~D~

II. Journey Into Madness

(Wundaak kotin Vorohah-Rii)

Miraak stood with his gaze turned to the sky above, hand clenching the sacrificial dagger tightly. He felt his skin crawling with annoyance. It was a gnawing feeling, sparking impatience in his thoughts, and he couldn't focus his mind as precisely as he wanted to. He knew he had never been among the most patient or reserved men, easily agitated, like now. The ridiculous distraction came from behind him where the thief quivered. He could hear the vibrations ringing through the man's shackles as loud as a bell. Waves of irritation crashed through him like an avalanche. He clenched his jaw in frustration, casting a look behind him to the guards containing the captive.

"Silence! Noise is unnecessary!" he growled, eyes flashing under his mask. He turned his gaze back to the sky, struggling to focus.

His reprimand did little good. In fact, it seemed to make the situation worse. The shackles rattled even more loudly, and the metallic noise continued to ring in his ears. There was a thump and a gasp. One of the guards cursed about 'useless peasants'. He must have hit the prisoner. More rattling, and Miraak decided he was not going to get the silence he desired.

Nuisances…

It was becoming hard to contain his steadily rising anger. Thankfully, the distraction was forgotten in a heartbeat. The welcomed roar in the distance rang from heavens of Keizaal, a wonderful sound in the ears of the impatient priest. The dragon responsible became visible in the sky, a dark spot above the horizon. Sosvulzein flew through the air, his wings beating the wind beneath him in grand sweeps. He roared again, closing the distance quickly between himself and the temple. Closer he flew, the setting sun casting his purple body in red with the evening light.

With another eager howl of might, he landed upon his usual resting arch. The ground shuddered under the impact, rumbling his presence. The dovah raised his wings, flapping them twice, scales gleaming. He balanced himself, leaning his head forward, yellow eyes upon the mortals.

"Yein, Thuri Sosvulzein," Miraak greeted.

The dragon snorted impatiently in response.

"Begin," The priest ordered the guards. He waved his hand stiffly at the altar. He was ready to stop the nearby trembling that had grown progressively more vexing. There was a clanking sound caused by the shackles hitting the ground. They were finally silent. Miraak nearly sighed in relief, but stopped himself. Assuming dignity, he straightened his stance more.

Sosvulzein spoke, "eh, sonaak Miraak, nuk wah aam. Hi lost sahlag joor."

The dovah was condescending of the weak sacrifice. Miraak had expected as much. Even he realized how ridiculous the gift was. What choice did he have, though? It was all day to day chance, anyone could be a criminal, and most were hardly dignified. Still...

"Thuri Sosvulzein. I have incinerated others. Their remains have been left upon the other altar on top of-"

"Zu'u zent nii ful," Sosvulzein hissed knowingly. "Incineration is the punishment of traitors. Mahkur do vax muz. Pruzah. Zu'u bahlokus ahrk tiin do niri. I shall return shortly." The dragon leapt off of his perch, wings lifting him up. He flew away, a burst of air pushing his bulky body through the atmosphere.

Miraak turned back to the others.

The thief fell to his knees, whimpering. He shook with fear, displaying it all on his wide-eyed face. The guards seized him and pulled him back to his feet. Callously, they dragged him to the altar underneath the dragon's arch. The thief thrashed wildly at first but went limp when one of the guards hit him again. They flung him against the stone. He collapsed there, begging desperately for his life. Miraak approached him, unsheathing the sacrificial dagger. He tossed the sheath aside and waited. The man was now howling in trepidation.

The dragon priest was more than eager to be done with this; the whole process was becoming embarrassing, though it often did.

Sosvulzein reappeared, his eyes alert. He landed upon the archway above the altar again, balancing himself with his wings. He twisted his neck down to absorb every minute detail of what was transpiring. A growl rumbled through his chest.

"Fear is strong in this one, sonaak. Sahlag." He spat, displeased at the offering before him. He turned his gaze to the criminal. "Ofan vogahriin, balnu joor! Encourage my want to rip you apart, not my disgust! You are nothing, and you will pay your blood to I, SOSVULZEIN!" His voice roared. Apparently, his displeasure would not stop the proceedings. It never did.

