Merethic Era, Solstheim
Völund was making his way to the chambers situated along the Hall of Stories. One of the priests living there (common priests, not dragon priests like lord Miraak), was appointed to teach the acolytes that day.
Völund was the first to arrive. He patiently found his place by the door and stood there.
Soon another acolyte arrived. She stopped next to him, silent. Völund glanced her way, then turned back to staring at the door. He smiled a little. A realization that he was taller than the girl made him happy, for some reason.
Leoferic was the third to come. When he saw Völund, he smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Völund looked at him and smiled as well, then turned back to the door.
Leoferic came to him and clasped his shoulder. "Don't be so serious all the time. They might mistake you for a priest."
"A priest? No one ever would mistake a long haired slave for a priest," a venomous voice chipped in. A tall acolyte, obviously older than others, just made his way to the waiting three. Two girls were following him.
"Just look at him. Such frivolous hair. And full of flowers. Ha. Stupid slave."
Leoferic scowled. He opened his mouth to say something, but Völund stopped him. "Ignore him."
"Why?"
"Because by giving him credit you only encourage him."
Leoferic made a face. "Alright, alright." Then he looked at Völund. "But why do you keep your hair so long? It's impractical…"
Völund shook his head. The thick, long braid, ending a bit below his shoulder blades, and smaller, thinner braids situated along his face followed the movement.
Leoferic shrugged. "Fine, don't tell me."
"It's because he wants to look pretty. Maybe he wants to seduce some boy, right? We never see 'im around the girls," the older acolyte snickered. "His staff of life must be trembling to dance the kipples. Or is it not, Leoferic? Maybe you would know. I heard him screaming the other night. You like it rough? Into other's asses?"
"You-" Leoferic gritted his teeth and began to raise his hand. But his movement was cut off by a metallic screeching of iron door being slowly opened.
An old priest looked out of the door. "You're too loud. You two," he pointed at Leoferic and the tall acolyte, "are left out of the lesson. Rest of you, come inside."
Völund gave him a reassuring look. Even though he was not supposed to, he would teach Leoferic what he missed later.
XXX
Völund was sitting by an open window in his tiny room later that evening. He was combing his long black hair.
He watched the setting sun and thoughts kept running through his head. He liked grooming himself. He also liked having long hair. To have at least some power over himself was exhilarating, even after six years. But he wanted more.
To get his freedom, he had to become powerful. More powerful than others.
He closed the window and lay in his bed. To get the best results, he needed to be rested.
XXX
"Are you still nipping over that old scroll?"
"Huh?" Völund twitched a bit. "Oh, yes. I need to memorize the burial rites."
Leoferic sat down next to his friend. "Lund, you keep staring into books and parchments and the great ones know what else all day long. Either that or you burn your magicka again and again and again while you hone your skills. You need a break."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. Have you kissed a girl yet?"
"What?" Völund sounded annoyed.
"I'll take that as a no. Look, even though you are an acolyte, and many things are forbidden to us, you, just like everybody else, need to live a little. Or else your life won't have any meaning."
"I'm living a lot," Völund growled and returned to the scroll.
"You don't know what you're talking about. Hey, I know of one girl that can't move her eyes away from you. She's the new warrior trainee here. Come with me, just for today, and try to have some fun. If you don't like it, I'll leave you alone."
"You promise?"
"On my robes."
Völund carefully rolled the scroll. "Alright," he got up, "that is a serious promise. I'll go with you." He put the scroll back to its place and raised an index finger. "But only for today."
Leoferic grinned. "I wouldn't be so fast with judgement, Lund."
XXX
Völund woke up slowly. He stretched, then rubbed his eyes. His hair was a tangled mess, he was tired, but damn, it was worth it.
He got up and began the normal morning routine. He couldn't get the memories out of his head, though. Her sweet kisses. The feeling of her skin on his. The feeling of her. He shook his head. He needed to concentrate, so he pushed all those pleasant memories away while he prepared himself. When he left his room, only determination remained in his mind.
Lord Miraak sent his acolytes to escort a rather large company of warriors, headed for a dwemer city situated not far from the temple. The elves were far too insolent and kept trying to drive the Atmorans out of Solstheim. Lately they started sending their smaller machines to steal crops. Lord Miraak decided that it was time for retaliation.
Völund arrived to the courtyard. Two priests were waiting there silently, so he bowed his head to them and stopped beside them. Supervision, probably.
Soon the other five acolytes arrived. They took their places in vicinity of the priests, standing silently. The only disturbance of this quiet majesty was Leoferic's wink aimed at Völund.
