(A/N): Here we are! It's time at the bar, and I'm not ready in the slightest!
In the last chapter, we were stuck sitting through the monthly maintenance that someone with as many scars and burns as Stradlater has needs to go through to keep themselves fresh and tasty. Filling the awkward process of being oiled up by a racist pervert dinosaur man with a penchant for firing lightning bolts out of his fingers with banter, the conversation drifted towards a darker path.
Now the pair of wanderers reflect on the very event that cemented their partnership, and gave the Redguard the battle brand he continues to be burdened by three years later…
WARNING: Spelling errors, mildly inappropriate language, bad jokes, a story set entirely in flashback form, me trying to write a complex psychological relationship despite having the brain capacity of half a pea pod, rusty writing, some unintentional homoerotic connotations and an attempt at writing a violent and bloody battle without being cringy!
Chapter Two: Overtime
He'd never quite gotten the hang of Skyrim's rocky terrain.
It was already a task and a half to keep yourself moving whilst festooned in layers upon layers of cast plate armour, yet in spite of his years in the northern realm of Tamriel the Redguard swordsman had never truly adapted to its contours. The flats of his feet were accustomed to the dense sands of Hammerfell's endless deserts, where even if there was a hill in your way it wasn't uncommon for it to suddenly disappear in the wind within an hour.
The incline of the green and brown highlands were taking their toll on his back, strenuous sweat pooling in his boots ever so subtly. It was a challenge to travel these lands lightly, let alone in a full set of armour from head to toe. His was a patchwork set, Orichalcum in some places and Nordic Iron in others, with a touch of his native steel here and there.
Constant maintenance had transformed the once elegant piece of art to a testament of a warrior's struggles, full of dents and imperfections. You could probably debate over whether or not what he wore was even the same set of armour he began with – so little of the original truly remained.
With the help of his hands he continued to scale, moving like a werewolf or some other manbeast between the crags and crannies. Chilled air filled his lungs as he climbed, crisp and satisfying for his heaving lungs. Clawing through a thin layer of foliage he at last reached the summit, tugging the strap of his shield over his shoulder and squeezing the familiar hilt of his trusty blade at his hip.
From this distant vantage point he could see through the shroud of the Hjaalmarch's dense treeline, the vast expanse of the Nordic lowlands miles under him a wonder to behold. As a boy or a man in the making he'd sometimes stare across the endless expanse of the deserts flats, going off for eternity across the horizon. Who could've imagined that a land so very different could have been so close to home?
The Redguard let his breath gradually return to him, flexing his left shoulder that carried the weight of his shield like a trader's strung up satchel. The clouds drifted daintily, minding their own business as was their usual routine. In some ways, the trials of this land had literally left him breathless.
What a profoundly beautiful place.
"What an absolute pig-sty of a dump." his companion suddenly announced, breaking his vow of silence after an hour of bliss. That had to be a new record. A pair of green hands scrambled at the grass for purchase, his feet frantically kicking and scraping at the incline for grip. "People honestly live here?"
It would've been satisfying to sit there and watch for a few moments, but his green friend already had enough things to complain about. Kneeling at the edge the Redguard clasped his colleague's collar with a vise like grip and heaved him up in a complete and total shambles. He flopped flat on his back, gasping like a beached fish who'd just had his favourite novel spoiled.
"That's the last hill." the Redguard noted, remaining crouched alongside his acquaintance. "It's downhill from here, give or take. At least that's what the map said."
The Argonian mage made a low hissing noise, one that you wouldn't want to hear so far away from civilisation. "Why couldn't we just go around, Redguard?"
"This was a shortcut." he defended, trying to flex his spine without drawing too much attention to himself. "No one goes this way."
The magician fumed, swatting at his robes all gentry like. "I can't help but wonder why no one goes this way." he snarled, eventually shifting his focus to the state of his black or brown talons. They were chipped, more so than usual. "Look at my hands. I had lovely hands!"
They looked no different to the Redguard, but then the magically inclined seemed to have an affinity for fashion, beauty, and eating anything that would sound cool in an alchemical recipe to see what happens. You had to give credit to the man who had the brains and brawn to eat a Sabrecat's Tooth without any milk for the sake of alchemical science.
It was safe to say that the whinging lizard was shagged out from the ascent, the wind having been knocked out of him in spite of his light luggage. He was a spindly and bony specimen, the bagginess of his trousers and overcloak compensating for his frightful lack of bulk. The only muscle he had was in his right arm, that's for sure.
The warrior pulled a waterskin from his belt and handed it over with a sloshing sound, wisely suggesting that he "Rest up for a few minutes."
Not that he needed to give that advice.
His right arm – his favourite arm – reached out and snatched the waterskin from the man's loose grip, pulling off the cap with his front teeth and swigging back the lot. The coldblooded creature glugged and glugged for an uncomfortably long time, until pulling back with loud gasp of satisfaction. Content for the moment he plugged it before cordially slapping it against the Redguard's chestplate with a dull clunk, flopping back to the ground like an unruly child.
Raised eyebrows hidden behind the visor of his steel helmet, the knight experimentally uncorked the waterskin with misplaced optimism. The entire thing had been drained to a tee, right down to the nooks – no doubt the Argonian's darting tongue had gone on a total rampage that would give even the lewdest teenage girl something to blush about.