The thief probably would have fallen over if he were standing. There was little he could do except plead. "P-p-please!... I b-beg f-forgiveness."

The guards held him, their gazes unreadable under their helmets.

"There can be none," Miraak said, drawing back the blade. He towered over the fearful thief. "Not from your rightful overlords!"

The dagger plunged, glinting in the light. For a minute, it froze, and the cold air, the dragon, and the men all seemed suspended in the same pose. Reality broke in, and the blade sank into the thief's chest. Crimson blossomed under the weapon, dark and rich. The thief coughed, a gurgling in his throat. The guards released him, stepping back. With a savage yank, Miraak pulled his weapon free. The criminal flailed in death's grip, his life force spilling upon the altar.

Sosvulzein's head flew back. He roared, the ground shaking from the force and volume. Whether the sacrifice had been worthless or not, the surest way to please a dovah was through blood and death, both of which the priests had delivered in the form of this criminal. Still gasping, the thief's eyes raised to the dragon. He bore the look of one who knew his death had just been confirmed, full of hopeless and thoughtless emptiness.

Sosvulzein leapt down from the perch, his claws gouging into the ground behind the altar. Miraak and the guards stumbled under wind generated by the huge wings. Before their eyes and just a few paces away, Sosvulzein's huge jaws descended. Within seconds, the dragon snapped the mortal up in his mouth, teeth crushing bone effortlessly. There was a muffled shriek. Yellow reptilian eyes raised, the legs of the thief hanging from the dragon's teeth. Blood spilled down his chin, dripping upon the altar. For a moment, he was still.

Miraak met the satisfied dragon's gaze. A cloud of smoke rose from the dovah's nostrils.

Sosvulzein lifted up, his prey in his mouth. Wings brushed the altar and the archway. He rose rather clumsily into the air from the cramped spot, his wings knocking one of the guards off his feet in an odd display. After a moment, the fallen guard picked himself up, groaning windedly. Miraak watched the god disappear into the darkening sky, undulating in the winds high above the ground.

A roar resonated not long after, and Miraak already knew that Sosvulzein had finished his meal.

Tree branches bent and groaned in the violent wind under their coatings of frost and snow, threatening to snap. The air blew sharply, mercilessly driving cold, stinging temperatures across the land. Miraak did not shiver, even though he recognized the night as bitter. He rarely felt the worst of the weather's chill anymore. It was cold enough, he noted, that the blood was frozen upon the sacrificial blade.

The fingers of his left hand were curled around the stained dagger loosely, and those of his right held onto his staff. He observed the sister moons, Rilahk and Nahkorah, which had risen in the sky, casting their pale light upon the world. The stars seemed far away, glimmering faintly. The dragon priest was reminded of another time in the past when he'd looked to the spaces above the world. It'd been a long while since that life had been in his thoughts.

One particular bygone evening lingered in his mind - the frosty dusk when he'd last heard his favorite verse recited by his mother so long ago, the one he could still recall with ease. It had been the beginning of his true life, his destiny of unforeseen power as a dragon priest. For reasons he did not understand completely, tonight felt similar to that fateful evenfall. He could not help but sense that the dawn, when it came, would herald great change for him.

Miraak stood in the great arena. He had not moved since he'd watched the dragon take the thief. The scarlet evidence of the sacrifice was upon the altar. The blood from the morning's fight still painted the ground, along with all the other mornings when fools felt the need to fight. The older stains were obscured, some more so than others by snow. The memory of it all made him feel alive. Here he stood, in the circle of slaughter that marked his existence. His life of destiny. That feeling set his blood afire with the need to fight and conquer, but his opponents were always worthless, his fights meaningless.

He felt the dagger he held slip from his fingers, landing in the snow. He clenched his fist.

For all of his thoughts on destiny, though, nothing had made him more than just another priest of the council. For all of his power, no great distinguishment had raised him in the eyes of the others. For all he'd been granted, he was reminded once again of how he yearned to make it more; how badly he longed to find what was truly waiting for him. It had to be more than empty fights and weak sacrifices.

Even though it was getting far more late than he typically stayed out, he still did not plan on returning to his chambers. No, a different intent held him at the moment, and he was not even slightly tired. There was that desire he'd not indulged in a long time, a curiosity burning inside, pushing him more and more to seek until he had little else occupying his thoughts.

