up revealed nothing, but S'maash maintained a leer. Confused, he left the room and peaked around. No one was in sight. At his rope's end, he decided to rest.

The following morning, he attempted something a little different. He tried to enchant one of the snow berries that grew outside the College's courtyard. It seemed as though nothing happened then the petty soul gem cracked. It fell to pieces.

S'maash gasped. Did, did it work? There was only one way to tell; he had to disenchant the snow berry. When he tried, it turned to ash. The berry had been enchanted. With wide eyes and a shakey hand, the elf logged his discovery.

He ran back into Winterhold to purchase some chicken eggs; after all, they, too, were reagents. S'maash marked each egg with a different rune to keep from confusing them. Next, he casted the most powerful fortify carry weight spell. He braced himself with the first egg; the enchantment appeared to work. They all appeared to work as all the soul gems cracked. It was only a matter of time before the eggs hatched, if the enchantment didn't kill the chick inside, and if there was, in fact, a chick inside.

During the time required for results to unfold, S'maash kept quiet about his work. Rather than divulging, he buried himself in more books, spending a great deal of time in the Arcaeneum. The massive library had more tomes than he had ever seen. One day, he struck up a peculiar conversation with Urag.

"Whatever is involved in the art of enchanting has already been established. You'd spend your time more wisely if you just listened to the instructors," Urag grumbled.

"I disagree. Have you read Twin Secrets?"

"Sure, the story of the man who learned dual enchanting from the dragon. It's just a story," Urag said.

"It isn't. I can do it." S'maash said. Urag was pensive. For a moment, he stirred in his seat. After standing, he adjusted his yellow robes then returned his gaze to S'maash. "How do you think the daedric princes make such powerful artifacts? They're simply better mages with a larger supply of magicka or a better stock of souls. souls…didn't the Dragonborn stay here for a while? I heard he worked on a project with Arniel Gane."

"Aye. What of it? They both disappeared," Urag replied.

"But he's Dragonborn, he steals dragons' souls…imagine how powerful a dragon soul is," S'maash commented.

"Dragon's resist soul trap, and if they didn't, there is no gem strong enough to hold their souls," Urag explained.

"Not even the Star of Azura?"

"You mean the Black Star. The Dragonborn helped a mage turn it into the Black Star. It is no longer connected to Azura."

S'maash was intrigued. He sat across the counter from the orc, rapping his fingers on the wood.

"Then, there's an imbalance in power, right?"

"What do you mean?" Urag sounded irritated.

"The artifacts they create…each, daedric prince, I mean. How can I explain this? They, themselves, exist in several planes, like Elder Scrolls; I read this in some of your texts. The artifacts they create differ in each plane, but because they, the princes, exist, their artifacts must exist as well," S'maash tried to elucidate.

"By Ysmir, you might be right. But so what? What does that mean?"

"Azura might craft a new Star, one to reconnect her to this plane. If she chose to do so, she might craft one powerful enough to contain dragon souls…."

"That's doubtful, but it doesn't mater; we're back to dragon's resisting soul trap."

S'maash clicked his tongue. A moment of silence passed as the two looked around at the many tomes in the Arcaeneum. S'maash welcomed the silence of the library. He felt it was more conducive to exploring thought. It was evident Urag felt similarly. Finally, they resumed their discussion.

"Well it's a thought. I know the dwemer were capable of creating great weapons like Volendrung; I'd love to hear the story of how that artifact fell into Malacath's hands. Then, you have the fact that they worked with the Heart of Lorkhan. Then, the ayleids and their mastery over light magick…I can feel it. There's more we can achieve, here," S'maash complained.

"Well, it's all too much for me. Not to mention, if Arniel was working on something similar, it did not end well for him," Urag replied.

With that, they ended their discussion. S'maash decided to read up on Azura. He discovered what was needed to summon her. During his search to gather what he needed, one of the chicks hatched. The others did not, so he put his endeavor with Azura on hold to run tests with his new chick. He marked the new chicken with a green band around its right leg.

The initial test to be documented involved the chicken's ability to pull a bag of small stones. He compared the results to similar chicks he purchased in town. The store bought chicks were much weaker. Proud of his great finding, he decided to retry a former experiment.

Again, he attempted a weak enchantment on a store bought baby chick. His reasoning was that the chick was still in its infancy, and as such, it had not yet solidified its magickal nature. He was mistaken. The little bird burst into a bloody mess, knocking him on his rear again. In a fit of rage, S'maash kicked the furniture around the room, which drew the attention of Tolfdir, who had recently returned from another trip with the students.

Upon finding S'maash in a rage, and covered in blood, the old nord flew off the handle. "What's this? Are you practicing necromancy?"

"What? No!" S'maash started.

"Silence. I will not tolerate this. Your entire room is covered in blood. I kept quiet before to see what might transpire. This is the third time you've desecrated a living creature!"

"Please, I can explain," S'maash begged.

"No. You are here by expelled from the Winterhold College of Mages. Take your belongings and leave at once," Tolfdir ordered.

The young elf's heart sank. His stomach churned knots, and then he sighed as he looked around the room. In resignation, he shook his shoulders.

"I need to find something quickly then I will go." It took the elf a moment to sift through the junk he had strewn about. Tossing around pieces of wooden furniture and ragged bed sheets, he located his journal and handed it to Tolfdir. "Everything is in there. I hope you'll see you've made a mistake," S'maash said.

The old man's face remained grim, yet he took the book. He watched S'maash gather the remainder of his belongings from his trunk. Still bloodied, the elf took a look at the room. Then, he turned and left. In disbelief, he trudged from the tower to the courtyard, from the courtyard to the bridge, from there, into Winterhold.

It was late, a snowstorm brewed in the southern horizon, and the lights in the night sky danced in a dizzying array. Before exiting the town, S'maash stopped a guard.

"What is it? Dragons," the guard asked.

"Where do mages go when they leave Winterhold?"

"Kicked out of the College eh? What, you practice necromancy," the guard inquired.

"They think so, but no, I don't. I'm not overly familiar with Skyrim. I have only been here and in Riften," S'maash replied.

The guard carefully scrutinized the elf. His robes were still stained with blood. Then, he glared.

"I think it best you find your own way, dunmer."

S'maash shook his head in desperation. He knew he needed to find a place to work while he hoped Tolfdir read over his journal and realized the misunderstanding. Work was not easy to come by, at least not work allowing him the time he needed to conduct more studies, so he followed the road south into Windhelm, south into a blizzard.

Chapter Eight

The freezing wind had turned brutal, forcing the traveler to take shelter in Stillborn Cave. Thoughts of what might come next plagued the elf. He had no desire to plunge into the cave's depths, so he simply waited for the storm to pass. Fearing some kind of animal attack kept him awake the entire time. More hours passed, and S'maash started a new journal. In it, he scrawled his story from the beginning, which came from watching Rosoleola disenchant a necklace years ago.

As he continued scribing, he touched on his trip into Damlzthur, Anutwyll, and finally the misunderstanding at the College of Winterhold. Once the storm passed, S'maash continued his journey towards Windhelm. Early morning frost covered the ground.

Signs posted beside the paved road indicated the town was relatively close. With the storm gone, and daylight beginning to cascade over mountainsides, S'maash saw the ancient, stone walls of Windhelm from a distance. He arrived in the middle of the day. It snowed again, albeit lightly.

Upon entering the magnificent city, he saw some dunmer and approached an old, dark elf with long, gray hair. "Excuse me. I'm passing through, looking for work and a place to continue my studies on the arcane arts. Is it possible you could guide me in the right direction?"

"Of course. I'm Faryl. I work on Hollyfrost farm, have for a long time. We could use a hand, I'm not the young mer I used to be," Faryl stated.

They struck up a conversation regarding crops, the weather, and recent events. For over a week, S'maash helped with the crops outside the walls of Windhelm, only entering the city for drinks at the New Gnisis Corner Club. Quaint hospitality reminded him of home. The rundown interior reminded him of his own house; after all, the establishment was little more than a wooden room, three stories tall.

His new job didn't pay much, but S'maash was able to formulate new ideas, new projects worth pondering. He also learned that Whiterun was the center trade hub for all of Skyrim. Once he had earned enough pay for a carriage ride, he moved on.

During the short ride, the elf was educated on Ulfric Stormcloak's rise to the seat of High King. Stories of bravery and bloodshed painted Ulfric as a hero, a charismatic man of power and action. The cart master insinuated the Dragonborn also shared a hand in Ulfric's victory against General Tullius. The nord's story ended with a threat from the Aldmeri Dominion.

"Your kind has plans to rule Tamriel," the nord accused.

"My kind," S'maash was insulted.

"Elves."

"High elves, and only a small sect. My quest for knowledge has nothing to do with usurping power," S'maash stated, bluntly. "Besides, I'm a dark elf."

"Perhaps. We've arrived, dark elf."

S'maash hopped off the back of the cart then looked at the walls surrounding Whiterun. Nord architecture was designed for strength more than beauty. Apart from Winterhold, walls had surrounded the other cities he had visited, too. These nords are very protective, aren't they…?

Beyond the doors of Whiterun, S'maash passed by a smithy. Some townsfolk and guards walked around, all too busy to pay heed to a newcomer. Walking the streets, pushing past scores of people of all races, he stumbled onto the door of The Bannered Mare.

The homes and buildings of Whiterun were constructed of the finer, regional wood. The subtle beauty of unrefined logs provided an air of prominence. Inside the tavern, S'maash saw the city's dwellers feasting and drinking. It did not appear as though any regime change had come about too recently.

"Take a seat, or stoke the fire if you're cold," A woman said from behind the counter.

S'maash sat across from her. Behind him, a fire pit with large logs kept the tavern comfortably warm. The woman introduced herself as Hulda. While aged, she was still very beautiful. Her sharp features, dark eyes, and chestnut hair accentuated her former youth.

"Greetings. I'm from…out of town, but looking for employment. I was told Whiterun was the center of trade for all of Skyrim," S'maash commented.

"Aye. By your looks, I'd wager you're a mage for hire," the woman said.

S'maash was a little uneasy. He was not sure why she mistook him for a mercenary.

"Not quite, no. I have traveled a bit. Any work in the field of magick would be a welcome change from harvesting crops, though."

"The court wizard is always running errands; rather, he is always too busy to run his own errands. You might want to check with him," she advised.

S'maash smiled. She, too, rolled her R's as many of the nords did. He was starting to take a liking to the people of Skyrim, even with his current trepidations, yet learning of a powerful wizard—the Jarl's court wizard—took precedence over making new friends, so S'maash decided to ask for some more information on him.

"Farengar Secret-Fire is his name. No one has seen much of him recently," Hulda stated.

The young adults of Whiterun overheard the conversation. They told stories of the Dragonborn, and how he trapped the mighty dragon, Odahviing, in Dragonsreach. Apparently, Secret-Fire had managed to elicit quite the story of how he was right beside the Dragonborn and even managed to collect some samples of blood and scale. Intrigued by the stories, S'maash ventured to Dragonsreach to meet with Secret-Fire.

Along the way, he jogged past a grand tree with pretty, lilac flowers. Next, he had to climb the innumerable steps leading up to a massive, wooden palace. Immense arches of rich browns adorned the entry way. Dragonsreach's interior was more of the same nord design as the rest of Whiterun. The peaceful area housed large tables heavy with food and mead as well as thick pillars with supporting arches.

S'maash asked the guard for the court wizard and was directed to a small room on the right hand side of palace. Upon entering, he was surprised to meet an old mage in black robes with the demeanor of an altmer.

"No doubt you've heard of my great research," Secret-Fire asked.

Like the young mage, Wulfbore, Secret-Fire spoke with the oddly accentuated S's.

"I heard from some of the townsfolk, yes. I needed to see you. I once read a tome called Twin Secrets, it–"

"Of course, you have, and I'm familiar with the story. You came to see me because you wish to learn about dragons. I'm not sure you could grasp my theories. You'd be better off studying at the College. They're known to accept novice mages," he spat.

S'maash laughed. "You should hear my theories, old man."

"Is that so," Farengar asked, slightly taken aback.

"I was kicked out of the College for reason's I won't go in to. The short of it is simple, Farengar; I'm convinced I can change the course of the art of enchanting, but without use of the College's resources, I have to find someone somewhere willing to lend a hand. I understand you don't owe me that opportunity. Nevertheless, I hope to have a discussion with you. If you'll be so kind as to hear me out, I'm sure a brilliant mage such as yourself will be intrigued." S'maash explained.

He had planned on buttering up Secret-Fire a bit in order to persuade him into listening. It was not the compliments that convinced Farengar, though; it was the look in S'maash's eyes, the same look the Dragonborn had possessed.

"I'm in the middle of important work. Why don't you return tomorrow morning?" Farengar suggested.

"Very well. I'll be here once the sun rises."

S'maash left the Jarl's palace for the town. With nothing else to do, he strolled about, listening to the cheery pitches of salesmen in the town market. The next portion of his plan involved the smith, anyway. Before the evening sun set, he approached an old woman who was pounding away at steel beside the forge. She was engrossed in her work.

"Excuse me," S'maash asked.

"Looking to protect yourself, or deal some damage?"

"Neither," he replied.

"Then, off with you, dark elf, I don't have time to waste."

"Apologies. I just wanted to price some iron ingots."

"Ah," she said and stood. "I'm Adrianne."

"S'maash."

"My ingots go for about twenty Septims a piece," she informed him.

He looked over her hard face and wrinkles. She had to be close to sixty. S'maash was impressed by how fervently she worked.

"I see," he said.

"You don't look like a smith," she added.

"No, I'm an enchanter. Farengar and I will be conducting some experiments…I hope."

"Mm hmm. I never had much patience for that one. A bit arrogant if you ask me."

"Like an altmer," S'maash smiled.

They continued speaking for a while longer. He let her know he had only just arrived in town and didn't know how long he was going to stay. In turn, she gave him a brief history including clan Gray-Mane's rise to power. S'maash learned that Thorald Gray-Mane, the eldest child, had inherited the throne. It originally belonged to a man named Balgruuf, but after the Stormcloak invasion, the Gray-Manes sided with Ulfric. Vignar then took the throne from Balgruuf. His nephew, Thorald, who had originally fled Skyrim with his brother, returned once Vignar took the throne.

After the history lesson, S'maash retired to the Temple of Kynareth. He had no money left, and the kindly caretaker, Danica, let him stay the night free of charge, so long as helped with some chores the following morning. There were no wounded men to heal, so S'maash performed some lighter, cleaning duties. When the sun rose, he made his way back to Dragonsreach. Farengar was in his quarters, mincing ingredients.

"Ah, returned for our discussion then," he asked.

"Yes. I'd like to begin by thanking you for the opportunity. Now, I'll keep my explanation concise. I have been practicing the art of enchanting for a long time. I started back in Morrowind. Growing tired of the common enchantments, I decided to learn as much as I could from our old tomes in L'Thu Oad. Naturally, I came across mention of daedric artifacts and dwemer artifacts. I had to know, why were they so much more potent? Why could those artifacts not be disenchanted? I was told to shut my mouth and keep doing my duties.

"Ultimately, it was no longer enough for me. I had to learn the truth. I opted for an expedition through Damlzthur. My brother and some of his guildmates helped me, but we failed to discover anything. Returning to the Mages' Coalition, I received only jeers and scoffing. My brother's words persuaded me to continue my search for knowledge, so I packed up and moved to Cyrodiil.

"There, I knew I could explore the ayleid ruins. After all, their studies suggested that light was the truest form of magick. Since I had never dealt with a light based enchantment, I decided I might have better luck in an ayleid ruin as opposed to a picked clean dwemer ruin, so I hired some protection for another expedition. From a man called Barbas, I learned about the College of Winterhold.

"Had I not been beaten badly by rogues in Cyrodiil, I might have stayed, but the lure of endless resources and like minds pulled me to Skyrim. I successfully joined the College and made some advancements. After some miscommunication, it was believed I had been practicing necromancy. I was not. Nevertheless, I was expelled," S'maash explained.

Farengar listened attentively, though he never looked up from his work. "Yes, there has been quite the problem with necromancy here in Skyrim. Some three or four years ago, a new cult emerged from the old, Forsworn territories. I assure you, anyone who may so much as think you're a necromage might simply kill you on the spot."

"Well…then, I can better understand why Tolfdir made such a quick decision," S'maash stated.

"So, why do you come here," Secret-Fire huffed.

"I have theories. For instance, and I think you'll be intrigued, a blade cannot be enchanted to resist fire. A set of boots cannot be enchanted to deal fire damage, but why? Is it not just steel? Can one not kick with boots as one slashes with blade? Furthermore, is it not the wielder of the equipment who benefits from the enchantment? A ring of waterbreathing does not breathe water, the wearer does. And further…furthermore, can you not cast a flame cloak spell, essentially wearing the flame to deal damage without so much as warming your own skin?

"I believe there are many advancements in the art of enchanting yet to be made. Most recently I read–"

"That man and mer may cast two enchantments upon one item, yes, and I believe you hold some exceptional questions, but I regress to my original question. Why have you come here?"

"I heard you worked with the Dragonborn. My theories dealing with soul absorption give rise to questions only you might know the answers to. I also heard you performed some experiments with a dragon. I need to learn about them. It was a dragon, after all, who gave the twin secret," S'maash explained.

Farengar paused, finally looking from his work. S'maash was unable to see his eyes. They were hidden by the man's hood.

"Indeed. I have learned much over the past few years. Doubtless I'm the most advanced mage of my time," he said, unabashedly.

"Then, why not teach at the College?"

"Why should I? I won't waste my time with the impetuous youth. No, it is someone such as yourself, devoted and focused, I have been waiting for. I will help you, yet I have my own, important experiments.

"So, tell me what you need, whenever you need it. If I think I can help, I will. I may also be sending you to run errands for me as I am very busy. In fact, I have one for you right now.

"I've been working with mammoth tusk powder. I learned of it from the Dragonborn who used it to help some alchemist in Windhelm years ago, but I have run low on supplies. Take this coin purse. Find a courier and give him this letter. It's for Quintus in Windhelm. He should be able to send some powder my way. When you come back, I will help you with whatever your first step might be. Now, off with you," Farengar said.

S'maash felt a little rebuffed by Farengar's demeanor, but it was truly no different than Rosoleola's. Moreover, he felt a rush of energy, hoping that Farengar was true to his word. Immediately, he left to find a courier. Whiterun, being a trading hub, was home to the couriers' office. S'maash found the building between Belethor's General Goods and Arcadia's Cauldron. Upon entering, he saw a young imperial behind the counter. Several crates of letters and packages sat behind him.

"Welcome to the couriers' central office. Need to ship something," the young man asked, eagerly.

"Farengar sent me with this letter for Quintus in Windhelm, and here's the payment for delivery and purchase of the items on the list." S'maash said, handing everything over.

"Excellent," the imperial replied as he scanned the letter. "We'll have the letter delivered for you within two days, then a few days to have everything shipped back if Quintus responds promptly."

S'maash thanked the courier then returned to Farengar. "It's done," the old mage asked.

"Yes."

"Excellent. Now what will you need?"

"As I've stated, enchantments on inanimate objects can take hold, but there seems to be a discrepancy on what kind of enchantment can be placed on specific items. I want to see if I can cast resist fire on an iron ingot and have it pounded into a weapon, allowing the wielder to draw upon the enchantment," S'maash stated.

"So, what do you want from me," Farengar asked as he sat at his desk flipping through parchment.

"The funds to purchase an ingot. Adrianne said they're twenty Septims each…."

Farengar was silent for a moment. He continued searching for something then sighed before answering.

"I suppose I can give you payment for your task. Fine," he said as he rose from the desk. He then gave S'maash some coin. Promptly, he left to purchase the ingot, after which, he returned to Farengar, but said nothing. Instead, he stood, looking at the mage. "What is it? My patience is wearing thin," Farengar barked.

"I need a soul gem."

"You get one for now."

S'maash accepted the petty soul gem and set to his task. Casting the enchantment was easy enough. Afterwards, the gem shattered.

"Good. What is your next step?"

"I'll take it back to Adrianne to see if she can forge a blade."

"Best of luck," Farengar replied, facetiously.

S'maash wondered about a possible veiled connotation in the mage's reply, but left for the smith; it was starting to get late. The wind was also quite chilly, nipping at his ears.

"I have work to do, dark elf, but I'll see what I can manage. I am intrigued by your thoughts. Come back tomorrow afternoon. I should have a conclusion for you," she told him.

Satisfied, S'maash wondered where to stay for the night. He decided to return to Dragonsreach and ask Farengar.

"Must I provide you with everything?" Farengar heaved.

"Apologies, but I thought we were undertaking this task together."

"Don't be ridiculous. This is your endeavor, not mine, but I will speak to Thorald. He may be inclined to let you stay here for the night," Farengar said. He then left S'maash alone, but returned later with good news. "He says that so long as we don't burn the palace down, you can stay. There are some beds the servants use down stairs. Go talk to them."

S'maash slept in Dragonsreach's basement for the night. The following morning, he rose to meet with Farengar, who had a new task for him.

"While I await delivery, I need you to obtain something. I've heard of a tome called The Black Arts on Trial, Revised Edition, a powerful illusionist, long since dead, might be in possession of it. My research keeps me busy, so I don't have time to acquire it myself. Go to Brood Cavern and retrieve it for me," Farengar ordered.

"But I'm supposed to get my results from Adrianne today."

"That's too bad. Perhaps, I'll get the results for you, but it isn't likely. You may simply tell her to hold off on your project. Go now. There isn't time to waste."

S'maash—making his way out of Dragonsreach—thought about how the illusionist was long since dead. He didn't understand what Secret-Fire meant by that, but then he reached Adrianne's workshop. She was working at the tanning rack.

"Excuse me," S'maash started.

"I haven't gotten to it yet, dunmer. I only just arrived at my forge," she grumbled.

"Of course. I just wanted to let you know Farengar sent to me to retrieve something, so you can take all the time you need."

"Very well."

Promtply, he left for Brood Cavern. It was a windy day, not overly cold. During his travel, northwest of the city, he heard wolves howling in the distance. Fearing the worst, he overcharged an oak flesh spell in preparation. A wavering glow of light wrapped his form. As the cave came into view, a small pack of brown wolves descended from the hills. They circled him. Without so much as flinching, he brought two frostbite spells to his hands.

As the first wolf attacked, the other two ran behind him. S'maash struck the first wolf head-on with a perpetual blast of frozen magick. It died within seconds, but the other two bit at his back and legs, dragging him to the ground. Oak flesh kept him from serious injury, but the bites were still painful. Grunts of pain and rage escaped his lips as he pointed a palm at each wolf. Seconds later, they, too, were dead, frozen over. As a trophy, and testament to his victory, he took their pelts. A gift for Adrienne.

He proceeded inside Brood Cavern. It was quite dark. Candle light revealed rough rock formations. To his surprise, there were many mushrooms growing all about the ground. As he journeyed cautiously, he stopped to pick several of them; fly amanita, Namira's rot, blisterwort; most of them he found unfamiliar; either they didn't grow in Morrowind, or he had simply never come across them.

There wasn't much in the way of danger in the cave- some skeever. The large, filthy, rats were easily defeated. After blasting them with frost, he took their tails. Then, following the cave walls to a wooden door, he overheard voices. People were discussing treasure. Someone was arguing about there being nothing of value in the cave. Footsteps came towards the door, so the elf tried to hide, luckily his candle light spell died out just in time.

The door creaked opened and two men walked out. It was difficult to tell from where they hailed. One of the men was covered in steel plate, obviously the leader. The other man was wearing furs and carrying a large hammer on his back. They both walked in the direction of the cave's entrance. Slowly, S'maash approached the door. Hearing no more voices, he decided to peek in. It was a makeshift camp with tables, chairs, food and other, miscellaneous items. Thinking back to his beating in Anutwyll, he scrutinized the door at the far end and assumed it led deeper into the cave where likely the tome lay undiscovered.

It never ceased to amaze him how bandits or treasure hunters always overlooked books as treasure. He hoped those men had overlooked it as well. Before opening the second door, S'maash pilfered a coin purse, a minor healing potion, and a silver necklace. He then made his way through the second door. Suddenly, he realized he might have to journey back through the previous room. Guess I'll deal with that when I have to….

With the door secured behind him, he stood in the darkness. There was no alternative at that point, so he casted another light spell. The magick revealed a narrow corridor. It proceeded at a steep, descending angle. S'maash took a breath before pushing on.

Colorful mushrooms grew form the rocky ground near the walls. He carefully collected more samples on his way down. After rounding some corners, he came across thick webbing. He did not care for spiders and cringed at the thought.

Rustling was barely audible beyond where he stood. He listened attentively then took a step, listened some more then walked further. Rounding another corner, he saw what was creating the sound- a lone spider, a very large, lone spider. There was no way to bypass the creature, as it was nearly as wide as the corridor. Fearing a venomous bite, S'maash casted oak flesh again and prepared for a fight.

He took a long breath, swallowed hard, and then ducked to better aim ice spikes. First, he fired one from his left hand then the right. Both shards of glistening, frozen magick hit the spider, but it turned, saw its assailant, and charged. Realizing ice magick had little effect, the wizard switched to flames. The billowing, fire magick burned the spider to a crisp. The stench was awful, but danger was averted.

Exhaling as the adrenaline passed, the elf examined his environment. Egg sacs filled the room, nasty white globs formed from the spider's webbing, or so it seemed. S'maash managed to recover a handful of green, speckled, spider eggs. Momentarily, he thought back to his chicken, but quickly shook himself from reverie; he was ready to delve deeper into the cave and locate the mysterious book.

A rocky corridor eventually led to a dead end. He looked carefully at the wall before him. Reaching out, he felt a barely distinguishable seam. Hidden door? S'maash observed the surroundings thoroughly. Behind him, on the right hand wall was a small handle built into the rock. He pulled it out then turned it. The sound of stone scraping against stone assaulted his ears. A new path was revealed after a segment of stone sank into the ground.

It was a very short path; the few paces led S'maash into a burial chamber. A skeleton was heaped in a lidless tomb. He peeked over the edges of the casket. There was nothing inside but bones, so he searched the room. Some burial jars lined one wall. A rotted shelf with ruined books lined another. A few linen wraps and stamina potions were readily available. Then, something caught his eye.

He knelt by some larger stones piled up on the ground. He pushed them away, revealing a broken chest. Inside, he found the illusion book, some Septims, and an old, fur armor. Not wishing to leave anything behind, he took everything of value, including the contents of the burial jars. Once he was ready to leave, he had acquired a steel dagger, more potions, and more, gold coins. Finally, he left the room for an unexplored corridor.

The narrow, rocky hallway seemed to go on without end. It constantly curved in one direction then the other. It also proceeded at a slight, but noticible, incline. After an hour of walking, S'maash saw light. He ventured forth. The corridor spat him out into the hills. He had been successful and escaped unharmed. Satisfied, and under the orange glow of a setting sun, he returned to Farengar.

Chapter Nine

It was early morning in Whiterun. The sun had yet to rise. Dewy droplets fell from rooves as S'maash traveled to Dragonsreach. Before entering Farengar's study, he snatched a sweet roll off the large table in the palace's dining room. The court wizard was already working over the arcane enchanter.

"Made it back in one piece, I see," he said.

"I recovered your tome."

"Excellent, let's have it."

Frowning, the elf found it odd that he wasn't able to get a read on the strange wizard. He never allowed for eye contact. Even when he turned his head, his eyes were covered by his black robe's thick hood.

Farengar placed the book on the enchanter. As S'maash observed him, he saw the wizard sort of rifle through the pages. After only ten or so seconds, he tossed the book aside.

"Did you read this," he asked.

"No. I ran it here as fast as I could. Did you read it?" S'maash was surprised.

"Sometimes, I forget average people lack the ability to absorb knowledge at a decent rate. Forgive me," Farengar said. S'maash grumbled. Even his apologies are insults, he thought. "I suppose you expect some kind of payment. There's a coin purse on the table behind me. It's yours. You may also want to read the tome when you have the time."

At first, S'maash remained silent. He took the purse and looked inside. He figured it was close to twenty Septims.

"So, that's it," S'maash asked.

"You expected more gold?"

"No, I meant; there isn't anything else you need?" the elf clarified.

"Not at this moment, no."

"I'm going to rest for a bit then. Once I wake, I'll check with Adrianne for results," S'maash said.

As S'maash turned to leave, he heard Farengar speak. "Don't be overly optimistic. Our first projects usually yield very little knowledge."

"What does that mean?"

"It means…best of luck."

He was too tired to care about more, veiled insults, and instead, he shuffled off to sleep in the basement. Mere hours later, he woke up. His mind had been overly preoccupied with obtaining results, so he left for Whiterun. As usual, Adrianne was hard at work outside her shop. Waves of heat wafted off the forge.

"How did it turn out," S'maash asked.

"Not well, I'm afraid. Your ingot shattered," she said with both hands on her hips.

"Shattered? I didn't expect that," S'maash said to himself.

"Care to buy another, and try again?"

He mulled it over. "No. Thank you."

Disappointed, he went back to Farengar. A nagging feeling gave him the impression the wizard knew something. Chilly wind blew through his hair during the quick jog.

"Failure, eh," Farengar asked, still bent over the worktable.

"How did you know?"

"It's simple, really; like any, enchanted item—be it ring, blade, or ingot—once external forces are applied to a point causing an effect to the item in question, it shatters before changing. Magickal fire—or fires of a forge—affect items similarly. Even a master smith cannot alter an enchanted item's structural physicality," Farengar explained.

"How come they can sharpen blades then?!"

Huffing and shaking his head as though the explanation was an ordeal, Farengar returned to his work, yet S'maash demanded an answer. "A sharpened blade is still a blade."

"Why did you let me carry this experiment out? You could have told me this was all a waste of time!"

"Watch your tone. It was not a waste of time. Think about who you are, and what you've told about yourself. How many people have told you, you could not accomplish something? Did you try anyway?"

S'maash sighed before responding, "Yes, I did…."

"There you are, so what will you try next?"

"I was running some tests on chickens back at the College. After a horrible accident, I succeeded in casting fortify carry weight on an egg. I succeeded with a total of six. One hatched. I was able to verify my success by tying a small sack with ten, small stones to its leg. That chick was the only one capable of pulling the sack."

Farengar stopped what he was doing. He did not turn his head, but was definitely intrigued.

"So…I recovered some spider eggs from Brood Cavern. I was thinking of picking up where I left off…although, there would be giant spiders running about if I commenced here," S'maash added with a nervous chuckle.

"I once heard of a mage who experimented on frostbite spiders," Farengar started. "He was able to enchant them with the forces of fire, ice, and lightning. I think the Dragonborn killed him, but I can't be certain."

"Truly? So…it can work? There is a way to enchant ourselves? Think of the possibilities," S'maash rambled.

"Calm yourself," Farengar huffed. "Yes, I think there is a way, but it only functions when dealing with creatures that hatch from eggs."

"But why," S'maash asked, disappointed.

"Because it is not truly alive until it has hatched, though some might argue differently. When dealing with mammals, such as you, or I, or bears, or cats, there is no way to cast the enchantment on their un-birthed young," Farengar explained.

"I see…even though spells like oak flesh work? I guess it's a temporary change though…then my next endeavor will be…."

"Your next endeavor will be to locate one of Shalidor's Insights."

"What is that?"

"Books left behind by Shalidor. I'm sure you've heard of him. He was one of the founders of the College of Winterhold and Archmage during the first era. I believe there is one, specific book we require, but you're going to have to travel somewhere dangerous.

"You can choose to forego this adventure if your mettle is lacking. I am prepared to provide compensation before your journey, if you so choose to embark. I hope you accept. I can assure you, both of us will gain from this knowledge," Farengar enticed.

"Where am I going, and how dangerous is it?"

"Labyrinthian, and very. You can ask me for just about anything. This is a most dangerous mission."

Squinting, the elf wracked his brain. With his skill as an enchanter, and Farengar's supplies, he knew enchanting his equipment in a manner to keep safe was paramount.

"All I need is some filled soul gems and a some standard equipment to enchant."

"Very well. You have access to my stock then. How will you use them?"

S'maash showed him. He started with a ragged cap. Upon the brown cap, he placed two enchantments, one of fortify destruction and one of fortify restoration. He repeated those same enchantments on a silver ring, silver necklace, and the fur armor he had recovered from his latest expedition. On a pair of fur boots, he placed two enchantments as well, one was muffle, the other, fortify sneak. On a pair of leather bracers, he placed two enchantments, one of fortify sneak and one of fortify one handed. He then took a hide shield. Upon the shield, he casted fortify block and resist magick. Lastly, he took an imperial sword, upon which he casted fiery soul trap and frost damage.

"That is excellent work. I suppose you'll want to take some empty soul gems with you?"

"If you're willing," S'maash replied.

"So, you can handle yourself with blade and shield," Farengar asked as he handed over some empty soul gems.

"Not particularly, no…but I might as well learn," the elf chuckled.

Before undertaking the monumental task, Farengar gave S'maash some food, water, potions, and marked his map. "There are different paths into Labyrinthian. It'll be easier to use the same routes some of the caravaneers use. Once you've arrived, you'll need to follow a particular path into a burial chamber. Unfortunately, even I don't know which one. Best of luck…try to come back alive."

S'maash nodded, packed his belongings, sheathed his blade, placed his shield on his back, and made for Labyrinthian. His fortification enchantments allowed him to utilize his destruction and restoration without so much as tapping an ounce of his magicka reserves, so the sword and shield were just for emergency. Delighted to be on a journey for knowledge, he stepped out of Whiterun. Outside the stables, he hired a cart master for a ride to Morthal, going back the way he journeyed when going to Brood Cavern.

"Going to Morthal then," the nord asked.

"Actually, I need to go to Labyrinthian, so you can drop me off on your way to Morthal," S'maash clarified.

"Climb on back," the nord stated.

S'maash hopped on the cart and began a discussion. "The Jarl's wizard tells me Labyrinthian is dangerous."

"You mean you don't know about it?"

"I've prepared as best I can. Farengar wants to protect his investment, I'm certain," S'maash answered.

"Never met that one, the Jarl's wizard; I heard tale he was half crazy…."

"He's not so bad, just involved in his work…whatever it is."

"Aye."

The bumpy cart ride turned off the paved road and onto a beaten path. Hours passed by during their discussions. As they spoke of Whiterun, the other holds, and Skyrim's history, the sun set and cold winds blew. A little snow drifted about aimlessly. By early morning, before the sun rose, the nord stopped his cart.

"You'll want to get off here and follow the mountains. You'll find the entrance your wizard marked for you. Be careful in there."

Once the cart was out of sight, S'maash followed the instructions. He came upon some ruined arches and what looked like a cave-in in the side of the base of a cliff. He carefully approached the darkened area and considered the information the nord had given regarding the ancient keep. With a candle light spell, he saw an opening through which he promptly wriggled. That led inside a cave. Several, ancient, stone statues depicting large heads laid broken throughout.

Taking a breath to steady his mind and prepare for danger, S'maash closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders, and then began his new adventure. Slowly, he explored, picked mushrooms, examined statues, and so on. Eventually, he reached a dead end, but a quick inspection of the surroundings, yielded a pull chain hanging from a wall. It was covered in dust and cobwebs. He cleared them and tugged it, but it was rusted stuck, so the elf braced one foot against the stone wall to pull with all his might. The chain came loose. Stone scraped against stone, and a new path was revealed. S'maash entered Labyrinthian.

Chapter Ten

S'maash scrutinized the ancient, nord carvings. He wondered why Shalidor's Insights were located in such an ominous place. The ruins appeared much older than Shalidor, meaning either the former Archmage had settled in Labyrinthian, or his works were moved to their current location for further study, yet it was irrelevant; he was there to retrieve the insights.

S'maash did his best to skulk about. With his enchanted equipment, he made no sounds as he stepped over rubble. Slowly, he descended the depths of Labyrinthian. After rounding a corner, he saw his first obstacle, a lone skeleton with an ancient, nord, great sword in hand; the wicked blade was rusted over. The creaking of bones was unnerving. S'maash watched it for a second. Blasted undead.

Knowing skeletons were generally weak, the dark elf held hands poised for an overcharged fire bolt spell. He let it fly across the room. The orange ball of magickal fire lit up the area before crashing into his adversary. The skeleton was blown to little bony bites. S'maash dusted his hands on his armor and bobbed his head a bit in a jaunty manner. Simple enough.

He creapt over to the smoldering bones and pushed them around with his boot. With plenty of time, and no more enemies, he was free to gaze about the massive room. A steel grate sat at the center. The walls were lined with black tombs. Rotted shelving lined the far wall. There wasn't much else to see, but there was certainly more to trek.

The elf pressed on, skulking. Moments of silence eased by before he entered a new area, a roughly hewn corridor. It was very tall and carved from the native, brown stone. In both sides were nooks; housings for the dead. S'maash cautiously observed one of the mummified corpses. It appeared desiccated. Otherwise, it was fairly intact.

The ancient nord wore rotted, leather equipment with bits of rusted steel protecting vitals. Suddenly, it shifted as it let out a groan. S'maash jumped in the air from surprise. The draugr came to stand with an ebony, war axe in hand; magicka radiated from cold, blue, undead eyes.

"Back to Oblivion, creature," S'maash yelled and fired another, overcharged, fire bolt.

The draugr was staggered upon impact, but quickly recovered, charged forwards, and swung wildly. The burning of magickal fires obscured the draugr's sight, though, making it easy for S'maash to duck from blows. Still, the dunmer received a slash unto the shield on his back. The impact sent him straight to the ground. He scrambled away to the other wall and let loose a fire bolt from each hand. The draugr burst into flames then fell to a knee. It died…again.

The clamor of battle had drawn the attention of other draugr in the long hallway, and they came barreling in, brandishing their ancient weapons. With little time to spare, the elf casted iron flesh with one hand and flame cloak with the other. Soon as he did, spurts of magickal flame danced around his being. The draugr did their best to deal damage, but S'maash back peddled as he poured out gouts of flames from his fists. Two draugr fell, but one kept the pressure coming.

It held an ancient, nord sword in one hand while firing ice bolts from the other. The bald, bearded, brute then yelled at the top of its lungs.

"Fus Roh Da," echoed in a breathy shout.

The beast's voice was so potent it rocked S'maash, causing him not only to stumble, but to lose concentration, effectively breaking his spell. By the time he recovered, the draugr white was on him, slashing away. His weapon had a slight hook at the tip of the blade, resulting in moderate damage every time he swung.

The elf took a severe bruising from the potent draugr. After a slash cut the hair from his head, S'maash drew his sword. Fear gripped his heart, but rage gripped his fists.

He swung madly at first. The swings nearly took all his breath, but the assailant was brought to a knee, which provided the wizard an opportunity to snatch his shield. He brought it across his enemy's jaw from his left, edgewise. With a swing back from his right, he brought the broad side of the shield across the monster's face. With a final, overhead blow from his sword, S'maash killed his opponent, who glowed purple for just a second; the soul trap spell had taken effect, filling one, black soul gem.

The elf sat to catch his breath. He had never struggled physically so much in his life. In a way, he understood why his brother and his friends loved being a part of the Reyda Tong, yet the battle had been no joking matter. He shook his head, put his weapons away, and held his hands up to dual cast healing. Seconds later, his wounds were numb then gone. He pressed forwards.

The long trip through the enormous burial hall yielded little, though S'maash did manage a few Septims and potions from the burial jars and urns. Eventually, the tiring trip forced him to break before a large, wooden door. Most of the rich browns of the wood had faded over the years to a dusty gray. Minutes passed wherein S'maash ate, drank, and relieved himself. Refreshed, he pushed the doors open. A set of spiraling, wooden steps led the way down. Cautiously, he followed them into unknown depths.

The staircase led into another cave-like area similar to the entrance. Stone heads were carved into the high walls. Several, ancient posts held the hewn rock in position. Braziers burned brightly. S'maash looked upon them; they had the look of being freshly lit. Slowly, he skulked onwards. The new area proved to be disorienting. Many twists, turns, and burial chambers caused him some confusion.

He spotted a draugr white in an alcove, and watched how it awkwardly stepped down and opened its eyes. The blue glow of unlife honed in on the elf. S'maash huffed in exasperation.

With his hands at the ready, the dark elf fired several ice spikes. They did well enough to slow his opponent's momentum; the draugr white had yards yet to cover before reaching the wizard, but it yelled.

"Fus Roh Da!"

S'maash was staggered by its incomprehensible effect. Freshly thawed, the monster charged with a steel, great sword in hand. With no shortage of magicka, the wizard overcharged ice storm and sent the frozen mass swirling towards his assailant. The tornado-like spell froze the ground along its path, struck the white, and crashed into the wall behind. The fight was over.

"They don't stop coming, do they?" S'maash heaved. "This stupid book better be worth it…oh, what am I saying; this is for knowledge…."

A thorough inspection of the area ensued. S'maash found some treasures; soul gems, Septims, some reagents, and some rather fine-looking weapons. He took what he needed from adjacent alcoves. The weapons, he left behind; there was no need for them. He pressed on, deeper into Labyrinthian.

Over an hour of skulking went by with relative ease and silence before he came upon a small, circular room. At its center was a pedestal with three levers. Beyond the pedestal was a series of portcullises. They blocked passage to stairs leading upwards. The elf was curious.

He raised an eyebrow as he scrutinized the levers. Simple enough, he thought. He pulled one lever and the furthest portcullis rose. He pulled another lever, but that caused the far portcullis to lower and nothing else. He stopped for a second. He pulled the first lever again. The closest portcullis rose.

"What?"

Shaking his head, he reset the levers to their former position, resulting in all gates being lowered. He pulled the first lever. The first portcullis rose. He pulled the third lever. The farthest one rose. He pulled the center lever, resulting in the center portcullis rising, but the other two lowered, so he pulled the first one again. The corresponding portcullis lifted. Next, he pulled the final lever, and all the gates were raised. S'maash walked up the stone steps to find another, wooden door, which pushed open.

Beyond it was an empty hall. Unfortunately, he had not paid attention to the ground. Only after activating a pressure plate did he look down. As he removed his foot, he feared the worst and then received it; a heavy, wooden post came swinging right at him. The subsequent impact knocked him all the way back down the steps. Breathless, he curled up, only able to groan. The imbibing of a potion solved his problem, and he went back up the stairs to find the post reset into the ceiling. That time, he stepped over the round, bronze plate.

A short stroll led to one, more puzzle. At the far end of a rectangular room was a set of wooden doors. Before the doors, there stood a lone lever on a pedestal. Surrounding the lever were stone carvings. Each carving depicted the same, three icons; a snake, a whale, and an eagle. S'maash wondered how to solve it.

He carefully inspected his surroundings. First, he approached one of the totems. Gently touching the carving, he realized it was made to spin, so that any of the three icons faced the center of the room. But which one is the right icon? He stood and continued his search for a clue.

There was nothing. He paused for a moment, looking at the doors. Well…maybe it's already open. They were firmly held in place, but the handles, they depicted similar icons. The left handle showed an eagle, the right a snake.

S'maash returned to the totems. He spun the two on the left, pointing the eagle to the center of the room, and the two on the right, he spun to show the snake. He tried the lever. The doors' mechanisms released, forcing them into a wide-open position. From his vantage point, he saw an expansive, burial chamber. At the far end was a concave, stone wall with strange script. Before the wall was another, black casket. As S'maash approached, he saw several caskets lining the walls on either side. His heart skipped a beat; he knew he was in for a fight.

His first action was overcharging iron flesh. Then, he slowly entered the chamber. Upon stepping in, the sound of bursting caskets drew his attention. Two, restless draugr—axes in hand—grumbled as they made their way for the interloper. S'maash backed up to the entry way. Maybe I can force them together, thus hindering their movement. Both of his hands were poised for an ice storm spell.

As the leathery undead approached him, he let loose an icy fury. The first flash freeze had little effect, but the second slowed the enemy's approach. Feeling confident, he sent one back to death with a third blast. The second draugr closed the distance, though.

It swung its blade powerfully from side-to-side. S'maash was jolted by the impacts, but his protection spell held firm. Switching to frost breath, he held both palms out and froze everything over. The draugr slowed, took a knee then fell over, giving S'maash a second to catch his breath.

In that second, more caskets exploded, revealing draugr whites. The wizard shook his head in desperation, and the whites charged, glowing blue eyes aflame. Having few alternatives, S'maash ran back through the puzzle room all the way to the stairs.

He deftly hopped over the pressure plate, reaching the bottom of the stairs, where he waited. The distinct sound of the trap activating rang throughout Labyrinthian. Both whites came tumbling down the steps to his feet. He blasted them repeatedly with ice storm.

While the monsters required time to recover, they seemed unhindered by the damaging effects of destruction magick, so the elf drew his sword and shield. Holding the shield in front of his face as one of the whites swung a blade proved only slightly effective. To make matters worse, the other white fired dozens of ice spikes. S'maash grunted in pain. The freezing effect drew his breath away.