Men of the desert didn't need half the water the average person needed. Disappointed nonetheless, he returned the waterskin to his belt. He'd need to remember to refill it at the next opportunity. As a native of Black Marsh where moisture was commonplace, the magician had claimed that his people required double the amount of water a Nord or Imperial needed to keep themselves going. To be fair it was probably complete bollocks; a naked lie to skive a few free pints off of kind and unsuspecting bartenders from the less informed villages of Skyrim.
Oh, it was total bollocks.
Still, it worked didn't it?
Taking a few notes from his own book, namely "rest up for a few minutes", the Redguard carefully lowered himself down and leant against a birch tree for support, the thin trunk moving slightly to accommodate his mass. As comfortable as he could be he turned to watch the lowlands with a childish glee, fascinated by the sights before him.
After a vague number of minutes Wonders lifted his head, scratching his glistening snout and furrowing his brow with anger. It was hard to tell whether or not an Argonian was angry actually, it could've been one of several emotions that he wore on his face.
"Redguard." he called, pulling with his neck and rising to a seated position. "Are you sure you know the way?"
He hated being called "Redguard", it felt so impersonal. He'd told the lizard a thousand times that he had a name, even if it wasn't one he'd picked out for himself. Everyone else called him Stradlater, so what was the Argonian's excuse? "I'm a lot more sure than I was four hours ago, Silent." Stradlater huffed, his armour creaking in deliberation. "The city's through these trees, in the marshes."
"Right." the magician spoke with the tone you tended to hear from exasperated parents who just wanted their kids to shut up for a moment. "Okay. Yep. Uh-huh. Got it."
Of course Stradlater continued, "I'm no tracker or anything, but it's simple enough." he wasn't quite sure why he tagged that extra bit on really. In truth his knowledge of the area was pretty lacking, but it seemed self-explanatory for the most part. Skyrim was a big place for sure, but holds and civilisation tended to stand out from the wilds like a sore pinkie. The Redguard watched the skies carefully, feeling a shudder of apprehension run down his spine – or a lukewarm bead of sweat from earlier, he wasn't quite sure. "… Hey, Silent."
"I wasn't even talking that time!" his grumpy companion yapped, sneering in offence. "Silent? Pah."
"Your name is Silent!" he pointed out. Silent-He-Wonders to be exact, although that was an approximation for non-Argonians to use. Actual Saxhleel names tended to wreck the vocal chords of men and mer beyond repair, which was something the magician never neglected to point out – the superiority of his people's tongue and voice boxes to "lesser" races that is. Stradlater got to the point, "We should get a move on, Silent. The skies are getting grey, Silent."
Silent mumbled something to himself like a bitter old coot, throwing himself to his feet and dusting off his rear. "This bounty had better be worth it." he moaned, flexing his tail like this was his morning stretch. "They'll skimp on it. They always do."
Not even gracing such wise observations with a response, the pair were back to walking. Silent seemed to pick up his pace, neither encumbered by armour nor cautious like his colleague. The Redguard in particular was anxious about the descent. One small mistake would likely snowball into disaster, the acceleration of the slope throwing them into a painful roll that would be impossible to recover from.
On one hand it would get them to the bottom in record time.
On the other, they'd probably break enough legs to satisfy any local theatre productions.
Testing waters, Stradlater asked "Have you done this sort of work before then, Silent?"
"Don't call me that." he muttered, his distance increasing. Maybe this sort of mobility was innate to the people of the marshes? It would be abnormal for someone from Winterhold or some other mage's college to be able to move this swiftly. Catching himself on a tree and straddling it like a working girl, Silent took one glance back. "… And yes. I'll have you know that I was going around head hunting and hunting heads back when your dumps looked like mustard."
"Aren't we the same age?" the armoured man pointed out. There was a silence, the kind indeterminate but probably not a good one. "Anyway," Stradlater said, "that's a relief I suppose. We made a decent combination out there."
The pair had only met eachother a few days earlier in the Moorside Inn of Morthal, which in spite of its name didn't seem to actually be by the side of any blatant moors. The both of them had gone for the same bounty poster on the tavern's otherwise empty billboard, and other a vicious tugging duel and exchange of unspeakable insults, they'd settled – eventually – on halving the reapings between them.
Silent-He-Wonders had been considering his options since their quest had been completed. He supposed that a big burly meat shield would probably come in handy in the long run, especially if said meat shield also had a sharp sword that he could poke people with. It was a trick of the trade, but half of a magician's job was to simply put on a stellar lightshow – in the end they did the exact same thing as everyone else in battle, it just looked a lot cooler.
Suddenly Stradlater stumbled, his foot snagging on a stray root from a wonky tree. With lightning reflexes he caught himself on a trunk, taking a swift intake of air in relief. Regaining both his balance and composure, he looked towards the Argonian – who in turn returned his look with a deep stare, squinting at him as if undressing the Redguard with his mind. He couldn't help but wonder why the first metaphor that he thought of involved being undressed by a coldblooded magician in the great outdoors, but he quickly moved on before he discovered anything unsightly. "Silent?" he tried, before shifting it around for a change, "Wonders?"
Eventually Wonders found his voice. "You sure you're a Redguard?" he pressed, having assumed a rather stylish arms-folded pose against his tree. All he needed now was a band of merry men and a pair of scandalous tights that accentuated the arse. "You look a bit… Off."
This again.
"Imperial on my father's side." Stradlater carefully manoeuvred himself, trying to put himself back on track. The descent would get easier the further down they went, if you looked at it logically. "I think. That's what they told me at least."