This has come to me. A twist of fate.

Slowly, he opened his clenched fist and lifted the ring he did not remember retrieving from his pocket, but he knew he had done it. He admired it, watching it glint in the dull light. Yes, it was familiar, and no, he could not place why. However, he was completely unconcerned about its origins. He was only curious to its purpose. Though he'd yet to put it on, he knew that moment would be important. Its function would surely be revealed at that time.

Thoughts churning, he studied the odd design of it once again, tracing it with his finger. A strange magicka seeped from it like ooze. There was promise here, he sensed. A vow of power, strength, and certainty lingered over it. In another's hands, its gifts would be wasted. He intended to make sure that did not happen. It was his now and his alone.

Warily, he raised his gauntlet and held the ring up to the white light of the moons. He slipped it over his forefinger. At first, it seemed too small, getting caught halfway down. Then, the metal shifted before his eyes, and it fell in place neatly. His eyes widened ever so slightly, staring at this artifact of power. If there had been any doubts, they vanished. He was now fully convinced there was something very special in the odd piece jewelry.

After a moment, the first thing he felt beyond his musings was simple disappointment. Nothing happened. There was no rush of power. There was no dash of insight or shock of enlightenment. There wasn't even an extra spark of magicka from it to indicate an enhancing enchantment. He struggled to think of why it did nothing. Was it actually useless? Had the power he sensed been nothing?

It had just conformed to his finger. It was definitely important. There was no other possibility.

Is there? What could it mean?

Miraak became uncertain what to do. He had thought his night would be occupied unlocking this strange anomaly that would no doubt become his own exceptional weapon. Now, the doubts swirled angrily in his mind. He couldn't shake them away. He'd been duped somehow. A trick had been played!

To think that I painted Vahlok the fool for this... Apparently, I am the fool! This was his trick all along! He knew I'd try this! He knew I'd stare stupidly at it, waiting for it to work... I'll bet he is very pleased with his success.

Miraak felt his mood darken, and he dropped his hand. The wind picked up, sending eddies of snow from the ground. He felt his robes sway. He concentrated on the cold and allowed his disappointment to drain. It was unimportant now, he realized. He would be more wary of Vahlok's odd tricks in the future. He would learn from it. His knowledge was an important weapon. He knew he may as well return to his chambers, there was nothing more to achieve here. Besides, there were still the rituals to be made with the first light, following the sacrifice of the dusk.

Cursed thief. Where are the worthy sacrifices? The great warriors of the north or the strange elves in the south? We have not had such deaths in so long, my predecessor oversaw them when I was younger. Those deaths pleased Sosvulzein, the demander of blood, geatly, more than the cringing fools of today. The dragon may find me wanting eventually…

Sometimes there were others to kill. Occasionally, when there were no thieves, arrests were made without notable reasons. Men and women from nowhere would be dragged to their deaths, if only to stop the worship-hungry dragon from razing the temple for the failed duties of its priests.

Miraak was abruptly pulled from his thoughts. He felt strange. A buzzing, tingling sensation ran up his arm. There was a new light source at the edges of his vision. He looked down.

The ring was glowing.

He raised his hand slowly, turning it to examine the faint green light it emanated.

It wasn't a trick!

"Show me!" he demanded.

It's light condensed to shine across the snow. It seemed to be pointing in a specific direction. He followed, feeling as if it were tugging him along. He did not hesitate. He was certain there was no time for caution, feeling the trip would be long. He had to find this ring's secrets and be back in the morning. He could sleep later.

For what seemed to be hours, he trekked the snowy hills, lead steadily away from his own temple. He was not concerned with becoming lost in the vast wilderness. He knew the area well. Not sure where he would end up, though, he plowed on through the cold snow, sometimes sinking up to his knees in it. The wind picked up even more quickly, gusting up from all around and disturbing the snow until it seemed like there was a blizzard in the clear night. Despite this, Miraak pushed on, never slowing his pace. He pursued the faint green light.