He managed to shield bash, staggering the nearest enemy. He then brought his sword onto the top of a rotting head. The white glowed purple while burning from the fiery, soul trap enchantment. In an attempt to keep one enemy between himself and the other, he managed to avoid more magickal attacks. Subsequently, it was his opponent who received magickal castigation. With one, final blow, S'maash defeated the draugr, but he still had to deal with a flurry of freezing magick; the crystals stuck into his flesh with unwavering, cold pain.

Cursing, he dropped to one knee before vaulting himself, sword thrusting, into the final undead. When the draugr glowed purple, S'maash shield bashed, staggering the assailant. Rather than continuing with a physical assault, the wizard relinquished his blade for sparks, a lightning spell, which also drained the enemy's magicka reserves.

Then, the draugr reached down and grabbed S'maash. Frightened, the dunmer let go his shield, took the draugr's leathery face in his hands, and blasted it with more sparks. The monster's head exploded from the spell.

Gravely injured, S'maash rolled his travel pack off his shoulders. With great pain in his midsection, he moved slowly to retrieve healing potions. With a belly full of the red liquid, he was restored to fighting condition, so he gathered his gear, and dusted himself off, but found his shield had been destroyed in the melee. He sighed, casted iron flesh, and went back up the stairs.

A final enemy stood at the center of the burial chamber. It wore black armor, a helmet with horns, and carried a malevolent-looking, ebony, war hammer. Blue eyes brought unto the elf a sense of dread. The draugr death lord opened its foul mouth to release a powerful shout.

"Fus…Roh Da," it yelled in a breathy voice.

A vocal blast nailed S'maash squarely in the chest. The thu'um sent him reeling. His back smashed against the lever pedestal in the puzzle room. Luckily, his travel pack absorbed some of the impact. As he recovered, the death lord brought his hammer down. Fierce pain accosted the elf's shoulder, and fear gripped his heart.

Terrified of dying, he held a firm gaze upon his enemy, wrapped his hand around the flat of his blade, and with both hands on his weapon, he pushed back against the death lord's hammer; they struggled a moment. S'maash kept the enemy's weapon from doing more damage, and he kicked at the monster, but the draugr overpowered him, sending him to the ground. In the mix, he cut his left hand on his own sword.

Suddenly, S'maash found himself rolling all over the dusty floor, trying to evade numerous, relentless, hammer blows. In an attempt to keep distance between himself and the Draugr, S'maash ran around the lever pedestal, playing a game of sabre cat and skeever; the death lord chased him, and S'maash ran around the pedestal. Then, the draugr moved the other way, and again, S'maash ran around the pedestal.

He knew it was ineffective, but he was horrified. His only option was to continuously run in circles; all the while, he peppered the undead beast with frost breath. It took minutes, but the enemy slowed. Finally, its legs froze over and for a moment; it was unable to move. S'maash capitalized. He recoverd his sword, and by keeping the pedestal between them, he was able to take swipes with his blade and freeze the monster with his other hand.

The draugr struck him again, but the slowed swings weren't effective. Finally, the enemy took a knee. S'maash ran to him, grabbed his blade with both hands, and hacked the draugr to pieces. He didn't stop until the undead warrior was dismembered.

Completely exhausted, the wizard plunked to the ground, his face beaten and bloody. With heavy breaths, he dropped his sword to dual cast healing. Refreshed, if achey, he stood and reentered the burial chamber, thinking the fight was over. It was not.

Chapter Eleven

Upon reentering the burial chamber, S'maash heard once more the distinct sound of a casket lid coming apart. At the center of the chamber, a bony hand emerged from the black coffin. A crowned figure rose. It was garbed in lilac robes with golden plates covering bony arms. The dragon priest, little more than a glowing skeleton, floated from its former place of resting. Long, matted hair stuck to remnants of skin.

S'maash's quick thinking led him to believe dual casting a lightning spell was in his best interest. He fired several rounds of thunder bolt in the hopes of draining the priest's magicka. Violent streaks of purple electricity collided with the dessicated being. The dragon priest, however, had risen with his staff in hand- a twisted emblem of dragon worship.

The figure slowly listed towards S'maash, floating inches from the ground. By pointing its dragon-headed staff, it hurled repeated snow storms. The spell casters meandered about the room, trading magickal blows. Dust from the ancient floor raised in small clouds. Rubble was sent sailing from powerful blasts of ice and lightning.

Wracked by pain and drained of health, S'maash switched tactics, utilizing fast healing with his left hand as he took his blade in his right. He charged at the enemy, and closing the distance, he swung, but the enemy easily swayed backwards, free from impact.

With a modicum of magicka returned, the priest conjured a flame atronach. The newly summoned fiery harlot skated around; she swayed in a dance-like fashion as her curvaceous, flaming body pulsated with raw power. Fire ball after fire ball went hurtling towards the dunmer. With no alternative, he silently prayed to his ancestors while continuing his advancement towards the ever-fleeing dragon priest.

Wavering fires enveloped the wizard's body. His ancestor's wrath was with him. Feeling the burning desire for victory consume his form, S'maash redoubled his efforts; he lunged with blade, flung mighty spells, and relentlessly chased the fleeing priests in circles, and all the while trying to avoid the flaming castigation coming in from his rear.

Finally, he managed to corner his enemy. It was evident spells had little effect, but his sword dealt enough damage, so he swung overhead from one side then the other. Sword strike after sword strike landed upon the bony figure. Then, the blade swung through air, hitting nothing.

In the heat of battle—and with all the magick crackling—S'maash had lost sight of his opponent. Altogether too many fire balls crashed over his body. Screaming elven curses, he spun circles, searching for the priest, yet the atronach was closer.

Grunting, he smashed his blade across her horned head. She gripped his arm with a searing hand, so he butted her with the pommel of his blade as snow storms swirled around; the priest continued a frosty assault. Trying to remain focused, the wizard unleashed a flurry of sparks. Magickal reprisal shattered the atronach; she sizzled and popped, banished to Oblivion.

Another snow storm crashed over S'maash's back, and he was brought to a knee. He scrambled behind a broken casket, where he switched to fast heal, and for only a second, he wished he was back home and safe at the mages' workshop, yet he grit his teeth, and peeked from behind cover.

He saw the greater portion of the chamber had frozen over. Clenching his jaws, he spotted the enemy. With thunder bolt in one hand and snow storm in the other, the wizard made his stand.

Pieces of caskets flew from magickal impacts. Dust from the ground swirled about, froze over, and fell back to the stony floor. Blue and purple, crackling energy ricocheted off walls, floors, the ceiling; the two wizards moved slowly, keeping a firm gaze upon each other.

"Just die, N'wah," S'maash shouted.

"Aav Ko Dinok," the Priest replied in his ancient tongue.

He was cold, hurt, tired, and his vision was tunneling, but the dark elf held out just a bit longer. The enemy's magicka reserves waned. S'maash healed himself once more, and then, he redoubled his efforts.

"Nust Fen Funt, Jul," the undead creature said.

With one final push, S'maash screamed, and walking forwards, he maintained both palms pulsating from dual snow storms. An awful tension rocked his knotted arm muscles, yet the dragon priest let out a hallowed scream, floated a bit higher, fell over in the air, and fell to the ground as a pile of glowing cinders.

S'maash dropped to his knees. Have I exhausted myself? An impact jarred him violently. He passed out after his face smacked upon the hard ground of Labyrinthian's burial chamber.

For a moment there was nothing, only blackness. From blackness sprung dreams, dreams of home. Familiar faces wafted about the darkness. A name resonated.

"S'maash," an unseen voice called.

"S'maash," the deep and dreadful voice spoke.

"S'maash," a voice was demanding his attention.

With a wild inhalation, the elf snapped his eyes open. He saw the dusty burial chamber and looked up. A virulent and Wretched Abyss had presented itself. It was a dark, swirling mass of blackness. Deep hues of purple intertwined with the abyss.

"S'maash," the deep voice beckoned.

Animal fear gripped his heart. S'maash scrambled onto his posterior. He attempted to back away.

"Fear not, S'maash. I am Hermaeus Mora. I have been observing you," the daedric prince said.

"What do you want of me, foul demon?"

"I am pleased to see you so diligently striving for knowledge. I wish to aid those, who seek enlightenment. I only ask a small favor. Serve me," Hermaeus Mora commanded.

"Never," S'maash whispered.

"I can show you that which is hidden to most. Return to Farengar. Inform him that I, the Daedric Prince of Knowledge, have sent you. Tell him to explain what he knows, what I have shown him. Go, before I swallow you into my Wretched Abyss…."

Slack-jawed, the elf was in total disbelief. As the adrenaline wore off, the pain from his battles set in. His body ached, yet he managed to his feet. Suddenly remembering what he had been doing, he began scrambling around, looking for Shalidor's Insights.

He spotted something then; the glowing cinders. Huffing, he approached and sifted through the remains, revealing some bone meal, quite a few Septims, a staff of snow storm, and Shalidor's Insights.

He took it all then opened the blue book. The pages inside were nonsensical, only images and strange runes, a few diagrams. S'maash was befuddled, but the oddity mattered very little. He had accomplished his task. A return to Whiterun was in order.

It was a long trip back through Labyrinthian, back to to the city. At the very least, the long haul was no longer riddled with angry draugr. It took the better part of two hours for the weakened wizard to reach the tight exit.

He wriggled through into daylight. While safe, he decided to eat and drink. After a short rest, he proceeded with his return trip.

The warm sun slowly moved across the sky. It was a balmy day. Skyrim's endless beauty refreshed the heart. He did not know if it was the victory in battle, the successful claiming of lost knowledge, or the food and drink in his belly, but he was happy, happier than he remembered ever being in L'Thu Oad. His only wish was that his brother had fought alongside him. I'll have to write S'maath a letter regarding this journey.

The following morning, he saw Dragonsreach in the distance. Fog had crept in during the cold night, and the sun had not yet vanquished it. In fact, there were still sparkling stars overhead. There were no moons, though. An hour later, he reached Whiterun's gates and entered the town.

Normally, guards stood by, making certain the entrance was well protected. S'maash found it strangely deserted instead. He continued down the paved road into the center of town. There, he saw most of the guard. Their backs were to him.

"Excuse me," he said.

One guard turned to face him with a snarkey remark, "Let me guess, someone stole your sweet roll."

"No…what's happened here?"

"That wizard, the Jarl's…he just killed a caitiff," another guard replied.

"Where did that demon come from, anyway," a third guard asked.

Suddenly, they went wild with chatter. S'maash pushed through. A dead caitiff was sprawled out in the street, chest torn asunder. The demon was red and black, his skin stretched over a disfigured face; the dremora were awful creatures.

A trail of blood led from the beast, and S'maash followed it back to Dragonsreach. He spotted Farengar's black silhouette climbing the steps to the palace, so he gave chase. Once he caught up to the wizard, he asked a barrage of questions.

"Calm yourself. I will answer once we are inside. Did you find it, Shalidor's Insights," Farengar asked.

S'maash was going to answer until he saw the still beating daedra heart in Farengar's grip. The two entered Dragonsreach.

Chapter Twelve

Farengar walked to his study with no regard for the little droplets of blood in his wake. S'maash made attempts to circumvent them as he followed. In the study, the wizard placed the daedra heart on the arcane enchanter. One of the maids was heard grumbling.

"You were saying," Farengar asked.

"Hermaeus Mora contacted me in Labyrinthian, and here's your book."

"Ah, excellent. So, I suppose Hermaeus Mora told you to ask me what we're doing," Farengar started. S'maash nodded, accordingly. "It's simple, really. After I retrieved the blood and scales of Odahviing, I conducted experiments on the nature of dragons. I found their scales to be quite resilient, both physically and magickally. Furthermore, I discovered it is their blood, which grants them a seemingly endless life span. On occasion, they may go into a sort of hibernation–"

"Wait a minute! I want to talk about Hermaeus Mora, and what you're doing with that heart," S'maash interjected.

"Patience. Do not interrupt me again. Now, my studies led me to believe it was possible to extend the lives of man and mer, heal their wounds, cure their ailments, and so forth. I delved as deep as I could into dragon lore. After speaking with the Dragonborn, I went in search of the Blades. They were unwilling to cooperate."

S'maash was familiar with the Blades as they had a prominent position in Morrowind during the Third Era. So far as he knew, though, they were mainly protectors of Cyrodiil's emperors; it was unbeknownst to the dark elf that the Blades originated as a clan of dragon slayers. He continued to listen to Farengar's explanation.

"After extensive research and careful experimentation, I stumbled onto a mixture requiring powdered dragon scales. A bit of refined dragon blood was needed as well. By the time I came close to the progeny of my research, I hit a wall; I wasn't able to find the proper reagent to finalize my potion.

"With only a small sample of the dragon's elements, there was no way to attempt a use of all the reagents at my disposal. Seeking knowledge, I discovered a way to summon Hermaeus Mora. After an extended conversation, we came to an agreement.

"I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, I completed my task. In return, Hermaeus Mora gave me the ability to see what I needed. I mean that most literally," Farengar said.

Upon ending his account, he drew back his hood. S'maash was shocked to see his eyes. They were not human. Farengar's irises had vanished. His eyes were white with huge, black veins.

"What is that?!" S'maash gasped.

"I see magicka as it flows in the universe. The mysteries and natures of all things magickal are revealed to me almost immediately. Due to that fact, and as you've witnessed, I can surmise knowledge from any book within seconds. Where you see nonsensical scribblings of a mad mage, I see Shalidor's Insights as he saw them, as he experienced them. We needed this particular book…Hermaeus Mora he…he was not finished with me," Farengar explained.

His voice had grown despondent as he neared the end of his speech. The following silence made the elf uncomfortable.

"How does this involve me?"

"Simple, your desire for truth and knowledge exceeds time, no? You seek the old school of enchanting, one that even the daedra no longer practice due to its inherent danger," Farengar replied.

"I'm afraid you're not making sense," the elf said and turned; he was no longer able to bear those strange eyes.

"I'm making perfect sense. How do you think the daedric princes came to be so powerful? The Gods themselves enchanted their very essence."

S'maash had not realized the gravity of his theories on enchanting creatures until that moment. He was playing as one of the Gods.

"So, my machinations attracted Hermaeus Mora?" S'maash was stunned.

"Naturally. He is lord of fate as well as knowledge. If you can undertake his tasks without faltering, you will learn everything you desire, though you may no longer be the mer you are today. Truly, I am no more Farengar Secret-Fire than you are…that man is gone, but it is easier to hold on to familiar customs, is it not?"

S'maash nodded, less from understanding than mere astonishment. He thought for a moment. He did desire knowledge, though he assumed it was derived from research and experimentation. Farengar's, and by extension Hermaeus Mora's, proposal seemed outlandish. Or is it? It was too enticing.

"So, what are we doing?"

"I had you figured for a mer of action. This is my final experiment. I have left you all the instructions in my desk. Once this is over, you are to reside here. Thorald is aware of these changes. Now, you're no doubt familiar with the Black Star," Farengar said.

"I have heard it mentioned. I know more about the Star of Azura," S'maash said, reluctantly.

"Of course. The principles are the same. With no connection to Azura, the Black Star now only filters black souls. As you well know, there is an emptiness in the void, so to speak; we will craft a new vessel.

"I mentioned earlier, dragon's blood brings long life, but it is their souls, which makes them immortal. Until the Dragonborn's arrival, they could be defeated, but not killed. His ability to steal their souls brought them to their demise.

"After the death of Alduin, the Dragonborn changed…much as I have. He became less a man and more…well, more dragon. Unfortunately, there was no way to capture a dragon's soul, they resist soul trap, and no vessel can hold a soul so potent, no inanimate vessel, that is, until now," Farengar spoke, dramatically.

The court wizard had expounded upon a great many things. S'maash's head spun, forcing him to take a seat. He glanced about the room in an effort to regain his composure. All the soul gems gleamed from the fires around the study. The elf rubbed the desk's thick mahogany to bring himself back to reality.

"What will we do with dragon souls," he finally asked.

"We," Farengar asked in return. "Nothing. I am leaving this plane to live forever in a manner indescribable. Hermaeus Mora explained the ramifications, and I accepted his proposal. Even if I were doubtful, now there is no turning back for me. I will explain what you will do."

"I'm listening." Though he was listening, he was also trying to come to grips with what it was the nord was implying.

"We will begin by fusing a daedra heart with a black soul gem. Shalidor's Insights contains a passage with diagrams and incantations," he said as he took the book from the desk. "The fusion can only be done by a willing participant. Hold both of these in your left hand."

S'maash stood with open hands, grudgingly accepting the heart and gem. He looked at Farengar questioningly. The peculiarity of the still beating heart drew his attention, though.

"Now, you will cast soul trap on my person," Farengar instructed.

"What?"

"Be quiet, and follow your instructions. There is no room for error," Farengar chastised.

S'maash faltered for a second as he looked into the man's strange eyes. He raised his hand, charged the spell, and cast it upon Farengar. A purple glow took hold of the nord's body.

"Excellent. I can feel it. Goodbye, S'maash. It was truly a pleasure to spend my last moments as a man in good company," he said.

S'maash grew teary-eyed. He was unsure of what was happening before him. Suddenly, Farengar made concentric circles with both hands. They turned bright red with a glow from Oblivion itself. Then, the light radiated from Farengar's entire body. He slowly lifted off the ground. A flash of red light blinded the elf. The painful glare forced him to yell, and a powerful gust knocked him to the floor. Unwittingly, he dropped the objects from his left hand.

Frightened, he opened his eyes, searching frantically for the heart and gem. Instead, he found a strange object, the daedric heart gem, a glowing, black and red, soul gem in the shape of a daedric heart, only smaller, and more malevolent-looking. Nearby, there sat a glowing pile of red and black cinders; Farengar had departed from the world.

"No," S'maash said, choking back tears.

He took the daedric heart gem and placed it upon the arcane enchanter. For a second, he felt Farengar's presence; it yet radiated from the artifact. After wiping away tears, he noticed the entire room was in disarray. One of the servants, an old woman peeked in.

"He's gone…Farengar's gone," S'maash said.

Whatever had transpired, she wanted no part of it and quickly left. The elf sat at the desk. Then, he remembered Farengar had mentioned leaving a note. S'maash opened the desk to find more than a note, there was an entire journal. He took the leather-bound notebook. After a deep inhalation, he read its contents.

I have completed herein my own research as well as that of my student, S'maash. First and foremost, I recommend you reinstate his place at your College of Winterhold as I can attest to his stature. He is not a necromage, nor was he ever one.

S'maash was almost brought to tears once more by the statements within the journal. After the introduction, there was a catalogue of the experiments conducted by Farengar. After those, were the experiments conducted by S'maash. Finally, there was a catalogue of the experiments they had been conducting together up to and including the creation of the daedric heart gem.

While this gem does not hold the ability to filter dragon souls, it does slightly amplify the souls of men, mer, and demon. That alone is a step towards greatness, but it is incomplete. In its current state, it will, as all soul gems, shatter after only one use. To remedy that, it must be brought before Azura.

Should she accept the vessel in her honor, and I have no doubt she will, she may bestow upon it the Breath of Everlasting. This incantation may only be applied in her very own realm, one of many realms of Oblivion. Once the gem is offered, she may provide more information.

As for me, Farengar Secret-Fire, I have filtered my own soul willingly into the vessel. Please do not use me for enchanting purposes. Once the Breath of Everlasting has been bestowed upon the vessel, I will have a small window of opportunity. I will escape to join Hermaeus Mora in his plane of Oblivion.

S'maash, I personally thank you for your efforts. Show this to the old man, Tolfdir. The rune at the bottom of the page will certainly force him to reconsider your acceptance into the College of Winterhold.

At the bottom of the page was in fact an odd marking, one S'maash had never seen. The last pages of the journal indicated the following steps S'maash needed to undertake in order to accomplish Farengar's final project. Under the journal was another note. S'maash quickly read it as well. It was signed by Thorald, who accepted S'maash as the new court wizard of Dragonsreach. Exhausted from his travels and the recent events, he placed his head on the desk. I guess it is time to return to the College….

Before making a long trip to Winterhold, S'maash met with Thorald in Dragonsreach's throne room. The Jarl was a large nord with thick, graying hair. His fine clothes consisted of heavy cloths comprised of bright colors. The golden hues and bright reds gave him a regal bearing few nords possessed. The braziers burned brightly, casting ominous shadows inside the palace.

Thorald appeared a brute, but spoke with a surprisingly kind demeanor. "The crazy wizard has passed on then?"

"Yes, but I fear I don't know how to be a court wizard," S'maash complained.

"No worries. We're currently experiencing some peace in Skyrim. Besides, I never understood a damn word that arrogant wizard ever said to me. You look more my type, I see the spirit of travel and adventure in your eyes," Thorald praised.

After a short discussion, explaining his rather lax duties, S'maash was granted a leave of absence to return to The College of Winterhold. He took a cart ride to the northeast once more.

Chapter Thirteen

S'maash was slowly rocked from side-to-side as he endured the long cart ride from Whiterun to Winterhold. Mere hours after traveling north, and the winds turned to snow. Though it was cold, the elf managed to fall asleep. Recent trials and tribulations had exhausted both his mind and spirit completely, so much so that he slept all the way to Winterhold. Suddenly, he was shaken to daylight.

"Wake up. We've arrived," the cart driver said.

Lazily, S'maash looked around then thanked the man before approaching the College. Upon seeing the stone arches and bridge, sentimentality gripped him. Faralda glared at him from her post.

"Greetings. Did Tolfdir ever manage to look over my journal," S'maash asked.

"I don't know, and I don't care," she barked.

"Hold on to those feelings, and while you do, summon Tolfdir. I have another journal for him to look over," S'maash replied, unaffected.

"I'll do no such thing."

S'maash nodded to himself for a moment. Then, he pulled the daedric heart gem from inside his fur-lined, blue robes. It beat with the sound of Farengar's soul. With an ephemeral thump, it glowed.

"I think he'll want to see this," S'maash coaxed.

Faralda was speechless. She simply stood with her mouth agape. Finally, she managed a heavy sigh.

"What is it?"

"Please, summon Tolfdir," S'maash reiterated.

She nodded then made her way to the College. Moments later, and frozen to the bone, S'maash saw two figures come across the massive structure. Another moment passed, and he was in the company of Faralda and Tolfdir.

"My, my. That is something. Faralda said you brought it for me," Tolfdir asked.

He looked upon S'maash, slightly askew. The elf thought he appeared embarrassed, yet at the moment, the daedric heart gem possessed all of their attention.

"Ahem! This is mine. This is for you," S'maash said, providing Tolfdir with the other journal.

"Ah, let's see. Mmhmm. Oh, he was a Psijic monk? Surprising, I thought only altmer were Psijics…well. Yes, apologies are in order," Tolfdir muttered. "S'maash, I've kept this to myself for a long time. I made a mistake and reacted poorly. I–"

S'maash raised a hand in protest, saying, "It's fine. Farengar told me necromancy has become a problem. If not for your rash decision, I might not have found my way to him. At any rate, if you could be so kind as to reinduct me, I have to gather supplies for a ritual to summon Azura," S'maash explained.

"Yes, yes, of course, come with me. You can take Arniel's old room again. You know, after that awful misunderstanding, while we were cleaning, that is, we found some interesting logbooks," Tolfdir said as he laughed shyly.

S'maash explained his and Farengar's theories on their way to the Hall of Countenance. Upon walking into his old room, he sat on the bed's green linens. He ran his hands over the silky fabric, smiling. Then, he continued.

"So, naturally, I have to bring this to completion, for myself, Hermaeus Mora, and most of all, for Farengar, who gave his life," S'maash explained.

"Yes. Any deal struck with a daedric prince is…well…permanent, to say the least," Tolfdir agreed.

"I am glad you understand. I need some glow dust as an offering right away. There's no time to stall."

"Mmhm. Yes, Faralda, be a dear, would you, and grab our friend what he needs," Tolfdir said. "Now then, you plan to offer the daedric heart gem to Azura then I thought you said you would have to go to her plane of Oblivion, but I must have misheard."

Tolfdir laughed shyly once more. S'maash let a weak smile play across his face for a moment.

"Absolutely not. If she accepts my offering then I must continue into Oblivion. There is no alternative."

Tolfdir looked into the elf's eyes. He had changed and quite a bit. He was no longer an eager student with some traveling experience. S'maash was a hardened and experienced traveler with a wealth of knowledge and potential.

"You remind me of the Dragonborn, so brash, a quick learner, so much promise, but always too busy. Mmm, I fear your restless nature will not end well," Tolfdir commented.

Before S'maash answered, Faralda stepped into the room, glow dust in hand. "Here it is."

It was a glowing, green substance, like fine powder contained in a small, clay bowl. "Excellent. Then, I am off to the Shrine of Azura."

"If you are traveling into Oblivion, you may want to prepare yourself," Tolfdir advised.

"I'm equipped quite well, actually. Though, I can benefit from more food and potions," S'maash replied.

"Of course, take what you need. It is the least I can do for expelling you, and S'maash, I am sorry," Tolfdir smiled, benevolently.

"I never held it against you."

Concluding the heartfelt conversation, S'maash gathered everything he needed for the trip then he was off. As soon as he stepped out into the courtyard, Brelyna and Zolara saw him. They both ran over.

"S'maash! I can scarcely believe it!" she said

"Truly, what brings you back to the College," Zolara asked.

"The same thing that brought me here the first time, old friends, and rest easy, Tolfdir had me reinstated," S'maash said as he touched their shoulders.

It was evident he was leaving for a new journey. "Off already? Where are you going?" Brelyna was curious.

S'maash provided the quickest account possible. Pressed for time, he wanted only to start off.

"Let us join you," Zolara offered.

"Into Oblivion? I don't think so," S'maash protested.

"Hey, we're capable. I'm not just some alchemist!" Zolara proclaimed.

"It's true, he's become quite the conjuration master, and you are familiar with my abilities," Brelyna added.

There was no time for debate. S'maash agreed.

"Pack your things. In the meantime, I will enchant a few pieces of equipment for you both."

As they packed, S'maash quickly ran back to his room. There, he snatched some grand soul gems and went to work. In minutes, he crafted a necklace and ring for Brelyna fortified with both restoration and alteration. For Zolara, he crafted similar pieces. They were fortified with both destruction and conjuration. They reconvened in the courtyard before leaving.

"I'm so glad to be coming along for this ride," Zolara said.

Brelyna smiled at S'maash. "We missed you. Most of us knew you were not guilty of necromancy but Tolfdir, he…."

"No, it's fine. Thank you, both. Let us be off then," S'maash said.

The three departed straight away. A long, winding walk brought them out of Winterhold and through the mountainous region. During the journey, as they eyed the gorgeous peaks, S'maash explained his need to summon Azura.

While happily conversing about studies, none of them noticed the meaty cat skulking behind hills and large piles of snow. Upon reaching their proximity, the snowy sabre cat, a brutish tiger with menacing tusks, took off at a full run, kicking up powdery ice. With a vicious growl, it pounced upon Zolara. He let out a painful cry. S'maash reacted quickly, tossing two fire balls at the beastly animal. It let off the injured argonian.

When Zolara scampered off to safety, S'maash started overcharging fire balls. Brelyna slowly moved towards her friend. The beast growled softly as it lowered its head for another pounce, that time in S'maash's direction.

He waited patiently for the cat to go airborne. With a violent twitch of muscle, the cat closed the distance, taking a fire ball to the face. Though it was injured by the spell, it did not falter. Two, enormous, claws took S'maash to the snow. The powder was fresh and lightly packed causing him to become practically buried.

"Goodness," Brelyna shouted.

She finished healing her friend, and when she turned to see what had happened to S'maash, she witnessed the cat shaking its head. It had the elf by the leg. He screamed in pain while attempting to retaliate.

Zolara then conjured a storm atronach. The glowing, stone golem appeared from the plane of Oblivion. It set upon their opposition with rocky fists as sparks of purple lightning shot from its magickal essence.

As the atronach pummeled the animal, S'maash blasted its face with repeated fire balls. Seconds later, the cat was little more than a snowy, white pelt.

"Are you alright," Brelyna asked as she healed him.

"Yes, believe it or not I've had worse," he panted.

After recovering, he decided it was more prudent to be vigil than discuss their previous excursions. Had it not been for that decision, the frost trolls in the distance might have set upon them as well. Their arrival at the Shrine of Azura was imminent. They saw the large statue high above them, a robed figure holding the sun, and the moon.

"So, what will you ask of her," Brelyna inquired, quietly.

It grew increasingly difficult to keep footing. The snow was deep and very loosely packed. Between breaths S'maash answered.

"I will offer her the daedric heart gem as a replacement for the Star of Azura to help her bind her power to this plane once more. Farengar believed she will accept. In return, I'll ask her to allow us into her plane in order to receive something he called the Breath of Everlasting. It's supposed to set his soul free as well immortalize the daedric heart gem. Essentially, it will be everlasting like her former Star," S'maash explained.

"What if she doesn't agree?" Zolara sounded skeptical.

"I don't know…I'm just hoping it doesn't come to that," S'maash admitted.

Before them were innumerable steps allowing a modest climb to her shrine. Soon, they stood in front of the towering statue. S'maash took the glow dust from his pack and placed it on her alter.

"Lady Azura! I call you before me! Please, show yourself in this plane! I, S'maash Ilteriel, must speak with you!" the elf called out into the blizzard.

It sounded as though the whipping winds whisked his voice away. They braced themselves, waiting. Moments passed.

"I don't think it worked," Zolara yelled.

The winds grew more and more powerful, drowning out all other sounds. From one direction then another, the winds nearly knocked them over. Brelyna took a seat to keep from falling. S'maash and Zolara fought to keep their balance by gripping one another's shoulders.

"Azura," S'maash yelled again.

A violent gust from behind sent him stumbling, and the sound of clay smashing assaulted the ears. Soon the winds subsided. The offering had been accepted. Glow dust covered the bottommost portion of the statue. A voice accosted them.

"What is the meaning of this summons? I am Azura, Lady of Dusk and Dawn. You, dark elf, you have called me here," the voice rang throughout the night sky as did the winds, seconds before.

"I did, my Lady! I come with an offering to tie you into our plane. I have forged a new gem for you. Behold, the daedric heart gem," S'maash said, holding the sinister heart above his head.

He felt its pulsations, the essence of Farengar. There was no answer. Silence prevailed for a moment. The beating of the gem grew louder and louder until it echoed over the shrine.

"A new vessel? Why do you offer it to me, dunmer?"

"My Lady, I have been made aware of the fate which befell your Star of Azura. This is a replacement, but it is weak, forged by man and mer, not a daedric lord such as yourself. I bestow it upon you to restore your power to this plane, but I require the Breath of Everlasting. Will you allow us to journey into the plane, Moonshadow? Will you allow me to be the caretaker of your vessel?"

"Yes!" she replied. "From the days of old when I cursed the chimer, I had faith that my children would be so kind as to restore their benefactor, should she ever need it. Yes, S'maash Ilteriel. Come, come and bask in the shadow of moons."

A flash of blue light momentarily blinded the three comrades. When they opened their eyes, a blue tombstone shaped door sat before them. It wavered hauntingly, revealing a glimpse into the world of Azura. S'maash took a step.

Still from a sitting position, Brelyna reached out and grabbed his ankle. He turned to look down in confusion.

"What are you doing," she asked in disbelief.

"What do you mean? She granted us passage!" S'maash replied.

"You can't go in there! It's a nonsensical world of dreams and such. You can only travel spiritually," she said.

S'maash looked to the giant statue. It was silent.

"No. I'm going in. Both of you are welcome to stay behind."

"I'm up for the challenge," Zolara chimed in.

Brelyna stood and looked them over. "You're crazy, both of you…you can't," she looked away.

S'maash took her shoulders in his hands and brought her close. "Listen to me, we'll be fine. She granted us passage. No one said it would be safe, but I have to try this," he said, gazing into her eyes. "Come with me."

"Yes," she whispered.

S'maash looked back to Zolara. He picked some ice off his horns and shrugged. The wizard nodded, gave Brelyna one, last look, took her by the hand, and walked through the blue door. Zolara was the last to step in.

Chapter Fourteen

Vertigo overtook S'maash and the others. For a moment, there was only blackness. They awoke in a dream. The wizard was the first to rise. He saw his comrades lying on the ground, only it was not the ground as he was accustomed to it.

"What is this," he asked in a daze.

His voice echoed, drawing his attention to the wonderful world of Moonshadow. As the others rose, S'maash appreciated the sights. The ground was an endless ocean of crystal, blue twinkling. The sky was a swirling pool of all the brightest colors. He barely breathed from the impact of gorgeousness. In the distance, massive trees carved from sapphire, rose to touch the Heavens. The more he observed, the less he saw. He had to look in small spurts, constantly moving his eyes, lest the ultimate beauty obliterated him.

Brelyna approached him and took his arm. Zolara screamed.

"I can't see…I, I mustn't keep my eyes open!" the argonian's voice echoed out into eternity.

"Calm yourself! You must look briefly. Do not fix your gaze," S'maash ordered.

"All, alright. I will try," Zolara replied.

After regaining his composure, the conjurer took Brelyna's hand. The three walked together towards a light. It was difficult to understand what anything was. The entire realm had a wavering mist about it, like too much heat off a forge.

"Where are you taking us," Brelyna asked.

"I don't know," S'maash replied.

He stopped for a moment to look around. Crystalline mountains rose in the distance. A sudden scent assaulted their nostrils, cinnamon. S'maash felt a presence. It was Farengar. Something was wrong.

"Wait. Where is my gem," S'maash blurted.

"Did it not appear with you?" Zolara was apprehensive.

S'maash looked back from where they had arrived. A sudden pang of fear jolted him. The scenery was different. A magnificent waterfall reflecting all the colors of the sky replaced whatever had been there. Then, Farengar's presence was felt once more. It pulled him back to the light in the distance, a watery colored glow.

"Farengar…I feel him," S'maash whispered.

He ran towards the light, jostling the others behind him. After stumbling, they recovered and gave chase. An oddity they all welcomed was the lack of fatigue. They ran for hours.

A palace of silver grew visible on the horizon. Its light emanated as though holding the sky and the ground apart in an eternal struggle. Upon reaching the palace of Azura, they beheld a most wondrous image.

The structure was built with spiraling towers of silver, swaying arches of silver, and two of the largest, silver doors they had ever laid eyes upon. The whole of the palace was reminiscent of roses and cherry trees. S'maash saw no handle upon the door. From his vantage point, he assumed the doors must have been over one hundred feet high. Soon, the others caught up to him.

"How do we get in," Brelyna asked.

S'maash did not reply. Instead, he dropped to his knees in tears. It was too beautiful. Brelyna tried to comfort him. Zolara was next to fall. Finally, Brelyna fell, too.

Melodic, cinnamon winds caressed them under the heavenly sky. Nonexistent wind chimes tinkled behind the caressing winds. Images of rose petals, soft clouds, and waterfalls burned behind their minds' eye. Scents of the sweetest fruits swirled about them. Their souls were melting away into Oblivion.

"S'maash," a voice whispered. He recognized it immediately. Those strange S's. "Stop wasting time. Enter," Farengar's voice echoed.

The elf opened his eyes. With a deep breath, he stood. The doors opened.

He looked down to the others and helped them to their feet. Once they had regained their composure, they walked beyond the silver doors. Perfectly aligned silver squares lay upon the crystal ground. Sapphire trees cast dancing shadows over the group. It was difficult to tread due to some ineffable, swirling essence, but a woman welcomed them in her majestic courtyard.

"Greetings, S'maash Ilteriel," Azura said. Her voice was rose petals, pink, soft, perfect, like satin lace. They were left speechless. She then produced the daedric heart gem. "What will you do now?"

"What do you wish me to do?"

"You have done much by reinstating my power in your plane. I have passed on the Breath of Everlasting and name you my champion. You will bear this title and my daedric heart gem," she proclaimed.

He simply dropped back to his knees, unable to see what the others were doing, unable to turn his eyes from the wondrous Azura; her visage was not meant to be gazed upon by mortals.

"Where is Farengar? I heard his voice rally my spirit," S'maash said after shaking cobwebs from his brain.

"He is gone now. Hermaeus Mora owns him. Hermaeus Mora wants you as well, but you are my champion. Go. Return to your plane, and finish your quest, my child. Go," Azura sang.

A violent, sinking feeling forced S'maash flat onto his belly. He gasped and looked around. He was in Skyrim at the shrine; they all were. Before his face was the gem. With no soul inside, it no longer glowed.

He stood. A cold wind blew while he helped the others to their feet. It was morning, and the sun came over the horizon to burn through clouds with an orange light. Sunrays obliterated the gray of early morning.

"Everyone alright," he finally asked.

"Fine," Zolara answered.

"Yes, thank you," Brelyna replied.

"Back to the College, I suppose," S'maash trailed off.

Without a word, the three made the slow climb down the steps from Azura's statue. They were all so overwhelmed by sudden circumstance. Like a dream, the previous experiences slowly ebbed away, though they were never forgotten. At the bottom steps, a Wretched Abyss approached them.

"By the Gods! What is that?" Brelyna screamed in terror.

As Zolara struggled to keep her from falling backwards, S'maash approached it.

"Good, S'maash," the deep voice started. "Now, you must finish this."

"What am I finishing? I still don't understand," S'maash complained.

"You will go to Nchuand-Zel. Far beyond the end of the halls, you will find a fragment of the Heart of Lorkhan. Hurry S'maash. Time is of the essence," Hermaeus Mora spoke and vanished.

"By the Nine! Did I hear what I think I heard?" Zolara was shocked. S'maash turned to face him. He nodded his head, accordingly. "Well, I have to come along for this!"

The argonian helped Brelyna to her feet. She in turn gave a full-bodied shrug. They looked to where the Wretched Abyss had been, but there was only snow.

"What," S'maash asked.

"You're just going? Just like that," she probed.

"Is there a better way?"

"Well, I don't know. I mean," she looked away.

"I am. Just like that, I'm going," Zolara added.

S'maash pointed at him as he kept his eyes on Brelyna. "See, he's excited."

His smile was contagious. Brelyna smile then giggled. They made their way back towards Winterhold. A long, arduous journey ensued for hours. While trudging along, they discussed the implications.

"Azura chose you as champion. Why are continuing to quest for Hermaeus Mora?" Brelyna wondered.

"It's difficult to answer…I have no intention of subverting Azura's designs for me, but I cannot shun from Hermaeus Mora, either. I fear his power. He's already threatened to swallow me into his Wretched Abyss," S'maash replied.

"Here, I thought you were just trying to advance the school of enchanting. Suddenly, you're looking for Lorkhan's Heart? I thought it was in Vverdenfell, anyway," Zolara added.

S'maash shrugged. He was aware of the Nerevarine's quest to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan, and end Dagoth Ur's tyranny, but after completion of his quest, it was unknown what transpired.

"If Hermaeus Mora says it's in Nchuand-Zel then that's where it is…. Speaking of which, what is Nchuand-Zel," S'maash asked.

"The dwemer ruin beneath Markarth, over in the Reach. It's Skyrim's western hold," Brelyna replied.

"Tell me more."

They continued their trek beside the grand mountains as a light snow yet sprinkled from dissipating clouds.

Chapter Fifteen

"Markarth was built upon the dwemer city of Nchuand-Zel," Brelyna stated.

"I am unfamiliar with a great deal of Skyrim, including Markarth," S'maash admitted.

"It has a very colorful history. From the Forsworn attacks to the Silver-Bloods taking over after Ulfric's uprising, this city seems to be under perpetual change. Yet, inside the walls of stone, the people remain unchanged. A most perplexing place…." she commented.

"With Cidhna mine, to boot," Zolara added.

"The mine," S'maash asked.

"It's where they send prisoners to mine silver. They mine to serve out their sentence," Brelyna answered.

"It is hard to imagine the nords built a long standing society over dwemer ruins," S'maash mused.

"The nords are a surprisingly resilient people," Brelyna countered.

"They have to be to survive these frozen lands," Zolara remarked.

The dark elves detected a negative connotation, but held their tongues as they looked upon Zolara. He shrugged in reply.

"So, how do we get into Nchuand-Zel," the wizard asked.

"Follow me," Brelyna said and took the lead.

As they entered the city, S'maash was awestruck by the stonework. All the buildings were clearly of dwemer of design. He assumed the city itself was Nchuand-Zel. For a second, he stood, lost in amazement.

Brelyna walked around the Silver-Blood Inn to the backside of Markarth. S'maash followed her, but kept gaping at the phenomenal design. Then, he noticed the beautiful cascade of water; the city was built around a waterfall, which poured from the mountains.

The sound of smithing prevailed. Steel smashing steel rang against the stone city, tying into the chatter of citizens. While Brelyna proceeded up the steps, towards Understone Keep, the young elf strained to listen to merchants, patrons, and warriors.

Since the sun was setting, casting an orange radiance overhead, the light reflected off the dwemer doors adorning all the buildings. The scintillating luminescence was mesmerizing. Seeing so many people milling about a dwemer city was an odd sight to behold, and for a moment, S'maash felt as though transported back to a time when the dwarves yet lived.

Then, Brelyna approached a guard standing watch. He wore the same fur-lined, quilted armor as most of Skyrim's guard, his face masked by the full helmet. Their conversation drew him back to reality.

"I used to be an adventurer like you. Then, I took an arrow in the knee," the guard said.

"Sorry to hear that…we're just seeking entry to Understone Keep," Brelyna said.

"Sure, sure, go right in, but be mindful in front of the Jarl."

The three travelers entered the ancient bastion. A familiar sound pulsated, dwemer, steam machinery. S'maash gazed at the statues of dwarven spheres, recalling his trip through Damlzthur. There was another automaton, too, something enormous with sword and hammer, which he did not recognize.

Brelyna had moved off to the left of the keep, towards some rubble. He followed behind her, still in a daze. She stopped inside a large chamber where a mer was conducting some experiments with dwemer automatons.

"Greetings, Aicantar," Brelyna said.

The mer turned with a smile, revealing he was an altmer in purple robes. "Ah Brelyna, you've brought guests," he asked, wiping his hands.

"So to speak…we need access to Nchuand-Zel."

Aicantar furrowed his brow as he looked over S'maash and Zolara. "You're researching the dwemer, too?"

"No. We're here for the Heart of Lorkhan," S'maash interjected.

Aicantar laughed as though it was the funniest joke he'd heard in years. Slowly, his laughter gave way. S'maash maintained an inquisitive gaze.

"You're serious, aren't you? Well that's preposterous. Lorkhan's Heart isn't here. It, it, it isn't anywhere," the altmer replied in disbelief.

"Hermaeus Mora sent us," Brelyna said, gravely.

"Truly?" the altmer was astonished.

"He said something about it being beyond a hall," S'maash added.

"Hmm. I don't know what that means. You're certain he said it was in Nchuand-Zel?"

"Hard to confuse that name with any other, don't you think?" Zolara snipped.

"Well…look, it's dangerous in there. Automatons still roam the halls. Then, there's those blasted falmer. I can't figure out where they're coming from," Aicantar said as he paced.

He had obviously forgotten he was in the company of others, a feature his uncle also possessed before his passing. "Aicantar," S'maash called.

"What? Oh yes."

"If you don't know where the falmer are coming from, you have not explored every area of Nchuand-Zel, so it is logical the Heart of Lorkhan is in there, somewhere," S'maash surmised.

"I suppose that's a valid point," Aicantar said, making eye contact with everyone. "Listen, if you get hurt in there, it'll be on my head."

"Aicantar," Brelyna pleaded.

"Fine, here's the key to enter, but please, be extra careful."

"Of course. Thank you," she answered, touching his elbow.

"Oh, before I forget, the Dragonborn came through here many years ago. He helped my uncle reactivate the automated defenses so…just be cautious," Aicantar added.

"Understood. Thank you," S'maash replied.

They proceeded through Aicantar's chamber to what looked like a fresh excavation site, except for the cobwebs. It was obvious that once the entrance had been located, no one cared enough to clean up after themselves. The brown, rocky tunnel led into a well preserved dwemer ruin, Nchuand-Zel.

"Alright," S'maash said, taking the key from Brelyna.

He unlocked the doors, revealing more excavation and more, spiders' webs.

"Hmm, I hear something in the distance," Zolara commented.

"Frostbite spiders," Brelyna answered.

S'maash shuddered at the thought. He heard it as well; the scurrying sound of hairy legs crawling about. After moving through some narrow tunnels, they came across egg sacs and their guardians. The three travelers easily dispatched a handful of spiders with various destruction spells. A few gleaming swirls of frost storm, purple flashes of chain lightning, and the orange blazes of fire bolts were sufficient.

Zolara stood over one, charred carcass. "Maybe I'll summon a little help."