He noted the vague use of the word "they", but decided not to push it for the moment. Shuddering in such an over the top manner that it simply couldn't be fake, Wonders snarled with distaste. "With that sort of pedigree, no wonder." he sighed mournfully, "My condolences."
The apparently half-Redguard blinked, "What?" he said in confusion, finding an awkward but consistent gait as he steadily kept moving. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you know." Wonders mumbled, unhelpfully. "Your pedigree? Not gonna get much" he punctuated the word with a pump of his fist, colloquially known as the gesture for poon, "with pedigree like that, aren't you?"
"Stop saying that word." Stradlater urged, finding it increasingly weird. Gods forbid, was he all for ethnic purity like some Thalmor weirdo or something? "What, so you don't get half Argonian, half Nord babies or anything like that?"
"Urgh, imagine that." the eugenics aficionado retched with genuine disgust, like he'd just swallowed an eyelash or seen his bank statement for the month. "Imagine all the hair."
He almost did, but thankfully he saved himself. The warrior held onto a low branch and used it for balance as he walked, "Just keep an eye on your footing." he reminded, the Argonian continuing to outpace him. So much for spindly and bony. "If you trip on this incline you won't be able to stop yourself."
"Let that be your excuse, and I'll make mine." Wonders snarked, feeling right chuffed for such an ingenious comment. A pity that he wasn't quite sure what it meant. He continued to skip at a decent pace, the soles of his boots more gripping than a particularly well written horror story.
Nords, Imperials, Redguards and Bretons. Silent-He-Wonders had never really understood the concept of the different races of men. To him in the grand scheme of things they all looked roughly the same, as did all the types of Mer – with the exception of Orcs, but then you could forgive him for that. Was that racist of him?
Probably.
But then again, who really cares?
The slant of the path was beginning to ease, the Argonian's stride increasing as the slope dropped lower and lower. Even the treeline began to thin, the thick thickets at last behind him as civilisation gradually began to come closer.
Increasingly further back, Stradlater's hands were full trying to keep all of his gear on his person whilst simultaneously holding onto trees to keep himself from stumbling. It was a tad bit too late to think this, but maybe – just maybe – this shortcut was a bad idea. He could probably use a bit of help, as embarrassing as it was. "Wonders!" he called out, standing still and finding his balance.
No answer.
"Wonders?" he repeated, but to no avail. How far ahead was the Argonian anyway? Grudgingly he cut his impromptu break short and continued his clumsy advance. What on Nirn was wrong with that mage anyway? Had something happened to him in his youth that had turned him into a complete and utter loony? There was something off putting about him, and while he'd always known it was there it hadn't truly stood out until just now.
Pedigree, really?
Thankfully the path began to ease, the dense trees having masked this fact with frightening efficiency. Bringing his stride up to a very easy jog, Stradlater moved forward and eventually caught up with the robed lizard. His momentum hadn't slowed completely by the time he reached him, and he bumped into Wonders' back lightly.
"Sorry Wonders." he sighed, patting his shoulder. The lizard didn't react in the slightest, his body stiff and his gaze fixed on the sky. Leaning back with a click of bone and a whine of iron, Stradlater followed his eyes and too froze completely still. "... Is that what I think it is?"
"Depends on what you think it is." Wonders replied in monotone, somehow managing to say this without even moving his mouth. His face was locked in a state of perpetual confusion, like someone had told him a rude joke and he wasn't sure whether or not he should be amused by it or deeply offended.
Whatever it was it was big, and it was getting bigger and bigger. Either it was growing exponentially or it was coming closer, and either choice seemed to be suboptimal. Clad in a thick scale mail, its tail as long as its wings were wide, it descended upon the Hjaalmarch without an audience to receive it. It had a faint but noticeable green tint to its rough hide – perhaps it and Wonders were long lost cousins? The Redguard didn't take his eyes off it, simultaneously mesmerised and horrified by the beast. Suddenly remembering that he was in the middle of a conversation, he muttered "You tell me, then I'll tell you."
"Okay." the mage said, and that was all he said for a while. Its talons were large enough to put him to shame, its maw lined with row after row of jagged teeth like the broken glass of a wine bottle in a bar room brawl. What was the point of having so many lines of teeth anyway? To chew something on its way down?
He thought about it for a moment.
Yeah, that was probably the exact reason why.
Something, or someone.
He rolled his tongue for a few moments, his throat having dried even after he'd drained the waterskin not too long ago. His hands clutched at his belt, wringing at it brutally. "I think that's a dragon."
Stradlater went over the facts that had been presented to them, and scientifically deduced that in all probability this massive winged creature with more teeth than all of the Septim Dynasty combined that had just landed in the Hjaalmarch and was currently roasting a herd of goats with a stream of fire from its gob, was indeed a dragon. "I agree." the Redguard concurred, taking a moment to lift his visor just in case he was mistaken. Nope, the dragon was still there. The goats weren't though, not that it particularly mattered but it was a detail nonetheless. "That is a dragon, yes."
Neither of them made to move or even talk, the pair simply watching in bafflement as it continued to ravage the country. Suddenly it left off a shrill roar to the skies, as if warning the whole of Tamriel that it had arrived from the pits of Oblivion itself and was here to collect.
There were a million questions that needed answering, but it wasn't like either of them had any answers between them. The hinges of Stradlater's visor creaked in the wind, his hand still holding it open. Wonders spoke quietly, "... Or maybe it's a Wyvern?"
"A Wyvern?" Stradlater echoed, the visor squeaking.