He came upon a landmark he knew well, but he had to clamber around it. It was a group of jagged rocks sticking from the earth like the fangs of the dovah he served. It marked the steep slope of rocks that led to an upper tier in the valley; this was the quickest way in the direction the ring indicated. He hauled himself up the ledges, gripping each one steadily until he made it to the top. Snow collected more abundantly on his robes during the ascent. The icy powder slowly melted from his body heat, lightly saturating his robes. The cold air was becoming hard to ignore when he was damp, and the light discomfort irritated and distracted him. He moved through the frozen landscape, maintaining a steady pace to keep the warmth in his limbs.

He tripped on a crevice opening into a jagged hole. Stumbling for few precarious seconds, he quickly righted himself, jerking back from the treacherous edge. Afterwards, he paid his footing more mind, even though it took more time away from him. He had no desire to take a nasty fall.

The twin moons were high in the sky when he clambered yet another hill, focused entirely upon the viridescent shine, his mind nowhere else. When he reached the top of the hill, the light he'd been so actively following started ebbing away. He watched, uncomprehending the significance of the flickering glow for a moment. Soon after, the luminescence faded away. The priest cursed in frustration, clenching his fist. The ring was dull, devoid of even the faintest glimmer.

"The day they granted such objects fallacy!" He snarled.

If this is Vahlok's doing… His thoughts trailed off. How could Vahlok accomplish such a stupid yet elaborate trick like this? It was ridiculous. No...he was missing something.

He looked up, and then in all directions. He glanced to the sky, finding his bearings from the stars. He faced south, knowing he'd been heading steadily north for the last couple of hours. For a minute, he considered backtracking. But what good would that do? The ring would just lead him back here. Maybe he should just turn around and return before he failed his morning duties. However, he'd already come this far, and he wasn't ready to give up yet. He decided to continue his search in the immediate area. If that failed, he'd leave. He took a step.

His other foot abruptly slipped in the cold snow, sliding off of something odd and smooth. He twisted, catching himself before he fell.

He stilled in realization.

He'd been so absorbed in his task, he had hardly noticed where he was. He felt astonishment, and wanted to check his assumption. Bending down, he cleared the snow away with hurried, swiping motions to uncover the object he'd lost his footing on. A large, gleaming-white surface was soon under his palm - the unmistakable edge of a white bone.

"The Hill of Bones..." he muttered. He stared at it, thinking.

It was said the dovah had once fought a terrible battle amongst themselves here long ago and that the remains had been dragged by the survivors into a singularly large pile - this hill. The mound itself was very large and hard to miss. However, buried under several layers of snow, it could easily be mistaken as another hill of soil.

Quickly, he half-slid, half-leapt down the side, tripping over the jagged remains underfoot and once again nearly taking an unpleasant spill, but he was undeterred. He couldn't stop remembering the crazed hunter's words from the trial, even if he had deemed them as unimportant at the time. He'd seen her as no more sane than her compatriots. Now though, the implications of the words were almost stunning...

"The barrow! My lord Miraak… Seek the barrow under the Hill of Bones! You will understand!"

It rang loud and clear now.

"The barrow!"

That's what she had said.

I do not know how, but somehow she knew about a power here and about the ring it is connected to... Is that what caused the hunters so much trouble? That is why they turned on the guards and attacked them? What power must be here to incite rebellion in the feeble minds of the weak!

He was not a fool. He could handle whatever was here. Obviously, it'd corrupted the minds of the others, but the weak would forever be susceptible to losing themselves. Despite this thought, he could not shake the feeling that he was forgetting an important detail from the trial. He'd not absorbed even half of what they said.

It is not important… I must find whatever this…'barrow' is. Too much time has already been wasted.

Miraak felt his confidence return. Determined, he scoured the base for anything that would indicate what might be his destination - the barrow or some metaphorical equivalent. It was possible, he knew.

The world began to dim around him. The dragon priest glanced up. Smooth gray clouds rolled across the sky, blocking the moons and stars. The wind whipped even more snow into the air.

A snowstorm most likely...