Not long after the acolytes assembled, a warlord and his company marched on the courtyard. The older of the priests walked over to the warlord. They spoke for a while, then the priest stretched his hand out and began reciting a mantra of power to bless the warlord.
Six acolytes and the other priest did the same. This was a ritual devised by Ahzidal, one that he used to empower Ysgramor and his Companions when they sought vengeance for the massacre at Saarthal.
The air tethered and glistened with magicka. Völund shivered in anticipation.
XXX
A ball of fire darted towards a group of warriors. Völund raised his free hand. A ward rose up to his command. The ball hit the ward. Fire splashed everywhere.
His heart was beating wildly. His teeth bared in a wide grin. Power running through his fingers.
Völund was thrilled.
Soon the battle was over. The company of warriors, blessed and supported by the two priests and six acolytes made a quick work of the few dwemer automatons and their masters. As unharmed warriors proceeded to destroy the base, Völund and the others turned to healing.
Völund called upon the magic of the light and watched his hands fire up with warm golden glow.
XXX
The assault continued. For several days now, the Atmorans were trying to get inside a small dwemer fortress. But the gate was shut tight.
"FUS RO DAH!" the warlord shouted.
A wave of energy hit the mechanical gate. It creaked, but didn't move. Not even a little bit.
The priests and the warlord withdrew to counsel after another fruitless attempt. Not even the power of the priests, sent in as a telekinetic pull, was able to open or break the gate.
Völund walked over to the metal gate and examined it curiously.
The golden metal wasn't even dented. It glistened slightly. Even though it was just a gate, it was decorated by elaborate geometric ornaments. And, somewhere behind this mass of metal, Völund could hear….humming?
He raised his hand and hissed when the cold air blew on his hips, left uncovered by that idiotic robe. The others may not have noticed the biting cold, but he did. He shuddered and put his palm on the gate.
It was cold. But only on the outside…he moved closer to one edge of the gate, hand sliding over the metal.
There….it was a bit warmer on the other side, closer to the rock. He could feel it when he turned his focus on the part of magicka related to light, therefore heat as well. There must have been something on the other side, something that powered the gate. If only he knew what, or what element was it tied to...
He cursed under his breath. Ahzidal did steal a great deal of knowledge from the elves, any elves, but he didn't think that learning something about dwemer machinery was useful. Fool.
"What are you doing?!" someone hissed into his ear. Völund jumped, startled. He went so deep into the magical energies that he forgot to watch the world around him.
"Lund! They are staring at you," Leoferic shook his shoulder, worried look in his eyes.
Völund looked over his shoulder. The priests and the warlord were indeed watching him, perhaps even with confused interest. The priests exchanged a nod and then walked over to the acolytes.
Both acolytes bowed their heads. When they straightened up, they found out that the priests were measuring Völund with great interest.
One of the priests narrowed his eyes. "What was it you felt, acolyte?"
Völund looked at the priest directly, an act of defiance that made Leoferic close his eyes. "Heat. The gate is warmer on the other side. There must be something powering it."
"And you think we could find the source of the power and damage it?"
"Yes."
"Get to it."
Völund put his hand back on the gate and closed his eyes. It took him a while to get back to a focused state, but when he did, he noticed another interesting fact.
There was electricity crackling somewhere inside the mountain. That was good, because the element of air came to him with much bigger ease than the other three. He tried to reach for the lightning, pulsing somewhere in the depth beyond the gate.
There….but there was something else as well. Water….hot water. Steam. Both the lightning and steam were probably what kept the gate functioning. Damnations.
He pulled back into his own mind.
Once he did, he staggered and would have fallen on the ground had Leoferic not caught him.
"Well?" one of the priests raised an eyebrow at Völund.
"I...I need someone who has close to the element of water to aid me," he breathed out. Great ones, how tired he suddenly felt!
"Can't you do it on your own?" the other priest scowled. What Völund was asking for was a dangerous thing - creation of a mental bond. Magic of the mind was not favoured among the priesthood. One could say it was scorned.
"No."
"Very well," the priest sighed. "Let us form a bond and open that blasted gate." He grabbed Völund's head into his long fingers and barged inside the acolyte's head.
Völund couldn't help but scream in pain. He quickly bit his lip and put his hand on the cold surface of the gate. The sooner it opens, the better.
He faintly felt blood dripping down his chin.
There were more important things at hand than his discomfort. He reached for the lightning, entombed somehow in the insides of the dwemer gate. It pulsed. Twirled and crackled. It needed to go free. To do that, the steam had to flow freely as well.
The priest saw his line of thought and complied. Völund felt his presence passing through him, reaching for the water.