The dark elves eyed him as he conjured a flame atronach. Once summoned, the fiery demon skated about the group. They continued to walk down some shoddy, wooden bridges to another entrance. Upon opening the door, a malevolent-looking, gray creature hissed.

"Falmer!" Brelyna cried out.

The wiry creature's skin was tightly stretched across knotted muscles. Milky eyes, sharp teeth, and a lack of nose made the thing downright horrific. It wielded a chitinous sword and shield, to boot.

The flame atronach took point, blasting at the falmer with repeated fire balls. S'maash and friends threw up their iron flesh spells in defense as they observed the wiry creature battle Zolara's summoned beast. The falmer swung wildly. A dance of blaze unfolded; while the falmer was an agile warrior, it was no match for the atronach. Fire balls exploded over the creature, and it went tumbling over the edge of the platform upon which they all stood.

"Those were elves," S'maash was incredulous.

"Well," Brelyna shrugged. "They may only be a twisted rendition of a once prestigious people, snow elves. Now blind, after years of subterranean living, they seek only the destruction of surface dwellers."

Zolara peeked precariously over the edge. He waved goodbye to the fallen snow elf. Then, he addressed the others.

"It's a long way down. All I see is shingled rooves and misty water beneath. Where exactly are we going?"

"Forwards," S'maash replied.

"Good to know," Zolara replied, sarcastically.

They walked across the platform, a stone bridge of sorts. It was difficult to comprehend how the dwemer had built pathways to the individual pavilions. Carefully, the group approached the first structure built into the framework of Nchuand-Zel. As they pressed on, they noted many of the same structures ran throughout the massive ruin. There was no reasonable way to determine the proper path, so they simply continued walking from platform to pavilion roof and so on.

Stale air hung in the chamber. The scent of death wafted around. Soon, they came to the last pavilion. There were dwemer benches, and a fence protected some pipes and gears, which ran throughout. Two paths stood before them.

"The door or the walkway down," Brelyna asked.

S'maash took a deep breath in an attempt to reason out a decision. "We might as well take the door. If I know dwemer ruins, we'll have to proceed through various areas, slowly working our way down."

"Been through many, have we," Zolara asked.

"Well…just Damlzthur," he admitted.

Beyond the large doors, they moved into the war quarters, where deceased falmer and chitinous weapons were scattered all over the ground. As they meandered about the hallways and many steps, they saw rubble, machinery, gates, and numerous pieces of broken automatons. A great battle had taken place at some point. The whistling sound of steam prevailed.

"Look at all these gears churning in the ground. I can hardly believe these contraptions still function," Zolara commented.

Periodically, the machinery whirred and clanked. Many, twisting corridors led up stairs, then down stairs, then around corners. S'maash began blinking a bit erratically as he tried to keep a mental note of where they were going. Large, brass barrels jutted from the walls as steam billowed out.

"What is this," Brelyna asked.

Amidst a series of fences built as partitions was a strange tree. It sat in ancient soil. The three gazed at it for a moment. It was an unremarkable, brown tree, but the only tree any of them had seen inside a dwemer ruin.

"It's just a tree," Zolara said, breaking the silence.

S'maash nodded. They moved around the fences to a hallway with numerous rooms. All of them were adorned with stone beds, gas lamps, desks, and dwarven metal chairs. Then, the familiar sound of automatons moving through the walls roared.

"Here we go. Brace yourselves," S'maash announced.

The steel clinked and clamored.

"What is it?" Brelyna was alarmed.

"The defenses, I presume."

As they engaged their own magickal defenses, a dwarven spider entered the room, its little, crab arms flailing. The agility with which the heavy chunk of metal moved was overwhelming. It was at that precise moment that Zolara's summoned atronach crashed; the conjuration period had expired, and it returned to Oblivion.

"Blast," the argonian said, flatly.

The spider smashed into Brelyna, who staggered back from the impact of brass-like legs. As she cried out, she blasted it with sparks from both hands. Zolara, deciding physical damage was more appropriate, summoned a bound sword. Since the argonian hacked away with a blade of wavering, purple, magicka, and Brelyna sprayed magickal lightning, S'maash fired ice spikes.

The mechanical beast hopped in the air again, that time bashing into Zolara's chin. He fell to the ground with the automaton on his chest. It was motionless, broken, and covered with frost.

"A little assistance, please," the conjuror asked. The enemy's weight kept him pinned, so the dark elves worked quickly to pull it off their friend. He stood and brushed himself off. "Well…."

S'maash turned back towards the direction of the hallway. The others followed behind him as he proceeded. The circular fashion with which the war quarters were built became disorienting. The dark elf opted to constantly stay to the right in an effort to keep a straight course. Soon after, they reached a set of doors.

"Ah," S'maash said in triumph.

He pushed them open, revealing a ledge and an empty, dwemer chest. Below was the same view they had seen when they fought the falmer- rooves and water.

"Excellent. The quickest way down," Zolara said.

"You're not helping," Brelyna chastised him.

"I'm not trying to. I'm entertaining."

"You're awful," S'maash added.

With no option apart from a suicide dive, they turned back, passing by more rooms with beds, chairs, and desks. After walking over rubble and bits of scrap metal, they finally came back to the strange tree. Zolara opened his mouth, but quickly shut it after a dirty look from S'maash. Brelyna snickered.

"Perhaps, we should go back and take that stone bridge down," she suggested.

S'maash nodded. They returned to the initial chamber, and backtracked to the closest pavilion. There, they took the winding, stone bridge to a lower level, crossed another platform, passed more, brass-like fences, and finally stood before the misty water. Old debris was visible beneath the water. S'maash wondered how deep Nchuand-Zel went.

"There's a door across the way," Brelyna said, pointing.

"Aye," Zolara said.

The argonian wasted no time. He took off all his clothes and put them in his travel pack. Then, he looked back at the other two. They had a look of disbelief painted across their faces.

"What?" Zolara shrugged.

"Nothing," S'maash replied.

He stripped down as well, but kept his subregalia around his waist. To everyone's surprise, S'maash was rather well built. Brelyna followed suit; her trim figure glistened from light of gas lamps above. S'maash and Zolara exchanged glances then looked back to Brelyna.

"Grow up," she snapped.

Truthfully, she had not minded being momentarily ogled. It was a small boost of confidence.

"Well, I'll go first," Zolara announced.

He hopped head first into the water, travel pack still upon his shoulders. He swam faster than either of the elves imagined. He even managed to keep his pack dry.

"Hey, Zolara! Come back and grab our packs, too. We can't swim like that, they'll get wet," S'maash called out.

"Certainly!"

Two more times, Zolara made the trip. On the third, the others joined him. Once everyone was by the new entrance, they spent a moment donning their gear. Then, they pushed the dwemer doors open, and went into the armory.

As with the previous section, machinery jutted from every corner, floor, and abutment; the scent of dwarven oil was thick in the air. While the immense, stone hallways lacked separate rooms, there were numerous alcoves with emptied chests. Every time they spotted one, Zolara ran over to it then shook his head in dismay.

"I can't believe it's been picked completely clean. All I've seen thus far is dwemer metal and ruined books," S'maash commented.

"It's that damn Dragonborn. He must've taken it all," Zolara crowed.

"Or, more likely, the falmer," Brelyna replied.

They proceeded around another bend. It revealed a set of stairs leading down. Next, they reached a wall. To the right were steps leading back up. Ultimately, they found themselves at a fork, but the path ended before them with a series of dwarven metal bars spanning a long ways to the left and right.

A way around was visible from either side. S'maash shrugged and went to the right, turned left at a corner, then heard a racket coming from down the hall. They all stopped.

The hissing of falmer resonated, followed by the empty, flat clamor of dwemer machinery. The group glanced at one another. Once more, they prepared for the fight by casting protection spells. Zolara summoned a flame atronach and a bound sword. S'maash brought a frozen mist to both hands. Brelyna brought sparks to one and a healing spell to the other. They trudged cautiously.

The closer they came to the battle, the more machinery was heard clunking about. Less and less falmer hissing bled through the walls. Upon rounding the last corner to their right, they saw why. A dwarven centurian master, a creature similar to the one within Understone Keep, had crushed several falmer. Prominently, it stood guard before a set of doors.

The magnificent, dwemer automaton was a sight to behold. Built from dwarven metal, it glimmered, falmer blood dripping from its mechanical arms. The centurion master wielded a sword-like arm and a maul-like arm; the heavy, metal structure looked indestructible.

The group stared at it. S'maash narrowed his eyes. The spinning gears built into the machine's joints.

Suddenly, the flame atronach rushed the enemy, unleashing magickal fires. The centurion met the atronach with hammer and blade. Zolara looked at his bound sword and decided constant summoning of atronachs was safer. Brelyna looked to S'maash, who was undaunted.

Gnashing his teeth, he flung a series of ice spikes around the atronach. Though its movement was graceful, it was also erratic, and some of the spells impacted against the summoned creature. Then, an overhead smash from the centurion's mighty hammer destroyed it. While Zolara summoned once again, the centurion came closer; metal boots stomped down the hallway.

"Zolara, Brelyna, listen to me," S'maash ordered. "We have to fight as one. I need you to be brave; summon your bound sword and get behind it. Brelyna and I will do our best to keep it slowed with frostbite. Worse comes to worse, we can all keep a healing spell equipped. Let's go!"

Zolara looked to Brelyna and shrugged. They followed their orders. It was difficult at first, seeing as the automaton was so large, but since the atronach kept it busy, the argonian capitalized by sliding beneath the machine's legs. Once he was safely on its backside, the dark elves stood on opposite sides of the atronach—palms outwards—expelling frozen magick upon the machine's front.

It took mere seconds for the centurion's gears to freeze over. That alone was enough to keep it slowed, but it released an immense burst of steam. The surprise attack caught Zolara in mid swing, killed the second atronach, and broke the concentration of the others.

"It's too powerful!" Zolara complained.

"Just hold strong!" S'maash commanded.

They readopted the three-pronged attack. Again, the centurion broke their strategy by knocking S'maash against the wall with its sword arm and Brelyna against the other wall with its hammer arm. Zolara witnessed both elves flying like rag dolls and considered running, but he summoned another atronach, ran a few steps back, summoned a bound bow, and fired purple arrows at the mechanical menace.

"This ends now," Zolara yelled.

The brutish automaton exhibited difficulty maneuvering in the tight hallway, but it did manage to slowly turn and face the conjurer. As it approached, the machine beat its weaponized arms against the walls. Zolara faltered for a moment. In that time, the elves had healed. With dual dual ice spikes, both dunmer froze it over once more.

In response, the centurion ground some gears, let off some steam, and charged with swinging arms at the atronach. With it destroyed, only Zolara stood before it.

"Help?" he peeped.

He had backpeddled as far as the area allowed. His tail was at the double doors.

"Just open the doors," Brelyna yelled.

As the elves maintained their cold fury, the argonian did open the doors. On the other side were two, dwarven spheres, crossbows and swords at the ready.

"Oh! Yes! Open the doooooors," Zolara yelled.

He no longer cared about the situation and took off to areas unseen. The centurion, slow and relentless, let off more steam as it turned to face the elves. A monotonous drone echoed when it swung sideways at Brelyna, who ducked in the knick of time. S'maash switched to a bound sword in his right hand while switching to icy spear with the other. He fired one spear into the automaton's hip gears then ran in low to slide beneath it. There, he jammed the bound sword into the area just under the machine's back. As it flailed its arms, Brelyna held firm with her ice spikes. Seconds later, the gears sparked and jammed, causing the centurion to wobble.

It smashed against the wall then started to slide towards S'maash He backpeddled, leaving the bound sword—which vanished—in an effort to keep from being pinned by the tilting menace. To end the fight, he readied snow storm. Three blasts of icy tornadoes was sufficient.

"Where did he go," she asked.

S'maash just shook his head. Where ever Zolara had gone, the spheres had followed, so the elves entered the control room, a place even more riddled with gears and levers. Before taking full stock of the room, they heard Zolara scream. He ran across a hallway further in, and he was on fire. It was the evident result of a trap, not an automaton attack. Though, directly behind him, spheres gave chase.

S'maash and Brelyna ran to the hall, took their right, and followed the automatons. A couple of snow storms, sparks, and a flame atronach made short work of the enemies. Zolara stood before the wreckage. He kicked a large, dwemer plate then hopped about as he had hurt his own foot.

"I can't believe you just left us," Brelyna yelled, incredulous.

"I didn't, I didn't just leave you…I…uh, led the enemy away, so we wouldn't be overwhelmed," he countered. "You're welcome."

"I don't believe you," she replied.

"Well, just be glad that, thanks to me, you're alive enough to be able to not believe me," he retorted.

"Maybe, we should just take a break," S'maash huffed.

Chapter Sixteen

An exhausting expedition throughout the confusing ruins of Nchuand-Zel ultimately ended in respite. Consumption of food and water left the trio in better spirits. Afterwards, they proceeded through the control room. Apart from endless machinery, and dwemer spiders, there wasn't much else. Eventually, they found themselves on an overlook just outside the control room. They had essentially gone full circle and back to a section of Nchuand-Zel mid way up from the water. S'maash gave a shrug in desperation.

"We're chasing our tails, here," Brelyna commented.

Zolara chuckled, gripped his tail, and shook it about. Then, he pointed firmly at it and chastised it for running circles. S'maash shook his head in dismay.

S'maash grumbled, "Hermaeus Mora said we had to go beyond the end, but if it's a circle where would that be?"

Zolara spit over the edge. His trickle of saliva fell several feet before echoing against the water. Concentric rings ebbed away from the droplet.

"Maybe, the end is below us," the argonian suggested.

Brelyna and S'maash locked eyes. "That's brilliant," she said.

"Well, glad to have you back on my side," Zolara remarked.

"Looks like it's up to you, argonian," S'maash said.

Zolara looked about in mock confusion. "What's up to me?"

"Go underwater and see if there's a sunken passage," S'maash stated.

Zolara groaned.

"It's the only option," Brelyna said.

"Only option," Zolara asked, accusingly. "You, the College's instructor of alteration, do not possess a water breathing spell? And you, enchanter, you don't have an amulet you enchanted?"

"No, Sir," S'maash answered, dryly.

"I do have a water breathing spell, but they wear off. It will be simpler for you to take your time and search. What are you worried about, anyway," Brelyna asked.

"Nothing…I'll do it," Zolara gave in.

Minutes later, they worked their way past the control room and the armory. Upon reaching the bottommost area, Zolara stripped nude again. He cracked his neck then hopped in, vanishing immediately; he scarcely broke the water's smooth surface. Ocassionally, the elves briefly saw his green tail poke out. It quickly receded. Then, there was nothing. The water resumed its lifeless lack of motion.

"You think he'll be alright," S'maash asked.

"He's quite capable, at least in class. Why the antics is beyond me."

For a while longer, they continued conversations. Discussing what had transpired during their time apart was the most congenial topic. Brelyna had focused on teaching, but was glad to hear all about S'maash's errands for Farengar. Zolara's head sticking out of the water interrupted their conversation.

"Hey!" he called out.

"Yes," S'maash stood as he asked.

"I might have found something, but I can't move the rubble out of the way on my own."

"Right. I'll cast water breathing on us," Brelyna said to S'maash.

"We'll provide assistance in a moment," S'maash told Zolara.

Once ready, the elves joined the argonian. Beneath the water's surface was a fallen, stone pillar. Zolara led them beyond it.

There was a hallway beneath the sunken rubble. At the end of the hallway was more rubble. Zolara pointed to it. While it was difficult to see underwater, as not much light reached so far down, the debris did appear to be blocking a passage. Working in unison, the three were able to remove large rocks, thus opening the hallway for passage.

As they proceeded, the elves grew concerned with the possibility of their spell wearing off, but they soon began swimming above a noticeable incline. Less than a minute later, they poked their heads through the water and into a darkened area. S'maash casted candle light, revealing dwemer stonework. Nchuand-Zel had more stories to tell than even Aicantar knew.

"I suppose it makes sense," S'maash said while putting on his wet clothes.

"What does," Zolara asked.

"Well, there must be other hidden chambers. The falmer are obviously coming from somewhere"

"Fair point," Brelyna said as she finished dressing.

The hallway led to a juncture, a crossroads under Nchuand-Zel, and S'maash bore left. Their steps echoed loudly—except S'maash's—in the unexplored portion of the ruin. No machinery was seen along the way.

A faint light appeared in the distance. Slowly, the team approached. As they drew closer, it became evident the source was a dwemer, gas lamp. The light shone into the hall from a room beyond.

Inside the room were stone beds arranged in a circular fashion; the lamp hung above in the center of the beds. Each bed had a chest at the foot. Zolara rubbed clawed hands together. To his dismay, most were locked, but he was not unprepared.

"You can pick these," S'maash asked.

"Of course! Oh," Zolara said while breaking a pick almost immediately. "Well, this one appears to have a master level lock installed. No matter. I shall approach the next one."

He managed to pick three chests, and two were not locked. The contents revealed pieces of dwarven equipment. They decided to arm themselves; Brelyna took a dwarven dagger of scorching, Zolara took a dwarven sword of arching, and S'maash took a dwarven bow of dismay. He also found a handful of arrows. Their new equipment added magickal damage in the capacity of fire, shock, and fear.

Various other rings and necklaces were in the mix as well. Dwemer coins, brightly colored potions, reagents, and some books also lined the chests. The wizard was surprised to see books in the original dwemer script. While he wasn't able make sense of them, he figured Aicantar might be interested.

"Won't you put some clothes on," Brelyna finally asked.

Zolara shrugged in resignation. "Looks like this trip was worth it," he cheered before dressing.

"Not until I find this fragment of the Heart of Lorkhan," S'maash retorted.

Brelyna placed a hand on his shoulder. Since there wasn't anything else there, they backtracked to the crossroads, and that time, S'maash continued straight to a hall that ended rather abruptly, as it had caved in, thus leaving only the one, unexplored path. Once they returned to it, S'maash recasted candle light, and off they went down a long, undulating corridor.

An extensive journey with no end in sight ensued. A break in dwemer architecture gave way to natural, brown rock. The ruin's corridors were little more than an excavation site. Zolara stopped.

"Chaurus egg sacs?" the argonian was surprised. S'maash walked back to his position. Magickal light revealed the truth. There were slime covered, white, speckled eggs. "That means chaurus."

"That means more falmer. I think you were right, S'maash; they must be coming from here," Brelyna said.

"We must be extremely cautious. If this is where they reside, we're in for a serious battle," S'maash stated.

They were in agreement. I hope this stupid light spell doesn't give us away, but I'd hate to step on a trap. He slowed his pace considerably in an effort to listen for a sign of movement. Moments later, he saw more and more, egg sacs. A scuttling sound echoed in the distance.

Suddenly, his spell vanished. He waited a moment, listening to the airy breath of the cavern. The momentary pause allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was some light further ahead, but it seemed to be around a corner. He moved forwards.

"S'maash," Brelyna whispered.

"Yes?"

"Did you move?"

It had slipped his mind that his boots were enchanted. "Yes, sneak forwards. I see light."

Zolara had no problem. While it was unbeknownst to the others, his sneaking skills were impressive. His parents, who were born in Black Marsh, had taught him well. Brelyna was the only one to make noise, albeit little. Shortly there after, they all met at a rocky wall that curved off to the left. Across the way, were glowing mushrooms; the gray, light producing reagents grew from countless crags.

S'maash looked at his comrades. Once eye contact was established, he pointed to the right. Caged chaurus were scurrying about their modest, living quarters. The large insects appeared formidable with their armored scutes and malevolent mandibles, yet the blackened bars of thei cages kept them at bay. The big bugs scuttled about on several legs, their dark carapace reflecting the glow of mushrooms.

A falmer was spotted in the distance. The wizard wondered how effective sneaking truly was. Falmer smelled their prey, after all. Muffled steps were not enough to sneak by undetected, but the elf had an idea.

"Stay here," he whispered. Excruciatingly slow, he moved to retrieve glowing mushrooms and returned with a handful. "We rub them on our bodies to mask our scent."

The three did so before continuing. S'maash's idea did well to hide their presence. Further along, they found themselves on a rocky overhang. Below them was an ominous sight, a circle of falmer dancing around a strange object. The only light shone from a monumental, glowing mushroom on the far end of the cavern above them.

A sudden pang of excitement chilled the elf. He knew full well it was the fragment of Lorkhan's Heart the falmer were worshipping. He also knew there was no easy way to get it.

"Ideas," he asked.

"Suppose we build this large, stone badger," Zolara whispered.

The elves gave him a death glare. The argonian quieted as he raised his hands in surrender.

"Zolara, from how far can you summon an atronach," S'maash asked.

"Quite," he replied.

The elf reasoned that if the falmer ran off to battle an atronach, he had an opportunity snatch the object and return before detection. He peered down. It was evident a drop down from his position was easy, but the return route took him far to his right. He believed that an atronach conjured to the far left side of the room below was the best option.

Zolara stretched out his arms. He then gave S'maash a nod. Soon as Zolara started the summons, S'maash dropped the moderate distance. A flame atronach appeared at the same time S'maash's feet hit he ground. The sudden appearance of an enemy sparked the predicted reaction.

Outraged falmer attacked the creature on scent. Unfortunately, the atronach was unfit to handle so many assailants. The crashing of chitinous weapons defeated the flaming harlot in little time. S'maash stopped dead in his tracks, in a crouched position, and with his eyes widened in fear. Zolara had the sense to summon another atronach before the falmer had the chance to wonder what was happening.

The second summons, and subsequent battle, provided the elf enough time to grab a large chunk of something like obsidian. He didn't care to question its authenticity. Instead, he ran far to his right in a roundabout fashion to get close to the cave wall. Just before reaching the carved stairs, he heard and felt something peculiar. All falmer ears turned to him. He had snagged a trip wire, causing a large claw to swing in his direction; a near miss, but the falmer were on to him.

"Oh my," Zolara said.

"Do something," Brelyna yelled.

"I am, woman!"

He summoned yet another atronach to stand between the falmer and S'maash, who was in full run with a stone the size of an orc's fist. The fiery dancer created enough of a diversion for the wizard to reach his friends.

"Time to run," he yelled as he went on by.

They did not delay. All three dashed through the cave and into the dark hallway. A natural fear of running in the dark slowed them, so Brelyna took the initiative to cast candle light. Her overcharged version provided a little more light and lasted quite a bit longer than S'maash's, yet it danced above them, chasing their pace. With the pathway clear before them, they made it all the way back to the water.

"Hurry, cast your spell!" S'maash ordered.

Brelyna complied while hearing the distinct sound of argonian weight diving into water. The elves followed suit once water breathing was casted. S'maash managed to jam the stone into his robe, freeing his arms for a better swim. After emerging into Nchuand-Zel, he had an insight.

"Quick! Back underwater, we'll block the passage," he shouted.

Beneath the rippling waters, they forced some larger stones into the gaps. With the passage blocked, they surfaced once more, if exhausted.

"By the Nine! That was some run," Zolara cheered.

"There is something wrong with you, argonian," Brelyna said in disbelief.

"I can't believe I did it, we did it," S'maash added.

None of them cared to find out if the falmer were successfully blocked, so they made their return through Nchuand-Zel. Elated and commenting on their success, they continued into Understone Keep without even stopping for breath. Upon entering Aicantar's chamber of study, they found it deserted. Evidently, they had been in Nchuand-Zel for hours. It was night and most everyone had gone to bed.

"The Silver-Blood Inn then," Zolara suggested.

"Good idea," Brelyna said.

"I could use some mead," S'maash added.

"Mead, mead, mead…would it kill you to get some beer now and again? Stupid bees and their stupid honey," Zolara grumbled.

"I'll buy," Brelyna added in resignation.

"I love mead," Zolara said.

Chapter Seventeen

The following morning, S'maash regrouped with his friends outside the inn. Cold wind blew from the mountains in the west. It seemed to settle right over Markarth. Even walking at a brisk pace to Understone Keep, the crew felt the chill of Skyrim's climate. Upon entering, they went straight to Aicantar's study area. He was sitting with a book in his hands.

"Aicantar. Good morning," Brelyna said.

His face lit up. "Good to see you. I had dared to believe you would return safely."

"We retrieved the fragment as well as these strange books," S'maash said, showing the tomes to the altmer.

"Ah. Well, now, they seem to have gotten wet. No worries, so you say you found it?" Aicantar was as close to bursting as any high elf. S'maash produced the obsidian gem he stole. Then, he explained how they went through a hidden passage. "Under the water, you say. Now, I am truly impressed. A piece of the Heart of Lorkhan…can you be sure, though?"

"No, but the falmer appeared to have been worshipping it," S'maash replied.

"It was an eerie sight to behold," Brelyna added.

Zolara nodded in agreement. Aicantar shrugged. A brief moment passed wherein no one had anything to say. It was difficult to believe that the ancient artifact had been right under Markarth the entire time. Finally, Aicantar returned to the damp books.

"I cannot read them, but I thought you might be able to," S'maash explained.

"Certainly, I can try. My uncle was the one obsessed with the dwemer. I just find their legacy fascinating. No doubt, he has notes allowing a translation. I should say left me notes…rest his soul," Aicantar commented.

"We're off to the College now. Thank you Aicantar," S'maash smiled.

"To study the relic I presume," Aicantar pried.

"Actually, no, I need to recover a journal. I don't know the location of the other fragment, and I have need of both of them to satisfy Hermaeus Mora."

"Come back soon. I should have these translated within a month or so. Best of luck to you all."

They bid him well and left Markarth to hire a carriage ride back to Winterhold. The long trip allowed the travelers time to discuss further planning. Brelyna believed she was not going to join S'maash on the next expedition; it was too dangerous, and she was needed at the College. Zolara decided he had had enough adventure for one week.

"Understandable. I appreciate that both of you came along. Perhaps, I will find some fighters to hire. Do you have a Reyda Tong presence here," S'maash asked.

"No. Nor do we have a Fighters' Guild. Instead we have the Companions. They're an order of warriors whose origin started thousands of years ago, back when Ysgramor first led the five hundred," Brelyna replied.

"I'll figure something."

The ride through Markarth's territories was relaxing. By the time they crossed over the Pale, night had settled in, and they fell asleep. The following morning, the cart driver woke them. Further discussions of what adventures and dangers lay ahead ensued. Night settled in once more before reaching the town of Winterhold. Beautiful patterns of colored lights swam in the black sky beyond the College's towers.

"Well, I'm off to bed. Stay safe, S'maash," Zolara said and left.

"Will you be resting here," Brelyna asked.

"I might as well. I have to recover Farengar's journal from Tolfdir," S'maash replied.

With nothing much to do until the following morning, they all went to sleep. It was a restless sleep, for the wizard, though. Strange dreams of endless caverns and hordes of falmer assaulted his mind.

The next day, he met Tolfdir in the Hall of the Elements. Other students had gathered to practice their destruction skills. Thunder and explosions echoed in the background along with laughter.

"Yes, I recall reading something about the locations of the fragments. I can go retrieve the journal if you like," Tolfdir said.

"I'd appreciate that very much."

A moment later, Tolfdir returned with the journal in hand. S'maash took it then flipped through pages. The latter portions contained bits of Farengar's thoughts on what he believed Hermaeus Mora needed. Previously, S'maash was uncertain as to what the notes referred to when speaking of two endeavors. The notes mentioned a city of stone. Markarth clearly, S'maash thought. Another, nonsensical word appeared, obviously of dwemer origins.

"Mzulft. Where is that?"

"Oh, it's due north of Riften. You can try to get there from Windhelm, but navigating around the mountains is quite perilous," Tolfdir advised.

"So, I'll head all the way back to Riften. It has been a long time since I've been there," S'maash said, looking away.

"Is there anything you'll need before your journey?"

"I am in need of some food perhaps. I'll have to cast new enchantments to diversify my gear as well," S'maash announced.

"Before you do, I have something for you." Tolfdir produced a bundle of tan cloth. As he unwrapped, a pommel was revealed, then the entire blade. It was very unusual. Tolfdir handed it to S'maash. "Do you know what this is?"

"I do not, but I feel the magicka radiating from within its structure," S'maash looked the blade up and down.

"That is Keening, one of the artifacts used by the dwemer when they vanished from our world. Its other half is Sunder," Tolfdir said.

S'maash looked up from the blade to meet the old nord's eyes. He was aware of Kagrenac's tools, but knew little of them.

"Tell me more," S'maash demanded.

"I found it after you…well after you wreaked havoc on your room. Arniel had hidden it, or perhaps the Dragonborn had hidden it. I don't know how much you know about Arniel Gane, but he was studying the dwemer for entirely different reasons than yourself.

"Upon his request, the Dragonborn helped Arniel with his endeavor. Other than the blade, I also found some old logbooks. They were hidden under some floorboards. Far as I can tell, Arniel forged a warped soul gem and attempted a maneuver similar to the dwemer's, only he did not have all the necessary items.

"I fear we'll never know just how it all ended. Arniel simply vanished," Tolfdir explained.

"Fascinating. Where is the other half of this blade? Where is Sunder?" the elf demanded. Tolfdir only shook his head. S'maash put the blade away. "Thank you. I'll be in my room then."

He ran off to secure his equipment. Keening was an alluring artifact. It reverberated ever so slightly as though it had been lightly tapped. Once S'maash focused upon it, he felt three, distinct enchantments, flows of magicka. How can it possess three enchantments? It was that kind of question, which drove him inexorably towards discovery.

After placing Keening in the old, linen wraps, S'maash hid it safely inside a small chest. He then returned to his task at hand- forging versatile equipment. There are no enchantments to increase the destructive power of magick. Instead, I can only reduce the drain upon my reserves. Physical damage, on the other hand, can be increased by fortifying one's own ability in specialized combat. Before committing to his act, he scrambled for a new journal.

In the log, he scribed a theory. He was going to find some fortify enchanting potions. He knew Brelyna had some stashed away. Next, he was going to craft a set of equipment to improve smithing, not for himself, but for his old friend in Riften, Balimund. S'maash reasoned that if he improved all of his equipment and fortified his newly honed combat skills, he might fare better against the falmer and automatons of Mzulft. Strong as magickal attacks were, they did little against several creatures. Furthermore, spells with a radius effect always had the possibility of injuring one's friends. He logged the equipment and enchantments in his new journal before undertaking the actual task.

For Balimund, he wrote; leather bracers, leather armor, silver ring, and silver necklace. All of these enchanted to fortify smithing.

For myself, he wrote; a hide shield with resist magicka and fortify block. An elven sword with fiery, soul trap and frost damage. One pair of leather boots fortified with one-handed and muffle. Leather armor, fortifying my abilities with light armor and stamina. One, leather helmet, fortifying restoration and destruction. A second set of leather bracers for myself, fortifying one-handed and magicka. A silver ring to resist magicka and fortify destruction, and lastly a silver necklace with fortify restoration and destruction.

Obtaining everything was a time consuming effort. He spent hours running about, wherein he sold off the treasures recovered from Nchuand-Zel, purchased all the required equipment, bought new, spell tomes, and received the potions from Brelyna. Upon the conclusion of his undertaking, S'maash left for Riften in the late evening. Between the jostlings of the cart ride, he added to a journal he had started long ago, making notes about his friends, places visited, and thoughts on his quest.

On a dewy morning, he arrived in Riften. It was much warmer so near Cyrodiil. The town had a golden sheen from the sun in the cloudless sky. S'maash found Balimund at his forge.

"Is that S'maash? What are you doing out here? College business, I presume," Balimund said as he stood to shake hands.

"Personal business, and I brought you some gifts. I thought you might want to try them," S'maash said, handing over a satchel.

"Armor," Balimund asked.

"Enchanted to fortify smithing," S'maash smiled.

"I don't know what to say," Balimund said accepting the gift.

"Say you'll improve my equipment free of charge."

"You've been a good friend to me. That means something. Of course, I'll do it." They spent some time catching up on life as Balimund operated the worktable and grindstone. "So, Mzulft eh? You're not the same mer who came in here almost a year ago," Balimund commented.

"I suppose not."

"Just make sure you're careful. Seasoned warriors and mages might both fall prey to ancient traps. Keep your eyes peeled, Okay?" Balimund suggested.

"Thank you, friend. I will, and I'll stop by once I have advanced my research."

S'maash made for the road heading north and out of Riften. The scenery was vastly different than most of Skyrim; trees grew all about the grassy hills, colorful leaves swirled, and there was even a variety of birdsongs. It did not take long before S'maash spotted broken piping protruding from the ground surrounding cliffs and ancient ruins.

Mzulft was built high into the mountains. Moments of jogging uphill ensued. S'maash came upon the doors leading into the ruins and pushed through. Like the other, dwarven cities, pipes, gears, and machinery lined the walls and ground, only in Mzulft they were grouped tighter together as though the dwarves had too little space. Plus, he was absolutely deafened by the clanking of machines.

A sudden sinking feeling set in, before S'maash reacted, spikes from the ceiling dealt his flesh a bit of damage. He yelled in pain as he fell backwards.

"Oof! Balimund just told me to keep my eyes peeled."

Shaking his head, he healed himself, stepped over the pressure plate, and moved further in. It was difficult to tell whether Mzulft was simply older or more badly damaged than other ruins. Several oddities struck him, though; the halls were steamy, there was old camping gear, and winding areas led into portions of the ruin, which were not organic to dwemer architecture. Those earthy areas seemed to have been carved beyond the former walls and into the natural mountain. It was stranger still that dwemer, gas lamps hung suspended from the natural ceilings.

Evidence of a previous expedition invited him to be extra careful. Thankfully, he spotted the trip wires along the way. Definitely not dwemer traps, and the camping gear isn't falmer. I wonder who came through.

Hours of navigating the twisting caverns passed then he had to cross over darkened areas, which forced him to wield candle light. Apart from traps, Mzulft appeared rather safe. A very strange thought nagged him. Why does it keep going up?

Every, other, dwemer city was designed to progresses deeper and deeper, but Mzulft was different. After a long hike, S'maash found himself in a very dark room filled with steamy pipes. Crumbled pillars were before him. He gazed over a ledge built into a depression in the stonework. It was obvious the only way forwards was to hug the leftmost wall, but pipes were protruding from there as well. Upon drawing closer, S'maash casted another candle light to better see.

The spell revealed pressure plates in the ground. As he sidled the wall and piping, he made sure to step over the traps. On the other side, he was safe.

Beyond a corner was a set of dwarven metal doors, but there were dead falmer and broken automatons strewn all over. The wizard walked beyond the evidence of battle and into the boilery, a damp, dark area emitting a strange, mechanical whining.

Large, empty halls appeared picked clean. There wasn't so much as dwemer pottery, scrap metal, or anything. After passing another, earthy area, he reached a room with barred gates, peculiar gates not of dwemer construction. Taking a moment to scan his surroundings, he noticed beyond one gate were mangled automatons, beyond another was practically nothing, just one, stone bench. The other gate was open. Beyond it was a rubbly passage where ferns grew from the ground.

Shrugging, he settled for the open gate, first; the path beyond was winding and undulating. Dwemer stonework soon gave way to brown, rocky passages carved by unknown hands. They, in turn, gave way to black stone and glowing mushrooms, so he treaded carefully, believing the area to be falmer territory.

He spotted dark huts, seemingly of falmer architecture, but they were empty. Mysteriously, the falmer cave gave way to more of Mzulft. S'maash then found himself in a spanning, rectangular room with a sunken center. At the center were huge, broken pipes. Water had recently pooled at the surrounding ground.

A thorough inspection ensued; he concluded there was little of interest and proceeded around the depression and up stairs. There, he pushed through doors and into the aedrome, where he halted and shook his head. Mzulft was very unlike Nchuand-Zel and Damlzthur; it was downright mystifying, but only in its architecture.

The aedrome lacked much in the way of dwemer art. It was mostly bland, gray stone, though carved exceptionally well. Many doors remained locked. If the way beyond the hall is through one of these doors, I'll have to come back with someone who can pick locks.

Before making a decision to leave, he skulked around the room. Tall pillars rose to the ceiling in a beautiful array, yet there didn't appear to be anything worthy of scrutiny, so he broke for food and rest. Refreshed, he skulked some more and found one side of the aedrome had a set of stairs leading up, and the opposite side had stairs leading down, yet both were a dead end.

"Nothing in here," S'maash said, his voice reverberating from wall to wall.

With no other alternative, and his patience gone, he decided to abandon Mzulft for the time being. It was a mindnumbing journey, which took hours. Ultimately, he stopped by the area with the strange, barred gates.

"I wonder what the story is, here."

For all intents and purposes, the rooms beyond the gates appeared ordinary. There was nothing within that required barred entry. Resigning himself to futility, he started back for Riften.

It was late evening when he entered the town gates.

"Lightly armored means light on your feet. Smart," the guard said.

S'maash nodded accordingly before marching to Haelga's Bunkhouse. Much to his surprise, he found a familiar face bickering with the proprietor.

"I just don't understand why there are no argonians in your employment," Zolara argued.

"Listen, there simply aren't any here," Haelga snapped.

Upon noticing S'maash had entered, she walked around her counter, and past Zolara, who followed her. S'maash shook his head and laughed.

"Welcome back. Oh yes, I remember you," Haelga said to S'maash. "Let me find you a nice companion for the night."

The elf thanked her. While she left to find him a lady friend, Zolara approached.

"No luck in Mzulft, so you come here," he asked.

"Something like that. What brings you to Riften anyway?"

"I couldn't bear missing out on the excitement, so I took off to Windhelm where I purchased a ride here. I only just arrived. I would have guessed they had better hospitality in a place like this!" Zolara turned to see what Haelga was doing.

"Your bed awaits, dark elf," she said.

S'maash shrugged then patted his friend's shoulder. "Meet with me tomorrow morning at the town gate."

Canoodling revitalized the young wizard. When the sun rose, he made for the gates. Just outside Riften—a melody of birdsong in the air—he and the argonian spoke.

"I need your assistance. There are gates and doors I'm unable to open. Until I explore those areas, I can't know for certain if this fragment is in there somewhere," S'maash explained.

"What kind of defenses are we working against," Zolara inquired.

"Just old, dwemer traps and what look like trip wires left behind by an expedition. There is something peculiar about that place. I saw dead falmer and broken automatons, but there were no enemies, and there were no functioning defenses."

"Where did the falmer come from?"

The elf shrugged, and he admitted he was baffled. The two looked from each other to the billowing foliage overhead.

"Very well. Shall we be off?"

"Yes," S'maash smiled.

As they made their journey back to Mzulft, Zolara grew curious. "Was he good?"

"Excuse me?"

The conjurer snickered. "I jest, friend. Who was she? Last night, I mean," Zolara clarified. S'maash replied with a dirty look. "I see," the argonian hissed.

The two adventurers entered the ruins. Buzzing and whirring machines led the way back to the strange gates. Even Zolara wondered over their presence.

"They look to be made by modern man, no," the argonian inquired.

"I believe so…."

Zolara checked them. "I can open this one, but the other might be a little difficult."

"First, I want to check some of these other doors further up," S'maash stated.

"As you wish."

They progressed through the cave-like portions, back to the rectangular area with depressed flooring. Then, they walked up the stairs into the aedrome. The first, locked door gave Zolara trouble. He tried his pick one way then another. He broke three in total before scratching at his horn with a broken pick.

"I think it needs a key," Zolara remarked.

S'maash had been standing behind him, scrutinizing the stonework. "Truly?"

"Yes, most locks, even the most difficult, can be picked. When I come across one such as this, I have no way to align the tumblers. One must have the key," Zolara clarified.

"We might have to take the entire door down," S'maash said.

"You. You might have to take the entire door down."

The elf scowled before checking other doors. Most of them revealed only dead ends. One revealed a dead end, and a wrecked, dwarven centurian. One door led them down a hallway. In it, was an old, makeshift camp. Among the bedroll, was a nonsensical journal, Paratus' Log.

It held scribblings about a Synod expedition in search of utilizing some dwemer construct to locate objects of great power all across Tamriel. The first few passages made enough sense as they described using a special crystal to focus starlight. After those passages came descriptions of falmer raids. S'maash and Zolara exchanged a glance.

Following the falmer raids, and the theft of the crystal, came a passage about the Dragonborn. He had evidently recovered the crystal for Paratus. After that, was a passage declaring that the Dragonborn was harboring something immensely potent at the College of Winterhold. S'maash and Zolara exchanged another glance.

The scribblings became less comprehensive. Apparently, Paratus had decided to continue living in Mzulft. He feared a journey back through the ruins would end with his untimely death at the hands of the falmer.

"But there are no remains," Zolara commented.

"Maybe he left after all? Let's keep reading."

Further passages were simple phrases; revolving rooms, split centers, falmer come through walls. The phrase they're in the walls became recurrent. Paratus's mind had obviously decayed, but Zolara was right, he certainly had not remained in that hallway.

"Let's continue further and see where this leads," Zolara suggested.

They pressed on, going through a final door, and into a winding, circular room. At the center was an enormous, dwemer, steel structure with several, glass plates. The winding path brought the two around and over the dwemer sphere to what appeared to be a study hall. Apart from the incomprehensible machine, there was little else of interest, so they tried the only, other door, which led to an unsightly exit into the high mountains.

"I don't think your fragment is here, S'maash," Zolara said, looking out into Skyrim's landscape.

"Let's go back inside then," the elf huffed.

Slowly, the explorers combed over the ruins once more. They eventually found themselves back at the locked gates. While S'maash rested for a moment to gather his thoughts, Zolara decided to pick the gates. He started with the most difficult. Beyond it was only dwarven wreckage, but there was little else to do.

"Are you certain? Could your wizard not have made a mistake," Zolara asked as he worked away.

A subtle clink rang. Zolara had broken another pick.

"I don't know. I might just leave and come back later. I can't forego the possibility of him being right. I may have to check every stone, every crevice."

"Got it," Zolara yelled in success.

"So, what's in there?"

"Rubbish," Zolara said after a moment.

"And the other?"

"Remains to be seen," Zolara said, jauntily.

While Zolara set about picking the second lock, S'maash searched the room with the rubbish. The argonian was right, there was nothing of value. Then, the sound of the other gate opening reverberated with a creak. S'maash walked over to find Zolara standing. They met eyes, but said nothing. The elf frowned while inspecting room.

"Just a bench," he said.

"Maybe these were holding cells," Zolara suggested.

"It is certainly possible." A break in the pattern on the floor called his attention. He knelt down and felt it. He looked up to see the same in the ceiling. "Strange that the ceiling should have that small opening at its apex, and more odd that this, one, room has that furrow along the floor."

"These walls appear to have a steady seam as well," Zolara said.

"Start running your hands along the stones. There may be a switch, or pressure plate, or something," S'maash puffed.

After the tedium of searching, Zolara found a small stone. He pushed it into the wall. A sudden rumble assaulted the two. It seemed as though the whole of Mzulft was coming apart. Fearing the worst, they ran back to the entry for safe observation. The far half of the room was slowly rotating along the seam. On a vertical axis, it rearranged itself. Once the process came to completion, the former opening in the ceiling was along the floor. Mzulft had a secret way down.

Chapter Eighteen

A spiraling set of steps led the explorers into the depths of Mzulft. Both S'maash and Zolara casted candle light to reveal a variety of rock formations carved into the deep. Layers of strange mycelia covered the walls and ground of the cavernous extent. Zolara prodded at the luminescent growth.

"It looks similar to glowing mushroom, but I assure you, it isn't," the argonian commented. S'maash was indifferent; he was only focused on finding the next fragment. As Zolara kept pace, he considered the possibility of new reagents. "Did the dwemer practice alchemy?"

"I am unsure. Why?"

"I have never seen some of these mushrooms, much less had the privilege to study the actual root system."

Progressing ever deeper, the cave-like structure of Mzulft opened into a black expanse of stone walls. Among the walls, the unknown mycelia glowed, providing an eerie, soft, blue light. S'maash felt somewhat agitated.

"It could be anywhere in here. This place is endless," he complained.

"Perhaps, we should hug the walls in search of falmer structures."

"Smart."

"The left one or the right one," Zolara asked.

"It doesn't matter…left."

"No, I like the right one."

Rolling his eyes, S'maash sighed and followed behind him. A long walk ensued. Eventually, they came upon a hill. From its crest, they spotted mist far off in the distance to their left. The glow of mushrooms gave the fog a mystical, scintillating quality.

Disoriented by the expansive emptiness below Mzulft, Zolara tapped S'maash on the shoulder then pointed to the mist. His friend nodded, so they walked towards it until they realized it wasn't mist at all. It was water. A towering, brass-like pipe rose from the water to heights unseen.

"This must be a source of steam," Zolara concluded.

S'maash nodded accordingly, yet remained aloof. "It doesn't help."

After resting for a moment, they continued their search along the walls. Still, they found no results.

"I have an idea," Zolara said. He proceeded to summon a storm atronach. Then, he fired spells of all kinds in every direction. "Do the same!" S'maash, a little confused and quite alarmed, rose from his seat. "We're attracting falmer! Wherever they come from must be where we have to go," the argonian yelled louder.