The dragon priest persisted though he could barely see. He stopped long enough to allow magicka to flow through his staff. It lit up, shining in the darkened world. A glowing ball of white light drifted into the air, bobbing serenely. He let his magicka recede, commanding the light to follow him. After a moment, his search seemed to yield a result. A small stone about twenty feet from the mound caught his attention. He moved towards it, plunging into snow up to his waist. He waded towards the stone, hoping that it would be what-

The ground fell out from underneath of him. He dropped down, the sudden descent stealing the breath from his lungs. He landed harshly upon something, but the object seemed to absorb the impact of his fall. He took a moment to roll sideways, breathing carefully. A dull ache made itself known in his side. He grunted, staring up at the wispy light from his spell floating down towards him loyally. He paused and collected himself.

What did…?

A glance sideways revealed what had broken his fall - a dead body.

He didn't mean to push up so quickly, but it had surprised him in spite of himself. He calmly brushed wet snow from his robes and collected his staff. He silently assessed the situation. A flight of stairs led up to the level of snow he'd just fallen from, mostly buried beneath the white layers. Nearby, a carved, metal door imbedded in a stone wall seemed to lead under the mound of bones, made nearly invisible by the drifting white. However, it looked like it'd been opened recently.

The barrow...under the hill. Did the dovah gods hide this place themselves with the bones of their fallen foes? If so, then should I leave it be?

Ridiculous. If the dovah had hid it, it was not to deter men from seeking it, but to test whoever did. The hunters from earlier had obviously failed that test.

He had found this place, but he was now convinced there would be more to this test than that. He shifted from foot to foot at the thought. The reward would be undeniably beneficial. He almost felt his heart skip. He was far more excited over this than he had been about anything else in years.

He made for the doorway, wary. With effort, he pulled it open and pushed it back. Remembering his earlier assessment of snow, he glanced at the sky. He left the door propped open, not wanting to get snowed into the strange chamber and trapped.

Once inside, he gave the small hovering light a bit more magicka when it threatened to flicker out. He then made his way through a small, chilly corridor. The walls were close and covered in frozen condensation. There were a few bodies lying here, but for the most part, he was focused on watching for traps or creatures that may have killed these weak hunters. Fortunately, nothing impeded his progress.

Soon, he was greeted by a circular chamber where he silently observed the odd architecture for a moment. It was not like the temples that those of Keizaal built. Instead, there were interlocking bars of steel overlaying stone. Along the edges of this chamber were long lattices of metal weaving up to the ceiling. However, the round metal floor held what was most interesting. In the center was a stand with a small handle, revealed by his floating light.

The amount of bodies surrounding the switch caused Miraak to hesitate.

He knelt down and examined the body closest to him, turning it over and pulling back the fur hood. There was no indication of trauma upon the frozen skin. No wounds showed, and there was no evidence of what had killed the man. Perhaps these people had been snowed in and starved. Or even frozen in the depths of this place. It was definitely a cold enough. Still, Miraak felt that was not the correct reason. He tensed with nerves.

The dragon priest spent a few moments placing wards along the floor near the stand. He summoned a barrier around it for extra protection from possible projectiles or magicks. Of course, it was not infallible, but it should be enough. When he was finished, he seized the handle, pulling it down. The ring upon his finger started glowing that murky green color again. He released his grip in surprise. The color crept through the handle and spread down the pedestal containing it, which became illuminated. Unbidden, a dark chill crept down his spine.

What foul magicka is this?

A piece of metal on the far side of the chamber fell back, revealing a small, hidden passage. A slight, crazed noise carried out from this passageway and Miraak whipped his staff before him, listening closely. His right hand nearly went to the sword at his waist, but he restrained it. Swords were a last resort for a priest, unnessary in this moment. The noise sounded like laughter, but more distorted, strange. With his weapon brimming with magicka, he stepped forward, eyes narrowed. He was alert, on edge, even, ready for anything that might present itself. He crept down the murky, foreboding corridor, stepping along the grated floor. When he peered down, he could see dark ice beneath it. His breath plumed in the air, too loud for his liking.

Another chamber resided at the end of this passage, waiting. Here, a strange greenish mist rose from the ground. He tensed as the cackling resounded again, seeming to bounce around the room. The chamber smelt faintly of burnt leather, stale water...and blood.