XXX
"Commander!" a dwemer soldier halted next to an old, fat man with a long, braided beard.
"What?" the scientist barked in annoyance.
"The men….the gate is moving!"
"How?" the commander gaped. His hands let go of the papers he had been holding. The sheets scattered, slowly fluttering down to the ground.
"The steam tubes are boiling with power, as are the wires, sir, and the technicians cannot do anything about it!"
"The damned idiots must have got inside our systems. But how?! Well, what are you standing here for? Load the ballistae! Start the spheres and send the spiders. Hold them while I go wake the centurions."
The soldier hurried away.
XXX
The giant metallic bars, holding the gate closed, began to move. Steam hissed. The tubes holding it trembled. A small group of soldiers was hiding behind the animunculi.
They heard the terrible creaking of the gate. The hiss of scalding steam and horrifying pounding in the tubes.
Also the terrible, oh so barbaric, roar-like chanting of the Atmorans outside.
Screech.
The bars slowly slid into their sockets in the mountain.
For a second, the world was silent.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The gate flew open. The metal hit the stone with a loud thud.
Then the barbarians all roared in unison, like some gigantic beast from the depths of the ocean, and flooded inside like a river.
XXX
Völund lost it. Once the gate opened, his body gave out. As if the time was slowed, he saw the warriors rush past him in strangely slowed motion. He realized that he was falling down, but couldn't do a thing about it.
He saw the priest stumble. But the old man wouldn't fall. Leoferic stretched his arms towards him.
Völund closed his eyes. No one will catch him, that was for sure. The warriors will probably trample him to death. Great.
But then, suddenly, someone stopped his fall. Völund heard a grunt and felt his savior tremble under a heavy hit. But the man didn't let Völund go. Instead he bent down, grabbed his legs and, with another loud grunt, lifted the acolyte up.
Völund forced himself to open his eyes. He felt as if he was floating in honey, but his curiosity got the better of him.
He saw a young man, a bit older than himself, and definitely a warrior. He had a head full of bright red hair, his face hid in a thick beard of the same fox-like colour. His right eye was blankly white, but the other shone with the most brilliant hues of icy blue.
Völund blacked out a moment after that, but he knew he would be haunted by that enchanting blue eye.
XXX
Someone shook his shoulder. At first he thought it only a sensation conjured up by his tired mind, but then it happened again.
"Lund!"
He moaned and twitched.
"That's it, wake up!"
The voice was familiar. And it sounded desperate. He forced his eyes to open.
Leoferic was fixating his face. Once Völund managed to open his eyes, the other acolyte lit up. "Yes! Hurry, we need your help!"
"What? What happened?" Völund tried to get up. He immediately regretted that, as his head began to throb. He let out a groan.
Leoferic grabbed his arms and pulled him up. "You opened the gate. You passed out. Others ran inside, some warrior carried you here, to safety. All of ours fought with the metal things, and with the few soldiers there. Looked good. But then those huge metal men came! Out of nowhere! One of the priests is dead, we have no more magicka, and our warriors are falling back."
Völund leaned into his friend. "And what am I supposed to do with it?" he huffed.
Leoferic had no answer.
But he still dragged Völund towards the turmoil of the fight.
There were dead bodies scattered on the ground ahead of them. Völund gulped. So many lives lost so senselessly. He scowled. It could have been prevented if only lord Miraak led the assault himself.
"Wait," he grasped onto Leoferic's robe. He noticed that a dying priest was gasping for breath on the ground. Somebody probably carried him back here, but there was nobody to save his life.
Völund didn't intend to change that. He reached for the priest's satchel and for his staff, laid neatly beside him. The man tried to stop him, but Völund shook his weak hand off. He stepped back and looked through the satchel. Then he pulled a bottle of shimmering blue liquid out of the satchel and drank its contents.
He shivered with disgust. The potion tasted terrible, but it was necessary for him to drink it. He tightened his grip on the carved dragon staff and followed Leoferic grimly towards the turmoil.
Only two more acolytes were standing. They mostly tried to keep magical attacks diverted from the warriors who were fighting with hulking metal men. Three of the machines were already destroyed, but there were more inside the mountain.
Völund stopped and looked over the battlefield. Not much was left of their company. A group of warriors was still fighting, led by the warlord and the young man with the mane of fox red hair. The metal men were slowly pushing the remaining Atmorans out of the entrance hall.
Völund narrowed his eyes. There was a fat, bearded man far behind the metal men. Völund's eyes darted across the entry hall, desperately looking for some way how to gain the upper hand.
"Lund? We need to go. They need shielding!" Leoferic poked him.