"Are you insane? We'll get killed!"

"Hey, you want to find this thing, right?"

Wide eyed, and biting his lip, the dark elf struggled to devise a better plan, but the noise had already been created. First, S'maash overcharged ebony flesh then he summoned a flame atronach. Instead of wasting more of his magicka reserves, he resorted to clapping and whistling.

Their rowdiness continued for moments, yet there was nothing beyond their echoes and errant explosions of light. Huffing and panting, the two eyed one another.

S'maash ran back to the piping and beat it with sword and shield. The gargantuan tube reverberated with strong echoes.

"Excellent," Zolara said.

For seconds, they both struck it. Then, they waited. Slow minutes rolled by before a flurry of feet were heard pounding over the ground. Both adventurers whipped their heads about, looking for the falmer stampede. Zolara spotted their approach and tapped S'maash. In order to provide certainty of orientation, the argonian placed a fire rune on the pipe, marking the direction from which to look.

"It appears as though more than a dozen falmer are coming. We had better summon atronachs," S'maash suggested.

Flame and storm atronachs were summoned. The two demons waded into battle while their summoners found a rocky hill to hide behind. In the dark recess of Mzulft Deep, the falmer had an easy time wiping out the summoned creatures; the wiry mer struck the atronachs with swords and axes. Screeches of victory resounded, and the adventurers summoned more atronachs before moving to a different hill, one slightly closer to the fray.

While the bulk of the falmer attacked the atronachs, more of them spread out to search for intruders. Zolara suggested they pick off those who scattered from the herd, so they hid, launched spells, casted their ebony flesh, and moved to a new vantage point. When an atronach fell, they summoned anew, and in that manner, the falmer were reduced to ash.

The dunmer suddenly let out a cry of pain. A gloom lurker had snuck over and brained him with its shield. With a mighty hiss, the falmer struck again with wicked blade. Zolara turned only to receive a shield bash to the face.

S'maash drew his sword and let loose a volley of ice spikes with his free hand. Zolara snuck behind the enemy and slashed it with his dwarven sword of arching. The sneak attack was enough to bring the snow elf to its knees. S'maash finished it off with a thrust, penetrating the falmer's carapace-like armor. The dead creature filled the daedric heart gem. Zolara then grasped S'maash shoulder.

"Atronachs and move," he whispered.

The elf summoned a flame atronach and made for another area. In something like a depression, he dropped to his knees and propped up his elbows to look back; he had lost sight of his friend. A bright, bluish, glow revealed the argonian had conjured a frost atronach, an icy golem. Again, each mage tossed about fire bolts and icy spears, and again, more falmer managed to defeat the atronachs, yet the creatures began to flee. After reorganizing and giving chase, the mages reached an opening dug into the side of a hill and ensconced in darkness.

"I'd hate for them to regroup," Zolara whispered.

"It will be easier to fight them in the corridor; they can't surround us or move well."

"Mm, let's go slowly," Zolara suggested.

"Very."

As soon as the echoes of escape subsided, the explorers began to move, yet it was so dark, casting a light spell was a necessity. Undulating, magickal lighting revealed the corridor was hewn from a marble-type stone. It was quite beautiful as the glistening portions of shiny stone reflected the spell.

Much further in, they reached a twist, and then they came to another turn. Going one way, uphill, and rounding a corner before going downhill, they were left disoriented. Fortunately, the falmer seemed to have vanished. S'maash halted.

"What if there are multiple entrances in here and they work around to our rear? We might get caught in a pincer attack," S'maash whispered in alarm.

"Well…too late to worry about that, now," Zolara answered, dryly.

"Brelyna was right. There is something wrong with you."

"Nonsense."

Ambivalently—thinking of his task rather than death—S'maash pushed further into the depths. Minutes later, they felt a kind of rhythm; a droning thump was bleeding through the walls. Allowing the candle light to vanish, they crawled on all fours, ever so slowly, as they felt their way with their hands. The farther they crawled, the louder the rhythm grew. Soon, they saw a bit of orange light.

The corridor opened into a central, stage-like area. From the center stage were tight corridors leading to areas unknown. Below, from a precipice they had reached, S'maash and Zolara saw falmer.

A bonfire burned behind a structure at the epicenter of the stage, thirty feet below, and hundreds of yards away. The creatures were arranged in a circle. Two of them fought each other in front of a curious structure at the epicenter. The sitting, or spectating, falmer were simply beating sword and shield against the ground.

"By the Nine, what is this?" Zolara whispered.

"I don't know, but I'm willing to bet that's the other fragment," the excitement in his tone gave way to apprehension.

While the falmer wrestled and pounded one another's heads against the rocky ground, S'maash kept squinting at the structure; there was something unnerving about it, but it was too far away, and the strange shadows cast from the fire made it even more difficult to discern much of anything. Zolara tapped the elf's shoulder then pointed down and to the right. There was a winding path leading down to the stage, yet S'maash was hesitant.

"That is certainly the easiest way to reach them, but we're going to have to hope they break off, and go to sleep, or eat, or something," S'maash whispered. "It is senseless to risk getting injured or killed, and I doubt we can run all the way back to the entrance without having to stop and catch our breaths…."

Zolara nodded. Lying on their bellies, the two simply observed the fighters; the creatures behaved as gladiators, and the dark depths was their arena. It was hours later, after many of them fought each other—but without deaths—that they finally declared a winner. One rather stocky snow elf reigned supreme. He then cut himself with a strange weapon, wiped his blood, and flung it at the structure. Before leaving, he placed that weapon at the foot of the structure. One-by-one the creatures exited.

S'maash tapped Zolara's shoulder; the argonian didn't stir. With a huff, he grabbed his friend's arm and shook it. Zolara let out a snort, realized the place was empty, and the two of them scuttled off below.

"Hey!" Zolara cheered. "Guess we found Paratus."

The incomprehensible structure turned out to be a skeleton. Its wrists were cinched to two, chitinous posts while its waist was cinched to a third, taller post, in the center. Inside the skeleton's ruptured ribcage was the second fragment of the Heart of Lorkhan, the supreme falmer's blood still wet upon it. At Paratus's bony feet was the weapon, a hammer.

Like Keening, it reverberated ever so slightly. In appearance, it was an ornate hammer with an edge on one side not unlike a hatchet, only less broad. Its dwemer steel handle was bejeweled. S'maash took it and the fragment then looked at Zolara, who was already making his way back to the corridor.

Safe on the precipice, the argonian casted candle light and summoned a flame atronach to guard their rear. From there, it was a long, if uneventful, journey to the large opening under Mzulft.

"Now we just need to find the way back into the actual ruins," Zolara remarked.

Slowing from a full run to catch their breath, they moseyed all the way back to the large pipe. Figuring that as the center, S'maash chose a direction he thought was appropriate. Zolara decided to shoot fire balls instead, hoping to see the stairs. To their benefit, the ploy was succesful.

"Follow me," he hissed.

A journey through Mzulft and back to Riften took several hours.

Chapter Nineteen

It was early morning by the time they entered the town's gates. Guards greeted the exhausted travelers.

"I used to be an adventurer like you then I took an arrow in the knee," he said.

"Yes, I believe we've heard that one before," Zolara snipped.

"Must have been from my cousin in Markarth," the guard replied.

"Actually, it was in Markarth," S'maash agreed.

They left the guard to his duty and entered the Bee and Barb to rent a room. After some much needed rest in their modest quarters, they woke to eat, drink, and discuss the next step of their journey. A lively bard strummed her lute, singing about the Dragonborn and his defeat of Alduin.

The surroundings were rather eloquent. Two argonians, a married couple, ran the two-story tavern. Several chairs and tables lined the social area. Riften's patrons laughed, drank, and joked.

"What does the journal say," Zolara asked.

"It mentions something about an immortal soul. I am supposed to infuse the Heart of Lorkhan with something…." S'maash looked up from the journal. "An immortal soul? That must mean a dragon's soul, right?"

"Don't they resist soul trap?"

"Yes, however, they were not able to resist the Dragonborn's ability to steal their souls, a conversation I had with Farengar," S'maash remarked.

"Then, what do we do? Do we try to find the Dragonborn?"

"I am at a loss, and the journal offers no more advice; we must find an immortal soul, and then place the Heart of Lorkhan somewhere forgotten, but I, I don't…."

The young elf huffed and shut the book. His friend patted his shoulder.

"We should head back to the College," Zolara said.

Exhausted from travel, Zolara went to sleep in the Hall of Attainment. S'maash went to the Arcaeneum to redouble his study efforts. It was late and Urag had gone to sleep, leaving the elaborate library eerily quiet and dark.

"S'maash," the Wretched Abyss called.

Briefly startled, the wizard turned to engage Hermaeus Mora. "What is it? What am I supposed to do?"

"You are already aware. I will grant you a boon for the next portion of your journey. Behold, dragon soul trap," The daedric prince granted S'maash the ability to cast soul trap on dragons. "Go, now. Find a dragon and take its soul."

"Find a dragon? What?! That's madness, but even if I must fight one; what do I do then? How can the soul fill the Heart of Lorkhan if it is not intact?"

The Wretched Abyss vanished, and there was only silence. S'maash felt slighted with an impossible task. Grinding his teeth, he tried to take solace in the fact that he had at least received a partial answer. The following morning, he called Tolfdir, Brelyna, and Zolara for a meeting in the courtyard.

"So, what do you think," S'maash asked after providing the information.

"I believe you should do your best to carry out the task at hand. Find a dragon," Tolfdir said.

"Where is he going to find a dragon," Brelyna was incredulous.

They were pensive for a moment. "The Blades might know, but they are difficult to speak with," Tolfdir said.

"The Blades…Farengar made a similar comment to me once."

Faralda approached the group with a welcome interruption. "S'maash, you have a visitor."

He turned to her, but there was no one with her. "Where?"

"At the inn, in Winterhold. Non-practitioners are not allowed in here," she condescended.

"Who is this visitor?"

"Your brother."

"Truly?" he grinned and almost leapt in the air. "You all keep thinking. I'll be back later."

S'maash ran into town and entered the inn. He spotted his brother immediately, the only, other, dark elf. He was covered in glass armor, had a glass, great sword across his broad back, and all the resilient malachite scintillated with a sparkling glow. Gold filigree held the glass-like metal in place.

"Brother!" S'maash called.

"Well met!"

"Truly, I am glad to see you here," he said, holding S'maath's elbows and looking him up and down. "How are the warriors of the Reyda Tong? How are you doing?"

"We are doing fine. Fara fell…sad news, but I was promoted to leader of our chapter in L'Thu Oad," he replied.

"A bitter-sweet promotion then; I am both glad and sorry to hear that."

"And yourself? The strange notes I received from you, expelled for necromancy, reinstated, running errands. Am I correct in understanding you're court wizard to the Jarl of Whiterun?"

"On paper, yes, but I have not even been there for close to a month," S'maash replied.

"Any advances in your studies?"

"To some extent, yes; I have learned dual enchanting, and I have acquired a special sort of soul gem, allowing better use of the souls from men, mer, and demon. Most recently, I have acquired the fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan," S'maash told his brother.

"Truly remarkable," S'maath replied. "The Heart of Lorkhan…I thought–"

"I know, I know; I'll tell you all about it!"

After catching up for a bit, S'maash offered to enchant his brother's equipment. They returned to the College even though Faralda said non-practitioners weren't allowed. The others had retired to quarters unseen, anyway.

Utilizing the falmer soul from the daedric heart gem, and other gems from his reserves, S'maash crafted some excellent equipment for close quarter combat. Fortification of two-handed wielding, coupled with improved light armor handling, made S'maath the most potent warrior his brother had seen. The elder elf was grateful.

"So, what's next for my brother," S'maath asked as they spoke inside the Hall of Countenance.

"We're trying to find a dragon and discern how to filter its soul into the fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan. I have a special spell for the task, but am unclear as to where to locate a dragon."

"A dragon," S'maath laughed.

"I am serious."

"I know…your colleagues are unhelpful?"

"Never. We should go join them, in fact." They ventured into the Aracaeneum, where S'maash met with Tolfdir. Introductions were made. "My brother is willing to lend his expertise in fighting a dragon, should we locate one," S'maash said.

"Excellent. Truthfully I worried about you fighting a dragon on your own. Any dragon currently alive would have to be most powerful, intelligent, and evasive, and I believe we may have located one.

"While you were gone, I spoke to Urag. He believes he may have found texts regarding a formerly hidden dragon cult, not unlike the cult prevailing during Alduin's reign. If he is correct, they may be worshipping a dragon in their vicinity."

"Where do I go?"

S'maath was somewhat surprised to see his brother as a seasoned warrior and traveler. He had expected a bookworm, but the expulsion had not been kind to the young elf.

"Sigrid's Plunge. Allow me to mark it on your map. Tread carefully," Tolfdir advised.

"Perhaps, Zolara would like to come along." S'maash suggested.

"He spoke of returning to Mzulft for reagents. I believe he and Brelyna have already left," Tolfdir said.

S'maash nodded. "Then it is you and I, brother."

The dunmer started a long walk towards Windhelm. Traveling took many hours, but they welcomed the time together. S'maath spoke of his ascension through the ranks of the Reyda Tong, and S'maash spoke of the trials and tribulations he had faced as well as his meeting Azura.

"She must have been a sight to behold," S'maath remarked.

"More than you can imagine. There are no words to describe such beauty, her beauty. The beauty of her realm, it was nearly intolerable," S'maash replied.

Winds howled and snow pelted their backs as they traversed perilous mountains. Once the snow softened, the stone walls of Windhelm came into view. There was no way to enter the fortified town from the north, so they circled until reaching the stables. A cart was already available.

"Let us not waste time then," S'maash said. He purchased their ride then instructed the driver. "We need to reach Sigrid's Plunge, please."

"Certainly. A perilous area, you know? Some say there are dragons still roosting at its peak," the driver replied.

"Let us hope so. We are hungry for adventure," S'maath answered.

"Must be fools or heroes," the driver said.

The cart master took them almost halfway up the mountain, but then the road grew too steep. He informed them it was time to move on foot.

"Aye. Safe return to you, nord," S'maath said.

Rested from their ride, the brothers started a journey towards the top of the mountain. The wind was not quite as bitter as they had anticipated. The time of day, nearly noon, also helped to provide some warmth. The regional stone was a pleasant gray with patches of snow all over. A few trees grew scattered. As they pressed on, the road wound one way then another.

S'maath threw a hand upon his brother's shoulder. They both spotted a trip wire. In search for danger, they also noticed a figure on a rocky overhang. Someone was watching. The brothers looked at each other.

"Hail," S'maash yelled out.

"I suggest you turn back, lest you feel the wrath of the Dovah Brod," a gruff nord replied.

"Excuse us, we're not here to fight men," S'maath answered.

"So be it, dunmer. I warned you."

The sound of boots running over stone came from between the mountain's hidden crags. The dark elves prepared themselves for a battle. S'maash casted ebony flesh then summoned a flame atronach. His brother drew his glass, great sword, and an onslaught of large nords in strange robes came from above them. Most of them wore pale, green robes with dragon scales and bones secured to the material. Others wore steel plate and various pieces of armor.

The flame atronach was first to strike by way of flaming projectiles. The mountain path was narrow with one side blocked by stone and the other by a dangerous drop. With nowhere to run but forwards, the first of the Dovah Brod took fire bolts to the body. Flames assaulted his robes, yet his brethren were calloused and shoved him aside to move beyond; they advanced.

"You made a mistake coming here," one nord yelled.

While S'maash and the atronach fired their magick, S'maath stepped firmly and swung his blade from side-to-side. The nords' armored robes were no match for his newly enchanted equipment. Limbs and heads rolled effortlessly.

"This is something, brother," S'maath exclaimed.

S'maash smiled to himself. It was not long before a steel plated nord hacked the atronach to fiery pieces with a large, orcish, battle axe. The nord warrior, a blonde haired beast, grinned widely before shouting.

"Fus, Roh Da!"

To S'maath's surprise, the thu'um blew his brother away with a wavering blast of vocal potency. S'maash struck the mountainside like a ragdoll. With wide eyes, S'maath charged at the nord, sword point at the ready. In defense, the enemy knocked the blade away with the haft of his axe. He then butted the dunmer with his head, dealing no damage.

"Hah! Like the bite of a flea," S'maath said.

He stepped in low and rose, gripping his sword firmly. The malachite blade slid into the man's midsection with relative ease.

"You cannot win," the enemy claimed.

While the nord writhed in agony, S'maash recovered. He saw more, green robed, dragon clan members approaching. Some fired arrows from a distance, but the wind made it difficult to aim. Others flung magick, but the spells had little effect. S'maash was very proud of his enchantments as he and his brother had an improved ability to resist magicka. The young dunmer drew sword and shield before joining his brother.

Standing together, the dark elves blocked the nords from gaining more ground. The Dovah Brod had been routed against the side of the cliff, both at their rear and their right. The only path left was a fall.

"Careful brother," S'maash yelled as he kept his shield against the blade of a nord. "Another thu'um might send us below!"

"Aye, not if I reduce them to cabbage!" S'maath replied.

Glowing ice spikes sank deep into their armor and flames licked their noses, but the magickal damage was ineffective. The only danger came from the clan's numbers. Four of them had fallen to blade and spell already, but more came rushing down from the paths above.

An arrow struck S'maash in the shoulder. He let out a cry of pain, yet remained resolved.

"Fight on, brother!" S'maath said, striking another to the ground.

Quickly, he stepped a foot forwards and slashed low. His opponent took blade to the knee. Before he hit the ground, the blade struck his head. S'maath pressed on, slid his blade into another, and lifted him clean off the ground.

"Death is highly overrated," the nord yelled.

S'maash ducked beneath the swing of an oncoming axe, stepped left with shield raised to block another axe, and then bashed a nord wearing thick, steel armor. As the enemy recoiled, S'maash plunged his blade into the enemy's throat. Blood poured from the mortal wound.

S'maash clenched his teeth, grunting, "S'wit!"

More arrows rained from above. The brothers had to dodge, block, and backpeddle. Small stones fell from the precarious path upon which they stood.

"Summon an atronach! I need to reach the archers," S'maath ordered.

"Of course."

With no time to waste, he dropped his shield in the snow and summoned. Once the demon spawned, he recovered his shield. The atronach provided long ranged castigation, and S'maath cut down a spell caster, who fell a long way towards the base of Sigrid's Plunge. While in mid run, the fighter was vaulted up the stony path by a thu'um from his rear. Worried about his brother's safety, S'maash charged up beyond a woman with two maces in her grip.

"I'll have your head," she yelled and gave chase.

Finding his brother already recovered and fighting enemies from the other end, S'maash engaged the mighty lass. She spat upon the ground before charging, long, red hair wavered in the breeze.

Though she was nearly completely covered in iron plating, she moved like lightning. The left mace came first. S'maash blocked it easily enough. The right mace came next, knocking his shield from his grip. With an icy spear launching from his left hand, and two quick slashes from his blade, he bested her; only a handful of archers remained.

"Damn you, dark elves," an archer howled. "KrifAhrkDir take you!"

With no shield in hand, S'maash received a second arrow high on the left of his chest. "Brother," he gasped.

The fighter heard his pleas, turned, and spotted the archer drawing another arrow. He charged at a full run, down hill, and crashed into the assailant. They tumbled off the cliff, twenty feet below. A metallic thud resounded with the impact of two bodies striking the rocks. S'maath writhed about for a second. A terrible pain was at his back, but the nord on his chest was motionless, and his brother easily slayed the remainder.

S'maash, with two arrows in his body, marched down to S'maath and pulled the deceased off him. The glass, great sword had pierced the enemy; a pool of blood collected in malachite grooves.

"A fine pair we make, eh," S'maath smiled, panting.

His glass helmet slid off after the impact and his hair was a bloody mess. He rolled over to his knees and rested against the stone onto which he had fallen. S'maash knelt beside him and casted healing hands. Once the magickal, healing light helped S'maath to recover, he let his brother remove the arrows protruding from his body. Finally, the wizard healed himself.

"Now, all we must do is fight a dragon?" S'maath grinned, shaking his head.

"So it would seem."

Chapter Twenty

"Tell me again, how is this supposed to work," S'maath asked.

The elves sat beside each other, backs resting against stone. S'maash looked at his brother then shook his head with subtle dismay. He heaved a sigh before reiterating.

"For the final time, S'maath. I will blast the dragon with spells. Once it lands, you must strike its wings to keep it from flying. Should everything turn out well then I will use Hermaeus Mora's spell upon it."

"But how will one soul fill two gems," S'maath probed. S'maash opened his mouth to answer, but his brother had more to ask. "And what if I kill it by mistake, or it flees, or it dies before the spell takes effect? I must tell you, I have little confidence in your so called plan."

Grinding his teeth, the young elf looked away. "Listen, nothing is certain, here. We will do what we can, and our survival is more important than my quest. Now, if my brother, the warrior, is finished complaining, we shall send this dragon to Oblivion."

S'maath chuckled as he nodded. They commenced their journey up the beaten, mountain path. Sigrid's Plunge was not altogether easy to traverse, so it took some doing, and some resting before coming upon the peak. Over an hour had passed since night settled overhead. Skyrim's gorgeous lights swooned against the void. Upon setting feet atop the peak, S'maash spotted the strangest rock formation.

A dozen yards from the brothers was something akin to spiked stones. With head cocked to the side, S'maash stared at the formation. Both brothers moved slowly across the uneven, snow packed terrain. S'maath grabbed his brother's wrist with a deft maneuver. The stones moved to reveal two, massive, red eyes. KrifAhrkDir the dragon had smelled their ascent.

"Ah, the Dur forms of the chimer approach. You defeated the weak Jul, who call themselves a Brod of Dovah. Krosis, but you are here for Grah, battle, not worship," KrifAhrkDir spoke with a terrible voice.

S'maath drew his sword. Locking eyes with the dragon, he felt small, firghtened. It was more terrifying even than his first scuffle as a child. He glanced at his brother, whose eyes and jaw were firm, yet his hands shook.

"They called you KrifAhrkDir, no? Tell me, Dovah, where do dragons go when they perish," S'maash asked.

As he spoke, he overcharged ebony flesh. Before the Dragon answered, the dunmer summoned a flame atronach.

"You enter my Strunma, kill my worshipers, and question my immortality, my Unt Sos? You are a fool, Dur chimer. Dovah do not die!"

He then yelled and extended massive and scaly wings.

"Truly, brother, you must have lost your mind," S'maath exclaimed, looking over his shoulder.

One, mighty beat of KrifAhrkDir's wings sent flurries of snow about. The dragon started to rise from a stone perch. S'maash and the atronach unleashed magickal castigation. Icy spears and fire balls collided with immortal scales, doing little, if any, damage.

The great beast roared into the night as he flew in one, giant circle. He moved so far, so fast, that for seconds at a time, he was beyond the brothers' sights.

"Come, fight with us, KrifAhrkDir!" S'maath called out.

A rush of adrenaline left the elves edgey. Another, blood curdling growl from KrifAhrkDir signaled his approach. He glided over them with grace and ease, letting loose a mouthful of fiery breath. The snow below their feet melted immediately. Terrible heat stole their breath. Radiance blinded them.

"Where is he" S'maath yelled.

Beating wings approached from the rear. S'maash turned to look and spotted the enormous silhouette against the night sky. As the beast came once more, S'maash launched icy spears.

Rather than overcharging the spell, he threw multiples. Wildly, they flew from his hands. The dragon's movement was so quick that a rapid magickal attack had a better chance of landing. Most of the magickal shards bounced off scales, but some impacted along with more fire balls from the dancing atronach.

KrifAhrkDir rushed upon them with such speed that a gust of heavy wind forced the elves to stumble. As the dragon raised his head, effectively pulling his entire body to a vertical position, he banked left, and perched upon a precipice. With wide-open jaws, and fully spread wings, KrifAhrkDir expelled more, fiery breath. S'maash hid behind his shield while his brother took a knee to protect his eyes with his blade.

During the ceaseless attack, the atronach was banished to Oblivion. S'maash looked back for a second. He then charged at the dragon. S'maath followed suit. Both their feet splattered pools of water. Upon closing the distance, KrifAhrkDir reached his head out and snapped his jaws at S'maash, who defended by placing the shield inside the dragon's mouth. As it bit upon the shield, S'maath struck; his blade pierced through the right wing.

Roaring, the monster snatched the shield from S'maash, who inevitably went flying and crashing into his brother. Both elves tumbled through puddles. Quickly, they struggled to right themselves.

"This is all the challenge you provide? Krosis, but you are mere mortals, weak and feeble!" KrifAhrkDir belittled them.

Again, the dragon beat its wings to take flight. S'maash stood with narrowed eyes. He scanned the ground for his shield. It was out of sight, so he decided to summon a bound bow instead, but not before a second atronach.

"Blast, where did he go," S'maath barked.

A sudden, guttural cry drew their attention. The dragon was just above them and bearing down with an open mouth. His teeth, like spearheads, parted for the brothers.

They dove in opposite directions. KrifAhrkDir, with mouth full of flame, not only breathed his fire, but snapped his teeth over the atronach. It died just as the dragon touched down clawed feet for a landing. A monumental quake rumbled through the mountain. The brothers were crouched on either side of the ancient creature.

S'maath slashed powerfully. The enchanted blade dealt severe damage to the dragon's right wing. Simultaneously, S'maash fired two, bound arrows into the left wing. Again, the immortal dragon growled in pain.

KrifAhrkDir replied with a swipe of his tail at S'maath while turning his head left to exhale flame upon S'maash. The dunmer reeled from the attack. Spotting opportunity, KrifAhrkDir pounced upon the wizard. He swept him up with a lick of the tongue.

Just before massive teeth brought instant death, S'maash held palms out, casting wall of ice inside the dragon's mouth. Icicles of magickal pain accosted the beast. The dragon shook his head viciously, causing the elf inside to slide about the teeth. S'maash incurred minimal damage before careening to the ground.

S'maath recovered from the tail swipe, which had floored him. Lightning quick, he grabbed hold of a torn and bloody wing before climbing deftly upon the beast's shoulders.

"Now, brother! Now!" he called from his precarious position.

Looking up, S'maash saw his brother, the warrior, clad in malachite with sword pointed to the base of the dragon's skull; he stood poised, like a painting, going for the deathblow. Gritting his teeth, the young elf reached out and touched KrifAhrkDir with dragon soul trap. He glowed dark purple. Seeing the change, S'maath brought his blade down with all his might, but the dragon rolled over.

KrifAhrkDir smashed the dark elf warrior into the side of the cliff, and his blade was swept away. Enraged, S'maash ran over with healing hands.

"What is this aberration? My soul is beyond Tiid, beyond time!" KrifAhrkDir groaned in surprise.

"You're weak, dragon!" S'maath mocked him.

"Find your blade! I will keep him busy," S'maash instructed.

KrifAhrkDir stepped backwards to better position his face amongst the large rocks. S'maash ran off to his right, summoning another atronach with one hand and casting wall of ice with the other. The ice spell and dragon's flame collided in a misty display of wavering magicka. Errant fire balls pelted KrifAhrkDir's injured wing.

Meanwhile, S'maath saw a glint of moonlight reflect off his blade. After snatching it up, he charged the dragon, yet fearing another crushing incident, he opted to duck beneath a wing. There, he firmly planted his feet. With KrifAhrkDir none the wiser, he called out.

"Again, brother!"

S'maash was in no position to reach out and touch the dragon with a spell, though. Trying to reason the best approach while recasting ebony flesh, he clicked his tongue. KrifAhrkDir let out a guttural laugh, stilted and broken. He then lowered his body onto the warrior.

Having considered such an attack, the elf quickly sat and rolled backwards, coming face to face with KrifAhrkDir's open maw.

"Oh," S'maath cringed.

He slashed from a crouched position and the beast replied with a swipe of his head. The blade only glossed over the dragon's scales while the horns knocked the warrior to the ground, his brother spotted an opportunity, ran over—believing the dragon was going to try to eat S'maath—and when the dragon did open its mouth, S'maash hopped over his brother and grabbed hold of the menacing tongue to cast the spell. It worked, but the dragon clenched its jaws. An incomprehensible pain rattled S'maash.

S'maath screamed in horror. With blade in hand, he slashed at KrifAhrkDir's throat, cutting deep beyond the scales. The dragon's face bounced off the watery ground, and with a terrible thud. S'maash, a crumpled mess, rolled out. The warrior spun full circle to his right, bringing the glass, great sword along with his body. The blow destroyed KrifAhrkDir's eye. The dragon tried to step backwards, but S'maath charged, his blade pointed at the beast's forehead. Behind the power of the rushing elf, the sword sank deep.

"Is this what you want? I'll kill you!" the elf screamed with tears in his eyes.

KrifAhrkDir threw his head back with a potent roar. Sputtering flames escaped his jaws. S'maath held onto the blade, his feet braced against the dragon's snout. He drew back the sword with a spray of blood, hopped off, landed with his back to the dragon's chest then spun around with a forwards thrust, sending the blade into KrifAhrkDir's heart and up to the decorative hilt. The immortal creature fell backwards. The mountains rumbled from the impact.

S'maath did not even care to check the dragon. He simply ran to his brother.

"You're not done yet, S'maash." As he held his brother's head in his lap, he rummaged through their packs for potions of healing. He emptied one into his brother's mouth. With a retching gasp, S'maash coughed both blood and potion. He grasped loosely at his brother's elbow. "Shhh. Not yet. Drink another," S'maath said, forcing more liquid down his borther's gullet.

The second potion took. S'maash rolled over and dual casted healing. Seconds later, he was recovered well enough to stand.

"Thank you. I…I don't know what else to say," S'maash heaved.

"You had me worried for a second."

They both looked upon the defeated dragon. After a momentary appreciation for the ancient creature's prowess, beauty, and defeat, S'maath removed his sword from the scales.

"Did it work," the warrior asked.

S'maash took the fragments from his pack. "I don't think–"

Both fragments of Lorkhan's Heart vibrated in his grip.

"Look!" his brother screamed.

The dragon was breaking down before their eyes. A magickal flame burned and crackled as the powerful soul left the dragon's mortal form. The dragon soul entered both halves of Lorkhan's Heart.

"But how can it be," S'maath asked.

S'maash looked at his brother and smiled. "Rosoleola once told me, some things simply are. There is no explanation, at least not one we can grasp."

"I suppose. I've had enough of this mountain and enough fighting for some time," S'maath said.

"Aye, to town for a drink, some food, and some rest then."

Turning away from KrifAhrkDir's skeleton, as a cool wind caressed their faces, they turned their backs to the dragon and Sigrid's plunge.

Chapter Twenty-One

After a tale for the ages in the New Gnisis Corner Club, the dunmer brothers hired a cart ride back to the College of Winterhold. The sun overhead shone brightly in the College's courtyard upon their arrival. S'maash stood by the well before the statue of Shalidor.

"Good bye, dear brother. Safe travels to you," S'maash said, embracing his kin.

S'maath patted his brother's back for a moment then took his shoulders. "Aye. I am proud of you as are our ancestors. May your continued success bring you happiness."

The warrior walked away, sun glinting off malachite. S'maash watched him disappear over the bridge. He wanted to run after him, ask him to stay a little longer. No. That is selfish, and I have much work to do.

Inside the Hall of the Elements, Tolfdir was lecturing a new set of students. S'maash had never seen them before. It was amazing to see how quickly the people of Skyrim progressed. He stood behind the class, waiting patiently.

"So, there you have it, class. You are not truly invisible; you have only fooled others to your presence," Tolfdir proclaimed before approaching S'maash. "Glad to know you and your brother returned unharmed."

"Indeed. I enjoyed your explanation on invisibility…."

Tolfdir looked away, modestly, but smiled. "I assume you came to me for more than a simple lesson."

"Yes. We managed to trap KrifAhrkDir's soul within the fragments of Lorkhan's Heart, but after reviewing Farengar's notes, I am at a loss. I do not know how to bring the pieces together, nor understand their link to the daedric heart gem" S'maash said, perplexed. Tolfdir shifted his stance as he took a deep breath. "You know something?" The old man was hesitant. "I understand your concern, but I have come too far to dawdle now," S'maash added.

"Of course. Forgive me. I do not have the answers you are looking for, but I know what might," Tolfdir sighed.

"Please, tell me."

"You must speak with the Augar of Dunlain. It will probably have the knowledge you seek, though I recommend this as a last resort," Tolfdir replied.

"What is this Augar, and why is it a last resort?"

The students had emptied out of the Hall of the Elements, leaving S'maash and Tolfdir alone. Their voices had echoed amidst the immense chamber, so they grew quiet and still. Seconds passed as the two looked upon one another. Finally, Tolfdir broke the silence.

"It is difficult to explain what the Augar is. Suffice it to say, it was a student once…. As for it being a last resort, the Augar of Dunlain can create a rift in the mental stability of one who approaches. This is not something it does intentionally. Its power, knowledge, they are vast and as dangerous as trying to read an Elder Scroll," the old man look concerned, almost fearful.

"It was a student, you say?"

Tolfdir grew uneasy again and shifted his balance. "Yes. Like yourself, he wanted, sought, knowledge. I am unsure of what exactly took place, but an accident occurred. He did not only receive knowledge on the topic he was studying, but received a general knowledge. He knows that, which should not be known. In his presence, you will feel that unknowable truth swirl about you," Tolfdir maintained his grave tone. He then took S'maash's shoulder. "Promise me you'll be cautious," Tolfdir said then began to leave.

"Wait! Where is the Augar?"

"In the Midden…beneath the College," Tolfdir answered without losing step.

He was out the door, leaving S'maash alone in the tower. Tolfdir's words, and odd behavior, left him with an unsettling fear in the pit of his stomach. Then, I am off to the Midden. S'maash thought it was wise to speak to others about the Midden before entering, though, and went to the Arcaeneum.

Urag was wiping dust from books carefully with a linen wrap. Smash frowned. He knew the old orc didn't like being disturbed while cleaning his prized possessions.

"Urag, a moment please?"

"I heard you went to fight a dragon. Did you fight well or flee," he asked with a smile.

"My brother and I bested the dragon. That brings me here. I need to know something and Tolfdir suggested I look in the Midden," S'maash chose his words carefully.

Urag was taken aback. "What could you be searching for in the Midden? That place is dangerous. I wish Tolfdir had barred entry…."

"Why," S'maash inquired as he sat by a small desk.

It was overloaded with dusty tomes. The wizard fingered at the binding of a book while Urag gathered his thoughts. They looked at one another before the orc sighed and sat at the table.

"Look, other than undead and ice wraiths there are…there were rituals performed. Many students died in the Midden. While I'm certain the place itself is relatively safe, the altars and diagrams down there are not."

"Altars and diagrams?"

"Shalidor, himself, spent a great deal of time in the Midden. Most of his knowledge, or insights, if you prefer, came from Oblivion. He was a great conjurer, maybe the best, but he knew when to stop. He knew it was best to leave the College in order to continue his studies. Impetuous students are not so bright.

"A small group attempted one of his old, conjuration rituals, something with a bound dremora. It did not end well for them. I think the Dragonborn may have smoothed over some of the damage, but I don't recommend going down there," Urag explained.

"So, none of the dangers have to do with the Augar of Dunlain," S'maash asked.

"By Ysmir's beard. Tolfdir told you about the Augar? You might as well try to read an Elder Scroll," Urag grumbled.

S'maash chuckled at Urag's state. He had grown surly and uncomfortable in his seat.

"Tolfdir said the same thing. Is there anyway to prepare for a meeting with the Augar?"

"I doubt you'll even get to see it. It locked itself away, and you can't go into its room unless it deems you worthy of its time. Go if you want, but don't expect much," Urag replied.

He then stood, nodded, and returned to cleaning. S'maash was satisfied, so he left to find an entrance to the Midden. After some searching, he found a trap door in the courtyard. The ladder took him into an icy, cave-like structure. Various bits of stone lined the walls; it was reminiscent of a wine cellar.

S'maash meandered beyond brick hallways. The odd, skeletal remains strewn about in unrecognized patterns drew his attention. Built into one wall was a skull surrounded by bony hands. He prodded the skull with a finger. Real enough I'm sure, he thought. Down more flights of stone steps he heard the familiar creaking of skeletons. Bringing flames to his hands, he rounded a corner to see the noisemaker.

A lone skeleton turned to him, a steel, great sword in hand. It charged awkwardly into S'maash's flame spell. Less than two seconds and the skeleton fell to pieces, bones scattered amidst an icy floor. S'maash gave a nod of disapproval.

The Midden's design was fairly simple and easy to traverse. Some steel rods held aloft magick light. S'maash eventually found himself in a room with a table. Old, blood spots stained the stonework beneath his feet. At the center of the room was a closed gauntlet. Four rings sat upon the fingers.

He knelt in front of the oddity, taking a closer look. Wincing, he dared not touch it. Beyond the fist was another room. S'maash stood, approached the doorway, and peeked inside. There, he saw an altar. Almost the entire room was taken up by the round, stone base.

The construct was composed of circular levels. Upon the smallest was a single rune, Oblivion. At the forefront of the construct was a pedestal with a sigil stone. Dark energy reverberated from within the bauble. Adjacent the sigil stone was a pull handle. S'maash shrugged at it. Now, I'm getting curious. What more in the fields of the arcane do I know nothing of? There was little time to waste.

After leaving the strange altar, S'maash finally reached a ladder leading deeper below. The lower level was similar to the previous, only a little darker, stranger. The lack of light gave the Midden Dark an ominous air. He kept his eyes peeled for more enemies, but there were none. Before he knew it, he came upon a large, wooden door atop stone steps. He reached for the handle. It did not budge.

"Is this it? Augar of Dunlain?" S'maash called out as he looked around with wonder.

A moment of silence prevailed before a whispering voice echoed. "You may enter."

S'maash was shocked. The sound of the voice was much more impersonal than he had anticipated. He was shocked even more so when the door opened of its own accord. An immense light of soft blue shone. A feeling of uneasiness crept into his soul.

"You're the Augar of Dunlain?"

"That is how they refer to me, but you have not come all this way for such petty questions," the Augar replied.

The stilted way it spoke was the scariest facet of its existence. S'maash was able to handle the fact it was only a light, and dealt well enough with the effervescent energy creeping about the tight room, but the halting way of speaking was almost too much. With wide eyes, S'maash doubled his effort to remain focused.

"True. Hermaeus Mora has tasked me with capturing a dragon soul. I have succeeded. It is contained in these fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan. Now, I am unsure of what needs doing. How am I to forge the Heart of Lorkhan?"

"You have set yourself upon a path, a path your heart does not follow. Once, you sought enlightenment. Now, you seek the dark," the Augar replied. S'maash was confused. He set his jaw as he thought about the nonsensical reply. "One cannot follow orders of two. Azura has chosen you as her champion. Hermaeus Mora has tasked you with a quest. Should you follow this task, you will fall from Azura's grace."

"What do you mean? How do you know these things about me," S'maash choked.

"Knowledge does not lay in words. It is around us," a gust of wind assaulted S'maash momentarily as the Augar spoke. "You restored the power of Azura on your quest for enlightenment. You will dissolve your bond, should you continue upon the path of darkness."

"What are these paths of which you speak?"

As the exchange progressed, S'maash felt more than uneasy, he felt ill, tired.

"To be clear, you sought the truth of one's capabilities in the art of enchanting. With Azura, you pushed beyond current limitations. Now, you seek that which changed the chimer for eternity. The Heart of Lorkhan is not designed for knowledge of this realm. It is designed for knowledge of all realms. Like the dwemer, you seek that of which you are not a part. Like the Elder Scrolls, the Heart of Lorkhan is from many worlds," the Augar explained.

S'maash wiped cold sweat from his face. His thoughts meandered a bit. He was not sure he understood. Straining against reason, he opened his mouth to ask a question. While seeking clarification, he suddenly lost his train of thought. After shaking his head and taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind.

"Are you saying forging the Heart of Lorkhan will break my bond as Azura's champion? How can that be? The task from Hermaeus Mora is unrelated," S'maash argued.

The longer their exchange, the more noise, like swirling winds, emanated from the unseen. S'maash had to yell over the sounds. Furthermore, every time the Augar spoke, its voice grew louder, physically thundering inside S'maash's skull.

"Incorrect. The paths before you cross, but it is you, who must decide which to traverse for eternity. Should you forge the Heart of Lorkhan, you must erase the daedric heart gem from reality. Should you choose to leave behind the path of darkness, you will never learn that which is hidden from you," the Augar said.

S'maash took a seat before the small well, where upon the Augar of Dunlain floated. It took every fiber of the elf's being to remain focused. He was on the verge of vomiting. A throbbing headache gripped him, like the beating of too much blood in his veins.

"How do I forge the Heart of Lorkhan?"

"During your journey to this place, you passed the Oblivion Forge. Mistakenly, it has been referred to as the Atronach Forge. Placing all the pieces inside its container will fuse the energies of the daedric heart gem and the fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan.

"Chaos and order, all possesses these forces, albeit unequally. The dragon soul has been filtered into both fragments, though its chaos is much more prevalent. The daedric heart gem contains the hatred of the nords, whom you slaughtered. It must be purged and replaced by a soul of order," the Augar's instructions roared all over.

S'maash was reeling. His head spun. His stomach convulsed. Finally, he bent over to vomit. Behind closed eyes, images swirled; concepts beyond his reach. His drive for knowledge consumed him. He had one final question.

"Where do I find a soul of order?"

"In nature," the Augar replied.

There was nothing left to ask. S'maash crawled on hands and knees out of the room. The door shut behind him, and he collapsed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

There sat a void, simple, black, all-encompassing. A path of blue light appeared. From a distance, a robed figure approached. The scent of cinnamon was in the air. He suddenly realized he was dreaming. The Mistress of Dusk and Dawn stood before him. Stars glittered behind the moving void. Azura's voice was a soft melody.

"My champion, you must rally yourself or be lost in eternity."

"I…I'm fine. My lady?" S'maash stammered.

"Hold fast to my visage. Yes. Look upon me. It is safe here," Azura instructed.

S'maash gazed upon her. Azura was the essence of beauty in her billowing gown, a gown of all colors. Radiance shone from behind her, from beyond her.

"Is it true, what the Augar said?"

"It is, but I know my champion will not forsake me, not after the daunting task you undertook to reunite me with your plane of existence."

A red light grew between them. It undulated then shuddered before speaking.

"Do not listen. We choose our paths even if it displeases those for whom we care," a voice announced.

It was a strange, breathy voice, like the Augar of Dunlain's. The light spoke in the same halted fashion, but the voice was familiar.

"Farengar," S'maash asked.

The elf was nearly brought to tears, but the voice continued. "Ages ago, I was the one called Farengar Secret-Fire. Now, I am simply the Emissary of Fate. The Daedric prince of Knowledge has bestowed much. Among his knowledge, is the fate of all. Your fate is your own. No one and nothing can change that."

S'maash had difficulty looking at both Azura and the Emissary. Though they were both present in the same space, it was like seeing each image with a different eye.

"He's right, of course, S'maash, but you are my champion. Do not relegate me to Oblivion. I have only recently been able to interact with Tamriel, and it was all due to your actions," Azura said with love.

S'maash was torn. He loved Azura, but knowledge was his drive, his quest.

"What will happen if I choose one over the other?"

"Simple, really, one choice will keep you grounded, but you will always regret missing the opportunity. The other choice will show you everything you desire to know, but you will know more than man and mer are capable of knowing. Hermaeus Mora's knowledge is too often more than one can handle," the Emissary of Fate replied.

"Do not bother yourself with concepts beyond your grasp. Stay in my light and my shadow. Be satisfied with everything you can accomplish," Azura added.

"It is time for us both to leave you. Farewell, S'maash," the Emissary said.

"Glory be upon you, dark elf," Azura said.

S'maash snapped his eyes open. Brelyna's face was close to his.

"What," he asked.

"Easy. We found you collapsed outside the Augar of Dunlain's door."

"Yes," Tolfdir added. "I figured it was best to look for you in the case that…well, this happened."

S'maash was in bed in his room. Tolfdir and Brelyna were both looking after him.

"How long have I been out?" he looked around, woozily.

"Just a few hours," Tolfdir replied.

"Did you see it? The Augar, I mean," Brelyna asked.

S'maash made eye contact with both of them. "I did, and Azura, and Farengar, too." The others exchanged a look of worry. "In a dream, that is," S'maash clarified.

"Ah," Tolfdir said.

"You should rest for a bit," Brelyna advised.

"No, I've had enough rest. I need to use the Oblivion Forge to make the Heart of Lorkhan," S'maash said.

Again, the others exchanged a look. He tried to stand out of bed, but Brelyna pulled her chair closer, making it difficult.

"I'm not sure that's best for you right now," she said.

S'maash sighed in aggravation as he rubbed his face. "Listen to me, just because you helped me up here while I was unconscious doesn't mean I do not know what I'm saying. I gathered all the answers I needed. Now it's time to act," S'maash checked his aggression.