"Yeah. It's got the… T-The…" reality finally began to kick in, the magician realising that they had found themselves trapped between sharp jaws and a rockface. "By the Hist, that's a bloody freakin' dragon Redguard!" he whimpered, his voice cracking stupidly. "Teeth! Fire! Wings!"
The warrior managed to hold on for a few seconds longer than the Argonian, although he'd arrived late so it wasn't something he could really brag about. "I know, I know!" Stradlater snarled, suddenly grabbing his companion and pulling him to the ground for cover within the dewy grass.
"You said this was the way to Morthal!" Wonders complained, speaking in that high pitched sort of whisper that was a lot louder than your normal tone of voice. He parted the grass with his fingers, staring across the fields at the monstrosity. "There wasn't a dragon here before!"
Dragons had been dead for generations, or so people often said – slain to the last by Tiber Septim or something along those lines. Of course there hadn't been a dragon here. But there was now, and this was Morthal without a doubt. The familiar winding road was visible from this distance, the worn crossing signs labelling the paths you could take.
Which meant a dragon had just appeared outside of Morthal.
Oh.
"What are we gonna do?" Wonders nagged repeatedly, rubbing his eyes in disbelief and headache. It was painful to even comprehend what he was looking at. "Redguard? What are we gonna do?"
His teeth were chattering, even though he felt hot from the strain of travel. It was faint, but he could hear it. Through his rising anxiety the warrior weighed their painfully limited options. The creature was making its way towards Morthal, which while being one of the quieter cities in Skyrim still had hundreds of people within – and a ghost of a town guard, only in the smallest of double digits.
There were only two ways that this scenario could go. The dragon was either going to find and kill them before destroying the entire city, or if it felt adventurous it might do that the other way around. Either way, this wasn't looking like a particularly good day for anyone involved.
He suddenly said "We have to fight it." without realising, his mind in a quandary. Stradlater blinked with uncertainty, doubting himself just as much as the Argonian did. He turned to him, desperate for some sign of approval. "… Right?"
All he got was a bewildered hiss. "Fight it?"
"Yeah…?" he responded, squeezing his visor still to stop its incessant creaking. "Yeah, that's it." he said with confidence he didn't feel. Something was starting to click into place; a bit of martial prowess from an ex-military man. He'd dealt with plenty of foes in the past. Wasn't the idiom that the bigger they were the harder they fell? "We fight it. We… We stop it before it makes it to the city."
He was practically thinking aloud.
Wonders pulled a face best explained as "completely and totally tired of your utter nonsense". "Are you still shagged out from the climb, Redguard? Is there not enough air getting to your brain?"
It was at that point that Stradlater's composure finally came to him, that of a veteran warrior when the impending battle loomed. He had no clue what he was spouting to be honest, but he was afraid and Wonders was too. There was no shame in fear, and confidence – even fake – could bolster your courage and steady your nerves.
"When the sun rises something will be dead, Wonders." he rose to a crouch, feeling for his hilt and finding strength alongside it. "It's up to us to make sure that it's the dragon that buys it." he was on his feet now, and snapped down his visor with a badass clack of metal. Bringing his shield to bear on an arm seized by pins and needles, his masked face turned roughly in the Argonian's direction. "… So come on!"
That's how he ended his inspirational speech.
It was a lame ending, but it could've been worse.
And with that he began to walk, stepping over the bump of the ditch and marching steadily onwards with weapon drawn. Wonders remained prone in the dirt, torn over what to do as his partner brandished his well-honed blade.
He could easily abandon the fool right there and then and make a break for it through the trees, but he just knew that if he tried something like that he'd somehow bring so much attention to himself that the dragon would catch wind of him and swoop in to kill him first before shifting to the Redguard; classic irony and karmic justice, through and through.
Cursing at the gods of several religions besides his own, the mage's blood ran even icier than usual as he pulled himself over the ridge with an awkward amount of effort.
They'd better give him gold in the afterlife.
Or at least a bottle of wine.
Stradlater kept moving on, his upper body locked in the same position as he focused on the target before him. The dragon was yet to notice him, and he walked as if wading through waist high waters. His neck stiff he glanced back ever so slightly, spotting Wonders reluctantly moving ten or twenty paces behind. "Keep me covered, Argonian" he spoke more savagely than he intended, but then adrenaline often does that to a man. "Just like Orotheim." he advised, "Just like Orotheim."
Just like Orotheim.
Repeating it like a mad mantra, he comforted his numb nerves. Orotheim had been where their bounty was, where Stradlater had taken the front while Wonders hung back – living artillery to his front line. Against men and mer the fear always became a heightened calm when battle washed over you, it was a peculiar and out of body experience that many a warrior sought and many a skald romanticised in song.
In truth there was little to it really. Your body merely became thoughtless and instinctual, turning to the bestial powers that all held deep within their hearts. Battle had been the soul of the Redguard in days of old; it was what made them who they were.
The dragon had noticed them. The problem of scale often confused and befuddled onlookers, for the dragon was still a fair distance from him. It was just that big. It could probably swallow him in one simple gulp and use his scimitar to pick at his teeth. It made a grim roar as if insulted by his audacity, a statement of intent that sent the desert wanderer's heart ricocheting within his ribcage.
With that it began to claw its way forward, its body assuming the posture of a feline on the hunt.
Stradlater continued to walk, daunted but not showing it in the slightest. It's not like there was any way out now, was there? Left foot then right, left foot then right. What in the Pantheon's name was he doing here, in the middle of a foreign land facing off a mythical being? What would his gaffer back in Hammerfell think?