"No. We need…" Völund trailed off. They needed a strategy. From what he could see, the metal men had exposed backs…
And then he noticed it. "We need that!"
"What?"
"See the pipes? Inside the hall? They're overloaded. We must have damaged the system while we were opening the gate. We need to get the metal men closer to the pipes."
"How is that going to help us?" Leoferic threw his arms up.
"It's full of steam. And underneath it, lightning. If we break it…"
"It hits the clankers?"
"Exactly." Völund readjusted his fingers on the staff. "And maybe we could try to direct it. You are good with water, aren't you?"
"Not that much," Leoferic answered as they began running towards the battle.
"Just try, alright? Envelop the metal men and that fat little elf in the back in water. At least a bit."
Leoferic pursed his lips.
They stopped on a rock not far from the fighting. "Shouldn't we tell the warlord?"
"How?" Völund sieved through his teeth. He raised the staff. "Just do what I said!"
They both called upon what was left of their magicka reservoirs. Leoferic had an easier task. The pipes were soon on the verge of bursting and a thin stream of water wound through the air, drenching most of the metal men.
Völund, however, could not get to the lightning so easily. He gritted his teeth.
"I can't hold it anymore!" Leoferic howled. He lowered his hands with a last burst of power. The pipes cracked and broke down. Steam burst out of the pipes. The winding streams of water fluttered.
Völund cursed. He raised the staff and sent lightning into the scalding steam. The magicka reacted wildly. The hissing stream of steam bursted with electricity. Sizzling bolts jumped right onto the water. Völund poured more magicka into it.
XXX
Electricity was sizzling on wires ripped out of the walls.
The battle was over, for now. The metal men, whose powering crystals were exposed on their backs, did not withstand such wild burst of magic.
Luckily, the warlord and the fox warrior made it out in time.
Leoferic quickly ran to offer what healing he could, while Völund slowly walked over to the warlord, heaving among the rest of the warriors.
"Couldn't you have done that earlier?" he barked at Völund. The acolyte narrowed his amber eyes.
"Send a runner to lord Miraak," he ordered calmly.
"What? You have no-"
Völund sent a blast of lightning into the warlord's chest. The man grunted in pain. Völund hit him with a lightning again, and again, and again, up until the man fell to his knees.
"Send a runner to lord Miraak," Völund repeated. "We need reinforcements." While the warlord grumpily scrambled to his feet and went to find his fastest runner, Völund turned to the gathered warriors. "You," he motioned with the staff to a relatively unharmed group of warriors, "keep watch. Build some barricades out of the clankers once the metal cools down. That gate over there could open at any moment."
Then he turned to another group. "You take care of the wounded. Make a safe place for them."
Relying on the staff, he walked to the two other surviving acolytes. "How's your magicka?"
"Depleted."
"Well, then find the corpses of the priests and make use of the supplies they carried. Move!" he ordered sharply when they hesitated. The acolyte that used to make fun of him and torment him, opened his mouth to say something.
Völund hit him with the staff and released another dose of lightning. "Do as I said."
The acolyte whimpered and ran after the other one.
Völund watched them leave. Then he sighed and made his way towards the place where the wounded were being placed. He still had some magicka left.
XXX
4E 193, The Imperial City
Bernadette was sitting in a library. THE library. She loved the library of the Arcane University. Even though almost everyone in the University mocked her, because she had no magic.
But so many books in one place!
Spectacular.
She also managed to get access to the dwemer ornery, repaired by the Hero of Kvatch himself. What a marvel.
She tucked her dark hair behind her ear and looked into the open book in front of her more closely. It was a book about astronomy. Stars, Moons and the Sun, their alignations and their connection to magicka.
The author of the book laid down an interesting theory. She was talking about how ancient elven civilisations had different systems of magicka classification, and how they gathered power from the stars...and that starlight, along with natural ley lines of Nirn could be used to empower certain stones, which then could be used as runestones! To create glyphs!
According to the author, glyphs were used to enchant things before the era of soul stones. The practice died out after someone discovered that using soul stones was easier and faster then gathering energy into a runestone and then transforming it into a glyph and then inscribing said glyph into an item.
On the other hand, even non-mages could use glyphs.
Bernadette wanted to know about everything non-mages could do to compete with the mages.
So far she learnt to scribe magic scrolls and to use her knowledge of alchemy to create various coatings, elemental oils, even bombs, or specific elixirs.
"Bernadette? Dear, are you there?"
She perked up. "I'm here, auntie."
"Ah, good." The elegant magewoman with strands of grey in her dark hair made her way to the girl. Flavia sat down next to Bernadette and looked at the open books lying on the table with interest.