"Very well. Tell me one thing first, what is this Oblivion Forge of which you speak," Tolfdir asked.

"The Augar said it's mistakenly referred to as the Atronach Forge. I can forge the Heart of Lorkhan using it," S'maash answered.

It was obvious they were feeling him out to see if he was of sound mind. He eyed them, not with disdain, simply annoyed.

"I see," Tolfdir said, nodding to Brelyna.

"What will you do with the Heart of Lorkhan," Brelyna asked.

S'maash shook his head. He had not thought that far ahead.

"I don't know. Farengar's journal didn't say what was to happen next," S'maash looked to Tolfdir as he spoke. "You gave me Keening. Where is Sunder?"

Tolfdir nodded slowly as he pondered. Brelyna looked him over as he did so.

"I do not know. Perhaps, you should've asked the Augar of Dunlain," Tolfdir commented.

S'maash cocked his head a bit and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Tolfdir. A hint of sarcasm? He didn't understand why the old nord held back veiled animosity. Perhaps, I'm imagining.

"I asked everything I could. There were no more questions left. I feel as though I might have died had I stayed a second longer," S'maash admitted.

"Died? No. Being around the Augar of Dunlain cannot kill you, but it can drive you mad. I simply wonder why you did not have the forethought of asking the Augar about Sunder's location," Tolfdir clarified.

"I suppose the entirety of this ordeal eluded me while in the Augar's presence," S'maash answered.

"I still don't understand what all is being accomplished, here," Brelyna complained.

Tolfdir looked at her then S'maash. He raised a white, bushy, eyebrow, questioningly.

"It is difficult to answer," S'maash admitted. "I have before me the ability to discover everything any mage has ever wanted to know. With the Heart of Lorkhan, Keening, and Sunder, we can truly learn what became of the dwemer."

"But I thought you only wished to expand your knowledge of enchanting," Brelyna stated.

"What better way than to contact those who crafted such items as Keening, a blade with three enchantments, or Volendrung. Both these creations are so potent they cannot be disenchanted," S'maash argued.

Tolfdir had folded his arms across his chest and watched S'maash as he spoke. "But you have failed to wonder if it was the dwemer who crafted them."

The elf blinked. It was true. There was no certainty that the dwemer did not find them already crafted and simply learned their use.

"Very well, but they should know," he rebutted.

"They may not tell you, nor might you be able to understand if they did, and all this is under the premise that you find them," Tolfdir added, jabbing his point further.

"Why are you acting like this?" S'maash snapped.

Tolfdir sighed. "I am not acting like anything, S'maash. You have just gone through several, great ordeals, the likes of which many men could never even consider. I just pray you slow down, lest you burn away like parchment over a fire pit."

S'maash gauged the old mage. He returned a grandfatherly gaze. Tolfdir was not angry, nor was he belittling, he was simply looking out for a student. In the grand scope of recent events, S'maash had believed himself a master of the arcane arts. In truth, he was only scratching the surface.

He resigned himself to resting in bed for a moment. Tolfdir excused himself to attend to College matters. Brelyna stayed for a while. Eventually, Zolara entered the room.

"Oh there you are," he said to Brelyna.

"What is it," she asked.

"I was….Is he alright," Zolara asked.

"I'm fine, argonian. How were the samples you recovered," S'maash asked.

"Excellent, and that brings me back to why I'm here. Brelyna, the results on our experiment will be ready soon."

"Very well. S'maash, make sure you come to us before you choose to forge the Heart of Lorkhan," Brelyna said.

"Of course," S'maash replied.

Once the others left him, he stayed in bed with hands folded behind his head. Staring at the stones in the ceiling was somewhat relaxing, especially after all the oddities he had seen too recently. I would very much like to stay in Azura's good graces. Furthermore, Tolfdir brought to light some excellent points, but what am I really doing, here? What was my original goal, and is it not wise to alter one's path if opportunity for growth is provided?

Perhaps…but I would not like to make the change into whatever the Augar of Dunlain and the Emissary of Fate have become. I need to learn more about what happened on Red Mountain as I do not wish to disappear from this reality either. Maybe I should shy away. I can still learn much by experimentation with the daedric heart gem after all. I could also travel back and forth to Cyrodiil and continue studying ayleid ruins….

S'maash rolled onto his side. His arcane enchanter was in view. Suddenly, he remembered wanting to know how enchantments truly worked. Passing up the prospect of asking the dwemer was not a possibility. Keep in mind, they might not know. Even worse, this entire thing may not play out as I'd like…I suppose anything can happen.

With closed eyes, S'maash reveled in thought. All possible outcomes were present, all outcomes he contrived. But what of possibilities I have failed to consider? He stood out of bed, took food and drink then left for the Arcaeneum.

Opening the door out to the courtyard, S'maash bumped into Faralda. "Oh, I was just coming for you," she said.

"Yes?"

"A courier came by to deliver this message to you." She handed him a note. He looked at her, mouth slightly agape. "What is it?"

"Aicantar finished translation on the old, dwemer books I found," S'maash replied.

"What do they say," she asked.

"He didn't say. I'm supposed to meet with him for discussion."

Faralda shrugged and left him alone. S'maash believed it was more than excellent timing, so he hurried to the outskirts of town and hired a ride to Markarth. Night had already settled over Winterhold.

The cart master made stops along the way to resupply. First, they rested in Whiterun then in Morthal. Shortly after, they arrived in Markarth.

It had been the better part of two days since leaving Winterhold. Fortunately, the weather had been mild, thus allowing for quick travel. Upon reaching the stone city, S'maash ran to Understone Keep. Aicantar was sitting before his lab, studying a piece of dwemer, scrap metal.

"Aicantar. I received your letter. What have you found?"

"Yes, of course. I must tell you this is a most intriguing discovery. Would that my uncle was still with us, rest his soul. The tomes appear to be logs, notes, and observations made by Kagrenac's assistant. So far as we knew, Kagrenac worked alone, but it is plausible he had an assistant. Most masters of any trade," Aicantar was babbling.

"Please, the discovery," S'maash interrupted.

"Apologies, I get carried away sometimes. Yes, Kagrenac was the…sound smith, if you will. A great deal of dwemer technology deals in simple reverberations. As you no doubt are aware, what with being a native of Morrowind. Stories indicate the Heart of Lorkhan landed where Red Mountain resides," Aicantar started.

S'maash nodded as he took a seat. It was evident this was going to be a long explanation.

"Well, the appearance of the Nerevarine, the reincarnation of General Nerevar, who battled General Dumac before Anumidium, resurfaced to battle Dagoth Ur, formerly Lord Dagoth, who was friend to the Tribunal. In order to defeat Dagoth Ur, the Nerevarine sought the Tribunal's relics, or more aptly, the dwemer relics; Keening, Sunder, and Wraith Guard.

"As it turned out, the tools, Keening and Sunder, were not mere weapons. They were tools of sounds, tonal weapons. The inherent, magickal resonations allowed the Nerevarine to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan. How the fragments found their way into Skyrim is unknown, but logical seeing as the dwemer had ancient cities here, and by extension many dunmer found their way here as well," Aicantar continued.

S'maash grew more and more fascinated with the tale.

"Wraith Guard, a gauntlet of sorts, was necessary to wield the tonal weapons, lest they drain the life of the handler," Aicantar said.

S'maash interrupted, "But I have Keening. It deals no damage to me."

Aicantar was taken aback. He paced before taking a seat on a dwemer bench next to S'maash.

"Then, it has grown weak over the years, or it only drains life when utilized. At any rate, the use of the tonal weapons, and Lorkhan's Heart, was required for the completion of Anumidium, the dwemer God. It was to be a replacement for Lorkhan.

"According to the logs you recovered, the assistant, whose name does not appear in the text, wrote that Kagrenac had several theories. Because Gods exist on many planes, there was no way to build one on our plane of existence. You may recall the creation of Numidium before the Warp in the West. While it was similar to Anumidium, the Empire lacked the Heart of Lorkhan, using instead the Mantella, a sort of soul gem," Aicantar clarified.

"Like the daedric heart gem," S'maash whispered.

"Come again," Aicantar asked. S'maash obliged by giving an explanation, thus bringing Aicantar up to speed. "Fascinating. Yes, this brings me to another point; Numidium could never have been a God as the Mantella did not contain an immortal soul. Your fragments, however, do. You have been given all the knowledge required to reforge the immortal Heart of Lorkhan.

"The problem you face, depending on your course of action, is the same as Kagrenac's. To forge a God, he must be forged on all planes of existence. In his studies, Kagrenac found ways to traverse into other planes. Here, we have discordance in timelines.

"Traveling between planes is not always a matter of seconds, minutes, or hours. There is a possibility, as with the reemergence of Alduin, that the dwemer, to themselves mind you, have only just crossed into another of plane of existence to forge Anumidium there as well," Aicantar said.

"Then our destruction of the Heart of Lorkhan here would have had an impact on their success," S'maash commented.

Aicantar smiled. "Yes. You follow along quite well. So, according to Kagrenac's assistant, the tonal weapons were fashioned, not to create Anumidium, nor to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan, but to travel through planes in order to accomplish the forging of Anumidium. Unfortunately, the dwemer left during a tumultuous time. Shortly after, Dagoth Ur found a way to draw power from the Heart of Lorkhan. Because it contained the immortal soul of Lorkhan, he found methods to draw upon immortality.

"After his defeat at the hands of the Nerevarine, there was no way to continue for us, the dunmer, or even the dwemer, the creation of a new God…until now," Aicantar stopped speaking as he observed S'maash.

"But I have no intentions of creating a God," he replied.

"Irrelevant. What you have before you is an opportunity."

"To what end?"

"Any. You could do as Dagoth Ur and draw upon the power of immortality. You could create a God. You could do as the Tribunal and increase your powers tremendously and become a living God as Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil, or…. Or you may restore the Heart of Lorkhan for the intended use Kagrenac seems to have had in mind," Aicantar said.

"To travel between planes of existence," S'maash asked. Aicantar nodded slowly. "Can we not already traverse the planes of Oblivion?"

"Certainly, but these are lesser planes of capricious demons. The whole of Oblivion, that is to say, all the planes intertwined are but one plane, the plane of Oblivion. Mankar Camoran believed Tamriel was a portion of that plane, and he might have been correct, but what you have before you is the opportunity to open doors to all planes, the planes of the Gods themselves," Aicantar explained.

Silence prevailed throughout the dwemer stonework beneath Markarth. The two mer sat looking at each other without so much as uttering a sound. S'maash was first to stir.

"What do you think?"

Aicantar exhaled with a subtle shrug. "Ultimately, the choice is yours. No one can force you to restore the Heart of Lorkhan, and I do not know the locations of Sunder nor Wraith Guard. Nor do I know if they still function as they should after all these long years. Nor do I know how to use them….

"For all my knowledge, there is still much to learn. So far as I understand, if you restore the Heart of Lorkhan, you will have appeased Hermaeus Mora. Should any force at our fingertips know the answers to my questions, it will be him."

Minutes passed by during which neither mer spoke. The gravity of the scenario playing out before their eyes brought upon them an unbearable weight. S'maash rapped his fingers upon the alchemy table.

"My final peace…should you choose to continue on this path, and you do bring it to its end, you will bestow upon the whole of Tamriel a chance of meeting the Gods, a chance to traverse planes beyond our current comprehension. You will, however, also be inviting those outside forces upon our plane. As the ancient nords did with their reading of the Elder Scroll at the Throat of the World, you, you might be the cause of terrible disasters, or perhaps…you have already created such a disaster, which has affected the past," Aicantar finished and left.

S'maash remained sitting upon the bench for moments. A ride back to Winterhold should provide me with plenty of time to think all this through. Finally, with a deep inhalation, he stood. Somehow, he felt as though his soul had been drained from the exchange. He dragged his feet out of Understone Keep. The morning sun was blinding. He shielded his eyes with his hand while he stood before steps leading down into Markarth.

"Excuse me. I think this is for you," a young imperial spoke.

The young man wore the clothes of a courier, red and grays with a fine hat on his head. He handed S'maash a piece of parchment. He looked it over.

Blasted court wizard, you're supposed to be in Whiterun when I need you. We have an issue here, and I need to speak with you. Get to Whiterun. I don't care what you're doing- Thorald, Jarl of Whiterun.

S'maash heaved a sigh, nodded to the courier, tipped him with one Septim, and hired a cart to Whiterun.

Chapter Twenty-Three

S'maash arrived in Whiterun during the middle of a chilly night. He hugged his blue robes tightly over his armor. Guards stood watch both inside and outside the city walls.

"Destruction magick's fine. Just don't go burning down any buildings," a guard said.

"Never my intention," S'maash replied with a nod.

He pressed on down the stone roads to Dragonsreach. Inside, warm fires burned brightly as an elderly maid swept the floors. Thorald, in his magnificent finery, sat upon his throne at the far end of the room. He stood when S'maash approached. Once they were close, the Jarl addressed his court wizard.

"Glad to see your return. I'll begin immediately as there is little time to waste," he said. The palace's heat quickly warmed the elf over as he listened intently. "Word has spread like wild fire that necromages have taken residence in Strongmouth Cave. I don't like the thought of their evil machinations taking place inside my city walls. Their presence threatens my people," Thorald announced.

"What would you have me do," S'maash asked, slightly befuddled.

"I spoke to the Companions. They are willing to fight these necromages, but I fear their skill in blade and armor alone isn't enough of an effort. The Harbinger, Vilkas, suggested I speak to my court wizard. My decision is for you to speak directly with him in Jorrvaskr. See to what he requires. That is my order, S'maash."

"As you wish…I hope this can all be handled with haste. I–"

"Yield not to haste, mage! No doubt you have your own research, much as Farengar did, but I need you to help the Companions solve this problem without incident. Is that understood?"

"Of course. I will go see the Harbinger then."

He sped from Dragonsreach like a rabbit outrunning a fox and reached Jorrvaskr, mead hall and resting place of the Companions. The ancient, wooden building had the appearance of a capsized boat. Great, long, wooden boards lined its roof. Shields hung in decoration. S'maash entered through large, wooden doors.

Inside Jorrvaskr were three tables lining a fire pit where meat was cooking. The aroma made S'maash's stomach rumble. Three, seasoned warriors eyed him with curiosity. One, a gorgeous woman with trim figure and thick, auburn hair, approached him.

"Are we lost, dunmer?"

Squinting, he said, "Not in the least. I am the Jarl's court wizard, S'maash Ilteriel."

"Come, Aela, finish your story. Then, I will have words with this wizard," a scarred man in heavy, strange-looking, steel armor said.

Aela walked back to her seat and beckoned for S'maash to sit as well. Then, she continued her story. The mead hall was alive with revelry that night.

"So, Farkas had tracked the frost trolls back to their lair. His brilliant idea was to charge in, sword swinging. I told him the best plan of attack was to sneak in, making little noise, and take the trolls by surprise. You should have seen the look on his face, yes that one," she said, chuckling.

The third warrior, obviously named Farkas, had long, thick hair. It was graying, but he seemed every bit the powerful nord. He, too, wore steel armor, though it was a more common type worn by many adventurers, and not the kind emblazoned by wolfish features as Vilkas wore.

"I don't know why you have to tell it like that," Farkas commented.

His voice was frightening and powerful but it reminded S'maash of Balimund and he smiled. Aela seemed rather boisterous in her demeanor as she spoke, and Vilkas appeared calm and collected- the leader, or Harbinger, as it were. Aela continued.

"Naturally, I explained that since we arrived at their lair, it was likely that more trolls were inside. That convinced him to follow my lead. Anyway, we skulked into their icy home and slaughtered a half dozen with relative ease," she finished.

The warriors enjoyed a good belly laugh. After calming down, Vilkas turned his attention to S'maash. The crackling of embers broke the silent stare of the man's gaze.

"So, Thorald sent you to lend a hand with these necromancers? You've dealt with them before," Vilkas asked.

S'maash stirred. "No, but he feels steel will not be enough to handle them. I am unclear as to what help I might provide, but I am not untrained. You might like to know my brother and I just recently killed KrifAhrkDir, the dragon atop Sigrid's Plunge," the elf boasted.

The warriors around the table eyed each other. S'maash believed they were not taking his account seriously.

"If you can handle a dragon, a few necromancers should be easy work for you, dark elf," Aela said.

"Come now, these are two very different opponents, but she makes a good point, what was it? S'moash?" Vilkas said, trying to recall the elf's name.

"Yes, S'maash; if we are to eliminate this evil influence, we will have to discover why they took residence in Strongmouth Cave in the first place. Furthermore, it is important to know what sort of powers they wield and to what end they are scheming," the wizard contended.

"He talks like you, brother," Farkas said, impressed.

Vilkas looked to Farkas and nodded. "Then, I will tell you what we have discovered. There are at least two dozen of them and countless undead. They keep dogs as well. That abates our efforts to sneak in.

"We have the numbers to charge in, but it is unwise. Should one of us fall…their evil magick can resurrect the fallen to fight for them. One of us as an undead abomination would be a travesty and a desecration," Vilkas raised his voice in anger as he spoke.

"Understood…the dogs could be lured away with meat. Once the few, I assume a few mages will stand guard, are dealt with, we can move in. Are any of you familiar with Strongmouth Cave," S'maash inquired.

"I am, a little," Aela replied.

"Good. I'm also a healer and an enchanter. At the very least, I can provide you all with equipment to help resist the forces of magicka."

Suddenly, he was struck by an out of place question. Wonder if there's an enchantment to help resist soul trap or even other schools…the resist magicka enchantment only seems to apply to destruction.

"A good start," Farkas commented.

"Aye. Aela will lead us into battle tomorrow morning," Vilkas said. "We will kill their watch dogs first then move inside the cave. You need to know…they appear to be working on some kind of undead golem…an undead atronach."

That's something…S'maash thought. "Very well. I shall return once the sun rises with rings and amulets for us all. Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, what weapons do you wield," S'maash pried.

"A bow," Aela replied.

"My brother and I both prefer skyforge steel great swords," Farkas answered.

"Understood," S'maash said and left.

He jogged back to Dragonsreach where he informed Thorald of the plan. Then, he took to his arcane enchanter. Hours later, he jogged back to Jorrvaskr and met the warriors outside.

"These are for you," S'maash said handing out gifts.

The Companions were appreciative, but in a serious mood. "If we're all set, it's time," Aela barked.

S'maash followed behind them as they walked towards Whiterun's gates. Farkas and Vilkas made much noise in their heavy gear, yet Aela, whose antique-looking, steel equipment looked rather heavy as well, moved with a degree of litheness. Moments later, they were standing outside of Whiterun.

The morning sun shone over the horizon, and intermittent breezes made for balmy weather. The extensive grasslands of Whiterun hold swayed. The Companions trudged over and around small streams and ponds. Hours of traveling passed, but little discussion; none of the warriors so much as smiled. Aela came to a halt by a squat hill; gray rocks were scattered about the green mound.

"Strongmouth Cave is only minutes from here. Farkas, the meat please," she said.

Farkas opened his travel pack, producing pieces of raw beef. Aela took them and moved slowly. Every, few, dozen paces, she dropped some food.

"While she lures the dogs out, I want to tell you something," Vilkas started.

"Go on," S'maash replied.

"We were tasked with solving this problem, and the Companions honor their deals. We appreciate your help, but we will take the forefront of battle. You are welcome to join the fray, but don't feel compelled to try and keep up with us," Vilkas smiled for the first time since they left.

S'maash smiled back. He looked at the brothers.

"It was with my brother that I battled that dragon. How long have you two been Companions," S'maash asked.

"Our father had us join years ago. We've spent our whole lives as Companions. I'm not the brightest in the bunch, so I always trust my brother," Farkas replied.

"Fighting is in our blood; honor, in our hearts. We were meant to follow in the footsteps of Ysgramor," Vilkas added.

Aela returned. "It's all set. The dogs should smell the meat soon and come running out. Once they get close, we'll slay them then move into the entrance."

They waited; mere moments passed before hungry mutts came forth. The shaggy breeds of Skyrim, as the rest of its animals, were thick, hearty creatures. Dark, heavy fur protected them from cold nights, and their stock kept them safe from predator attacks, unless those predators were the Companions.

Aela took her elven bow, nocked a steel arrow, and fired at one dog. The arrow soared through the air before striking the dog in its sternum. With a muffled whine, it died. The other dogs perked up. They sniffed about as they searched for danger. Slowly, they fanned out, but the archer made quick work of them.

"Excellent, shield sister," Farkas commented.

"To Strongmouth's entrance," she replied.

They had moved carefully over the terrain, S'maash noticed, but suddenly, a welling up of power visibly took over their demeanor. They were more than ready for battle. They hungered for it, and they all dashed towards their destination.

The cave entrance appeared to be carved out from the landscape. Two posts supported strange banners. The black and purple cloths whipped in the wind. Upon them was the same design S'maash had seen in the Midden, a skull surrounded by bony hands. They entered.

"It's dark in here," Farkas commented.

"Of course it is, ice for brains," Aela whispered back.

"Would you like a magickal light, or should we resort to sneaking in the darkness," S'maash inquired.

"I can move well enough with little light, just follow me," Aela answered.

The group of four skulked very carefully. From what little light penetrated through cracks and crags in the cavern, they saw brown and gray rocks scattered about. Some of the walls were braced by massive beams to prevent a cave in. The path from the entrance into deeper portions of the cave was very winding. Shortly after, they came upon wooden steps built into the natural floor and leading down at a steep decline. An orange glow wavered against the wall far below them.

"There's plenty of light down there," Aela said.

S'maash remained behind them, the archer at the lead, and Farkas behind her. Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, she slowly made for the wall and peeked around the corner. Then, she motioned for the rest to follow.

They rounded a left turn. It was there that a brazier burned brightly, also on the left side of the stony corridor. A dozen yards away, a large tapestry hung over an alcove dug into the walls, a skull with hands on it as well.

In the alcove—beneath the necromancy symbol—was a burial urn and some purple flowers, nightshade. Aela then needed to decide to move left or right down the new passages. She chose the right after a quick deliberation. Again, the cave grew dark. A groan bled through the halls, and they all came to an abrupt halt.

"Get that damn breton over here," a voice echoed from around a corner.

Another groan was heard. Aela motioned to continue. The path she chose curved right again, and the four warriors stopped short, huddled against the wall, as they peered into a large chamber. Two men clad in black robes were leading a glowing person.

S'maash was familiar enough with resurrection spells. The person had an eerie, indigo light about him. From far away, he appeared to be an old breton in dirty, ragged clothes. The other two, the necromages, were ensconced by their dark attire.

"Go patrol the cave," one man yelled.

The breton replied with a groan. He then ambled about towards the Companions.

"This new spell doesn't seem to work very well, does it," one necromancer asked.

"No, at least not all the time. Hopefully, we can perfect it soon enough."

Aela fired an arrow into the breton. It stuck clean between the eyes. The undead fell to the ground as a glowing pile of cinders.

"Who's there," the necromage yelled.

He turned quickly, only to see his former zombie was nothing more than ash. The two men looked to each other then casted some sort of protection spell as they began their search for intruders. Their bodies glowed with a subtle light, making them overly easy to see. Aela fired an arrow at each of them before they ever discovered who the intruders were.

"Well that takes care of two," Vilkas remarked with a soft chuckle.

S'maash was certain his help wasn't needed. He began to question why Thorald pulled him from his important task. Perhaps there is more danger in here than I am aware of. They continued into the large chamber.

It was roundish, a natural opening inside the cave. Old, wooden tables, alchemy tables, arcane enchanters, shelves, and many books laid about the chamber. It was a study area used by the forces of evil. As the Companions searched for the next path, S'maash saw a blue book.

He read the contents. Delyla believes this new spell she crafted, black command, as she calls it, will allow complete reign over the faculties of the undead. For now, we still bother with ambushing traders and travelers, killing them, and reviving them. I hope soon enough we can attack this plan with more vigor.

S'maash wondered about the implications. He was already aware of the undead atronach they were working on, but it seemed they had a larger plan in mind. Whoever this Delyla is, she is obviously their leader. Perhaps we should try to catch her alive.

"Vilkas," S'maash whispered.

Vilkas came close before answering, "What is it?"

S'maash showed him the book. Vilkas read it rather quickly then stood pensively.

"Do you think we should take her alive," S'maash asked.

"I don't."

The nord turned and walked back to the others, leaving S'maash with a quizzical expression. Aela led them to a large crevice in the cavern. No end below was visible. A series of wooden bridges was strung before them. Hewn from posts, large bridges were supported by thick ropes and attached to stairs, or other support beams. Paths both higher above them and below them were available. The archer huffed, looking carefully over the bridges.

"We'll move down," she whispered.

S'maash gripped her wrist and pointed to necromancers who were descending the bridges and stairs from above. She nodded, but then she winced. Whether she was annoyed at herself or S'maash was inconsequential; they had company. Vilkas and Farkas took off running like sabre cats. They both drew their swords and attacked.

"You'll never end our efforts," a necromage yelled.

The other casted chain lightning, striking both brothers with purple arcs of magicka. Next, the one who had yelled summoned a flame atronach. Vilkas reached the first necromage and ran him through with no effort.

"I'm going to cut you down," Vilkas screamed.

Farkas pushed past his brother and climbed some stairs to reach the one who had summoned the atronach. "You're makin' me angry," Farkas grunted as he ran.

Before Farkas reached his target, Aela fired an arrow into the summoned creature. "Enough of this," she muttered.

S'maash stood by with folded arms, appreciating how the battle was unfolding. Once Vilkas pushed his opponent off his blade, he followed after Farkas. During their attack, the atronach shot fire bolts. Another arrow from Aela's bow struck the conjured demon and Farkas ran into it, bashing with the hilt of his weapon. He didn't even stop to attack, nor was his momentum slowed. Farkas just pushed through and cleaved the fleeing necromage. The opponent let out a dying scream before hitting the ground.

"They never knew what hit 'em," Farkas said.

The death of the summoner caused a break in the ritual holding the demon bound to their plane of reality. The atronach was banished to Oblivion, and the brothers returned to Aela.

"Very nicely done," S'maash congratulated.

They continued into the depths of Strongmouth Cave.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Companions cut their way through a handful of reanimated dogs, men, and mer during their descent into the cave's depths. A nord ruin awaited them. They gathered at the half rotted, immense, wooden doors before planning their next move.

"This cave seems to harbor an ancient ruin," Aela stated.

"Aye, one I had not known existed," Vilkas added.

S'maash eyed the necromantic symbols adorning both doors. "It would seem they have found an ideal place to resurrect their unholy army."

"An awful desecration of the great nords of Skyrim. Fallen warriors and heroes alike belong in Sovngarde, not roaming old halls as undead," Farkas spat.

"Let us not waste time," Aela said, pushing the doors open.

A large, decorative, stone room stood before them. Smoothed walls lined with candles and braziers glinted with an orange hue. The opening of the doors drew the attention of many undead inhabitants roaming within. Creaky, old bones turned to meet the Companions. Several skeletons grasped their axes, hammers, and blades. The group of four spread out.

"I will destroy you," Aela yelled.

Clashing of steel along with the crashing of bones bouncing off stone erupted. It was a relatively simple battle as the skeletons were no match for the Companions or S'maash. The dark elf wielded dual, icy spears, sending shards of ice into his opponents. Skeletons exploded from magickal impacts. The Companions hacked and slashed their way through. Farkas spun like a mad dervish as he brought all his girth behind his blade in horizontal slashes.

Vilkas, surprisingly quick as well, ran to one skeleton, ducked beneath a swing from opposing sword, butted the undead in the jaw then cleaved it. Without so much as slowing, he ran to the next, side stepped and swung overhead three times, leaving nothing of the former enemy but bone meal. Aela fired a few arrows as well. In mere seconds, the group of four vanquished a dozen undead.

"Good work, team. Now, we search this place," Aela ordered.

"I have a feeling there's trouble ahead," Vilkas remarked.

Without regrouping, each man went about their own way. The large room harbored thick pillars with alcoves carved into all, four sides, likely where the undead had been stationed. Adorning the pillars, were more candles. Far ahead of them, at the end of the room, was the only passage. They convened and moved on.

Before long, the ruin gave way to natural stone. Some tight corridors led the Companions to a group of necromancers. Having heard the approach of the intruders, they were ready for battle. With protection spells in place, several reanimated corpses, and summoned atronachs of all kinds, the evil wizards ran into battle.

"I'll rip your heart out," Vilkas screamed, charging like a steel bull into battle.

Again the group fanned out, each choosing an enemy to battle. S'maash summoned a flame atronach of his own while casting ebony flesh. Fire bolts, icy spears, and chain lightning rained throughout the stone chamber. From the far end, sitting upon a throne of bone, a man fully clad in steel plate came to his feet. From the slit in his winged helmet, an ominous, red glow emerged. He drew an ebony sword, curved and wicked. In his other hand, he held a round, steel shield. He did not enter the fray, but observed.

S'maash covered the ground with wall of ice, freezing the reanimated men. He then drew his sword while firing icy spears. Necromages spouted insults as they unleashed their spells of destruction.

"Time to die, hero," one called out.

Farkas squared off with a frost atronach; the frozen golem stood eight feet in height. It brought clubbed arms down with a stilted movement, too slow for the fast warrior. Farkas side stepped, hacked into the atronach's right leg, brought his blade back overhead, and swung down with all his weight. The atronach stumbled back, and he ran it all the way through. It was banished back to Oblivion.

Fire bolts then crashed over the warrior's back. He turned and charged at a flame atronach. Aela spotted it out of the corner of her eye. She fired arrows at the necromage, who had summoned it. His death ended the magickal summons, and the flame atronach was banished before Farkas reached it.

Grunts and war cries prevailed as the Companions dismantled the necromancers' advances. "I'll cleave you in twain," Vilkas howled, felling another necromage.

His blade was red with blood. As he spun to strike another of the undead, the blood splattered onto nearby shelving. During Vilkas's onslaught, S'maash ran to an enemy, grasped his robes with his left hand and thrust blade deep into the man's neck. Removing his sword, he moved on to the next undead. He fired an icy spear, but the undead moved at angles. S'maash followed with a strike from his sword, yet the enemy moved again. He was shocked to see the opponent move so quickly. The others seemed to have some trouble as well.

While destruction spells crashed against walls, tables, and shelving, some struck the group of four. Effects of drain magicka and stamina slowed their assault. More necromancers and undead then flooded the room from sights unseen.

"Where are they coming from?" Aela yelled, unleashing more arrows into the fray.

"I can't tell. Just keep cutting away," Farkas yelled back.

The frozen spells were slowing down the Companions as they worked to fend off the attacks. S'maash, battling two, quick, undead nords, and defending against the pelting of dual, ice spikes, found himself against a wall. His only defense, with no more magicka reserves, was to block undead fists as he cut into the enemy. Things took a turn for the worse when the necromages summoned more atronachs.

The sudden shift in momentum startled the elf. He broke from the battle and ran alongside the wall behind him. Rummaging quickly through his pack, he removed a blue potion of magicka, and drank it while running over to Aela, who was getting swarmed.

"Aela!" he called to announce his help.

With healing hands, he kept her alive. With his other hand, he swung at a nearby necromancer, landing a strike to his face. His death ended the battle between Vilkas, a storm atronach, and a flame atronach. Freed from danger, Aela and Vilkas joined Farkas. Together, they cut through more necromages, returning the tide to their favor.

Magickal ice covered the floor and walls; a soft glow emanated from the remnants of spells. The three Companions split up once more, but the man in steel plate finally entered the fray. He stomped with purpose, beyond a few undead, to Farkas's rear. With a mighty bash from his shield, he sent the powerful nord to the ground.

"Ugh, what the," Farkas asked as he reached for his blade.

The man stepped down hard onto Farkas's wrist, sending an excruciating pain up his arm. He screamed as he rolled onto his back. The attacker was bringing his blade down to finish Farkas when an arrow from Aela's bow stopped him. The feathered shaft stuck out of his right shoulder. Faltering only for a second, he provided Farkas enough time to recover his sword.

"Durro," Vilkas yelled after felling another necromage.

The plated warrior stopped his assault on Farkas. Vilkas ran over to his brother, who engaged Durro in battle. At that time, S'maash felt cold claws around his throat and froze.

"Eh heh heh. Khajiit has claimed this one," a voice whispered. S'maash, while watching the three companions engage Durro, felt the soft fur and whiskers of the khajiit upon his ear. He brought an icy spear to the ready in hopes of defense. "This one feels your cold palm. You should not be so quick to act. J'zargo is helping."

A flash of recognition assaulted S'maash. Isn't that the instructor of conjuration at the College?

"Observe as your friends fight one of their own. Let J'zargo take you to Delyla," J'zargo said, easing his claw away from S'maash's throat.

"What's happening? Why are you here," S'maash asked, astonished.

As their conversation ensued, the Companions felled all the necromages and undead to give their full attention to Durro, who, with relative ease, dodged, blocked, and counter attacked. He was seemingly unstoppable. The Companions fought as one force, never stepping in each other's way. Clamor of steel rang throughout the chamber.

"Who is Delyla," S'maash asked, facing the khajiit in necromancer's robes.

"She is the leader of these necromages."

"And you?"

"This one has infiltrated. Your friends have their hands full, but J'zargo will take you to Delyla. To help your friends assure victory, you must slay her."

He took S'maash by the wrist and led him into the shadows where a hidden passage awaited. The khajiit tugged a previously ensconced pull chain. A hidden door was revealed after sliding stone gave way.

"What's going, here," S'maash asked as he followed.

The clamor of battle ebbed away as the two progressed down a pitch-black corridor. The khajiit had no trouble seeing due to his night eye ability, one all of the cat people possessed.

"Delyla is a vampire from ancient times. She has changed names over the many years, but not her strategy," J'zargo said.

S'maash kept a hand upon the khajiit's shoulder as he followed. He saw nothing beyond blackness.

"Are you working with the College?"

"Yes, J'zargo is always trying to achieve success. Heh heh heh, he has many tricks up his sleeves, but J'zargo alone cannot defeat this vampire…she has control of many minds," he hissed, ominously.

S'maash grew confused as he continued walking. "Tell me everything," he demanded.

"Not long ago, the Dawnguard arrived to slay an emerging, vampire threat."

"Dawnguard?" S'maash interrupted.

"A legion of so-called vampire slayers, but they were imbeciles compared to J'zargo. They unwittingly unleashed the daughter of the vampire lord. It was her blood the wicked ones needed to bring about the prophecy. Had the Dawnguard left her entombed, no threat would have manifested. Worse, they aided this woman—this vampire—by bringing her to her father, the vampire lord. This one thinks they might have killed her on the spot. J'zargo still does not understand why they did not.

"After helping her, the Dawnguard did manage to keep the vampire lord from his plans, but their arrogance led them to believe Skyrim was safe. J'zargo prefers the warm sands of Elswyer, but Skyrim is home now. Uncovering a new threat, khajiit took his information before the Archmage. Tolfdir told this one to infiltrate the necromages as they revered Delyla," J'zargo clarified.

"The Dawnguard sound ridiculous; vampire slayers who help vampires…but how is all this related?"

"Yes, J'zargo will explain. Delyla is not simply a vampire, but an elder vampire. She is like the vampire lord the Dawnguard fought, but she is much wiser, from a different clan, and much older. While Harkon wanted to blot the sun from the sky of Tamriel, Delyla knew it was a stupid plan. No sun means no food for the living. No food means no living, which means no food for the vampires, hehe heh.

"Delyla planned, instead, to subjugate the minds of conjurors, instill a need for them to revere her. As she doles out potent spells of conjuration to some, she feeds on others. They have been tricked into believing she will give them unlife and limitless potential, but she only feeds to bolster her own powers. Because she is immortal, you and J'zargo cannot slay her, only slow her progression, but this one has found a way."

"What way? How far are we going?"

They had been walking quite a ways. S'maash felt the ground slowly descend as they continued.

"Not much farther to go. Listen to J'zargo, for he is wise," he ordered. S'maash did listen, but wondered about the Companions. Surely, they had noticed his absence. "J'zargo has been to the Soul Cairn, a go between of worlds for those souls who have been filtered. It is an awful place of death and lost souls. Gray skies and lightning rains upon strange spires of black stone. In the Soul Cairn, khajiit located a soul for Delyla. It must be infused to make her mortal."

"Restore a soul to a vampire? Is that possible?" S'maash interjected.

"Very much so. As J'zargo has stated innumerable times, he is very clever. A reaper gem, a sort of soul gem, can be used to restore a soul. J'zargo has this reaper gem. You will force her to take it. Merely touching it, will reinstate the soul," J'zargo said.

"Wait, I'm doing this? What about the College, why are they absent from this task?"

"A stupid question. J'zargo knows the presence of many College mages will start a battle of epic proportions. Fearing an attack, Delyla would surely have taken necessary precautions to battle the mages. Many would die. J'zargo does not want this upon his conscience…nor his records with the College.

"You and your Companions have arrived with impeccable timing. Together, you and J'zargo will defeat Delyla. As one of her most trusted, this one is privy to her chamber room, unlockable only by a spell granted from Delyla. J'zargo has seemingly captured you as an offering to her. When she goes to feast upon you, you will strike her with this," J'zargo said as he crammed a cold and rough edged object into S'maash's hand. They stopped walking, then. "The door is right here. J'zargo will open."

S'maash took his hand off the khajiit's shoulder. He then saw a violet glow around J'zargo's claw. He touched what looked like a stone door. An effervescent light took hold of the door, enveloping it with the same glow. It shimmered then opened inwards.

The room beyond was lighted by torchlight along the far walls. The fires revealed clean bones strewn about the floor. At the end of the room, only dozens of paces away, the elder vampire, Delyla, sat upon a throne of skulls.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Durro shield bashed Farkas across the face, sending him to the ground hard. A trickle of blood fell from his mouth. Vilkas shouted as he brought his blade across the knight's flank. Aela helped Farkas back to his feet when Durro butted his pommel over Vilkas's head. The pain and impact sent the Harbinger reeling.

Farkas swung with all his might from side-to-side, but Durro held his shield firmly, blocking the strikes. He rammed his plated shoulder into the nord, shoved past him, and swung his ebony sword at Aela. Deftly, she stepped back, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. It was the eleventh arrow to pierce armor.

"Where is that dark elf?" Vilkas yelled, from a knee.

J'zargo shoved the wizard into Delyla's chamber of bones. "Heh heh heh, J'zargo has brought one for feasting."

The khajiit's fuzzy snout twitched in pride. Delyla stood in black, hooded robes, revealing her emaciated form. A pale, green glow emanated from her eyes. Stringy, white hair cascaded from inside her hood. Her voice sounded far away as though coming from a metal tube.

"Yesss. I hunger for soulsss."

She locked eyes with S'maash and floated from her throne. Her bare feet touched the ground upon closing the distance. Without hesitation, he smashed the reaper gem across her face. She hissed and screamed wildly as her body contorted in rage and pain. The soul entered her undead form.

"Heh heh heh. Khajiit is no one's puppet," J'zargo claimed.

He summoned two, storm atronachs. The mammoth demons of stone and lightning immediately rained wall of storm all about the elder vampire's chamber. The arcs of purple lightning did not fare well against the omnipotent Delyla, who in turn summoned her undead atronachs.

Two, hulking beasts of writhing and rotted flesh appeared from the pits of Oblivion. The sight was enough to churn S'maash's stomach. The golems were forged of misshaped flesh, bulging and decrepit. Both demons possessed gaping mouths with rotten teeth, four arms with large fists, and exposed genitalia of both sexes. They were grotesque, hairless creatures standing eight feet tall.

"That is gruesome," J'zargo said.

S'maash had hopped back just as the abominations were conjured. He, too, summoned a flame atronach and casted ebony flesh. With sword in hand and wall of ice ready, he and J'zargo commenced their attack. The undead atronach wielded an absorb life spell, however, a red energy that sucked the health of its prey.

Delyla, undaunted by magickal attacks, latched on to S'maash with claws like steel vices. She bit into his neck immediately. While she held onto him, J'zargo gripped her head in both claws, casting flames. His magickal attack also damaged S'maash, who stumbled around with the evil vampire still clinging tightly.

"Waaah! Get her off!" he howled, twirling like a mad skeever.

J'zargo managed to remove Delyla from S'maash's throat. His muscles tensed beneath his fur as the she-devil whirled about and crashed her head into his. Horrific screams escaped her lips, growls resounded within the cat's throat.

From gnarled fingers, Delyla poured red lightning over the khajiit. It both drained his magicka and health. Holding his bleeding neck with a healing hands spell, S'maash lunged into Delyla's back with his blade. Devoid of magicka, the impact beyond physical damage was unimpressive. The sword sank into what little flesh she had, but she remained resolved.

While the atronachs clashed, the elf gave his all, slashing one way and the other. J'zargo finally collapsed from crippling pain, so Delyla spun around and clawed at S'maash's face. A terrible pain accosted his eye. Her sharp nails tore flesh from his face, blood poured from his wound. Partially blinded, he spun to his right with a step back. He brought his sword with him and struck his enemy square in the jaw.

She fell, and right then, the undead atronachs bested a storm atronach and the flame atronach. J'zargo managed to fast heal, thus replenishing his health. He then turned to overcharging chain lightning, affecting all three enemies. While Delyla was falling and writhing from the spell, S'maash gripped her hood and ran his sword into her collarbone. Gripping the blade for leverage, she pulled herself upright, continuing her wild, screaming assault.

In an attempt to keep the vampire at bay, the dunmer slashed while healing his eye, yet Delyla's supreme agility provided her the opportunity to mount him again. Quickly, she climbed onto his shoulders, draped over him, and sank teeth into his flesh.

S'maash ran backwards, crashing against the wall, but she didn't let off her fanged attack. He stabbed at her, but because of their position, he lacked the mechanical power to stab effectively, incurring self-inflicted damage as no other course of action, he dropped to the ground and rolled about. No sooner did he gain the advantage that vertigo overtook him.

While one undead atronach had fallen from J'zargo's magickal onslaught, the other snatched S'maash. Gripping the dark elf in three hands, the golem beat him against the wall. He dropped his sword in the mix.

Animal fear gripped him. He screamed and cried during the brain rattling castigation. Then, he prayed to his ancestors. Though his life slowly ebbed away, a renewed vigor possessed him.

His ancestor's wrath gave him the strength to wriggle free from the undead atronach- the stench of burning flesh ripe in the air. J'zargo's fast healing spells also helped restore the elf to an extent, yet Delyla unleashed more lightning, which helped to restore her wounds as well.

The khajiit took S'maash's blade, stepped in, and swung from overhead. The blow cleanly hacked off one of the golem's arms. It replied with a hammer fist over J'zargo's skull. Upon falling onto his rear, he scrambled away to the door. As he watched the remaining golem and the vampire assault the elf, he held his breath and summoned two, bound dremora. The demons appeared from Oblivion, vicious, daedric, great swords in their hands.

"Bow before me!" one demon grumbled with its guttural voice.

"Kneel, wretched cur!" the other dremora demanded.

The dremora, red and black skinned demons clad in wicked, daedric armor, charged the undead atronach. The summoned beasts fought without tire. The gurgling dremora spouted more insults as they hacked and slashed into undead flesh and finally destroyed the golem. It was banished back to Oblivion, giving J'zargo and S'maash a chance to overtake Delyla.

She was bleeding profusely, and her leg was broken. The elf wrapped his arms around the vampire, and holding her firmly, he wrestled her to the ground, yet she sank fangs into his throat and started sucking the life out of him. J'zargo hissed and snatched her head again. As he pulled it back, she let go of S'maash, taking a small chunk of him with her. Exposing her throat and bloodied mouth, the bound dremora swung his sword down, removing her head from her body.

The impact forced J'zargo to stumble back; his fur and robes were completely covered in blood. The dremora finally came to a standstill. S'maash crumbled on the ground, barely more than a corpse. Tossing the head aside, the khajiit healed him.

Back in the cave, Durro cut Aela across her chest with such potency that his blade shattered her armor. Great gashes oozed blood over her figure. She tried to crawl away, but the knight placed a plated boot onto her ankle. She yelled in pain. Vilkas, a bloody mess, charged, knocking him off his shield sister. Farkas came in running from behind and slashed into the man's back, forcing him to stumble forwards.

A sudden jolt accosted Durro. His limbs twitched wildly, and he dropped his weapon. The Companions were taken aback. Durro turned to them. The red glow from his helmet dissipated. With a thunderous crash, he fell to his knees then onto his face.

As Aela wriggled about in pain, Farkas approached his former shield brother, Durro. "Is he finally dead?"

Vilkas staggered over, using his sword as leverage to keep from falling. "See to Aela. I'll check Durro," he said, wincing in pain.

Vilkas dropped to his knees, allowing his sword to fall to the ground.

"Are you hurt," Farkas asked.

Aela hit him in the arm. "Of course, I'm hurt, you idiot!"