He shoved it all down to the back of his skull, willing himself to do what must be done. And with that, and without the dragon's consent, he began to jog.
Then it became a run.
Then a sprint, which sprung into a one-man charge.
As he threw himself into the battle that would change the lives of all involved, there was little going through his mind. He couldn't feel the fierce winds or the damp soil he trod on, nor could he see the terrifying grin of the towering wyvern. All he could feel was the tremble of his arm, and the ringing of his pulse. That was the rhythm he focused on, gradually rising from a dull hum to a vicious tempo.
There were no war horns or battle drums in Hammerfell.
A man's heart was his own.
Sword raised above his head like a barbarian's cudgel and his shield to his front ready to deflect attacks, the earth shook with his pumping feet. The dragon, as if amused by this, watched the miniscule mortal for a few precious moments before swinging a talon at him – the weakest part of its arsenal, yet easily capable of slicing through flesh like warm butter on a summer's day.
Stradlater threw his body down in a well timed dodge, the deadly claws whooshing harmlessly above his head. Rising with vengeance his brought up his scimitar in an upwards slash, the razor's edge connecting with the underside of the dragon's jaw.
Unintentionally he'd landed his first strike on one of the most vulnerable regions of a dragon's body – one of few chinks in its impenetrable mail of scales. It reared back less in pain and more in alarm, perhaps realising that it had underestimated the Redguard before it. He backpedalled two steps, blade still poised to do damage.
He'd made it mad.
Moving like a lion tamer on a gimmicky crew of misfits and entertainers, Stradlater swung his weapon left and right roughly towards the dragon's throat like a whip. He'd intended this to dissuade it from advancing further, but it had the exact opposite effect.
It lurched forward with speed that betrayed its lumbering size, its jagged maw aiming to crush his skull between its teeth. He in turn raised his shield, bashing the wyvern over the side of its head with the boss of the large hunk of metal. There was no way he'd be able to take an attack from such a beast head on – dodging and deflection would be the answer to this foe.
His prey reeling, Stradlater cuffed it over the side of the head with his sword once again. Repelled a second time the dragon lifted its head with a screech, the Redguard stepping forward with restless feet and a body bouncing with adrenaline.
Playtime was over, or so the dragon felt. Rearing back on its hind feet and standing erect at full height it flapped its ragged wings, sending a gust of brutal air through the clearing. Even clad in heavy armour the Redguard couldn't maintain his footing, the whirlwind sending him flat on his back. It threw itself forward, scrunching the earth between its talons as it made for its helpless quarry, lunging straight for the jugular.
What it didn't expect was a great ball of fire to smash against its chest and send him reeling, but to be honest you could sympathise with that mistake couldn't you? Silent-He-Wonders stood with smoking hands on the ridge to provide cover for his companions, his fingers wiggling as if in greeting.
Its pride more wounded than its body, the dragon's attention turned to the Argonian. Wonders snarled something in his peculiar language, clenching his fists before shaking up the formula and dashing a volley of ice bolts towards the hulking behemoth. He hoped that a billion sharp things laced in magic could pierce its thick hide all at once. On reflection he was pretty sure that back in the day his school books had often said something about dragon scale being impenetrable, but that wasn't the sort of information that was gonna help his already lacking morale now was it?
A rough drumming sound caught the legendary beast's ears, the armoured Redguard pummelling his shield with the haft of his cutlass. He was trying to keep its eyes fixed on him through a taunt; an invitation that it'd have to get through him first before it could take on the magician alone. Their fight wasn't over yet.
The dragon happily obliged, rearing back in all its majesty once again. Stradlater kept his shield up, eying the creature suspiciously. It almost looked like it was choking on something, a red glow building up in its gullet and rising upwards through its chest. It was at this moment that the extraordinary being spoke in its native tongue, gracing its foe with the opportunity to witness an ancient language dead to the waking world.
"Yol toor shul."
Fire, Inferno, Sun.
Within an instant the warrior brought his shield to bear once again, smashing the dragon's vulnerable face to the side as a beautiful cascade of flames erupted from its maw. Stradlater grimaced with effort, feeling the searing heat inches away from him as the flames set the treeline alight like candles across a festive street.
Silent-He-Wonders was no naturalist in spite of his heritage, but the fires would quickly spread and burn the forest to ashes and dust if this kept up. At this rate there wasn't going to be a Hjaalmarch left for him to get his hard earned coin from, and as self elected Master of Currency within this duo he wasn't going to let some massive lizard wannabe ruin good business.
Reaching back into his trusty satchel he clutched onto a phial filled with a stagnant looking concoction with a thick layer of speckled skin on its top. Popping the cork with his thumb and bracing his tastebuds for a bollocking, he down the lot before tossing the flacon to the ground for local birds to build their nests from in the future.
Empowered for the moment by his homebrewed fortification potion – a drink that somehow managed to be crunchy – he raised his hands to the heavens as if calling down their wrath, and began to weave a great bolt of lightning with his lithe fingers.
Alas, summoning the heavens themselves tended to attract adverse attention. The wyvern wasn't at all discouraged by the troublesome Redguard, and as if forgetting he existed in an instant and enthralled by shiny things, it clawed itself forward in a roaring stampede. Caught completely unawares Stradlater lunged to the side to avoid being crushed by its advance, managing to roll onto his back just quick enough to catch a glimpse of his breathtaking foe taking to the skies in flight.