Movement grabbed Miraak's attention. He glanced towards it, trying to keep his caution from exploding into action. More movement. A mad chuckle escaped the small, hapless form huddled in the back. It shuddered violently. The dragon priest focused upon it, intrigued and uncertain.

"Show your face!" Miraak commanded, his irritation increasing. Whatever the creature was, he wasn't going to put up with this furtiveness. He vaguely wondered how it had gotten in here.

Two wild, dark eyes looked up through a mass of gray hair. The hair trembled, as if it were an animal all of its own, breathing in terror. It was impossible to tell if the scrawny shape was male or female. Tattered pelts clung to the emaciated form, further adding to the lack of identifiable traits, and a rasping laughter escaped its mouth.

Words left it in a cold, empty voice, "dark, clawing pincers...slimy black waters...old one… Gardener of men… Pain. All in one. Everything you hate, but want. Temptation...truth is cold...unkind...cruel."

"What is it that you say?" Miraak didn't let his guard down as he eyed this strange creature before him.

"The keeper of fates...knowledge...hehehehe," it giggled. A thin arm and hand seemed to appear from its body and pointed behind it. Miraak's gaze was drawn to the caged door there in the wall. "I took too much...motr than I was not ready for...dark whispers...ancient promises...if only I had...more power. More thoughts, words, whispers, knowledge." Another distorted chuckle followed.

Miraak's eyes were only for the prize that must lay beyond this...thing.

"Out of my way, creature, or I'll leave your ashes as an offering to the gods."

The small form laughed, which became a raucous cough. It wheezed, then murmured, "don't let me get in the way. The knowledge calls to all, but few can reach it. None that I know, anyway..."

Miraak raised his hand, impatient, ready to turn this creature to ash. He noticed the ring was glowing again, brighter than ever before. It caught his attention, stopping his actions.

"But, why, you have a key!" it howled so loudly, its voice cracked. "I could never reach the book...not that one needs to...to see...one only needs to think enough…"

Miraak started forward, no longer bothering to grace this thing with the dignity of his attention. It scrambled out of the way. He reached the door. Examining it with the magick light, he found a small hole. He placed his fist up to it, and the ring fit the slot perfectly. Again, the odd, green magic extended outward and the door glowed. It opened in an unimpressive manner, creaking loudly in the chamber. Inside was a large, black book, sitting on a pedestal that was much designed like the one the handle in the previous chamber had been on.

Instantly, the priest knew he'd found his prize. The magicka resonated from it strongly, nearly stifling to his tuned senses.

"At last. It is mine. I knew the ring had more to it than Vahlok revealed," he said to himself.

Dark whispers seemed to flow from the tome, promising all of its power. The intrigue caressed his mind, warming his desire to know, to learn. All that it offered, it could make him more. Everything he'd ever sought was right here waiting for him.

He pulled the cage closed behind him, wary of the odd creature sneaking up on him. It clicked shut, unopenable without the ring. Then, he reached out and grabbed his reward. The flow of eagerness racing inside his veins increased now that the tome of power lay in his hands. Yes, this would make him stronger. Feared and respected, he could not be forgotten after this night. He would find his destiny.

This book was the answer. It may take time to decipher all of its secrets, but he was willing to take that time to gain its knowledge.

He opened it eagerly, feeling the magicka flow out of its cover like a black wind. The text moved and swirled amidst the pages. It was impossible to focus on a single moving phrase written in a language so odd, he didn't recognize it. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief. Sentences under his scrutiny morphed into large, green tentacles and slid from the pages. They coiled around him before he could comprehend what was happening or even begin to resist. A dark chuckle resonated from the room. He struggled, but couldn't move. He was frozen for a few terrible seconds. Then, his consciousness faded to black.

.

End of Chapter.

Dragon language translations -

Sonaak - Priest
Sahlag - Pathetic
Eh, sonaak Miraak, nuk wah aam. Hi lost sahlag joor. - Ah, priest Miraak, ready to serve. You have pathetic mortal.
Zu'u zent nii ful. - I expect it so.
Mahkur do vax muz. Pruzah. Zu'u bahlokus ahrk tiin do niri. - A pile of traitor men. Good. I (am) hungry and weary of my hunt.
Ofan vogahriin, balnu joor! - Give defiance, worthless mortal!