Farkas frowned to his brother. "I think she's fine."

Vilkas pulled Durro's helmet from his head. The nord was certainly dead. Blank eyes stared into the abyss. Vilkas closed them.

"May you continue to fight in Sovngarde. We have avenged you, shield brother," he whispered.

Farkas sat cross-legged and took stock of the battlefield. Dismembered necromages, glowing ashes, blood, and frozen magick covered the ground. He and his Companions were all but defeated. Vilkas lay back, holding his sides. Farkas held his bleeding shoulder, and Aela passed out on her flank.

"Where's the dark elf?" Farkas was concerned.

"The coward must have fled. Damnable wizard; he should have been here to heal us," Vilkas complained.

"I am," S'maash yelled.

He and J'zargo limped over to the injured Companions and began healing them.

"Where in Oblivion have you been," Vilkas growled.

"Heheheh. J'zargo needed your friend for College business. It was this one, who saved your hides," J'zargo said. With a modicum of health returned, Vilkas demanded answers. "You may call this one hero, or J'zargo, if you prefer. This one is an instructor at the College of Winterhold. S'maash and khajiit have killed the elder vampire, Delyla. Her defeat broke her spell over your friend. It was us, who won the day."

"I don't understand," Farkas said.

"It's fine," Vilkas sighed, coming to his feet. "S'maash didn't run away. He fought the vampire, who must have been controlling Durro. Thank you, both of you. Now, help us get Durro out of here and back to Jorrvaskr. He deserves a proper send off to Sovngarde," Vilkas added, gravely.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The conclusion of Thorald's business ended when the townsfolk of Whiterun gathered before the Skyforge. It was customary for the fallen Companions to be burned upon the mysterious forge; the giant, stone eagle stood watch above them. Each member of the order took a turn praising their fallen, shield brother. Once the short ceremony ended, Vilkas took a torch to the pyre supporting Durro's body.

"You've done a fine thing, court wizard. From this day on, you are one of us. If ever you need assistance, come back to Jorrvaskr," Vilkas said.

"If my brother likes you, I like you. Thanks," Farkas added.

"Not bad for a wizard. I welcome your presence around the mead hall any day, S'maash," Aela said.

The elf feigned a smile. He watched how the Companions gave their respects without grieving. They were glad to have avenged Durro and helped him to enter the eternal fighting and feasting of Sovngarde; it was not a time for grief but for celebration. Thorald was present as well, wearing dark finery.

"So, it's all over, eh," Thorald asked. S'maash looked up to meet his eyes. He nodded slowly. "It was more than just necromages wasn't it? It's no wonder the Companions required aid. Well, you've done a fine thing here."

Blinking rapidly and prodding at his blind eye, S'maash looked around. The torch fires wavered, casting dancing shadows. Inside S'maash's ears, the crackle of flame was like the sound of tearing cloth; obscenely loud. Above him, the stars sparkled like diamonds. J'zargo must be right…I must have contracted, his thoughts broke suddenly.

"What," S'maash asked, startled.

"I said you're probably off to College business. Anyway, should you ever need anything at all from me, I, and Whiterun's people, are in your debt," Thorald replied.

After patting S'maash's shoulder, the Jarl joined the Companions inside Jorrvaskr for drinks and food. "Aren't you coming," Aela asked.

"No, thank you…my wounds still ache," he replied.

He watched them all vanish behind closed doors before thinking back. The previous day, just after the vicious battle, S'maash and J'zargo had done their best to heal everyone, but their powers of restoration were lacking, so they limped back into town, where Danica, the priestess of Kynareth, did her best to bandage and brace everyone's wounds. S'maash had neglected to tell her he fought Delyla, the elder vampire. Danica, being the phenomenal healer she was, noticed the bite marks regardless.

Suddenly, he heard her say, "Normally, Porphyric Hemophilia only takes hold of one's soul after sleep. So long as we remove the disease before it becomes the curse, you'll be fine," her thick, nord accent with rolling R's rang throughout his mind like a bell.

He stood there, gaping at the flaming pyre, and the scent of charring flesh made his stomach churn, but worse was the way Danica's words echoed in his mind. Then, the khajiit's gravelly voice burst into his head.

"Heheh, J'zargo does not believe your ailment to be so simple. Delyla was an elder vampire. Her bite may have affected more than just your blood. Do not sleep unless you are certain the disease is cleansed from your soul."

He worried. The voices in his mind were almost like reliving the conversations. Everything around him had taken on a strange essence, unfamiliar, surreal. He decided to return to Danica. The Temple of Kynareth was modest and clean. Danica was watering some lavender plants when he entered. She, too, had attended Durro's ceremony.

"Feeling better? Or worse?" she was concerned.

"J'zargo said an elder vampire's bite might be worse than normal vampires'."

"Aye, 'tis a possibility. Come." S'maash approached the hearty, nord woman. Her yellow and brown robes appeared almost living to the dark elf; it was the way they moved when she moved, and the sounds of cloth stretching. She looked him over. "Hmm, I'm both impressed and frightened at the turn your eye has taken."

"I think I'm beginning to see out of it again."

"You should not been able to…nor should it have healed so quickly. Perhaps, your khajiit friend was right. If an elder vampire's bite affects the soul directly then vampirism might manifest itself without ever going to sleep," she said rather calmly.

S'maash turned his palms over in resignation. "There's nothing I can do?"

"There is always something. So long as you still have your soul, we can save you from the horrible curse. With finely ground soul gems, garlic, blessed water, and a little sap from the Gildergreen tree, I think I can make a potion to help you," she informed him.

"The what tree?"

"The Gildergreen, the large tree just outside? Nevermind, I will handle that and then bless some water as well. You return with the powdered, soul gem and garlic. Make haste," she said.

He bolted out of the temple and up the steps to Dragonsreach in a flash. From his study he took both the garlic and the soul gem. Working quickly at the alchemy table, he ground the gem to a fine, purple powder. Then, he ran all the way back to the temple in just a matter of seconds. I don't even tire….

"Here," he offered the reagents.

She took it all to a basin. First, she sprinkled the powder into the basin containing blessed water. Tiny crystals sank to the bottom. She used the garlic by rubbing it inside the small, clay bowl, previously holding the powdered gem. Once enough juices flowed into the bowl, she added Gildergreen sap, a vibrant sap, like honey.

S'maash observed all her ritualistic antics. The more time passed, the stranger his body felt. He wanted her to hurry, but instead she knelt before the basin. She prayed softly, too softly, yet he heard. It was like she had lips pressed to his ears.

"Bless this mixture, Oh Kynareth. Let us clean the impurities from our friend, the dark elf. He has fought bravely and achieved victory against the unholy. Bless this mixture, Goddess of Nature, so that balance might be restored," Danica said.

After repeating the verse, with subtle variances, she placed the clay bowl in the basin and continued praying. Shortly after, the water in the basin sizzled; the powdered gem reacted with everything else. Danica then turned to S'maash, who was on the verge of losing his marbles.

"Quickly, remove your clothing. I will anoint your body with this mixture. It is the Elixir of Purity," Danica ordered.

He tossed all his armor and clothing about. Standing naked before her, he took a few awkward steps. Danica dipped some linen wraps in the Elixir of Purity and scrubbed him down like a racehorse. It was not the gentle caress of compassion, but a vigorous cleansing. It took a minute, but Danica managed to scrub every inch.

"Should I dress," he asked when she stopped.

"No. Let the elixir take hold."

"How? Oh…."

His skin tingled then grew cold. With a sudden spasm from his midsection, S'maash vomited profusely. He dropped to his knees and searched about for somewhere to continue vomiting, but there was nothing. He threw up all over the wooden floors. Danica eyed him sparingly. Eventually, he was empty. With a great inhalation, he stretched his limbs, feeling better than he had in many years.

"Goodness! I'm sorry for the mess," he smiled.

"Make it up by cleaning," Danica joked.

Together, after he dressed, they both cleaned up the mess. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Keeping Whiterun safe is enough for me. Sleep well tonight."

S'maash decided against sleeping in bed. Instead he collected all his gear and hired a cart ride back to Winterhold. He slept along the way. As the cart jostled softly, S'maash half dreamed of treasure. Suddenly, he remembered the hammer. I forgot all about that weapon the falmer used back in Mzulft. He had kept it in his room at the College. I wonder if it could really be Sunder….

Fully roused by his thoughts, he decided to scribble more of his story in his journal. The logbook was coming along nicely. While S'maash was no storyteller, chronicling his own adventures was rather simple.

The cart ride dragged on. The weather was nice, and they only stopped in Dawnstar along the way. His need to verify his hammer was pressing, but half a day after leaving Dawnstar, they arrived in Winterhold.

Lightly sprinkling snow fell onto the bridge. Over the many hours of travel, he had had ample time to think everything through and decided to let fate make his decision, a decision, which he had been avoiding since speaking with Aicantar. If fate was truth, and Sunder was in fact in his room then he was going to reforge the Heart of Lorkhan. If, for whatever reason, the item was not Sunder then he was not intended to forge the Heart of Lorkhan, and so be it.

Truthfully, S'maash wanted only knowledge. Seeing the necromancers with their new spells and ancient vampires with spells of old was compelling, though. He wanted to see everything through to its natural end, whatever it was. Once inside his room, he unwrapped both weapons. They looked and felt similar. S'maash went off to find Tolfdir.

First, he checked the Hall of the Elements, but found only students. In the Arcaeneum, he found only Urag. Tolfdir was not in either of the other halls, so S'maash walked back to the Hall of the Elements and took the door to the Archmage's quarters. He knocked first.

"You may enter," Tolfdir's voice bled through the door.

S'maash walked in. The room was beautiful, extravagant even. Built from the same gray block as the rest of the College, Tolfdir's room held many niceties. An arcane enchanter, alchemy table, several, small tables, chairs, and shelves with a great deal of tomes, silver carafes, and colorful banners adorned the area. At the center of the room were a plethora of reagents growing unnaturally in a tidy garden. Black tapestries also hung about, displaying the College's symbol, a large eye over a sort of pentagram.

"What is it, S'maash," Tolfdir asked. The elf stood before him with both weapons in hand. "What happened to your eye?"

"It's nothing. Is this Sunder?"

Tolfdir took a seat at a small, square table adorned with silver nick-nacks; candlesticks, mugs, silverware. He motioned for S'maash to join him.

"Let us have a look. Hmm, I have heard Sunder was a hammer. Let's see Keening."

"They both appear crafted from the same hands. Both feel alive with some wavering force."

"I cannot say for certain, but I do believe this is in fact Sunder. Where did you find it?"

"Mzulft. Falmer were battling before a fragment of the Heart of Lorkhan. Is it not strange that I have had this in my possession for some time? Every step I take seems to lead me to this ultimate end…I feel as though I must undertake this task of reforging the Heart of Lorkhan," he sighed.

"Yes…sometimes there are men and mer alike, who appear to have to no choice, but to carry out the task the Gods have deigned them for. S'maash," Tolfdir grew exceptionally serious. "I once had the pleasure of working with the Dragonborn. It seemed he, too, was destined for a specific task. Fate bestowed the title of Dragonborn onto him, and fate pushed him into many trepidations. Unfortunately, fate changed him into…well, into what he was meant to be, for better or worse.

"Here, you have a choice. You can see this through to its end, or you can stand back, and say fate be damned. Whatever the choice you make, you have our support, my support."

S'maash looked down at the table. He was simply frightened. The unknown was a terrible enemy.

"What if something goes wrong? What," he trailed off.

Tolfdir heaved a heavy sigh. "You are still young. For all your adventures, failures, and triumphs, you still have many obstacles before you. Just promise me you'll tread carefully, and do your best to ponder every implication," Tolfdir said, placing his hand on S'maash's.

"I promise."

He stood, took his treasures, and left the Archmage to his ruminations. In his own room, he expended the powers of a greater soul gem to refuel his sword's magickal properties. He still needed a white soul for the completion of Hermaeus Mora's task. Upon recharging his blade, he walked out of the College, and out of town.

It was late in the evening. Winterhold was always cold, its ground packed loosely with pristine snow. S'maash circled the town looking for an animal to sacrifice. It was not long before he saw a snow fox. The tiny, white, creature looked at him and ran away. It left tiny paw prints in the snow. Not in a mood to give chase, he walked around for hours, and then the sun set. A starry sky and twin moons lit his path. A low growl called his attention.

S'maash was familiar with the snowy, sabre cats of Skyrim, so he waited. From his right, he noticed the movement. The white of fur was nearly indiscernible from the snow, but rapid movement was easy enough to spot. The steady beat of large paws came closer.

He turned and blasted the creature with wall of ice. The many shards both slowed and injured the cat. Red tainted the snow. As the animal writhed, the elf approached and slayed it. A simple thrusting of his blade deep into the cat's flank sufficed. It glowed purple and caught aflame from the sword's enchantments. The daedric heart gem was filled.

With the deed done, S'maash started his way back to the Midden. Heavy steps took him to the entrance in the courtyard. From there, he traversed the icy cavern of the Midden and stood before the Oblivion Forge. The sigil stone glowed violent red intermittently. S'maash opened the offering box and placed everything inside. He then pulled the lever and waited.

A horrendous impact jarred him. For a moment he was befuddled. His head spun with sights of the cieling. After a modicum of control returned, he looked around. The sigil stone had shattered. He stood then ran over to the forge to find his treasure. There was nothing. Confused, he opened the offering the box. His fragments and gem were still inside.

"What? What has gone wrong?"

Crimson mist had crept from the shattered sigil stone. It slowly descended and hovered just above the cold ground. S'maash sighed and gave a subtle shrug in resignation. He took his belongings and went back to find Tolfdir, who was still in his room. Inside, they spoke.

"Fascinating. Perhaps a normal sigil stone is not powerful enough for this undertaking," Tolfdir commented.

"Normal sigil stones? Are there other kinds?"

The old nord leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard in thought. "Well, it has been said that the hero who helped Martin Septim obtained a special sigil stone. Some of the details escape me, but I believe a greater sigil stone was required to open a portal to Mankar Cameron's alternate reality."

S'maash clenched his jaw before speaking, "What do you know about these sigil stones. Their magickal properties are unknown to me."

Tolfdir nodded rhythmically as he searched for words. "A sigil stone embodies the chaotic forces of Oblivion itself. Many years ago, enchanters used them for their particular enchantments. I'm almost surprised you are unfamiliar with their uses. Sigil stones also anchor the forces of chaos…."

"Enchanting? Wait, what do you mean anchor forces of chaos?"

"Well, the stones can be used to crack the fabric of reality, create a bridge or portal from the realms of Oblivion into other realms, ours for example," Tolfdir attempted to clarify.

"How?"

"I'm not sure, to tell the truth, but there is a book somewhere. I believe the Blades might have a copy. They did, after all, play a major role during the Oblivion crisis. Mehrunes Dagon used the sigil stones to that end, but only because Uriel Septim was dead, and his son, Martin, had yet to wear the Amulet of Kings."

"So, without an heir to the throne, Mehrunes Dagon was able to break his way into Tamriel?"

"Yes."

S'maash rapped his fingers against the wooden table. "It seems, if I wish to continue this task, I must somehow obtain a greater sigil stone," S'maash whispered.

Tolfdir leaned back again. "Well…If you must continue, or perhaps, this is your sign to put an end to this ordeal."

"I don't think Hermaeus Mora will just release me from this task," S'maash answered.

"With Azura's guidance, you most certainly can break away from Hermaeus Mora, though it will not be a simple matter."

As candle flames flickered, Tolfdir's chambers grew slightly ominous. S'maash pondered for a moment. The Archmage kept a firm gaze. They met eyes.

"I should see the Blades. Farengar said they are usually unwilling to work with others, but I must read this book you mentioned. After that…well, I suppose we'll see," S'maash said.

"You have slain a dragon. That alone should convince them to listen to your request. You can find them at Skyhaven Temple, far to southwest. They are in the Reach, so tread carefully. Here, let me see your map," Tolfdir said, marking the location.

"I have been to the Reach before," S'maash remarked.

"You have been to Markarth, no? The Reach is still Forsworn territory, no matter what that Silver-Blood says. Tread carefully."

S'maash readied himself for the Reach.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A cart ride from Winterhold left S'maash on the outskirts of Falkreath. By foot, he proceeded north, looking for Karthspire, the entrance to Sky Haven temple. Falkreath's hold was rather ominous.

The scent of death hung heavily in the humid air. Most of the soil underfoot was an awfully dark in color, almost black. Several, dead trees stuck out from the ground. They looked as though it had been agonizing to crack through the soil and into daylight.

Taking a breath of woody air, S'maash gazed overhead at a gray sky with rolling clouds, it was obvious rain was coming. Hours of slow and steady travel persisted. The far off boom and echo of thunder rumbled before it drizzled.

Once in the Reach, S'maash saw structures of wood built over lakes. Behind the structures was a mountain, and atop it was Sky Haven temple, an ancient and magnificent, stone bastion, partially ensconced by the mountain into which it was built.

As he drew closer, he saw the wooden structures were roughly hewn bridges supported by ropes. A great, many, stone steps led into the Karthspire. Sudden movement drew the elf's attention.

"Bad place for you to get lost, friend," a man yelled.

He peered to his left. A platform had been erected as a makeshift, guard tower, or redoubt. The man wore strange, leather equipment full of bones and feathers; a deer head mask obscured his face. War paint covered his body. In his hands were two, bony swords.

"Forsworn," S'maash muttered.

He casted an ebony flesh spell then switched to wall of ice and drew his blade. As the man came running down the steps of Karthspire, he shouted, thus bringing out many more Forsworn. A flurry of ice spikes and arrows sailed through the sky, so S'maash ground his teeth, summoned a flame atronach, and tried his best to dodge the assault.

His atronach belted out fiery damage, drawing the attention of enemies. The bridge swayed a bit when two, filthy warriors stormed across. Still, spells and arrows zipped through the rain. A Forsworn lass then shoved her comrade away, spun beyond the atronach, and made to bash S'maash with the haft of her stony axe.

The blow brushed off his collarbone, and protected by his enchanted armor, he took no damage. In reply, the elf held his palm out, freezing her over; more arrows came flying, so he quickly slashed low at her knee, and as she buckled, he brought the blade back towards his body for a cross slash at her head. She went down hard before rolling off into the water below.

With the bridge partially clear, the male, Forsworn warrior twirled and brought both his blades at S'maash chest. The dark elf stepped back in time to avoid the brunt of the blow, and while he covered his attacker in frozen spikes of magicka, the atronach continued dancing, firing off another volley of flaming reprisal.

"Time to die, hero," the Forsworn spat.

The nord pressed the attack, thrusting one blade then the other. S'maash parried easily enough, but the man fought hard, pushing forwards. With magicka running a bit low, the dunmer side stepped into the rope, rolled his belly over it then took his assailant from behind. By reaching over the man's shoulder, he was able to sink the blade deep into his chest.

The short-lived victory gave way when more Forsworn finally reached S'maash's position. The dark elf then ran past the first bridge and hopped onto an adjoining section on his right; he was trying to gain some height. Unfortunately, the position he coveted was home to more enemies with bows and magick. S'maash ducked under a sword swing, spun around to his left, slashed across a man's bare chest then shoved him into another member of the Forsworn.

"You ready to die today? Huh?" a lady spat.

With the atronach banished, and numerous attackers in the open, S'maash ran down the wooden bridge, vaulted himself over a rope, and landed on a wooden platform housing a ragged tent. While standing behind it, only partially covered from battle, he recasted ebony flesh, took a breath, and rejoined the fray.

A female Forsworn—feathers in her matted hair—was happy to greet him. "I'll paint my face with your blood, elf," she said with a yellow grin.

Undaunted, S'maash kicked her in the stomach then ran her through. After shoving her corpse off his blade, he darted off to his right again, where he finally gained a height advantage by fighting from a platform at the base of stairs. At the top steps of the Karthspire, he saw six, Forsworn warriors, and two people clad in what appeared to be blue, steel, armor; the Forsworn were battling them as well.

Must be the Blades, he thought. There was little time to waste though; the wizard had to reach the archers and spell casters, so he summoned a new atronach, and with a fistful of fire balls the two set the nords aflame. The enemies screamed and ran about before diving into the lake.

Freed from battle, the elf bolted up the steps. Upon reaching the stone platform before Karthspire, S'maash dove back into battle. He swung his sword across the exposed back of a Forsworn mage. The woman screamed in agony as she fell over sideways. S'maash plunged his blade into her abdomen, and she writhed about bit before bleeding to death. With the help of the Blades, the Forsworn remnants were easily defeated; the bandits were brave, but severely underequiped.

"Th-thank you," S'maash huffed.

"You bring battle to our doorstep then thank us," the female Blade asked.

It was difficult to tell, as her armor and helmet covered most of her features, but strands of long, chestnut hair, and effeminate voice, gave her away. S'maash shrugged apologetically.

"Don't mind Perseya. I'm Colville. We lead what's left of the Blades here in Skyrim. Come inside to safety," the other knight said.

He was a tall man and broad. S'maash was certain they were both imperials. Everyone was covered in Forsworn blood. The elf looked around, awkwardly, for a second then Colville motioned his head to follow. The wizard was thankful for respite when they stepped into a cave, leading inside the Karthspire.

Evidence of a life inside the brown, stone walls of the cave remained. Some tables and chairs were neatly stacked. Whoever had lived there previously had obviously moved.

"Why do the Forsworn camp outside the Karthspire," S'maash broke the silence.

They continued walking passed lighted braziers. "You come here uninvited then ask questions of us?" Perseya barked.

Colville chuckled. "Come now, our new friend is weary from battle. What is your name, friend?"

"S'maash, I am from the College of Winterhold."

"More mages," Perseya remarked.

They traversed into an area of gray stone with beautiful depictions of symbols S'maash did not recognize. "Tell me what brings you here, and I will tell you of the Forsworn," Colville replied, jovially.

"It is a long tale, but in short, I hear the Blades may be the only organization in possession of a book I need to read. I'm looking for a way into Oblivion, to recover a greater sigil stone," S'maash said

They all came to a halt on the middle of a stone platform, or bridge, leading higher into Karthspire. "Oblivion? Are you daft," Colville asked.

S'maash and the imperial met eyes. "I'm quite serious. I need the greater sigil stone to carry out a task given to me by Hermaeus Mora."

"Tsh, nothing but trouble, letting outsiders in here," Persaye snipped.

"Quiet, Lieutenant," Colville warned.

S'maash realized Colville was in charge, so he directed all his attention to him. "I understand your sentiments. I was unaware the Forsworn were so…prevalent. Tolfdir had mentioned them but I," S'maash trailed off.

"It's fine, really. They've been trying to take back Karthspire for twenty years," Colville replied. "Truthfully, you helped us as much as we helped you. That'll be one, less group of Forsworn to run off and sack Karthwasten, the nearby town."

They continued walking and finally reached a large room. A strange, circular design was carved into the stone floor. The two burning braziers revealed a swirling pattern, almost like concentric circles. Beyond it was the entry into Skyhaven Temple. A massive, stone head was carved into the ceiling of the entryway. The odd manner in which it was positioned made the elf squint, but Colville spoke again.

"Come inside and rest for a bit. Perhaps, after some food and drink, we may discuss this book you seek."

"Thank you," S'maash answered.

Skyhaven Temple was a large structure built from gray stone. Ancient, Akiviri architecture prevailed throughout. There were few rooms, from what S'maash saw, but the large spaces were utilized quite well. Very few members of the Blades resided within. Torchlight revealed a great wall at the far end of the first chamber.

He eyed it. Before he had a chance to study it, Colville pulled him into another room to their left. There, some tables and chairs beckoned. They took seats as another Blade brought forth refreshments from the adjacent kitchen.

"So, what is this book you think we possess," Colville asked.

"The Blades were once the protectors of the emperors of Cyrodiil. I have been told they fought beside Martin Septim during the Oblivion crisis," S'maash started. Colville nodded, attentively. He brought his palms together before his face and looked past his fingers at S'maash. Wavering fires cast plenty of light for them to see. "I understand Mehrunes Dagon forced his way into Tamriel, but before that, someone had to enter the Mythic Dawn's new plane of existence. If I have my story correct, several items were needed to do so, including the greater sigil stone, and again, if I am correct, one can only be obtained from Oblivion."

"That is the story, but I'm not quite sure how you think the Blades can help, nor do I understand what you want with some mysterious book."

S'maash looked around uncomfortably as he ate roasted goat leg. He was unsure as to whether Colville was being discreet, or if perhaps, he had no knowledge on the matter. From the meager accommodations, S'maash deduced the Blades were not faring too well.

"Would it help to gain your trust if I told you my brother and I defeated KrifAhrkDir on Sigrid's Plunge?"

Colville removed his helmet and gingerly placed it on the ground next to him. Thick, dark hair was combed back away from his face.

"Perhaps, now, if you'll indulge me, what is this quest for the Daedric Prince of Knowledge?"

S'maash heaved a sigh then erupted into the entirety of the story. After almost two hours, and two pints of ale, the story came to reside in Skyhaven Temple.

"Truly? The Heart of Lorkhan," Colville asked.

"Yes."

The Blade stirred. "Perhaps we should not deny you this knowledge of Oblivion. Then again, by your own admission, you could very well be threatening Tamriel just as Mankar Cameron did during the Oblivion crisis," Colville added.

He was right. S'maash looked away.

"At least, I have been honest with you."

"Yes, there is no question. I do not believe you wish ill will upon Tamriel, but…. No, I cannot give you this book," Colville said.

"But," S'maash started.

Colville stood then turned away. "The Blades have suffered greatly," he announced in a haggard tone. "We were once mighty dragon slayers then protectors of a seat of power. After the Aldmeri Dominion forced the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, we fell to the wayside, and worse yet, we were hunted to near extinction. You know the Dragonborn brought us back together…but he, too, is gone, and so are my former masters.

"I lead what's left of the Blades now. It would be unwise for me to give you the power to destroy Tamriel. I'm sorry," Colville finished and walked away.

S'maash sat in silence for a moment. Persaye walked by him, her boots clanking upon the stone floor. She took a seat on the wooden bench beside him. For a moment, neither spoke a word. Then, she turned her attention to him. Her gorgeous, long hair bounced a bit when she did so.

"What is it," S'maash asked.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Colville is a fool. If he had it all his way, we would be little more than a band of minstrels telling stories no one cares about," Persaye grumbled. S'maash was not altogether surprised by her opinion. For a moment longer, they stared at one another. "Well, I know of the tome you seek and will gladly give it you," her words trailed off like honey.

She ran fingers through her chestnut locks then smiled at S'maash. In turn, he raised his brow quizzically.

"Naturally, you require something on my part," he said.

She nodded. "I want Colville removed. I don't care how, I just want him gone," Persaye said, looking away.

The elf gauged her. He thought she might have remorse or embarrassment. She did not.

"Why don't you do it?"

She turned back to him with a frown then placed her chin in her left hand, elbow on the table. "The rest of the Blades won't follow my lead…Colville is not a bad person, no, he is rather well liked and respected. I require a seemingly natural progression to Captain of the Blades."

"You could hire the Dark Brotherhood."

"Yes…surely he would be gone then, but I do prefer a less violent end."

"You have something in mind?"

"I do, and it requires an outsider," she answered. "Colville has a son, a young boy. Colville's mother lives in a settlement just outside Markarth. She watches the boy. If you convince Colville that his family is in danger, he might resign from the Blades and settle back home. In this manner, no one gets hurt, and I rise to captain; you get your book, and everyone wins," Persaye explained.

S'maash nodded. I do need that book, don't I? No one has to get hurt, hopefully. Perhaps….

"How do you intend to carry this out," S'maash inquired.

"I have a forged document implying a Forsworn attack on Left Hand Mine is imminent. Deliver it to the Jarl of Markarth. News will travel; I'll make sure of that. Once it reaches Colville's ears, I'll make sure he tends to it. Finally, after he mobilizes the Blades, you'll have to lead the Forsworn to Left Hand Mine," she said.

"Lead the Forsworn?!" he was shocked. She shushed him and, they looked around. No one had overheard. "How will I do that?"

"You'll have to enter a nearby redoubt and let them attack you. If you pose as a wandering merchant and leave behind a supply bundle along with another, forged document I've prepared, they'll believe you came from Left Hand Mine. No doubt, they will mount a raid," Persaye replied.

"Unless they strike me down."

"A possibility you've no doubt encountered many times. I saw you handle yourself today. I beleive you can do this…this is the only way you'll get your book, and the Blades at your side, to boot," Persaye smiled.

S'maash nodded rhythmically as he considered her proposition. "Both the Blades and Markarth's guard will help to quell the Forsworn raid, right," S'maash asked. "I won't do this if anyone gets hurt in the process."

"No one will get hurt," she huffed. "Except for the Forsworn, of course."

Grinding his teeth, he tried to search his feelings. The Forsworn were people, and they had a right to live, but he had come to learn that their way of life consisted of raiding, and if they had no raid planned on that particular day, it made little difference; one way or another, the bandits were going to attack at some point. They needed quelling.

"Alright, but…you mentioned Colville's family."

"With Colville tricked by my words, he'll doubtlessly make sure Left Hand Mine is evacuated before the Forsworn arrive," she replied.

"When can I have the book?"

"Once I'm captain, I'll have it delivered to where ever you like," she answered.

"You might as well send it to the College of Winterhold. If I'm not there, Archmage Tolfdir may accept it. Now, I'll deliver that message to the Jarl," S'maash said.

Persaye handed over two, folded pieces of parchment, each sealed with wax. "This one, with the Blades' seal, is for the Jarl. This one, with the red wax, is your false, merchant, supply list. Safe travels, S'maash."

He took the documents then proceeded out of Skyhaven Temple. Several hours had passed and night was settling over Karthspire. Corpses of the previous battle littered the bloody ground. S'maash made the slow journey to Markarth.

Trudging on, he pondered over the implications of Persaye's plan. Everything sounded under control, and his part was minimal. He continued walking in the cold, Skyrim night. An uneventful journey down the paved road led right to the mining settlement of Left Hand Mine. S'maash did not so much as stop to look. Instead, he proceeded directly inside the walls of the former, dwemer city. Exhausted, he crossed the stone bridges to Understone keep.

"Hail, summoner. Conjure me up a warm bed, would you," the guard posted outside the brass-like doors asked.

"No, Ma'am," S'maash replied, indifferently.

Inside the keep, it was far too early for the Jarl to be awake, so the elf waited. After an eternity of boredom, and slight nervousness, S'maash went to check on Aicantar, just hoping he was awake. The dunmer was glad to find the high elf busy with some books on the falmer.

"Greetings, Aicantar," S'maash called as he approached.

"What? Oh yes, greetings, S'maash. How are you?"

"Fairly well, I suppose, and yourself?"

"I was pouring over some translations my uncle left behind. I fear the falmer may be mounting some kind of attack on surface dwellers in the future," Aicantar replied.

"Truly?"

"Aye. Fortunately for us, here in Markarth, we should be well protected."

"But the falmer have easy access into Markarth by way of Nchuand-Zel," S'maash rebutted. "Or they did before we ventured inside…."

"Well, yes and no. The automated defenses hold up quite well, too. If they did indeed attempt an attack from the dwemer city, the guard would have an easy time keeping them at bay. Furthermore, a simple barring of the doors would suffice. Truthfully, having access to the falmer via Nchuand-Zel has its benefits," Aicantar explained.

The conversation gave S'maash a new respect for strategies of war. After further discussions, and the sun's rising, he bid Aicantar good day, and headed to the Jarl's throne room.

The Jarl, Thongvor Silver-Blood, was an aging nord, bald and gruff. As such, he was unwilling to be bothered, so in turn, his steward took S'maash's note.

"You think the Forsworn will attack," Reburrus asked.

"It is not for me to know. The Blades believe it a likely event. After a short meeting with them, in the wake of a battle between them and the Forsworn, they bid me provide you with this parchment," S'maash answered.

"I will have word with the Jarl. He often worries The Reach is in danger of such attacks. Here is a small payment for your trouble."

He handed S'maash twenty five Septims then bid him safe travels. Upon concluding the conversation, the elf traveled into town. He asked around for the provisions store and was directed to Arnleif and Son's Supply. The modest shop was located just inside Markarth's doors. Inside, a red haired woman with a fuzzy cap addressed him.

"No, I'm not Arnleif. Yes, I know it's called Arnleif and Son's."

"Very well...I simply need to purchase supplies," S'maash replied.

"I'm Lisbet. The selection seems small, but we can provide everything you need. Just ask." S'maash purchased some clothing to cover his travel hardened figure and packs and satchels to better portray a merchant. He then filled those bags with some relatively cheap provisions including food, potions, soul gems, pelts, and ingots. By the time he was set, he had spent one hundred Septims. "Thank you for your patronage," she said.

"One, last thing; what can you tell me about the Forsworn?"

"The Madmen of the Reach? They have structures around. They call them redoubts. The closest one is Cold Wind Reach, a smaller camp to the northeast. What business do you have with those animals," Lisbet asked.

"I, I just want to steer clear of their camps," S'maash feigned a smile.

Lisbet shrugged indifferently, so the elf exited Markarth and started the long journey towards Cold Wind Reach. The early day's sun was rather warm. No wind blew, and S'maash was comfortable traveling.

It did not take too long to reach the redoubt. He saw the wooden construct built into the mountain side from hundreds of paces off the road. While approaching, an arrow landed at his feet. He looked up and overcasted ebony flesh.

"I'm just a traveling merchant," S'maash called out.

"You'll be easy to rob when you're dead," came back, from an angry, female archer.

S'maash saw the feathers in her hair from where he stood. He feigned running, and feigned difficulty in running as well. To lighten his load, and move faster, he dropped his new, leather bags. Inside one was the forged list. Everything was in place, so long as S'maash ran away before a real fight broke out.

The wizard had developed quite a bit of stamina in his travels, so it was with relative ease that he ran all the way back to Markarth's stables. Upon arriving, and only just out of breath, he approached the cart master, who was sitting on his carriage, outside the town walls.

"Need a ride," the nord asked.

"Yes. To Winterhold, please."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Hall of Countenance was a welcome respite from the previous trek and battles. To date, S'maash had not yet laid eyes upon a delivery from Skyhaven Temple. While the elf sat on his bed, Zolara entered the room.

"Yes?"

"I've been speaking with Brelyna, who in turn has been speaking with Tolfdir about this plan you're hatching," Zolara stated.

"You want in, don't you?" S'maash smiled.

"Heh, I suppose I do. Traveling into Oblivion…again, that is. Sounds rather dangerous. Whose plane do you plan on entering for the greater sigil stone?"

S'maash reclined on his bed, hands folded behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling. Zolara took a seat in the chair adjacent the bed.

"So far as I know, it will have to be Mehrunes Dagon's plane of Oblivion."

"Are you worried?"

Turning onto his side, he looked at the argonian, who was relaxing his shoulder over the back of the chair. "No…I do wish there was a better way, but I am going to do this."

Zolara nodded. "You should accept our assistance."

"Our?"

"Of course. Brelyna also wants to join us, and how about your brother, the warrior?"

S'maash smiled. "Truly, it would be nice to have you three along. Surely, no harm could come to us then," S'maash replied, facetiously.

He knew a tight knit group fared better. Since that book isn't here yet, I may have to write S'maath….

"Are you going to say something or just stare at my scales?"

"You're scales could use a shining," he joked. "Perhaps, I will send for my brother. I need to wait for this damnable book to arrive as it is."

"Oh…right…you mean…this book!" Zolara howled in an overly dramatic fashion before producing a tome.

S'maash bolted upright in bed and snatched the tome. It was a heavy book and appeared to be bound in bony plates. He rolled it over a few times, feeling the covers. Then, he cracked it open. The pages were skin. He looked at Zolara.

"I know…looks fashioned from man or mer," the argonian commented.

S'maash flipped gingerly through the pages. The book was written in a sharp-looking tongue. Pictures and diagrams of demon, man, and mer were rampant throughout the text. Strange diagrams reminded S'maash of the pages of Shalidor's Insights.

"I don't understand any of this. I had expected a recounting of the tale of the Oblivion crisis," he said.

For a second, they looked at each other. "Urag," they both said.

With a fire beneath their butts, they both jogged to the Arcaeneum. Urag was standing before an open bookcase, quietly dusting away, when S'maash and Zolara entered. The orc heard their commotion and groaned.

"Urag, we have a tome here, but we can't decipher the language," S'maash said.

Urag sighed. "Maybe it's because you shouldn't be reading it."

"Just take a look, old man," Zolara said.

Urag shot him a look of contempt. He then motioned for everyone to sit down at the counter. He took the tome, spun it to face right side up, and cracked it open. His eyes went wide.

"Where did you get this?" he barked.

"The Blades," S'maash replied.

"Hmph. It's written in Daedradi," Urag commented.

"Demon tongue, I presume," S'maash said to Zolara.

"Aye. What are you trying to do? Open a plane to Oblivion?" Urag was smugly sarcastic.

"Well…yes," S'maash answered.

"It's never enough with you students, is it?! You can't just go traipsing through Oblivion!"

"Why not? We did it before…with Moonshadow," Zolara added.

S'maash nodded accordingly. Urag shook his head in dismay. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What did you want me to do?" the orc heaved.

"Can you translate the part in the tome that describes how to enter Oblivion? I'm in need of a greater sigil stone."

"It's right after the part that says you die when you enter," Urag said as he tapped his finger on a portion of daedric text.

S'maash smiled.

"Don't tell me you worry about us," Zolara remarked.

"If I don't, you two imbeciles will get yourselves killed," Urag fired back.

"Please," S'maash asked.

"Fine. This is what it says," Urag started. The text described a methodology for creating a portal to Mehrunes Dagon's plane of Oblivion, Deadlands. "Once every 378 years, a magickal alignment takes place. During this alignment, we, the daedra scorned, shall undertake a monumental task; we shall covet strife from the other planes.

"Creating a crack from which to skulk through requires portions of the plane we desire. Furthermore, we must act quickly to establish a permanent connection between planes. Relics required for this undertaking are provided by our lord and master, Mehrunes Dagon, the greatest of the daedric princes.

"The sharpest of steel corrupted by our master shall cut an opening between planes. Blood of the ruler shall hone in upon the realm we desire. Starlight shrouded in darkness shall be our anchor," Urag finished reading.

"What does that mean? What do we need, and when can we do this?" S'maash was perplexed.

Zolara snored. Both of them looked over. The elf shook his friend's elbow.

"I don't know. It means you shouldn't trifle with forces you don't understand," Urag barked.

"Do you think J'zargo would know," Zolara asked.

"We can ask," S'maash whispered, and motioned for the tome.

"Oh no. This is staying right here with me. I can't allow a priceless artifact to be shoved into the hands of just anyone," Urag replied, closing the book.

S'maash winced.

"That's fine. Let's find the khajiit," Zolara said.

They ran about the College of Winterhold before locating J'zargo in The Hall of the Elements. He was wearing heavy, purple robes, and only his snout protruded from the hood.

"Master?" Zolara called.

"This one is listening," J'zargo answered.

"J'zargo, we need you to tell us about entering a plane of Oblivion," S'maash started.

After a quick recap of the information, J'zargo paced in thought. "Perhaps, there is more to the art than J'zargo has uncovered…?" he spoke to himself.

"Master," Zolara asked.

"Yes. There is only one J'zargo can send you to. Only this one may know the answers to your riddle," the khajiit replied.

"What are you saying?" Zolara begged.

"He calls himself Falion. He lives in Morthal. It has been said that Falion has traveled through the planes of Oblivion, has spoken to the dwemer, and discovered the secrets of unlife. Even the great J'zargo does not desire to bother with his madness."

"Spoken to the dwemer," S'maash asked in disbelief.

"It is only hearsay. Go, go to Morthal. Find the one you seek," J'zargo said.

S'maash and Zolara shrugged. "I suppose that's it," Zolara commented.

"I'll go to Morthal. First, I will give you a letter for my brother. Then, you round up Brelyna. By the time I return, we should all be set to go," S'maash instructed.

The remainder of the day passed on slowly as S'maash completed his errands and handed the note to Zolara for delivery to Morrowind. He then left by cart. Due to pleasurable weather, the ride was rather quick, and he arrived late at night.

Morthal was a small town on the water. Several bridges connected the wooden homes. It was a rather quaint town with an air of mystery. A guard holding a torch looked S'maash over. He casted a candle light spell to better see.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, watch the magic," the guard said.

"Do you know where I can find Falion?"

"His house is on the other side of the lake. Don't take any bridges and you'll get there with out a fuss."

S'maash followed the instructions. He passed some one and two story houses before reaching a small house amidst the others on the far side of the lake. The elf peeked through a window and saw a bit of light. He knocked.

"What is it? Can't you people leave me alone?" a haggard tone came back.

"Are you Falion?" S'maash yelled through the door.

"No. Now, go away," the voice replied.

"Sir…I need to speak to you about Oblivion. I come from the College."

Some unintelligible grumbling bled through the door before it opened. The man on the other side was an aging redguard. He looked S'maash over.

"You always interrupt people at all hours of the night?" Falion grunted.

"No, Sir, you have my apologies but, I've been given a task by Hermaeus Mora. I thought you might be willing to help me."

Falion was hesitant. After a moment of scrutiny, he decided to invite the dunmer into his home.

"Fine, tell me about this task!"

S'maash gave the story once more. Falion was not surprised or impressed, but perhaps a bit curious.

"Finally, something worth breaking away from my research…listen, you don't have to wait 378 years. The daedra speak in metaphors. Furthermore, the relics required are simple; daedric weapons of any kind will do, and the darkened star references is a special, runic symbol used for conjuration of the highest difficulty. The only real problem is obtaining the blood of the daedric lord you wish to confront," Falion clarified.

"I do not wish to confront anyone."

Falion sat down on the edge of his bed. The house was little more than one room with some old desks, chairs, and a fireplace. At one corner was an alchemy table, next to it, an arcane enchanter. Several soul gems and potions were strewn about. The old man shook his head slowly.

"Surely, you jest," he finally said.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't just strut into Oblivion unnoticed. The plane is a manifestation of the lord in rule. Mehrunes Dagon will feel your presence," he answered. "Dagon is Deadlands!"

"I see…if it can't be avoided, so be it," S'maash replied.

Falion let out a stilted laugh. "I won't help you get yourself killed."

"Sir, please," S'maash pleaded. "You have to understand what I'm trying to accomplish, how far I've come, how close I am…."

The conjuror adjusted his purple robes. They held a subtle and undefined glow about them.

"Mmm, well…you're not going alone, are you?"

"No, I should have three of the most competent companions with me."

Falion eyed S'maash, wincing. He felt the power of his enchantments, too. In a way, he felt a kinship; both were born to contest limitations.

"You created your equipment?"

"Yes, and the equipment of my friends. We shall not be so easily overcome," S'maash answered, proudly.

"You're a damn fool!" Falion barked and laughed again. "You don't understand what you're dealing with. The denizens of Oblivion are bad enough, and you're wanting to traipse through the most dangerous plane of Oblivion. Your magick won't keep you safe…only your wits will." S'maash nodded. "I'll help you on one condition," Falion stated, gravely.

"What is it?"

After a long pause, the redguard replied, "You must bring me a bound dremora."

"You want me to subdue a demon and bring it back with me?" S'maash was nonplussed.

"If you don't agree, I won't help you," Falion breathed and crossed his arms.

S'maash gave a subtle shrug. "Then, I agree. How will I do this?"

"Take this scroll. Once you're ready to return, you'll cast this spell of daedric chains. The dremora will have no choice but to follow you back from Oblivion," Falion pasaued again before adding, "One, last word; greater sigil stones are housed in a creation called a war machine, a detestable construct created for the sole purpose of destroying any plane of reality. Inevitably, a portion of the war machine will come back through the portal with you. Luckily, I have just the place in mind…we won't be doing it here of course.

"Once you're all set, meet me at Dartwing Cave. Now, leave me to my preparations."

S'maash nodded. He exited Morthal and made his way back to Winterhold.

Chapter Thirty

At the courtyard, before the College of Winterhold, four adventurers met for a most daunting task. A chilly wind blew errant snowflakes about as dark clouds obscured the sun. The statue of Shalidor appeared to stand in approval as it loomed over the small group.

"I'm so glad you made it, brother. Having you by my side fills me with confidence," S'maash cheered.

"It's my pleasure to be here. I could never pass up a chance to stride through the planes of Oblivion," S'maath admitted.

"This will be a most dangerous quest," Brelyna remarked.

"A profitable one, to boot," Zolara added, comically.

"I see why you needed a seasoned warrior, brother," S'maath said in jest.

"Yes," S'maash chuckled. "Let us make last minute preparations then. To my room." The four convened agained, that time, in the room. "Do we need any enchantments?"

"No," Both Zolara and Brelyna announced.

S'maath stood smiling. He still wore the glass armor his brother had enchanted during their previous journey.