He struggled back to his feet, spinning his sword between his sore fingers and regaining his tried and true battle stance. He had hoped that the dragon was fleeing the field for some bizarre reason, but it danced elegantly across the sky before suddenly turning and diving back towards them.
It eclipsed the rising dawn with its magnificence.
And for a moment, Morthal was plunged into shadow.
The wyvern was diving straight for Wonders, its hind talons readied to pluck him from where he stood and bring whatever bits were left of him high up to the sky.
Stradlater sprinted for the ridge where the ignorant mage blinded by focus still lobbed bolts of electricity at the incoming beast. He lunged straight at him, throwing one-hundred kilograms of muscle and iron directly into the Argonian and sending both of them to the dirt in a painful and ungraceful heap.
The dragon swooped downwards and narrowly missed them, scooping up a mound of earth in its wake. It glided back to the skies, not satisfied with just a single swoop against those who'd dare challenge their betters.
Stradlater rose on top of the magician, the weight of his armour and the surprising tumble having daze him for the moment. Spindly and bony or not, this Argonian was painfully inconsistent. He'd have a word with him about that if they made it through this in one piece.
"We're not even denting it." Wonders wheezed, taking a hand offered to him by the Redguard and wobbling to his feet.
"If hitting it with all you've got fails." Stradlater said, trying to sound profound within throes of adrenaline and battle fury. "Hit it harder."
The wizard raised his brow in bewilderment, his snark managing to stick with him even this deep into the frying pan. "That sounds like a Redguard's solution."
Not sure whether or not that was an insult or a compliment, or anything to be honest, Stradlater looked to the skies once again. The dragon gave no reprieve, coming back for another assault.
"Yol toor shul!"
Fire, Inferno, Sun!
"Get behind me!" Stradlater shouted, pulling his companion to the ground and huddling behind his shield for cover from the oncoming onslaught of flames. Through the deafening roar of the wyvern and the woosh of the blaze, he could swear he heard Wonders screaming in terror underneath him as they curled tightly behind what little protection his shield provided.
Eventually the torture relented, the dragon finishing its second pass of the dawn and returning to the skies. Wonders shoved Stradlater off of him, the pair wobbling to their feet on increasingly uncertain legs. The intricate design of his shield had been twisted and warped, the once circular block of steel having shrivelled and contorted under such a fierce bout of dragonfire.
He sincerely hoped that Wonders knew his spell wards.
"I don't know any wards." the Argonian said almost instantaneously. Typical.
They could only hope that for some strange reason the dragon decided to relent, the furnace of its stomach too weak to produce any more flame in the immediate future. Stradlater's shoulders heaved weakly, his body torn between wanting to calm down and needing to keep blood and hormones pumping.
Wonders breathed deeply, the front of his robe caked in filth from his last fall. "Keep it off me."
It took the Redguard a moment to realise that he was talking about the dragon. Like he had any choice in the matter, to be honest. He spun his blade between his fingers once again, the pommel jumping between his digits – it was a nervous habit of his that he never quite worked out.
Making some distance between him and his artillery support, the gods smiled as the wyvern returned from the clouds with Stradlater hot in its sights. He prepared himself for the oncoming storm.
Not that he could be prepared enough.
It swung down with its hind legs and tail braced for a staggering blow, which the Redguard narrowly dodged the brunt of and caught the flipside on the front of his crumbling shield. He was thrown to the floor by the impact, seeing sparks of lightning shooting at the dragon as it returned to the skies. Wonders was doing all he could to keep up the pressure, but the creature was in its element and danced elegantly to avoid much of the mage's efforts.
Another swoop, this time he'd picked up on a few tells. Side stepping at just the right moment he chopped horizontally, dexterously managing to clip the thin film that made the beast's unfurled wings. As the dragon came around once again, he felt that he was starting to get the hang of this.
But the next pass wasn't swoop, but rather a landing. A hard landing that Stradlater, having not seen coming, was caught straight in the middle of. The dragon brought the whole of its crushing weight down to the earth, the armoured warrior being trampled directly under the foul beast's brutal hind legs in a burst of mud and soil.
There was a brief silence, save for the continuing bolts of the unaware Argonian.
Suddenly the Redguard rolled out from underneath the wyvern in a heap. Somehow he'd managed to take the impact head on, the dragon's hind foot having literally landed directly on top of his head. Dazed and confused he struggled to stand, his helmet having snapped in half straight down its middle from the pressure. Now only half of it remained, which clutched to the side of his face tightly.
He hit the now exposed side of his head roughly, trying to shake off the unsteadiness that had claimed his senses and regain his composure. He didn't question the physics involved in what just happened – he already had a headache as it was.
The dragon leant down low once again, assuming that feline and predatory posture that it preferred when creeping towards suspecting prey. "Hi krill." It seemed to say, its language unintelligible to minds as primitive as the Redguard's. Its wicked visage was almost filled with a sense of pity, which quickly gave way to a twisted form of mockery. "Nust pah kril."
You are brave, it had said.
They were all brave, it had mocked.
"Come on." he challenged the dragon uncreatively, having no clue if it even understood what he said. "Come on." he repeated in a more hushed tone, intended more for himself and Wonders in the distance. His cracked lips continued to mouth this phrase, pleading to destiny itself. "Come on. Come on." his body continued to gyrate, brimming with zeal.
Stradlater was the first to strike, resorting to the wild flailing he'd repelled the beast with before. Up and down, left and right like a tamer's whip he aimed for the dragon's neck for it was the closest thing to a weak point he could think of. Amidst his display he suddenly bent his knees and leapt like a wild deer, bringing his sword down like a warhammer and clonking it over his foe's head.
All that did was leave him wide open, the wyvern proving its agility once again and catching the warrior's shield arm between its foul teeth. There was a cracking sound as its fangs – like lines of glass daggers – sunk into plate armour, the orichalcum doing all that it could to resist but failing its battle beyond doubt. Stradlater was lifted into the air by his elbow, his legs kicking frantically while the dragon gloated in its impending victory.
But a cornered fox is something you shouldn't underestimate, for the Redguard brought his scimitar to bear with a snarl of contempt and shoved its curved point directly into the wyvern's maw. He grinded the blade within a freshly opened wound, twisting and tugging and tearing at virgin flesh.
Howling in pain the dragon's jaw unhinged, freeing Stradlater from its clutches and dropping him to the ground once again. He crawled backwards in disarray, his sword remaining stuck between the legendary beast's teeth – amusingly, like a dragon-sized toothpick.
Another wave of lightning jolted across the plains, the sound of thunder following in its wake. The dragon reeled back as blue sparks bounced across its hide, the hilt of the embedded scimitar conducting much of Wonders' assault and focusing it at the bleeding gash in its gob. The dragon was overcome by rage at such insolence.
It was its turns to lose its composure.
Flames sprayed sporadically from its mouth as it swung from side to side in unbridled anger, painting what was left of the countryside black and orange with fire and soot. Wonders stood firm at the ridge, his posture the standard fare for a mage focused on firing arcane energies from the palm of their hands. His teeth were bared in a challenging scowl, his legs fixed as he gave his all.
The dragonfire was getting closer and closer to him, yet he was locked in place keeping up the pressure. It wouldn't be long until he was caught by the flames, and burnt to a cinder in a matter of moments.
Stradlater didn't think at this point.
But he did act.
He leapt at the dragon's maw once more, this time with a much clearer purpose ahead of him. Reaching with the length of his weapon arm he stretched as far as he could, grabbing a firm grip on the hilt of his sword as it jittered with electricity. Grimacing through the surge of lightning shooting through his nerves he let his weight do the work, managing to pull the wyvern's head down to the ground with him – or at the very least confusing it to such a degree that it couldn't help but look down.
Using the haft for leverage he pulled himself atop the dragon's neck, saddling himself atop of it and grasping at his blade with both hands. Crying out with effort he tore the blade free of its meaty sheath, blood and shards of dragon's tooth bursting out along with it in a juicy and vibrant display of colour amidst such a grey and dull morning.
Something akin to mania took over the Redguard from here on, as he frantically hacked and chopped at the back of the dragon's neck as it burned the land around them, and as thunder and lightning continued to strike. Somewhere between his throes he was trying to protect Wonders, doing all that he could to control the behemoth's flames and prevent him from setting the ridge ablaze.
Indeed, Stradlater kept slicing and swinging even as the flames began to rise under him. The dragon squealed pathetically as its scaled were cut - or rather beaten - open by the sheer brutality of the bestial warrior's unrelenting force. He kept hitting and hitting and hitting even as he was engulfed by the relentless blaze, which showed him no mercy.
Ground Zero.
The lightning finally ceased, Wonders lowering his smoking hands in utter shock. There was a first time for everything, and this day would be marked as the day that Silent-He-Wonders was rendered absolutely speechless. His legs trembled in horror as he watched on, his companion caged in violent dragonfire.
The dragon had long stopped moving by the time Stradlater began to waver, his armour glowing a striking hot orange, and his warcry growing hoarse and pained. The dry grass made perfect tinder.
As did flesh.
Stradlater's movements grew more and more laboured as his pool of adrenaline finally began to wane, until at last it dwindled completely and he came to a stop. The Redguard paused for a moment, as if his body so deep in delirium was catching up on what was happening to him. It was only then that every fibre of his being went limp, his muscles shot and his brain empty, and he slumped off the dragon and landed painfully in the scorching ashes of what had once been rolling green grass.
And then he started to scream.
He was burning alive.
Wonders sprinted for the dragon's body frantically, the gruesome and bestial screeches of the smouldering Redguard dampening all of his senses. The piercing stench of burning flesh was something you never adapted to, even as a seasoned magician. He rounded the wyvern's corpse, drained of all his magicka, and found the once proud warrior.
He was convulsing and he was shrieking, the very armour that had once protected him proving itself to be a lethal cage of torment. The Argonian skidded across the dirt in horror, desperate to do something to stop this. Anything.
Through his broken helmet a single eye was visible – wide, feral, coated in tears. All the while he continued to kick and cry, his body contorting into painful positions like an abused and half torn ragdoll. It hurt just to look at him, let alone be him.
"Hold still!" Wonders shouted, trying to bring some authority to the chaotic situation. All he got in response was a deafening squeal, Stradlater mindlessly rolling to his side and curling his body in the ashes and filth he lay in. Fear clear in his voice, the Argonian used all the strength he could muster to try and overpower the larger man and pinned his arms to the ground. "Hold still, damn it!" he cried, leaning against the warrior's stomach to try and stop him from doing any more harm to himself. Still his legs flopped and flailed, kicking up plumes of dust and digging holes in the earth.