"I do not require anything, but you do," S'maath proclaimed.

"How so?" the younger elf asked with raised brow.

"I have brought you gifts."

From a large, travel trunk, one everyone had eyed previously in wonder, S'maath produced an ancient set of armor. It was eggshell white with hints of beige. The bony equipment was ominous in appearance.

"Bonemold armor," S'maash asked.

"Aye, even the fine nords of Skyrim have nothing so…terrifying," S'maath commented.

"Where did you get this," S'maash asked while running his hands over the individual pieces.

"Ilteriel crypts."

It was their ancestor's armor. S'maash saw one more piece in the trunk, a beautiful, elven, great sword. Its golden hue and feathery filigree was sublime.

"You robbed our ancestors' grave?"

"Not robbed…borrowed. S'mael was the greatest warrior of our bloodline. I have my equipment, and it will one day lay ensconced in my own burial chamber. Should either one of us live long enough to have children, they may one day borrow my armor, and I will be proudly looking down upon them."

S'maash smiled as he shook his head. "Then, I shall have to enchant this."

"By all means, take your time," Brelyna offered.

S'maash took the new equipment to the arcane enchanter and set himself to the task. In a fashion similar to his current equipment, he bestowed enchantments upon the bonemold armor fortifying his new sword and spell style of fighting. Of all the pieces, the helmet was perhaps the most terrifying. S'mael's old helmet was designed to resemble the head of a dragon, or rather the skull of one. Upon completion of his task, the enchanter nodded to the group.

"Off to Dartwing Cave," Zolara said.

Clamor of cheers ensued. The group left Winterhold for their next adventure. After some travel across the paved road, they cut down a beaten trail. From there, it was not long before they saw the entrance of their destination through a blustery snowstorm.

Dartwing Cave's interior was laden with ice. The short, round, entrance chamber was bedecked with tapestries. The dark cloths portrayed the necromancer's symbol, a skull surrounded by hands. An unseen source of lighting made it an easy journey into the cave's deep. At the center of a large room stood Falion.

"Welcome to my workshop. This is where I perform rituals most minds cannot grasp," he announced.

Four, stone pillars stood in support of the chamber. Worn shelving lined the walls. On the ground was an evil-looking depiction of the mage's symbol, an eye over a pentagram. Oddly, the eye was closed and the pentagram was actually a heptagram, a seven-pointed star.

"There is no time to waste," Falion said, holding a bottle with glowing red and black liquid. "This is the blood of Dagon. With this substance, I will hone upon his very essence, Deadlands. Please enter the design on the floor." Once everyone gathered, Falion drew a daedric dagger, a red and black blade with sharp, serrated edges and hooks. "Hold still."

He passed to each person and made a small cut upon their forearms. A single drop of blood from each dripped onto the design at their feet. He then took the blood of Dagon and traced the four-pointed star in the design. Starting from the other end, he then traced the three-pointed star.

"Soltak. Malakar. I force this reality bend to my will. Dagon. Alatar. Send these warriors to Deadlands," Falion announced, dramatically.

A red glow erupted from the star at the group's feet. "Whoa," Zolara exclaimed in surprise.

"Remember, now! You cannot return until you break the anchor from Dagon's plane," Falion yelled.

A violent sound like burning wind had assaulted the room. "How do we do that?" Brelyna yelled back.

"Just take the greater sigil stone from the war machine's interior. It will suffice," Falion screamed.

A flash of blinding, red light forced the group to shut their eyes. Then, darkness washed over them, silence. After vertigo accosted the group, they opened their eyes; a vast wasteland was revealed; hot winds blew.

"My goodness," Brelyna whispered.

The group stood upon craggy, gray stone. Cracks and crevices glowed with lava flowing beneath. Around them, more of the lava bubbled, and heat wavered off its surface.

"Where do we go," S'maath asked.

S'maash looked around. It was obvious the only path was the traversable stone before them. A bridge-like structure led to a spire in the distance. S'maash took the lead, walking carefully beyond red blades of grass. Above them, an oppressive sky of red clouds thundered with fiery lightning.

"I had not expected this…perhaps I will wait for you here," Zolara jested.

His joke was lost on the group as they were mesmerized by the wickedness of Deadlands. They pressed onwards, covering much of the stone ground, which gradually became smaller. Menacing lava beckoned on either side. Carefully, they stepped around gnarled roots, which moved when they neared, and then walked to a narrow section of rock. From ruined arches, there hung large and bulky sacs of skin.

Zolara prodded at one. "I think there is something in here."

After a second to check it, the argonian found a silver ring and two Septims. There were more sacs hanging from other arches along the span of the bridge-like path.

"Come, we should make haste," S'maath said.

The dunmer brothers maintained the lead. As they came ever closer to the spire, they encountered two scamps, devilish denizens of Oblivion. Scamps were covered in shades of brown fur and were man-like in appearance, though they possessed goat legs and twisted faces. Their high-pitched grumbles were less than threatening, as were their fire balls.

S'maath ran out to them. With one, powerful swing of his malachite blade, he cut one in half. S'maash charged the other. Seeing its comrade defeated, the scamp tried to run away, but S'maash impaled it from the rear, lifted it off the ground then smashed it back onto the stone.

"That was a gruesome display," Brelyna commented.

"Aye, and simple, too," S'maath added.

"They say scamp skin can be used in alchemical studies," Brelyna added.

Zolara obtained samples. Afterwards, they continued to the spire. It was a very tall tower, forged from daedric metals. Like all things from Deadlands, it emanated a subtle glow of red, giving an eerie contrast to the darkness of steel.

"It looks as though these towers are connected," S'maash said, looking around.

"Yes, this one appears to have a bridge to that one over to our right," Brelyna said.

"But where is this war machine," Zolara asked.

"Likely, beyond those immense, barred gates," S'maath said, pointing to the distance.

It was obvious that the towers and bridges had to be traversed in order to arrive at or around the gates.

"We could jump around the dark, gray mountains blocking our path, or we could constantly heal as we swim through the lava," Zolara suggested.

"You try that, we will be more sensible," S'maath retorted.

"Fine…if you want to do it the boring way," the argonian resigned.

They entered the first spire through a malevolent-looking door. It seemed as though the steel had been beaten to provide the appearance of a face, but it may have just been the odd lighting of Dagon's plane. Naturally, the interior was reminiscent of the exterior.

The stone floor surrounded a round fire pit. The guttural grumbling of angry dremora rang throughout as the demons clad in daedric armor—and brandishing war hammers—came from alcoves within the spire.

"I smell weakness," a dremora muttered.

Bolts from overcharged walls of thunder provided by both Brelyna and Zolara were more than ample for defeating the weak caitiffs. The sound of steel skittering over stone prevailed.

"Enjoy your last breath," Brelyna said.

The scintillating drone of the spire itself was all that remained. The group looked around for a clue; above them, an odd balcony was laden with red and black, bony hooks. It spiraled all along the walls towards the tower's apex.

"Well…it's up, we must travel," S'maash ventured a guess.

Since it appeared a straight shot around the balcony protruding from the interior wall was the only path, the group needed to find a way to the initial step, which was many feet above them. Searching the area from which the caitiffs came, they located a door. It led to a tight corridor on a slight incline, and that led to a juncture providing a way only left or right. The group took the right, also at an incline, where they were greeted by a spider daedra.

"Ack! Kill it!" Zolara demanded.

Upon seeing the intruders, the spider, with voluptuous, lady torso, rubbed her heaving bosom while casting a protection spell. The elf brothers again took charge and made an easy kill.

Zolara studied the creature for a second then removed eggs and webbing. "I'll bet these will come in handy."

The group came upon the door the daedra was guarding and pushed beyond. They found themselves back in the center of the tower, only about a story higher, and on the spiraling balcony. Charging up the circular path—boots pounding—they cut through more caitiffs. In their defeat, the enemies either slid down the balcony or fell over with a resounding thud.

"Quickly," S'maash said.

Soon, the balcony led to another, twisted door. Beyond it was one, more, tight corridor to their left. It led down a sloping decline, while a corridor to their right led up an incline. With a shrug, they continued up.

During the rush, S'maash broke through a trip wire. A massive, red, sword blade came crashing down, but the ever-vigilant Zolara noticed the situation unfold in the knick of time. He shoved the dark elf hard. The blow forced S'maash over and onto the ground, but safe from the trap.

"Apologies, friend, didn't want to have to carry pieces of you back to Tamriel," Zolara chuckled.

S'maash stood and looked at the slowly rising sword; the blade was serrated and deadly. He was glad to have only fallen over. S'maath shook his head in mock disapproval. The remainder of the group looked around briefly before continuing into the large room beyond the trap.

Four pillars with thick spikes were positioned in the center of the room. They were less for support and more for intimidation. Grumbling caught the explorers' attention; a daedroth had entered from the far end of the room. The scaly, large mouthed, crocodile-like demon stumbled about awkwardly before casting a protection spell and enveloping its beige colored body with a soft glow.

Zolara wasted no time, immediately firing erratic bolts of purple lightning- wall of storm. Brelyna followed suit with wall of ice; frozen shards of magicka quickly covered the ground. Once the beast was cold and slow, the dunmer brothers hacked at it with their great swords.

S'maash moved off to the daedroth's right. He slashed low at the knee joint causing it to rupture. His brother moved to the demon's left. In a spinning motion, he brought his blade across with much speed, thus hacking clean through the enemy's arm. S'maash, as quickly as he initiated the first strike, brought his blade around his left shoulder then above his head, and finally brought the blade down in a smooth strike.

The daedroth, being so tall, was cut badly from the chest; dark blood poured from the wound. Attempting to counteract, the demon grumbled and reached out with a powerful claw. Because S'maash was already standing low to the ground from his power strike, the enemy easily knocked him to the ground. Fortunately, continued blasts of magicka finally overtook the daedroth. It collapsed dead.

"Ouch," S'maash said, standing.

S'maath met his eyes with a slightly comical expression. S'maash knew what was coming.

"S'wit."

"Yes, come on," the wizard groaned.

Zolara pilfered some daedroth teeth. Then, the group continued into the hall from where the demon had emerged. Beyond the hall, were doors on either side of a large room. The group momentarily split as they checked the doors.

"Where does yours lead?" S'maath called out.

"Outside to the bridge," Brelyna answered.

"Then we have our path," S'maash said.

The group convened at Brelyna's door. Bursting through and into the strange plane of Oblivion, the group ran across the precarious balcony, a long bridge with no rails. The craggy stone did not look strong, but looks were deceiving. From their new position, they gauged their surroundings.

Zolara pointed. "Look, that must be the war machine."

What they saw was nearly incomprehensible. The machine was a construct of daedric steel, black with an eerie, red glow. Churning blades spun at the ends of what looked like horizontal pillars. It was unclear how the war machine moved, but by the looks of it, it was creeping ever so slowly and unleashing a horrific, droning sound.

"Where is it going," Brelyna asked.

They all traded glances. No one had a clue. With a frown, S'maash thought back to Falion's words; he said that to return to Tamriel, since the portal shut behind them, they needed to retrieve the magick stone from inside the war machine. What is the safest way to do this?

The mechanical menace was far below them, and aside from several, ominous mountains with sharp peaks, they saw only the door to the second spire at the far end of the bridge, but that spire didn't appear to lead anywhere else. Furthermore, they needed to get to a second, much higher bridge, to reach a gate, which blocked the war machine.

"What are you doing," Brelyna asked him.

"I don't, I don't know where to go," S'maash admitted while hot winds whipped through his helmet.

"The second spire might lead us where we need to be," Zolara howled.

"It's as good a plan as any," S'maath replied.

They continued into the second spire, and much as the first, the interior held a red hue, and also like the first, they cut through a few daedra before reaching the peak. The room was covered in some material not unlike batwings, though much sturdier, allowing them to walk across. Two dremora, one in black robes with a daedric, great sword, and one in daedric armor with a daedric, war hammer, attacked.

"I will feast on your heart," one claimed.

"I honor my lord by destroying you," the other shouted.

The demons were not overly difficult to fight, but after their defeat, the group found little other than some treasure in hanging sacs. "There's nothing here," S'maash complained.

"Not quite," Brelyna rebutted.

On the far wall were large gears, which were built into the spire's structure, and below them sat a lever. She pulled it, and the gears rolled with deafening clanks.

"What now," S'maath asked.

"Let's work our way back down and check the doors," S'maash suggested.

All the running in the excruciating heat, down the batwings, and through the doors, was tiresome. Over an hour had passed since their arrival, and they had not stopped running or fighting. Finally, they reached a door that led back outside.

"Whoa!" Zolara called out.

He had taken the forefront after opening the door and was beset by fear. Beyond the door was nothing but a short bridge. Before anyone uttered another word, the tower rumbled. Holding onto each other and pushing back inside the tower, S'maath managed to tug the argonian to safety.

"What," Brelyna started, but the short bridge extended. From the opposing end, another spire across from them also extended its bridge. Once the portions met in the center, the bridge effectively connected the spires. "I suppose this is the way."

"I think you're right, Brelyna," S'maath smiled.

Careful scrutiny of their surroundings revealed they were very high up. From their new perspective, the war machine looked like a creeping, mechanical dragon, but without a defined head, wings, or tail.

"Hopefully, from the looks of it, this next spire will allow us to work our way down," S'maash said.

They pushed through the door into the spire, expecting what the previous two held, yet all they saw was a grating of sorts. It was little more than a round, metal platform with several, large holes.

"There's a switch over there," S'maath exclaimed.

"Perhaps, we can take this down," Brelyna offered.

S'maath looked from her to the switch. He walked over, boots clanking, and passed some, bloody skeletons. When he reached for the mechanism, Zolara howled a warning.

"What," the dark elf asked.

"Why all the dead bodies," Zolara asked with a point of his snout to the ground.

"I'm certain, it's fine," S'maath said, pulling the switch.

A jolt moved through the group. The lift clanked as it lowered them.

"I…am not so sure about this" S'maash said.

With furrowed brow, he looked over the bones, assuming they had simply died in the spire. After a moment, the reason became clear; the lift was lowering them onto large pikes built into the ground beneath.

"Move, move, move!" S'maath ordered, and shoved them all off.

By hopping off and dropping some ten feet below to the ground, they avoided death, yet the landing was less than gentle. They shook their heads in dismay before bolting through the only door in the spire. Outside, they were surprised to find themselves right, smack, behind the war machine.

Chapter Thirty-One

The incessant whining of spinning blades, and the clamor of daedric gears, drowned out the fury of bubbling lava. Deadlands was rife with heat, danger, and the war machine's ceaseless advance. Cautiously, S'maash and his group searched for a way inside. Locating a hatch at the rear's top portion, they made for it when it suddenly sprung open. A valkynaz covered in daedric armor hopped out.

"Death to intruders!" he grumbled.

The demon leapt off the machine and engaged the group in battle. As was custom, Zolara and Brelyna started a magickal flurry from the distance. S'maash and S'maath traded glances.

"Would you like me to go first," S'maath asked.

"Fine by me, but don't kill him. I'm going to bind this one for Falion," S'maash replied.

S'maath nodded, and not a second too soon; the valkynaz had closed the distance.

"Come, demon! Show me what you have," S'maath challenged.

The creature only grumbled and swung a daedric, war axe, a malevolent, crescent blade of black and red steel that pulsated with raw power. S'maath, in a wide stance, parried the blow with the tip of his sword. The elf licked his bottom lip as he tried to stare into the eyes of his opponent, who was wearing a full helmet.

The demon pulled with both hands causing the crescent blade of his axe to tug at the sword, but the dark elf shuffled forwards for balance. In reply, the demon thrust his axe into S'maath's chest. The sharp spike at the axe's head penetrated armor only slightly, yet enough for a little blood and pain. The valkynaz laughed.

Frost and lightning slowed the demon, but his brute force was cause for concern. S'maash, in his death-like, bonemold armor, stood with arms crossed, watching the battle. If need be, he was ready to cast healing hands, but for the time, he simply enjoyed watching and learning from his brother's movements, and the valkynaz's attacks.

"Bow before me, weakling," the demon called out.

"You're nothing, scum!"

Mer and demon continued to battle for seconds longer. It was apparent that S'maath was not only holding back for fun, but that the magickal onslaught from the support team was having a large effect. Finally, the demon took a knee. He looked up at S'maath, who raised his sword over his head.

"No," S'maash yelled.

He jumped in before his brother vanquished the opposition. With Falion's scroll in hand, he quickly read from the parchment. Upon completion, the scroll caught flame and was reduced to ash. A blue glow enveloped the valkynaz. He keeled over stiff, twitched once, then stood to dust off his armor. He looked down upon the elves.

"How may I serve you," he asked, begrudgingly.

"For now, you can take me to the greater sigil stone," S'maash replied.

"Very well."

"Demon, what is your name," S'maash asked when the valkynaz started to walk off.

"Sultar Tuvik."

"Excellent. To the stone then."

Sultar led the group up several spikes protruding from the rear side of the war machine. While the points were sharp, the spikes were smooth at their base and functioned as a ladder up to the hatch from which Sultar Tuvik had sprung. After he dropped inside, the others followed suit.

The interior was not vastly dissimilar from the spires, but hard-looking steel and an orange glow obscured their path. Too many noisy gears churned away. The valkynaz continued to a narrow hallway that ultimately led to five doors; two on either side and one at the front of the enormous, inner carriage. He turned to face his master.

"Stand aside," S'maash ordered.

The demon obeyed. Zolara took S'maash shoulder.

"Grabbing this stone is supposed to break the spell that sent us here, right," the argonian asked.

"So Falion said."

"Then, before you take it, let me have a look around," Zolara stated. "Brelyna, come to me."

"What is it?" While she was glad to have come on the journey, she was just as glad to be done with it.

"Help me search these rooms for something," Zolara begged.

"I'll help," S'maath added. "Brother, be ready to take the stone."

S'maash nodded as the others took a moment to search. Less than seconds later, a battle erupted. There had been denizens lurking behind closed doors. The trio made quick work of a spider daedra, a flame atronach, scamps, and a caitiff. The low ceiling made it difficult for S'maath to fight properly, but the enemies were not altogether powerful.

"Are we all set, then," S'maash asked once they reconvened.

"Yes," Brelyna answered.

"Anything good," S'maash pried.

"Nothing overly special, but any treasure is good treasure," S'maath smiled.

Zolara winked at the comment. S'maash sighed then turned to the final door. It was locked. He slowly looked up in exasperation then he turned to the demon.

"Sultar, open this door," S'maash demanded.

"Yes, my lord."

The demon obeyed by producing the key. Once the door was open, S'maash and the band of adventurers moved inside. The room was little more than an altar; the greater sigil stone was floating precariously in the air. Beneath the garnet-colored, pulsating gem were uneven, squared levels of rough, red steel. They were something like concentric platforms, which sunk into one another. Several daedradi symbols covered the entirety of the room, and from the ceiling, red stalactites hung low.

S'maash did not dawdle. He reached out for the stone, but received only blackness instead. There was nothing. He was unconscious; they all were, but only briefly. With a deep inhalation, they all came to.

"What in Oblivion," Brelyna asked.

All of them felt their stomachs churn.

"We've stopped moving," S'maath choked.

An unseen force had floored them. It took them some time to stand up.

"Yes," S'maash answered.

He shrugged and carefully reached for the stone again. That time, he was able to take it. Everyone looked around, expecting to be transported out of the war machine. S'maash turned to Sultar Tuvik, but he noticed everything had gone eerily quiet. Before he uttered a word, a familiar voice was heard screaming insults from the exterior.

"Falion," Brelyna asked.

They all staggered back to the hatch. Upon opening it, they found themselves inside Dartwing Cave.

"Well, well, I didn't really expect you to make it out of there," Falion greeted.

"Falion, this is Sultar Tuvik," S'maash said, pointing at the demon.

"Excellent. Transfer control over to me," Falion ordered.

"How uh…how do I do that?"

Zolara laughed, openly.

"Tell him to serve me," Falion said, incredulously.

"Of course. Sultar Tuvik, you are to serve your new master, Falion."

"As you will," the demon grumbled.

"Alright, well, when you came crashing through, several of the sigil stones powering the weaponry fell about the ground," Falion started. "You can take them if you like; being an enchanter, I've no doubt you can find a use for them. I have much work to do now, but please, send for me when you have completed your quest to restore the Heart of Lorkhan. I would very much like to see it."

"Of course. Master Falion," S'maash asked.

"Yes?"

"No…nothing. Apologies," S'maash said.

"Back to Winterhold for a drink then," S'maath asked, looking everyone over.

"Aye, will you be staying this time," Brelyna asked.

"Perhaps…I must say I'm interested in seeing this ordeal come to a conclusion."

The brothers looked at one another. "Feel free to stay as long as you like," S'maash smiled.

They left Falion to his own devices for drinks and merriment.

Chapter Thirty-Two

An uneventful return trip to Winterhold ensued after the group said their goodbyes to Falion. Upon their return, they all convened within the Midden to see what was going to happen. Standing before the Oblivion Forge, S'maash looked at the mount whereupon the sigil stone once sat.

"It does not appear as though the greater sigil stone will fit properly," Brelyna commented after gauging the stone's design.

It was true. The new gem was closer to being diamond-shaped with rough edges and much larger than the sigil stone. With a subtle shrug, S'maash held the glowing, red jewel over the circular pedestal. To their amazement—as if the forces of magicka themselves took control—the stone hovered eerily above the pedestal. It spun slowly while bobbing up and down.

"Well, that's something. What will you do next," Zolara asked.

All eyes were on the dark elf; he took the fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan and placed the obsidian-like jewels inside the offering box along with the daedric heart gem.

"You…might consider taking a step back before I do this," S'maash suggested.

After heeding him, they observed how he used the lever. For a second, nothing happened. Uneasy glances passed. Then, a subtle hum emanated from the greater sigil stone.

As its glow amplified, the stone spun faster and faster. Rays of red light danced across the group's faces. A final blast of blinding red ensued. Then, the light and the humming died out. Upon the Oblivion Forge sat the Heart of Lorkhan; it was a crystalline, beating heart of red and black. An unnerving echo left them all silent. It was alive.

"You've," S'maath started speaking, but a violent tremor ensued.

The event demanded everyone's attention. A purple flash of light came from behind them. When they turned about, their eyes grew wide in horror, their mouths agape in wonder.

A veiny mass of purple tentacles writhed about itself. Many eyes sat upon an oblong and expressionless face. Razor sharp teeth grew every which way from something resembling a mouth. Hermaeus Mora appeared in true form and filled most of the space behind S'maash and friends.

"Excellent," the daedric prince's voice was different, a gurgling and guttural groan rather than the breathy echo. "You have completed a portion of your quest, young elf. Now, you will return full circle. Where your own heart lays, and deep beneath the fires, you will travel.

"S'maash, S'maash, you will place the Heart of Lorkhan where it truly belongs, in the chest of the God of Tamriel, in the center of Mundas," the deardic prince ordered. "Now, a final gift for my servant."

Hermaeus Mora's words were incomprehensible. S'maash was about to ask a question when the writhing mass of slithering tentacles vomited the gift of which it spoke, a set of red, crystal gauntlets, not unlike the Heart of Lorkhan.

A second tremor ensued, causing dust and debris to fall from the ceiling. Hermaeus Mora vanished in an eruption of purple light. Still in shock, everyone kept their eyes on where the daedric prince had been, except S'maash, who bent down to take the faceted gauntlets. They were more than beautiful; they were utterly resplendent.

A flash of pain broke through S'maash skull. Ringing assaulted his ears. He dropped the gauntlets and doubled over. A voice erupted inside his head.

"How dare you! Blasphemer, you have caused me once more to lose my hold in Tamriel. Curse you and your kind, dark elf," Azura blared.

With the pain gone and her link broken, S'maash realized his friends were trying to help him stand. "I'm fine. Azura just cursed me for creating the Heart of Lorkhan," he huffed.

"What are they," Zolara asked.

"What," the wizard asked.

"Those!"

He looked at the gauntlets. "I don't know…."

"We have something else to worry about, those strange things Hermaeus Mora said. I don't understand what we're supposed to do," Brelyna added.

"We should see Tolfdir. Brother, will you stay," S'maash asked, adjusting his helmet.

"Aye, this entire ordeal has me rather worried. Besides, there aren't any outstanding contracts at the Reyda Tong at the moment."

As usual, they found Tolfdir in the Hall of the Elements giving lessons. J'zargo was with him that afternoon. The class was reviewing the utilities of summoning bound weapons. Tolfdir saw the group enter and the looks on their faces. He nodded to the khajiit then met the group by the barred gate beneath the arch.

"What is it? You all look rather grim," Tolfdir said.

"We have the Heart of Lorkhan and these strange gauntlets, but the strangest thing was the words Hermaeus Mora left me," S'maash said as he showed everything to the old nord.

As soon as he produced the findings, Tolfdir grimaced. He made an attempt to shield the class behind him from seeing anything. He then rushed everyone into the Arcaeneum. At the counter, with Urag eyeing everyone quizzically, Tolfdir bid S'maash place everything on the wooden countertop.

"That heart is…well it makes me nervous," Tolfdir started, "and these gauntlets, the knuckles on these posses the same jewels as Sunder and Keening. They cannot be Wraithguard, yet I wonder. Urag, what do you make of all this?"

"Me? I just take care of books. I've tried nothing but stopping all this. Leave me out," the orc demanded, comically.

"Urag please? A tome? You must have something?" S'maash pleaded.

"I don't have anything. I fear nothing short of an Elder Scroll can tell you about what you have," Urag snapped.

Everyone glanced at one another. For a moment, they just nervously shifted their balance in forced silence. They had stumbled upon something for which no one had any solid knowledge.

"We might try Aicantar?" Brelyna suggested.

"Or Falion, for that matter," Zolara added.

Tolfdir heaved a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms. "Or the Augar of Dunlain," he added, begrudgingly.

The group turned to S'maash. "Oh no, I'd rather not go through all that again."

"Even if it is the only way," S'maath asked.

S'maash looked down at his bonemold boots for a second. "Of course, I'm willing to try, but only as a last resort."

"I will send for Aicantar," Brelyna said.

"And I, for Falion," Zolara added.

It was agreed that between everyone, someone was going to know something. Hours dragged by, so the group of adventurers tried to get some rest in their respective rooms. Echoes of wandering thoughts washed over their minds.

Because of pressing duties, Tolfdir and Brelyna returned to their teaching, which allowed Zolara, S'maash, and S'maath to reconvene. Again, they chose to meet in the Arcaeneum. At a small table, they sat adjacent a curving, stone shelf built into the center of the library. Passing out bits of fruit, Zolara spoke first.

"Hermaeus Mora generally instructs his champions…whatever he said must be taken at face value."

"But it sounded like metaphors to me," S'maath said.

"Hm, what was it he said first? You completed your quest. Go in a circle, where you heart lies, and travel under fire…." Zolara mumbled.

S'maash winced. He reclined a little in the chair and held the round edge of the table, tapping two fingers.

"Well, full circle would be where you came from," S'maath cut in. "Back to Oblivion?"

"There's definitely fire there," Zolara commented.

"Maybe. I'm going to study those gauntlets," S'maash said and left, abruptly.

S'maath watched him go, but stayed speaking to Zolara for a while longer. In his room, he took out the ruby-like gauntlets and placed them on the arcane enchanter. While he had no intentions of attempting a disenchanting ritual, it helped him to focus.

Candlelight danced off the many facets of the gauntlets, off the gems in the knuckles. Of course! S'maash took Sunder and Keening and brought them all together. Nothing remarkable happened, so he ground his teeth and slid his hands inside the gauntlets.

Still, nothing happened, so he took hold of Keening and Sunder. Everything came alive with a vibratory force. The pulsating power reverberated so subtly, but so rapidly that it created a great difficulty in holding the tonal items. Finally—a slight grunt escaping his lips—S'maash put Kagrenac's tools down and stared at the gauntlets.

"What are these," he asked out loud.

There was no answer. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the equipment on the arcane enchanter. After a quick adjustment of his armor, he folded his arms over his chest then laid back to stare at the ceiling. A knock demanded his attention.

"Yes?" he called out.

"Falion has arrived," S'maath's voice bled through the door.

"Have I been asleep? Oh well…."

S'maash stood, opened the door then took the tonal tools. "We're meeting in the Arcaeneum once more?"

His brother nodded. Together, they walked back to the library. Brelyna and Tolfdir joined them there. They all nodded to Falion as a greeting.

"Where is it?" Falion grumbled.

"Where is what," S'maash asked as he gingerly placed the tonal tools on a table.

"Why, the Heart of Lorkhan, of course!"

"It's safe for the moment. Hermaeus Mora gave me orders, but I don't understand them. I also don't understand what I'm supposed to do with all this," S'maash explained, pointing at the tools.

"What did the daedric prince tell you?" he barked.

They all took seats after pushing some tables together. Even Urag sat at the far end. S'maash reiterated the instructions. Falion laughed openly for far too long.

"Well? Either tell us the joke, or clear this mess up," Zolara demanded.

"Of course, my apologies. Where are you from, S'maash," Falion asked.

"Morrowind…L'Thu Oad by Narsis."

"So, go full circle. Go home," Falion replied.

S'maash looked around the room. Everything was so evident.

"By the Nine! Return to Damlzthur and travel under the fires. Remember brother, it was full of lava?" S'maash cheered.

"And do what?" S'maath was incredulous.

"Well, that I don't know. Kagrenac's tools must play a role, and the way they vibrate when held with these gauntlets is nothing short of strange," S'maash said.

It was during the short pause in conversation that one more entered. Aicantar had arrived.

"Greetings, Brelyna, Zolara, S'maash, and everyone. Glad to be here," the altmer smiled. "What have I missed?"

They caught him up. Aicantar stood and paced about, a habit he picked up from his uncle.

"The final question is; what to do with these tonal tools?" he thought out loud. "I'm sure it's rather simple. After all, they are tools. Yes. Perhaps?"

"Aicantar!" a few called.

"What? Oh sorry. Yes. I believe I have an answer," he said, approaching the table. "Kagrenac's tools are designed to create not destroy."

S'maash and his brother traded glances. Brelyna winced. Tolfdir stroked his beard. Zolara looked away, and Falion snickered.

"The Nerevarine used them to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan," S'maash whispered.

"Yes, but a fist may smash into your flesh, thus dealing damage while an open palm might rub the same damage away," Aicantar rebutted.

"Are you suggesting we rub the Heart of Lorkhan with those tools," Zolara asked, askew.

"Haha, no, well…not exactly. Listen, if you know where we are going, we should go at once," Aicantar suggested.

"We," Brelyna asked.

"Are we not all going into Damlzthur," Aicantar asked.

"It is quite dangerous, my friend," Tolfdir said.

"We can't let S'maash go alone, or even with just his brother," Brelyna contended.

"I'll go," Falion interjected. "Truthfully, the gift of a bound demon was worth quite a bit more than I anticipated. While that Sultar Tuvik finishes his tasks, I have nothing else that requires my attention. I will go."

"I'm in," Zolara said with a shrug.

"Master Tolfdir? If I may be excused of my duties one last time," Brelyna pleaded.

He nodded, yet appeared ambivalent. The old man shook his head a bit, wondering what dangers waited in the unknown.

"So, there," Aicantar said. "With all these great warriors and mages, I should be rather safe. Furthermore, I am a master illusionist."

It was agreed. Brelyna, S'maash, his brother, the argonian, Falion, and Aicantar were traveling to Morrowind.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Intense preparations were made for the final journey. The group was certain that whatever waited for them beneath Damlzthur was going to provide a most compromising situation. For a full week after the agreement, the group traveled all across Skyrim, making sure every end was covered, every loose end tied.

They started with a journey towards Markarth. Along the way, they made a stop by the Lord's Stone to receive its blessing, one of protection against physical and magickal forces. Next, they stopped in Morthal where Falion gathered everything he deemed necessary including scrolls, potions, filled soul gems, and the like. While standing in his shack, and resting before continuing to Markarth, S'maash spoke.

"Master Falion?"

"Hm?" Falion replied while sifting through reagents at his alchemy table.

"I have heard you have spoken with the dwemer, but it sounds unbelievable. Is it true," S'maash asked.

The rest of the group, while cramped for the moment, perked up to listen. "It is. You understand, the dwemer no longer reside in Tamriel. Like traveling to Moonshadow, one can move from plane to plane in a dream-like state. I call it astral projection.

"So you see, I have never physically carried on a conversation, but I have seen them and their world. It can be difficult to ground oneself in dreams, but if accomplished, many things can be discovered," Falion explained.

"Curious. Anything that can help with our current quest," Zolara asked.

"Not particularly, no," Falion began as he stuffed food and drink in his pack. "But observing them through the mist of dreams has given me an understanding of their reality."

"I can scarcely believe this. Uncle Calcelmo would have given anything to meet the dwemer. Now, I may do this for him," Aicantar commented.

"I'm ready. We can continue to Markarth," Falion said.

The group traveled back to the cart and back onto the road. Along the way, Falion provided a bit of conjuration training to everyone, S'maath included, though he did not truly pay attention. Zolara was absolutely jubilant when he mastered the summon flame thrall spell, an incantation allowing the conjuring of a flame atronach, yet bypassing the natural pull of Oblivion. In short, the atronach stayed until it was defeated or banished from Tamriel by spell.

It was night when they reached Left Hand Mine, just outside the walls of the city of stone. S'maash saw Colville standing guard. He was no longer wearing his blue, steel, Blades armor. They nodded to one another, but no words were spoken. S'maash felt a small pang of guilt and wondered if Colville knew what had taken place. But it was needed, friend.

Upon entering Markarth, Aicantar rushed to Understone Keep. The group split, and the dunmer brothers stayed at the Silver-Blood Inn for a few hours while the mages followed Aicantar. The inn was alive with music, food, and good spirits.

"Two mugs of ale, please?" S'maath called. The brothers sat at the counter and joked about the trip to Damlzthur. "Now, remember, alits can be very dangerous," he added, snickering.

"You're an alit," S'maash rebutted.

Upon the culmination of merriment, and forgetting their worries, the brothers were met by the remaining group. "We're all set," Brelyna said.

"Good," S'maash replied.

Their next stop took them by Whiterun. S'maash explained that as court wizard, he owed allegiance to Thorald and needed to speak to him. Everyone cherished his loyalty and sense of duty.

The sun was high, and it warmed their skin when they arrived. S'maash left the group and made for Dragonsreach. Inside, he approached the Jarl and provided a recounting of his quest.

"Aye, come back alive or don't come back at all, S'maash," Thorald said, half in jest.

The elf then stopped by his room in the palace to pick up more supplies, which included bone meal and powdered, mammoth tusk. He had plans to stop in Riften, and speak to Balimund about improving their equipment, and knew those specific ingredients were required to improve his new armor. Finally, they continued into Riften. It was dark when they arrived and Zolara had a suggestion.

"Haelga's?"

S'maash laughed openly while Brelyna scowled. The unspoken joke was lost on S'maath.

"What is it," he asked.

"He wants to bed a woman before we go," she answered.

S'maath smiled and shook his head. Zolara rubbed his claws together briskly.

"We might not come back. The least we can do is die with smiles on our faces," the argonian contended.

When he left to find someone for the night, Brelyna looked to the others. "You two aren't going?"

"Too much on my mind, honestly," S'maash said.

"You must have someone back home," Brelyna said to S'maath.

He met her eyes. "No, but I have met someone I would like to spend some time alone with."

"Oh," she asked.

The others remained silent for a second. "Perhaps, myself, Aicantar, and master Falion can busy ourselves with discussion if the two of you would like to go for a walk," S'maash suggested.

They all split once more. While S'maash and his group spoke of the dwemer and other lores, Brelyna and S'maath spent some time walking around Riften. They all met at the Bee and Barb to sleep away their final hours in town. At daybreak, they sought out Balimund, who was working at his forge.

"Welcome back. Looking to protect yourself or deal some damage," he asked.

"Would you mind working on our equipment? We're on a journey back to Morrowind and need to be in the best condition possible," S'maash explained.

"You've been a good friend to me. That means something," Balimund answered.

It took only a couple of hours for the smith to improve everyone's weapons and armor. S'maash paid him for his services. They shook hands and reminisced for a moment; it had been a long time ago that the dark elf showed up looking for menial work.

"This is it," S'maath addressed them as they made their way out of Riften. "Now, we travel beyond the mountains into Morrowind. From there, we'll move into Nishwal, south of Silgrad Tower, and hire a silt strider back to L'Thu Oad. I've made this trip a few times as it is, so I know the best path through the mountains."

It took nearly a full day of hiking through slightly dangerous terrain. Along the way, they encountered some sabre cats and bears, but nothing overly powerful. Zolara practiced his flame thrall spell. That alone was enough for most of the wild animals of Skyrim. Late at night, they reached the town of Nishwal.

It was a rather modest town. Other than homes and small shops, the only, prominent structure was a temple. Few dark elves still worshipped the Tribunal, and the small factions were often belittled. For that reason, and others, Nishwal was not home to very many.

Only a quick rest ensued, and finally, S'maath purchased a silt strider ride back to L'Thu Oad, explaining they could rest more along the way. Several hours later, the brothers were home, only that time with new friends. A nostalgic sadness crept into S'maash's heart when they arrived outside the modest house.

"Make yourselves comfortable. I'm going to see Rosoleola and the others," he said to the group.

"Aye. I will stop by the Reyda Tong as well," S'maath added.

The remaining members conversed among themselves while taking advantage of Ilteriel commodities. A cold wind had moved into Morrowind as it was rather late in the year, and the fire within brought unto them great comfort.

S'maash endured stares as flashes of recognition during his stroll. With his helmet removed, everyone recalled the mowhawk haired youth, who was constantly in trouble with the elders of the quaint town. He smiled and nodded to them before entering the mages' workshop.

Naturally, the shop was as he remembered it; nice wooden walls, carpeted flooring, torches and braziers casting flickering shadows. Beyond the entry was the corridor leading to the arcane enchanter, and off to the right, the stairs leading to the alchemy room. S'maash found Rosoleola as he had left him, bent over an arcane enchanter.

"Master," S'maash said.

"Hmm?" Rosoleola asked in his gruff voice.

As he turned, a moment of confusion brewed within the altmer's eyes. Then, he realized who stood behind him. He laughed heartily.

"And here I thought you left us all behind," Rosoleola said.

S'maash replied, smiling, "I did, but I am back to say I found what I was searching for."

"Oh," Rosoleola inquired. The dark elf pulled a seat up to the anchanter—he knew his old master had no intention of delaying his work—and the young lad recounted his travels. "My, my…I never dreameded to see the day you would change the direction of magickal knowledge," Rosoleola commented.

The old wizard stood fully erect. Like all altmer, he was very tall. A look of pride momentarily passed over his face, but his age and stress soon bent him over again.

"You're going back to Damlzthur? I told you once, there's nothing but death and ash down there," he said.

"I'll tread over death and ash to reach the center of Mundas and restore life to Tamriel."

"Heh, you've grown, that's for certain."

"Tell the others, especially that argonian, to kiss my blue butt. You were, are, the only one I ever respected. I want you to know, I'm doing this in part because you taught me well, so well, that I was able to discern that knowledge, which has been hidden from our eyes," S'maash spoke, sincerely.

"Well, I thank you for those kind words. S'maash, when you return, stop by one, last time. It would bring this old, high elf some comfort to know that his student has stared death and ash in the face and lived to tell about it," Rosoleola said, reverently.

With that, S'maash nodded and took his leave. It was very late in the evening by the time he made it back home. His party was already waiting. They were all set to leave for Damlzthur.

"Excellent, I shall lead us to the dwemer ruin," S'maath announced.

It was a long journey by foot. The group walked all night. They had decided to rest only when absolutely necessary. By the following evening, they arrived at the great door leading into the ancient city.

"Here we are," S'maash said.

They pushed through and entered. Voices had to be raised in order to speak over the clatter of dwemer machinery.

"Now, can we rest? I have a cramp in my tail," Zolara complained.

"Aye, let us break for a moment," Brelyna said.

They set up camp just inside the ruins and slept for a short time. Once everyone woke, ate, and readied themselves, the group followed S'maath. The warrior led them right to the large doors, the doors before the spiraling, stone path reaching down towards the bubbling lava. They scrutinized the walkway; there were no rails, although the path was butted up against the wall, and such a heat welled up from below, they had trouble breathing.

"Goodness," Aicantar started. "It appears to lead into the lava."

"Perhaps not. We won't know until we reach the bottom," Falion added.

"If we can reach it," Brelyna said, furrowing her brow.

S'maash and S'maath made eye contact. "We will reach it," S'maash vowed.

He took the lead, the others following single file. They walked carefully down the stone spiral, constantly circling left. The closer to the bottom they reached, the hotter it was. Save the argonian, they perspired profusely. After moments, the wavering heat and orange light obscured their vision to some degree.

The path did not appear to end at the lava, but instead traveled beneath it. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any way to advance.

"I can swim pretty good," Zolara said. "But I don't plan on lava diving today."

Furrowed brows and frowns creased everyone's faces. S'maath shrugged.

"What now?"

"There…there must be something here we're not seeing," S'maash said.

"It is possible," Aicanter said, but trailed off. The group observed him as he walked up the ramp. The altmer then started pounding the side of his fist against the wall while he kept one, pointed ear pressed against it. The others followed suit, although they had no idea what it was they were doing. "Aha," Aicantar cheered.

"What," Falion asked.

"This part here sounds hollow. Someone, help me to find a hidden seam, so we might remove some form of panel or sliding stone," Aicantar explained.

S'maath gingerly pushed him aside, took the great sword from his back, drew it to his hip, and rammed the blade right into the wall. It sank in a ways as the group gasped, but when he pulled the blade out, chunks of stone fell away, revealing a turn handle. S'maath smiled and pulled it.

"Handled…get it?" he joked.

Zolara chuckled, but the others did not join in his mirth. The turning of the handle forced such a groan from the old ruin that it reverberated through the groups' bodies. Then, the lava started to drop. Inch by inch, the bubbling liquid lowered, thus revealing a new, steamy path for them to traverse.

Further down the ramp they traveled to a small bridge leading off to the right. An entrance shrouded in darkness sat before them. Like a mouth carved into the stone, it invited the group to whatever lay beyond. Brelyna casted candle light and they entered.

It was little more than a short passage to a round, stone door lined with dwarven metal. S'maash touched it carefully; it was surprisingly cool. He pulled it open, and they entered.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A long corridor spanned before S'maash and friends. Several, small, gas lamps lit the way quite well; the tiny, green flames did not flicker.

"So much for candle light," Brelyna remarked.

Zolara narrowed his eyes as he began sniffing at the air. The master conjurer eyed him curiously.

"What are you doing," Falion asked with a hint of condescension.

"You don't smell that," Zolara asked.

The group traded glances. "What do you smell," S'maath asked.

"Sulfur? Perhaps, something else as well; it's faint, but present," Zolara answered.

"I don't smell anything," Aicantar added.

"Let's press on. Zolara, let us know if something changes," S'maash ordered.

"Aye."

They proceeded through the corridor. The walls differed from the rest of Damlzthur. Instead of hard-looking, gray stone, the walls around them were a soft beige and slightly grainy in appearance. Falion ran his hands across them for only a second as they walked.

There was no end in sight, only persistent darkness very far away. Their boots echoed ever so slightly as they continued their journey. An hour passed. Then, two hours passed. Finally, they had enough.

"Alright, let's take a moment here," Aicantar said, nearly pleading.

They all agreed. While eating, they began to ponder what might be at the end of the eternal hall.

"Has there ever been any indication as to where the center of Mundas is or how to get there," Brelyna pried.

"I've never read anything about it," Falion said.

"I honestly don't have a clue. If the stories are accurate, Kagrenac had not placed the Heart of Lorkhan at the center of Mundas and neither had Dagoth Ur," Aicantar added.

"When the Nerevarine defeated Dagoth Ur, it was beneath Red Mountain," S'maash said.

"Yes, and Red Mountain is where the Heart of Lorkhan landed after falling from the Heavens," Falion interjected.

They grew silent again. The sound of eating prevailed.

"Well…Hermaeus Mora sent us here," S'maash said. No one had anything to say, so they rested in silence for moments. "Right," S'maash stood and gathered his possessions. "Let us move."

With a look of determination, he walked onwards, the group fumbled to follow suit. Painstaking hours of walking ensued; the corridor seemed to have an end in sight. Upon finding what they thought was the end, they saw it was just a turn; the corridor curved off to the left and at a slight decline.

"At least this is something," Zolara snipped.

They all gave a nod or headshake of accordance, stress, or exhaustion. Once an inordinate time passed, Brelyna, who was at the forefront then, spotted something golden in the distance. She stopped abruptly before looking at the others behind her.

"What," Aicantar asked.

"Something ahead," she said.

S'maash and S'maath took the lead. "Careful," S'maash said.

"Why," S'maath sounded arrogant.

"Just be careful," S'maash snipped.

They chuckled and moved on. Further in, the obstruction in the corridor became obvious, though there was no way to see what lay beyond until after the battle. A burst of steam blew from the brass-like piping, which held the dwarven centurion keeper in place; the golden obstruction.

The mechanical gears let out a heavy groan. Like the other centurions, it possessed a sword arm and hammer arm. Unlike the others, none of its joints or gears were exposed. Thick, scale-like plating made of dwarven metal covered the machine's movable parts. It stepped forwards portentously.

As a first course of action, S'maash overcharged ebony flesh, and the soft glow overtook his armor. He then drew his great sword; the green flames of Damlzthur gave it a glistening aura. The brothers charged to meet the machine.

Falion and Zolara summoned bound bows to assist while Brelyna and Aicantar were very careful to aim their icy spears over the heads of the brothers. It was not an overly difficult task as the keeper was well over twelve feet tall.

Purple arrows, shiny, blue crystals of frozen magicka, and the clash of steel resounded. S'maath had been the first to reach the keeper. He shuffled his left foot forwards and slashed at a downwards angle. His great sword cut a deep furrow into the plated shin of the keeper. He tried to bring the sword back across his body for a second slash, but the machine's hammer arm came down hard. S'maath blocked the blow with the long handle of his sword, yet the force of the blow knocked him back onto his seat.

S'maash had already reached the enemy during his brother's attack. A purple arrow whizzed over his head as he spun around to his right. He brought his sword along with the momentum of his spin and hacked into the keeper's thigh plating. It, too, had little effect, so he quickly let go of the sword with his left hand. A flurry of purple bolts came from his palm as he unleashed a wall of storm spell. It was cut short by a surprise knee lift delivered by the keeper. S'maash flew back and skidded along the ground, his blade still anchored inside the mechanical menace's leg.

"By the Nine!" he said as he came to his feet.

The keeper kept a steady pressure by stepping, slashing with its sword one way then the next. It followed up by stepping again and thrusting the heavy hammer into the warriors while pushing them back. Several, icy spears and bound arrows pelted the menace, but it did not slow.

The brothers incurred some bruising and loss of wind, but anytime they took a real injury, they were healed by one of the mages. The battle raged on for minutes, steel clamor echoing off the stone walls. After S'maash lost his sword in the keeper, he had attempted using bound swords, but they were dismal at best. He finally took a chance to wrest the blade from the enemy; it was not altogether difficult.

As the extraordinarily sharp blade slid out, the keeper raised both arms so high they touched the ceiling. From grooves below its armpits, billows of flame poured forth. The resist magicka enchantments came in handy, but the brightness of the flames blurred the warriors' vision long enough for the menace to capitalize with a painful, jarring of their respective heads; the keeper had struck them each with a weaponized arm.

"Enough! Get back here. We'll summon atronachs!" Falion called out.

The brothers did not mind the suggestion and scrambled away from heavy, metal feet. All of them, save S'maath, summoned one atronach or another. Falion and Zolara, talented in conjuration as they were, each summoned two, storm thralls. The remaining, three mages summoned frost atronachs in the hopes of freezing the metal galoot over.

Again, the keeper let loose billowing flame and steam filled corridor, a result of frozen magicka colliding with dwemer fires. The storm thralls pounded their fists against the armored plating, causing the automaton to stagger backwards. All the while, bound arrows and icy spears kept flying. The swinging of sword and hammer crashed through one thrall then a frost atronach. As the battle raged on, more of the atronachs were defeated.

"Such power," Aicantar whispered in awe.

Growing irritated, S'maash's and S'maath traded a glance before charging back into battle. While the corridor was wide enough to battle efficiently, it was not wide enough for them to get behind the keeper with all the atronachs in the way.

"Follow my lead," S'maath called out.

He ran up to the metal beast and spun his sword over his head. Once the pommel faced the ceiling, he brought the blade down with all his might, piercing the keeper's foot and securing it to the stone floor. S'maash watched him carefully and repeated the same maneuver. With both feet nailed to the ground, the automaton fell backwards from the atronachs' charge.

A steady rush of magickal attacks persisted upon the floored creature. S'maash froze the enemy over with wall of ice, Brelyna and Zolara fired a great deal of fire balls, and Aicantar and Falion followed suit with wall of storm. The automaton thrashed and beat its weapons against the surrounding stone, but to no avail. With a final, metallic groan, it fell to pieces. The group of adventurers let out sighs of exhaustion.

"By the Gods, it is over," Zolara remarked.

"Aye, and not a moment to soon," Brelyna added.

The brothers reclaimed their swords. "Well, well, lollygaggers, time to see what lies beyond," S'maath chuckled.

A quick search of the beast revealed a grand soul gem, dwemer gears, cogs, and a centurion, dynamo core. The spinning orb of power was of interest to Aicantar, and he placed it inside his travel pack.

Beyond the fallen machine was the metal stand in which it was formerly mounted, and behind it was a round gate. Vertical, dwarven metal bars blocked the group from a small room. They tried to open the gate.

"Here," Falion said.

He pulled a lever. They had overlooked it as it was obscured by the automaton's stand. Upon pulling the lever, the gate opened towards them. A round room was behind the gate, a lever at its center. A set of four gears were built into the ground.

"A lift," Aicantar said as he looked at the ceiling.

"I assume this takes us down," S'maash said.

"We will see," Falion said, motioning to Aicantar.

He pulled the lever, and the ground felt as though it fell away from them. The lift was taking them down at a phenomenal rate. A rush of wind from below accosted the group. For minutes, the sound of churning gears and sliding stone hissed.

The lower the lift took them the darker the small shaft grew. Soon, it was pitch-black, and Brelyna casted candle light. The wavering orb of light struggled to stay overhead. Finally, the lift slowed before a second, round gate; a lever built into the stone was next to it. S'maash pulled it and the gate came open. Before them was only blackness.

Chapter Thirty-Five

"Blackreach," Aicantar whispered in astonishment.

"What's that," S'maath asked.

"Blackreach is a city below Skyrim; a place the dwemer found when digging below the world. They found a way adjoin their cities. Mzinchaleft, Alftand, Raldbthar, they all connect below Skyrim," Falion explained.

"Then, we are below Skyrim," S'maath asked.

"We can't be," S'maash replied.

"Certainly not," Falion started, "This is similar to Blackreach, though I do not know if it ties into other, dwemer cities."

Slowly, they exited the lift and looked about. A thin mist slightly obscured their vision. Off in the distance, they detected a source of light. They treaded carefully beneath Brelyna's spell. The vastness before them was so dark that all the mages casted candle light in hopes of revealing a path.

"The dwemer lived comfortably in Blackreach using the falmer as their slaves. Once the dwemer left for other worlds, the falmer made it their twisted refuge; the darkness is perfect for their senses," Falion commented. "I have, however, seen a strange orb, a dwemer sun, if you will, crafted by masters, perhaps even Kagrenac himself. I cannot fathom what awe inspiring creations we will see here."

The group had little to say. Magickal light revealed black stone under their feet. It was craggy and rough. A great many, sharp, stone hills lined the area, but only so far as they were able to see. Zolara came to a halt.

"Hold," he intervened. "I fear we may lose our way."

"Where are we going anyway," S'maath asked.

"I do not know," S'maash whispered.

"I'll employ a set of fire runes as we did below Mzulft," Zolara said.

"Excellent idea," S'maash praised.

As they continued walking, S'maash and Zolara recounted their experiences. When the time came, Brelyna also told of when they had gathered the fragment of the Heart of Lorkhan. Zolara left many runes during their conversations; it made for a faintly glowing orange trail of breadcrumbs.

"Do you think there are falmer here," Aicantar asked.

"Difficult to say," Falion admitted. "The snow elves were residents of Skyrim, not Morrowind, but a great many years have passed. If these underground kingdoms connect then we might come across some of the falmer…if not, then I shudder to think what we will come across."

An indeterminate amount of time passed, but with no real sense of direction or change in light, it was difficult to tell if they had traveled far or not. Looking behind them, they no longer saw the lift, just the orange glows indicating Zolara's runes were effective; he laid down well over two dozen and had since lost count.

Exhausted from the hike, S'maash came to a halt and scanned the area. There were four, distinct, white glows in the darkness far away.

"What do you think," Brelyna asked S'maash.

"I think we should strive for one of the glows and hope for a clue," he replied.

"Sound thinking," Aicantar said.

"Which one," S'maath asked.

S'maash shook his head. He did not care.

"Falion," the wizard asked.

"The one on our left," Falion replied.

"Good as any, I suppose," Zolara remarked.

They continued for a time, but the glow was so far away they had no choice but to stop, if only briefly, to eat and drink. Questioning his surroundings, Zolara casted a mage light spell. Like candle light, the magickal orb allowed one to see, but did not stay over the caster. Instead, it sailed away until reaching a solid object. There, it was supposed to stick, lighting the way. In Blackreach, it did not stick. It sailed off, vanishing.

"So far away," he said under his breath.

Occasionally, the terrain declined, and the glow vanished from sight. At other times, the terrain inclined steeply, and the distant glow was easily visible. No matter how far they traveled, how long they walked, they didn't reach their destination. S'maash grew angry.

"Alright, this is beyond belief," he barked.

"What is it?" Brelyna was shocked.

They all came to a stop, and S'maash threw his pack on the ground. "I'm making a fire. We should rest for a while," he grumbled.

The group was not in discordance. Producing some firewood from their packs, S'maash casted flames upon the bundle. Fearing an attack from within the darkness, they took turns standing guard. Some of them were too exhausted from travel to stay awake. Aicantar was the first to sleep. While lying on his back, Zolara played with mage light by sending the little orbs of light off into the expanse.

"Falion, do you have any suggestions," S'maash asked.

"I do not; suffice it to say, we must continue soon."

Brelyna and S'maath sat together. He placed an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned her head against him. S'maash stretched his muscles after unfurling his sleeping roll. Zolara eyed him. S'maash's back was turned, so the argonian sent a mage light at him. As he turned, it stuck to his chest.

"N'wah!" the elf said as he slapped at the magickal ball of light. They chuckled at the comical display. "I hope we come to a resolution soon."

"It would be a travesty to have to turn back because we did not pack enough food," S'maath jested.

"Aye," Falion replied.

"Tell us about your dealings with the other planes, Master Falion," Zolara said.

"Certainly. I have been to every plane of Oblivion, Cold Harbour possibly being the most disturbing. While it is not the most dangerous plane, seeing everything you hold dear covered in blood, ash, and excrement has a greater effect than simple death. Hermaeus Mora's Apocrypha, was rather incomprehensible, endless shelves of black books and the ghosts of those who seek knowledge. I did not spend much time there, as I had no desire to become one of those ghosts."

"What about the dwemer plain," S'maash probed.

"Hmm, I heard them use a word over and over. Being versed in various, dwemer dialects, I had to assume it was the word for their new home, as I had never come across that word before. They called it Xranthrnl," Falion answered.

"And what did you see there," S'maath asked.

Brelyna then turned her back to S'maath and laid her head in his lap. With eyes closed, she listened to them converse before falling asleep.

"I saw a world composed entirely of machinery," Falion marveled. "Most of the constructs were beyond my grasp. They found a world containing a great deal of aetherium, a metal existing between the cracks of reality."

"What," S'maash asked.

"Every plane has some aetherium. Its properties are unknown even to myself, but it appears to exist in very little quantities in most places. I heard the dwemer had a forge specifically to shape aetheriumhere in Skyrim, but that might only be legend," Falion elucidated. "At any rate, in Xranthrnl they had much, which could mean they still travel from one place to another, acquire the metal, and bring it back to their home. I saw extensive columns and domes fashioned from the ephemeral, blue metal; clockwork the size of kingdoms lined their deep caves.

"Every day, they toil, building, building more and more complex machines. In Tamriel, they harnessed the energy of stars. The Gods only know what they are capable of today."

"We should rest…I will take first watch," S'maash said.

With that, they took turns sleeping. S'maash only tossed and turned, however, though he was tired, too many ideas played inside his head. What will be accomplished when I place this Heart of Lorkhan where it belongs? There were no answers. He kept his eyes glued to the glow on the dark horizon.

After a few hours, he grew sleepy and yawned. Aicantar rose and looked at him.

"Would you like to rest," the altmer asked.

"I'm trying."

"I know how you feel, but try to relax," the high elf smiled.

While Aicantar kept watch, S'maash tried to quiet his mind, and before he knew it, he was out. In his deep sleep, he dreamt only of blackness. The ruffling of bed rolls and packs woke him abruptly. He was still tired, but wondered how long he had slept. After a little stretch, he stood. Everyone was up.

"Ready for more walking in the darkness," S'maath asked.

"Yes," S'maash replied, reluctantly.

Camp was dismantled, and they took off in the direction of the glow. Candle light spells were casted to illuminate the way. As before, several minutes passed on, begrudgingly, while they treaded ever carefully. A sudden, metallic scurrying grew over the silence. They halted with narrowed eyes, peering beyond their magickal light.

"Sounds like a dwarven spider," Aicantar remarked.

For seconds, they stood still. Finally, the magickal lights died out. Once their eyes adjusted, they saw a faint, purple glow to their right. It was not unlike a purple sparkle of electricity.

"You're right, Aicantar," Falion said.

He then let loose an icy spear at the purple glow. Upon striking the machine, the glow rolled about. When it ceased movement, the frosty light of Falion's attack was enough to reveal Aicantar had been correct. The spider then scurried towards the group, metallic legs clinking along.

The travelers stood still, watching for a second as the automaton came closer. Finally, it leapt into the air towards Zolara. He simply side stepped. When the dwarven spider landed, S'maath gave it a solid whack. The loud sound of the machine crashing against stone was nearly deafening.

"At least it means we're getting close to something familiar," Aicantar said.

"Unless it's an errant spider that lost its way," Zolara rebutted.

The rest paid him no mind and continued towards the whitish glow in the distance. After a grueling hike, the glow occupied a larger portion of the black horizon. In their excitement, they wanted to run, but it was not a safe idea. Any step they took potentially led off the edge of a precipice, so they continued at a modest pace, their anxiety reaching unbelievable proportions. Then, they finally saw what created the light, and it was much brighter than they had thought.

A mushroom of inexplicable enormity grew towards the ceiling. It was ghostly white, almost translucent, and with a soft-blue core. The stalk was smooth and the cap possessed several tendrils lazily hanging towards the ground. It was not unlike a glowing mushroom. The closer they came, the more they saw. The mushrooms were also akin to trees. Their stalks split off into several, more, vertical stalks, each with a cap. The center mushroom was tiered with a total of seven caps, the one close to the ceiling being the largest. A few other mushrooms, not quite so immense, but still pretty big, grew in the same area.

"Illuminous mushroom," Zolara stated.

"Pardon," Falion asked.

"I took some samples of these when we traveled under Mzulft. It shares some properties of the glow mushroom, but has some new properties as well. If mixed as a poison, the venom causes the target to glow. It illuminates the target, so I called it illuminous mushroom," he replied.

"What if you ingest it," S'maath asked.

"Ingesting the mushroom alone won't cause you to glow. You have to mix in other reagents as well…oddly enough, I found it causes a momentary discomfort to light," Zolara answered.

"Do you believe eating this caused the falmer to lose sight," Aicantar asked.

"I would say it is a definite possibility," Zolara replied.

They walked closer and closer. As they did, they slowly traveled up a rocky hill. Once they were merely hundreds of paces away, they no longer needed spells to see their immediate surroundings.

The illuminous mushrooms were taller than any building they had ever seen, except for Falion; he had seen unspeakable things. Soon, they reached the apex of the hill. A cobbled path lay at the bottom, a dwemer city was built into the black stone beyond. They had found an end to the blackness.

"You think we should move inside the city," S'maash asked.

"We might as well. If those other glows were cities then there are at least four of them. I think our best bet here is to eliminate this one, if it is not the correct city, and return for supplies before searching the others," Brelyna answered.

"Hm, a sound judgment," S'maath added.

"Aye," Aicantar agreed.

S'maash inhaled deeply as he eyed the city before him. It was much like every, other, dwemer city. Dwarven metal plates, shingled, round rooves, piping growing into and out of the stone structure, which was much darker than the gray stone used in other was also an echoing churning of gears present; it was breathtaking. On occasion, soft, billows of steam ejected. The light cast by the mushroom gave everything a haunting and ghost-like appearance.

"Let's just hope this is the right one," S'maash said.

They proceeded down the hill to the cobbled road and followed it to a round, dwemer door. It was metal, like the doors of Mzulft, but round, like the doors beneath Damlzthur. Several, concentric circles in an oddly spaced arrangement were apparent on the door. Bluish baubles protruded from the center.

"How does it open," S'maash asked, touching the metal.

"Perhaps this is not the door," Zolara ventured a guess.

"No, no, this is a puzzle. Hold for a moment," Aicantar said. He approached the puzzle door and laid a hand on it. A slight reverberation crept into his fingers. "A tonal lock? I have heard of such things."

"Come again?" Brelyna asked.

"Tonal locks respond to notes," Falion started. "There must be an instrument or instruments nearby…if it is a tonal lock."

"Most assuredly, it is," Aicantar huffed.

"What do they look like," S'maash asked.

"Could be anything. Look for something with similar, blue jewels," Falion answered.

The travelers stepped back from the puzzle door. They looked all about the surrounding expanse. The city was quite extensive, so they broke up and followed the walls.

"I have something!" Zolara called out.

"Aye, us too," S'maath yelled back.

High above them, they spotted slowly rotating machinery. Its double bow-like structure was reminiscent of the winding keys used in small music boxes.

"That's it, boys. Use your bound bows. Strike the mechanism, so it climbs the thread on the shaft," Falion ordered.

They did just so. After a few misses, they struck both winding keys. A resounding gong was the result. A slight rumble accosted their feet. Aicantar watched in awe as the puzzle door before him spun and spun. Each, complete rotation brought the circles on the door to an equidistant spacing. The front plate then slid into the ground as the circles retreated, thus creating an opening.

"We're in, ladies and gentlemen," Aicantar cheered.

Chapter Thirty-Six

"More endless walking…and more, more, endlesser walking," Zolara remarked.

"Stop complaining," Brelyna fired back.

Zolara gave a shrug of exasperation. Several minutes of traversing the dwemer corridor revealed nothing aside from smooth walls and green flames lining the ceiling. Several twists and turns persisted for a great while. Tired from travel, the group broke once more.

"Goodness, but the argonian was right," Aicantar heaved.

"Aye. My old bones are beginning to creak," Falion complained as he unfurled his bedroll.

"Where do you think this will lead," S'maath asked.

"Hopefully, the center of Tamriel," S'maash answered.

"But what do we do then," Zolara pried.

"I don't know…I'm sure we'll figure it out. Look how far we've come. We may very well be the only people to have traveled here in thousands of years. I see no remains, and only that dwarven spider did we come across," S'maash replied.

"I didn't expect this journey to be so…devoid of adversity," S'maath said with a wince. Brelyna looked at him with an accusatory raising of the brow. "Oh, but I'm very glad to have joined you all," he then added.

S'maash smirked. After eating, laughing, and a few swigs of nord mead, they pressed on. Hours went by when a heat crept into the corridor, heat and the smell of molten stone.

"We are coming close to something. The air is different here," Zolara said.

It was only a short while before the corridor spat them into a cave of sorts. The greatest point of interest was a magnificent, dwemer, puzzle box a hundred or so paces away. Like the door, it too, had the odd circles and bluish baubles. A path of stone, like obsidian, lay before the crew; a step down onto the natural stone gave them a new perspective.

Lava bubbled around them. They had adequate room to navigate without danger, but the cave was very hot. Several, other corridors either led to or from the cavern, but to sights unseen.

"I would wager, there are many paths here leading to other cities," Falion said.

"Excellent. Whatever it is we must do should be indicated by what is in that puzzle box," S'maash said.

They eagerly walked towards it. None of them had bothered to look at the ceiling, where rows of shiny, blue, colored statues were fastened in an upsidedown, squatting position. Surreptitiously, The Men of Aetherius—guardians of the Centers of the Worlds—eyed the intruders. Upon coming close to the puzzle box, one of them snapped to life. It dropped down between S'maash and the box; on one knee and one fist, the Man of Aetherius smashed into the stone floor.

The crew halted, wide eyed. The athletically designed golem raised its smooth, round head, which was fashioned to look like a full helmet. Instead of eyes, it had only a menacing slit, from which darkness exuded. With subtle gasps of awe and wonder, the group looked at the machine come to a full stand. Its body was made to look like elven armor, only very smooth and more round in its shoulders, hips, and thighs. The Man of Aetherius drew two, aetherial, short swords and charged like a flash of lightning at the group.

"By the Nine!" Zolara managed to say as he dove to the side.

He had been close to S'maash, and the machine bore down on the dark elf. While the group started the rituals of summoning atronachs and such, S'maash planted his feet in anticipation, and grasped his sword in both hands.

The opponent deftly stopped just feet from S'maash and vaulted itself up and forwards while moving its head backwards. The jump placed it in an upsidedown, vertical position directly over S'maash. Before the elf reacted to the maneuver, the machine was falling towards him with both swords aimed directly down. S'maash's mouth drooped a little. A potent blow from his rear caused him to stumble forwards and the Man of Aetherius missed. Quickly, it recovered its swords as S'maath laid into its back.

"I'll crush you like a bug," he yelled.

The overhead slash had little effect; chaos ensued as atronachs and seven more Men of Aetherius joined the fray. All of the machines carried different weapons. Some had hammers or axes, others held swords and shield, and all of them were fast as lightning.

Magicka of all kinds swirled and blew about; fire balls exploded, sparks from chain lightning zipped and crackled, misty frost covered the ground. The clash of blades pounded against the cave walls.

"Brelyna, take the center and keep us healed," S'maash called out.

He clashed blades with a machine holding a war axe. The creature spun away to its left then butted S'maash with the haft of its weapon, shuffled forwards, and with a squaring of the hips, it raised the blunt end of the axe head into S'maash's chin.

"I'm trying," Brelyna called back.

With a quick recovery, the wizard grabbed the shoulder plate with his left hand and smashed his pommel repeatedly into the helmet of his opponent. "Zolara, take to sneaking and fire from your bound bow," he ordered between strikes.

"Dealing with my own trouble, here," he replied.

Zolara ran behind the puzzle box, crouched then deftly hopped on top of it. The creature chasing him had not noticed the flattened lizard on top of the box. Once no longer detected, Zolara followed his orders.

From his vantage point, he was able to let loose numerous, bound arrows into the backs of the Men of Aetherius. He was also privy to watching the whirlwind of malachite, S'maath, who spun one way and brought his glistening blade with his body, stopped short, crashed his blade down onto another enemy, placed a hand on its back and vaulted himself over before finally charging off to another.

The Men of Aetherius were doing quite well at working as a team, though. An oddity was their proclivity for attacking the atronachs and the warriors, but not the mages.

"Flee to safety, and fire your spells from whatever cover you can find," S'maash called out as he ducked beneath a swinging axe.

"There isn't any!" Falion retorted.

More magicka crashed through the battle. Many of the enemies fought tirelessly, icy spears protruding from their bodies. Still, others fought with an entire quiver of bound arrows in their backsides. They leapt high and ran low. They chopped low and swung high. They bashed with their shields and smashed with their hammers. They were relentless

A Man of Aetherius landed before Brelyna. She recoiled at first then held palms poised for a dual casting of wall of ice. As the magickal shards poured out, the Man of Aetherius half turned away, drew back its hammer, and butted her in the stomach with the head. The blow sent her to the ground, lungs emptied of air. It then stepped up to her, gauging her through the slit in its helmet. Zolara clenched his teeth and fired an arrow at the base of the skull. It struck proper and the machine turned, but saw nothing. Brelyna then scrambled away and summoned a frost atronach, which engaged the enemy.

During her scuffle, S'maash and S'maath fought back to back against multiple golems. When one came in, another retreated, and when one took a blow, another counter attacked. A great sweep from an aetherial, great sword brought both elves to the ground. In an attempt to recover, they held weapons overhead and blocked potent strikes. Finally, S'maath spotted an opening.

From a knee he thrust his blade clean into a Man of Aetherius. The blade penetrated to the hilt, and S'maath lifted him off the ground; a powerful war cry echoed behind the blade. He then smashed the enemy into the ground. Shockingly, a red substance poured from the wound. The man grasped at his midsection as he writhed; they were not machines.

The other Men of Aetherius heard the cries of pain, let off their opponents, and shielded their wounded brethren from more injury. S'maash and friends observed in disbelief. Before they reacted, the injured warrior was healed by another then a strange resonation occurred. A musical tone echoed throughout the cave. The Men of Aetherius stood in a semi-circle and prevented anyone to come beyond them, though Zolara was behind them, his bound bow had expired.

"Attack!" S'maash called out.

Another note, different in tone, hummed across the lava filled cave. One-by-one, each man produced a note until the octave was completed. A field of energy, barely visible, kept them safe. Suddenly, their armors slid into and out of place, they scrambled and climbed over one another like a group of jesters. Then it happened; they joined as one, massive, machine-man.

"A dwemer of eight can create a golem, but an eight of dwemer can become one," Aicantar whispered from safety.

S'maash was beyond astonished. The eight dwemer had become a monstrous, aetherium juggernaut. A note rang out from the beast and it charged. Again, S'maath knocked his brother out of the way and took the brunt of the kick given by the enemy. With great force, it sent him nearly to the edge of the stone floor by the lava.

S'maath looked at the bubbling pool. "No thank you," he said and recovered.

On charging back in, he saw the rest running about, casting spells and summoning atronachs as usual. "Holding strong," S'maash called out.

"Aye," S'maath whimpered.

Once the brothers reached striking distance, they made an attempt to maneuver around the aetherium golem, but it spun at the waist to face then. With a powerful and enormous, blue hand, it smashed the ground. Both of the brothers were missed by little more than a skeever's whisker. S'maath took off once more. He started climbing the golem's fist when the other hand reached out. The warrior managed a solid stab into the wrist of the arm he climbed before being snatched away, swordless.

"Brother," S'maash yelled to him.

For a quick second, S'maath was crushed then immediately dropped. He sounded like a sack of Septims when he hit the ground. Brelyna ran over to him, horrified.

"Oof. That really hurt," S'maath whispered.

"S'wit," she said as she he healed him.

The juggernaut let out another gong at a higher pitch than the first. S'maash and friends were momentarily stunned by the impact of the sound. Once they recovered, they saw the golem coming for them. This time, the enemy focused on the atronachs. It took a frost atronach in one hand and a storm atronach in the other. With powerful fists, it squeezed them until an orange and a purple burst of magicka was expelled.

"Damn you, dwemer," Zolara whispered.

He was still kneeling on the puzzle box. After conjuring a new bow, he watched the dunmer brothers charge and slash, dive and hack, and spin with the fury of dragons. They were effective, but were not dealing much damage, so he drew an arrow, aimed, and slowly exhaled. Once the magickal bowstring reached its apex, the demonic arrows found their target, for the most part.

Aicantar and Falion were growing rather weary of running to safety, summoning, firing a few spells, and running back to safety. Neither of them were particularly young. To his shame, Aicantar decided to flee the battle. He reached the entrance to the corridor and his heart sank. A gate had been raised to bar the way back. He sat for a second.

"My, I do wish I could do more, but I'm a scholar not a warrior, or even a traveler, really…."

During Aicantar's dilemma, S'maash grunted and yelled as he hacked at the golem's knees. In response, the creature stopped to snatch him off the ground, but received a hand full of S'maath's sword instead. A third gong rang and again the fighting came to a halt.

"What is it doing," Brelyna gasped.

No one answered. Before any thoughts were formulated, the golem released thick waves of frost bite from its hands. The reflective shards of frozen magicka did not have a great effect on the group, who resisted as much, but the frozen ground and obscured vision were problems. They turned their faces as the golem effortlessly stepped up to them, blasted them with open palms, and easily moved its arms, all the while, spinning at the waist.

Aicantar, having had enough rest and the gall to return to the fray, summoned a storm atronach. Zolara summoned yet another bow and kept firing arrows. Falion held a steady wall of storm on the enemy, and Brelyna kept them in fighting shape with healing spells. S'maath tried to plant his feet, but when he jumped to strike, his left foot slipped a little on the ice, losing height. He struck at the golem's thigh with little effect.

S'maash spun his sword overhead and brought the tip down, intending to pin the golem's foot as they did the keeper. His blade did not sink quite so far, but he did call the attention of the juggernaut, who pulled its foot back. S'maash held tightly to his blade. The speed with which the foot moved caused his body to go horizontal. Then, the following kick forced him the other way; the eight of dwemer sent him sailing. He slammed into the puzzle box and for the first time since the battle began, Zolara was spotted. A fourth gong rang.

The argonian swallowed hard, realizing the implication. "Perhaps it is time for a new strategy," he said as the enraged golem moved for him.

He hopped down and ran over to the others, meeting Brelyna half way as she was coming to S'maash's aid. "Hold," S'maash called out. "We should alternate running in one direction then another. All the while–"

The dark elf tried to reach her, but she was thrown at S'maath, who was chasing the golem. They crashed into each other and fell over. S'maash tapped Zolara and motioned to follow. The two ran around, crossing paths and flinging fire bolts to confuse the enemy.

Its momentary faltering provided Falion a chance to rest and S'maath a chance to catch the golem unawares. Then, the fifth gong rang, the highest note yet. After the stunning effect of the note wore off, S'maath dove headlong at the enemy, plunged his blade into its hip, landed softly before the other foot, and snatched his brother's sword. A sudden rising of that foot brought him up hard. Having held firmly to the sword, he was able to pull himself up to a sitting position. As he tried to stand, the foot came down, and he fell off to the ground, sword in hand.

The rest of the group continued magickal attacks. Sparks arced, fires exploded, and shards of ice covered the battlefield. A great many atronachs thundered, ambled, and skated about as well, but S'maath was the only one to deal any real damage. Then, the golem got away from him.

It ran with more speed than he thought possible, and with a shard of malachite in its hip, to boot. When it reached the mages, it threw several fists. One struck Zolara square, and he bounced off the puzzle box. Many more strikes about the ground caused shards of obsidian to pelt the area. A few hammer fists came down squarely on the atronachs, and they popped or sizzled in defeat.

Recovered, Zolara capitalized on the situation and hid behind the puzzle box until all eyes were off him. S'maath jumped high and plunged the other sword into the other hip, thus knocking the creation to the ground. The golem tried to stand, but wasn't able to maneuver. It rolled over forwards instead. S'maath wore a big grin.

"Yes," Brelyna cheered.

S'maash summoned two, bound swords and went in for an attack, but a sixth gong rang, and he was momentarily waylaid. The golem used that time to draw the swords from its joints. It tried to crush the blades, but failed. It dropped them instead then stood once more, which gave the brothers an opportunity; they caught each other's glance and scooped up their respective weapons. The mages, with depleted magicka, did little more than rest or drink potions, and Zolara was back to firing arrows while sneaking.

"S'maash, can we," S'maath had started.

A blue fist came down towards him, and as it did, he used his blade to block and hopped off the ground, so the attack pushed him rather than crushed. The resulting blow left him on his seat, but unharmed. S'maash charged in from the side and plunged his blade into the knee joint when a sudden jolt ran through his body; he had been slapped by the golem and pinned to the side of the leg. Brelyna rushed over to heal.

A seventh gong rang. S'maash stood his ground. He held his blade in his right hand and let the tip rest on the ground. With his left he casted ebony flesh, and the glow covered his body. He then let loose a great, many, ice storms. Finally, the golem turned to him. It ran to overtake him, but he rolled onto his right shoulder then spun right and carried his blade across his body. It crashed with a solid impact upon the enemy's leg.

Magicka and arrows continued flying all about the swealtering cave, but S'maash was the only one in the thick of battle. The eight of dwemer tried desperately to crush him underfoot or pick him up. Something had changed and its attacks no longer appeared timely or planned. It was simply trying to kill. S'maath noticed as well and saw the opportunity; he took off at a full run, past the healers.

"Wait," Brelyna howled in mid heal.

The golem knelt to grab S'maash, who sliced at the open hand. It then crawled, trying to snatch again. S'maath ran in from the side. His brother saw the ploy, so he baited the golem, providing him not only the chance to arrive, but also to secure his blade; since the creature was on hands and knees, it was easy.

S'maath drew the sword from blue steel, but the goliath jolted from the surprise maneuver. It then attempted to turn around when S'maash relentlessly hopped onto its wrist, and from there, he hopped again to drive his blade into its chest.

As his enchanted blade slid in, S'maath ran up to the hip joint, climbed with one hand and pushed off with his toes. At the same time, the aetherium menace came up to a kneeling position and tried to remove S'maash's sword. In reply, S'maath grabbed a hold of its waist then climbed the protruding bound arrows all the way to the beast's shoulder. With sword overhead, it was finally time for the deathblow. The eighth gong rang.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

A reverberation rang and completed the octave. The aetherium golem vibrated violently. S'maath lost his footing before he was able to strike. He slipped and fell to the ground. As he rolled over, he and the others saw the creature come apart; the dwemer of eight had run out of time. The group kept a firm gaze on the enemy, but the dwemer did not attack, instead they took a knee.

"What is this? What are they doing," S'maash asked, out of breath.

The foremost experts, Aicantar and Falion, had no reply; they simply stood slack-jawed. The deep elves removed their helmets revealing bronze skin like their wood elf counterparts. An old one with white hair spoke. His words were ancient and incomprehensible to most.

"He says their time has come to pass," Aicantar breathed.

The group of travelers walked over to the line of kneeling dwemer. "What does that mean," Brelyna asked, still aghast.

Aicantar looked to her and shrugged when the old elf spoke again in his staccato language. "For eight tones, you have fought, and for eight tones, you have survived. You may pass to set foot upon Xranthrnl, if you can restore life to a dead world," Aicantar said.

"He must mean restoring the Heart of Lorkhan," Falion interjected.

Panting, S'maash put away his weapons and produced the beating Heart of Lorkhan. The dwemer then stood, awed, and still holding their helmets, they walked to the puzzle box. S'maash and friends slowly followed suit.

"Wait, wait, wait," Zolara huffed, coming to his feet. "We're done fighting?"

They ignored his ramblings. One, deep elf took a small, dwarven metal tool, shaped like a Y and tapped it against the box. The round door spun, causing the circles to alter their arrangement. A second elf did the same, and again, the door spun. The procedure was repeated five, more times, and the circles were neatly arranged, but the door did not unlock. The only one who had not done anything was the old elf. He took a knife and cut his hand before placing a drop of blood on the round door. It rumbled then sank into the ground. He turned to S'maash and spoke again.

"Only a living world can grant knowledge and passage," Aicantar translated.

S'maash looked to his friends. They nodded and turned back to the opening. He walked inside to find a small altar. Two, stone hands were present on either side as though awaiting something. The old dwemer walked in behind S'maash and pointed to the altar. The wizard gingerly placed the Heart of Lorkhan on its top. The old elf pulled two, dwemer pipes and secured them to the Heart of Lorkhan by way of spinning couplings. He turned back to S'maash and spoke. By then, Aicantar had followed in.

"Order and chaos cannot exist separately. Life granted by a God can only be held with the hands of a demon," Aicantar said.

"Hands," S'maash asked.

"Yes…probably the ones Hermaeus Mora gave you," Aicantar answered.

S'maash and the deep elf made eye contact for a second. He then took the red, ruby-like hands from his pack and held them. The old elf pointed to the stone hands. S'maash slid the gauntlets over the fingers; it was a perfect fit. Again, the old elf spoke.

"Life and death resonate as one," Aicantar said.

S'maash shrugged, but knew he needed Kagrenac's tools for something. He produced them as well. The old elf spoke more.

"A fist might smash, but an open palm can create," Aicantar said.

"Yes, I've heard that before," S'maash smiled.

Aicantar translated those words into dwemer and the dwemer replied. "Place the tonal tools in the hands," Aicantar told S'maash.

When the dunmer did so, the gauntlets came to life. They gripped the tools and held them, ever so close, to the heart. A wavering like too much heat off a forge obscured the sight of the Heart of Lorkhan, and swirling light manifested before them.

"Come, friends," S'maash called out.

As they stumbled closer to peer inside the puzzle box, the remaining dwemer walked in. One-by-one, they entered the swirling light and vanished. The old dwemer spoke one, final phrase before he, too, entered.

"See for yourself what an eight of dwemer can truly forge," Aicantar whispered.

"We must go to Xranthrnl," Falion said.

They were in agreement, though they were not altogether composed. "I will go," S'maash said.

Before anyone said a word, he stepped into the portal. A sublime vertigo overtook him. His eyes shut. For a brief moment, he thought he was going to be sick to his stomach. It passed, and he opened his eyes. Everyone had come through, and before them was the most astounding sight yet.

The new, dwemer home, Xranthrnl, was a conglomeration of nature and machinery. Where S'maash and friends stood, trees and stone surrounded them, but gears, piping, cranes, and all types of mechanical creations were built into and around the area as well. Several of the machines showed exposed gears, but they were different than the ancient gears of dwemer ruins; they were thinner, sleeker, and much more quiet. Great sheets of blue aetherium reflected light from far away, casting a haunting glow over the area. From where the source of light originated, no one saw; the sky was obscured by a multitude of aetherium plates. A dwemer placed his hand on S'maash's shoulder. He spoke his language of old.

"Come to meet our lord. Malkriis awaits," Aicantar translated.

"What a strange name," Zolara remarked.

Brelyna winced and elbowed him. They followed behind the eight dwemer, who took them around a large dome built into the ground. It was forged from dwemer steel and resembled the puzzle box. Its utility was unknown.

From there, the group was led down a stone path and beyond a waterfall. As the water cascaded from high above, it fell upon an awning of sorts. The awning forced the water to part, so travelers were free to walk beneath without getting wet, and into the lord's manor.

From the exterior, the manor was crafted entirely out of smooth, dwemer steel. The interior was much different. Several, gas lamps lined a round, brass-like corridor.

"They erected walls of metal over the natural rock," Falion said.

"And carved it to a work of art beyond words," Aicantar added.

It was true. The lord's manor relegated the appearance of dwemer ruins to the wayside as far as art and beauty were concerned. The hall looked as though dwemer had neatly etched several rows of lines, circles, swirls, and other images into every inch of the walls. They all wondered how such a feat was even possible. Before too long, they came to a stop; a lift stood before them. Again, the dwemer spoke.

"Each, new height is decided by a pull," Aicantar said in slight confusion.

The dwemer motioned for the group to stand upon the giant lift. Instead of a single lever at the center, as the lifts of dwemer ruins, several, small levers were built into a stand at the center. One of the deep elves nodded and pulled the highest lever. With a soft hiss, they rose to heights unknown.

"My…this is," Brelyna trailed off.

"Indescribable," S'maath asked.

She looked to him and smiled. They continued traveling up an interminable length. After moments, the lift came to a halt. Behind them, a wall rotated along an unseen seam and opened. The dwemer walked through and into a throne room comprised entirely of aetherium and dwarven metal. The round chamber glistened from the gas lamps overhead. A beautiful purple and gold carpet brought the group before the ornate and jewel encrusted throne.

A powerful-looking deep elf clad in aetherium, chain mail stood. Great locks of gray hair grew all the way to the ground, both from his head and his face. A dwemer conversation ensued. As Aicantar translated, other deep elves—gorgeous, young women in satin gowns—entered.

"The lord said he is glad to have his guardians return to Xranthrnl. In turn, they replied that they have brought the warriors who withstood the Test of Eight Tones," Aicantar said.

Again, the lord spoke. The women, who carried silver platters with sweet smelling fruits and meat, approached all the new arrivals. While both parties ate, the lord continued speaking.

"All planes are open, and the ways to travel are many. With infinity at our disposal, a new sharing may occur. We, the dwemer, have achieved all that we have set mind and tools to. Your accomplishment was no mean feat, and I am glad to share what we have with each of you, but," Aicantar translated.

For a moment no more was said. The group passed glances and Aicantar shrugged in reply. The lord then spoke more.

"But all is not safe, for many should not be given free passage to worlds they cannot comprehend. With my eight, tonal warriors returned, there is none left to guard the living Mundas. Who among you could live between two worlds?" Aicantar translated.

"He wants someone to stay as the new guardian of the Heart of Lorkhan," Falion clarified.

"What," S'maash asked in disbelief.

"Not I," Zolara said.

"No," Brelyna joked. "Not you…nor I, honestly."

S'maash and S'maath looked each other over then shook their heads. Falion said nothing, but was clearly uninterested. Aicantar stirred.

"I will stay," he said.

"No," Brelyna whispered.

Aicantar nodded before speaking to the lord in dwemeri. The lord replied, and Aicantar spoke to his friends.

"He accepts. Listen, my knowledge on the dwemer is fairly well established. Someone needs to stand guard…I will do it and gladly. The lord also says he will grant each of you a gift. For me, it will be a complete knowledge of machinery, something I have always been fascinated with," Aicantar spoke, happily.

"We each get a gift? I mean, Aicantar, noooo," Zolara said, half joking as his voice trailed off.

"I wouldn't mind some aetherium to take back to the Reyda Tong," S'maath said, unabashedly.

Aicantar nodded as he turned to each and translated to Malkriis. The women quickly left and returned with something for everyone. S'maath received several, aetherium ingots. Zolara received a book containing the extended research on alchemy as conceived by the dwemer. Brelyna was given a tome containing forgotten spells pertaining to the school of alteration. Falion asked for the methodology behind long distance, dwemer communications—as hinted to in the story Chimarvarmidium—and was given a small, teardrop shaped piece of metal with a fork at its end. Aicantar translated for him the pertinent information in both duplication and use. Finally, they looked at S'maash who had remained quiet.

He eyed each one of his friends, and every, deep elf in the great chamber, until settling upon their lord. "I began a journey," he whispered. "I looked to unraveling the mysteries of enchanting, the secrets of magicka…. This journey brought me to new friends, unknown enemies, and great dangers. All I seek is to continue this endeavor. I must understand the secrets of enchanting…all of them," S'maash spoke, slowly.

Aicantar translated the wizard's request into dwemeri. Malkriis stepped over to S'maash and placed a hand on his shoulder before speaking.

"Your brave journey has led you to me now. Doubtless, a quest for knowledge has sparked the eyes of the daedra, but as you cannot believe all that you see; they cannot see all that there is to believe," Aicantar said.

S'maash was at a loss. He looked at Aicantar and back to the dwemer lord, who spoke again.

"To you, I grant a tome. The intricacies contained within may help you to discern the nature of enchantments. I must inform you, it is not possible to find all that you require in one world," Aicantar translated.

The tome was then given to S'maash, leather-bound and pristine. Inside, were dwemer symbols, designs, and diagrams. S'maash nodded in approval, though he did not yet understand what it was he possessed. Finally, Malkriis spoke one, last time.

"To stay too long in a world of difference can be detrimental to those who are not around you," Aicantar said, slightly confused.

"We're existing in a different flow of time. What is minutes here might be hours or days in our world," Falion clarified.

"Then, we should make haste," S'maath said.

"Yes. I shall accompany you back to the way we came," Aicantar replied.

They all bid farewell to their deep elf friends and returned to the lift. A simple pull of the bottom-most lever took them back to ground level. They slowly walked the corridor, back to the waterfall, and around the dome in the courtyard of Xranthrnl. The eerie twilight provided ample radiance, and the travelers arrived before the podium upholding the Heart of Lorkhan. As they drew near, it vibrated, and the portal back to Tamriel opened.

"I will see you all again soon, I'm sure," Aicantar said, tears in his eyes.

"Goodbye, my friend," Brelyna said.

They all said goodbye and stepped into the portal. After a slight vertigo, they were back in the deep recesses of Damlzthur where a battle had been won, where lava bubbled, where now, there were only five travelers. They made for home.

End

In L'Thu Oad, the brothers split once more. S'maath had a great deal of work to do with the Reyda Tong, and S'maash was anxious to begin studies on the tome he received. Falion had told him it was comprised of mystical designs used in the creation of a new kind of arcane enchanter, a potent and mysterious tool, sure to unravel significant finds in the school of enchanting.

Brelyna kept in touch with S'maath, by way of letters, in hopes than one day, he might move to Skyrim, or she to Morrowind. At the College of Winterhold, she continued to teach alteration. Falion returned to Morthal where his studies attracted Zolara. He, in turn, abandoned the College to work with Falion on new discoveries in the school of conjuration.

S'maash stayed in touch with everyone as he bounced back and forth between his court wizard duties in Whiterun and giving lectures on enchanting at the Mage's College of Winterhold. With the help of Urag, Tolfdir, and occasional meetings with Falion, he learned enough of the dwemer tongue to decipher the tome for himself.

S'maash was shocked to find that among the required artifacts, some of which were nearly indescribable, was an Elder Scroll, Arcane. That became his top priority, and one day, he left in search of it.