Trying to ignore the chilling cries of his companion, who not one hour ago had been perfectly calm and intelligible, Wonders examined the battlefield that they had left in their wake. You wouldn't be amiss to say that it looked like Oblivion itself, the sky black with thick smoke, and the trees burnt unto nothing. Stradlater's movements almost overpowered him as he continued to writhe and struggle, and the magician doubled his efforts with a strenuous grunt.
By the Hist, won't someone help them?
"Somebody!" Wonders cried, knowing full well that he would get no answer. His voice, once filled with sarcasm and dry wit, retreated into a defeated whisper. "Anybody!"
At a total loss he caressed his manic partner's face, trying to pierce through the haze of panic and terror that had taken hold of him and let him know that it was all over now and that he was there to help. After so much screaming and squirming the Redguard's voice had been completely shot and it had lowered to nothing more than a pathetic and heart wrenching whimper, like he was a dying dog abandoned and alone.
"Just look at me." Wonders whispered, leaning closer. Stradlater's jaw trembled erratically, his lungs heaving at a peculiar tempo as he struggled to breathe through the pain. "Look at me, Stradlater." he swore the man's pupil widened as he heard his name, and a misplaced hope filled the Argonian's often cynical veins. "That's right, you're Stradlater aren't you? Half Redguard, half Imperial? You like sword fighting, yes? Stradlater?" that single eye was beginning to drift off, the wheezing and gasping sounds he'd been making quieting down to an irritating rattle as his legs began to slow their kicking. "You can hear me, can't you? G-Good man, good man."
Suddenly he began to choke, his own tongue or his own spittle or maybe the ash in the air having got caught in his parched throat. Stradlater retched and shook between sputters, some impulse or reflex desperate for relief. Wonders almost felt himself doing the same, his resolve tested by the sight, stench and sound that surrounded his person. The smoke was beginning to overwhelm his lungs, ripping and snatching at their catch. His frail constitution submitted for the briefest of moments, and he turned away dry heaving in surrender.
Looking over the horizon again, his chest sore and throbbing, he begged for some sort of miracle to come.
Yet nothing came.
Hissing to himself he reluctantly examined the Redguard's wounds, continuing to comfort his exposed face with the softer scales of his naturally cool palm. His plate armour had been burnt all over, and from what little evidence he had on hand it was clear that only one thing could have happened. He shook his head, having trouble imagining it.
Stradlater had been cooked within his own armour plate, the iron shell that he wore having welded directly to his skin in the process. There would probably be little that a trained cleric could do to get him out of his metal coffin without damaging him for life, let alone someone with practically zero experience with restorative magick and next to no magicka left in him.
But he had no choice.
"L-Look at me." he repeated, gently placing his hand over the Redguard's mouth. He could feel the spittle and drool in an instant, Stradlater's body beginning to seize up and contort again in manic alarm. It was a depressing sight to see such a proud man whimpering and moaning like a feral child, both his body and mind broken by a level of anguish that went beyond man's threshold.
Wonders readied his fingers with a faint white glow, a healing power that defied nature coursing through his very being. He was a magician, and he was an Argonian – his mere being was a gift upon Tamriel, and he would save this man with the mystical powers that he commanded. With his power came hope. Hope, he thought to himself. Hope.
He got to work.
It was terrible
He started screaming again
Squirming in abject agony, Stradlater's cries were barely muffled by the flat of the Argonian's palm. Wonders traced his hands across the blackened plate, trying to do anything that would free the Redguard's flesh from the armour's grip. He winced, stung by pain as the man under him bit into his hand and drew copper blood. "Y-You're doing great." he stammered, speaking to himself as much as he spoke to his patient. In response the bite intensified, his convulsions growing more violent as the magician struggled to maintain his balance amidst his colleague's throes. The Argonian could hear a ringing in his ear – he would never forget the screams, as long as he lived. "You're doing fine, Stradlater! Fine!" he lied.
Stradlater himself felt rather calm about this situation. His body wrestled and jerked in complete and total agony, yet his psyche seemed generally unaffected. It was almost akin to an out of body experience, his conscious mind surrendering control and reflecting upon the shell of a man that was left squealing on the floor amidst filth and muck.
He thought he'd see his life flash before him at this moment, or perhaps the faces of those he loved and cared for; something to comfort him.
But there was none of that.
Nothing but searing pain and blinding misery, his own screams deafening.
Soon enough he began to feel something in his chest. It was confusing at first, but he noticed it again and again – a dull pain, surging through his upper body in pulses. It took him a few moments to realise what was going on, the faint form of Silent-He-Wonders leaning over him and mouthing something before he shook him roughly. The Argonian mouthed something else, squeezing his shoulders. He couldn't quite make it out.
Was he calling for someone?
This pain was getting unbearable, and his vision continued to blur and darken.
Was he having a heart attack?
But then he saw something in the darkness, small and indefinite. It stood out through the haze, and even through the aching in his chest. He could recognise it, and he was glad.
Because at the very least there was something at the end.
He stopped breathing at that point.
X
(A/N): The first of the two whammy chapters are done, and honestly? I knew it wouldn't work out in the end.
The final scene was meant to be one of those larger than life "Jesus Christ the humanity!" moments which is hyper realistic and really unsettling, and I was already confident that I wouldn't be able to do my imagination justice when it came to crunch time. Oh well :P
Where can we go from here? How in god's name could someone survive such an ordeal, yet alone walk out of it with their mind intact? Maybe we'll find out in the next chapter? It's not like I know… Honest!