"Astronomy?" she smiled. "I see that your fascination with the sky remains. That is good, my girl," she squeezed Bernadette's shoulder.
The girl smiled, her eyes beaming with joy.
"But you should take a break, dear," Flavia noted. "The circles under your eyes have their own circles."
"I can rest after I finish my notes. And speaking of notes," she reached for a bundle of papers neatly packed in a leather folder, "I have the account of our latest expedition."
Flavia took the folder. "Good. Any luck finding translations of the carvings we found?"
Bernadette shook her head. "No. I suspect we'd have to climb to High Hrothgar and bang on the door of the monastery there. If what people say is true, that is. But I doubt their door would open for us." She rubbed her chin. "Though, I do recall master librarian mentioning few historians who can, vaguely, translate the ancient language. But all of them are out of our reach. The closest would be some man from Solitude who went to Solstheim and no one has heard of him since then."
"A shame," Flavia mumbled as she went through the notes.
"Auntie?" Bernadette inquired after a while.
"Yes, dear?"
"Why did you pick the Dragon Cult as your focus of study?"
Flavia looked up from the notes. She sighed, put them back into the folder and placed it on the table.
"First and foremost because I had to go to Skyrim to study the Cult and that ensured a comfortable distance from my husband. And your father. Then I found out how little is known about them, since the ruins are infested with draugr, who are an enormous mystery themselves, and how interesting the Cult actually is."
"Do you think the dragons were real? Or just some sort of….metaphor?"
Flavia laughed. "Dear, if I had a septim every time someone asked me that, I'd be even richer than I am now. Yes, they were real. The good jarl of Whiterun let me take a thorough look at that skull hanging in his hall, and I had an interesting chat with that young court mage there. The beasts were pretty real."
She folded her arms and rested back in her chair. "Honestly, I don't know why people think dragons were, or maybe are, just a myth. There are burial mounds known to contain dead dragons. One of the beasts was even protected by a king of Daggerfall for a time, I think."
"Perhaps simple minds find it hard to believe," Bernadette smiled. "Some people have trouble with understanding basic magic and see simple tricks as the highest sorcery."
"Very true." Flavia got up from the chair and took the bundle of notes. "Off to bed with you, young lady. You need sleep."
"But-"
"No buts," Flavia raised a finger.
XXX
"Now, dear, do put that nice green scarf on. I would like you to look presentable."
"Why?" Bernadette bit down on a sweetroll.
"I want to introduce you to someone. Claudia?" Flavia called out to her maid.
Nice looking plumb imperial woman in her early thirties stepped out of the kitchen. "Yes, madam?"
"Could you please make her look….presentable? At least comb her hair?" Flavia looked at Bernadette with despair. She usually didn't care for her niece's disheveled looks, but…
"What is this? Are you trying to sell me to some gentleman, auntie?" Bernadette shot a suspicious look to the magewoman as Claudia pulled a comb out of her dress and began to work on Bernadette's hair.
"Not in the slightest, dear. I only do not want the master scribe to think you cannot take care of yourself."
"But I can't."
"True. Claudia? Find some time to teach her, please."
XXX
Bernadette sat down by the window in her room and opened it. The evening air was warm and smelled nice.
Soon a jackdaw flew in. It circled Bernadette once, then perched on her shoulder.
"Hi," Bernadette scratched its neck gently. The bird moved slightly closer.
"Mama?" Bernadette inquired after a while. "Are you well? I hope you are. I hope father isn't too much of a nuisance for you." She sighed. "I had an interesting day. Auntie took me to a secret meeting - apparently there is something called the Circle of Scribes. But don't tell anyone. It's secret. It's a gathering of people like me. Scholars with not a drop of magic in their hands. It's a group the emperor himself founded, because he wanted to have someone working on...on anything to be used, really. Against elves, probably, to not be dependable on magic in warfare or...or probably in any aspect of life. Because they do magic better by nature."
She rubbed her chin. "The emperor funds the Circle, and we get to do things! There is a scholar who's concentrated on the dwemer, I watched her work with the machines and let me tell you, I wish I could do what she does. And then there is a man who can build bombs. No magic involved, just...alchemy."
She sighed happily. "Research on everything you could think about. Without magic. Only people working together, using their minds. Lovely. Aunt Flavia is an honorary exception, and one of several funders. She introduced me to the Master Scribe, and he decided to accept me into the Circle! So I get to learn all I ever wanted from the best. Mama, I'm so excited!"
The jackdaw turned its silvery bead-like eyes on Bernadette and tilted its head.
XXX
"So, girl, madam Sorcelli said you liked tinkering. Come, come, we'll see about that," a surprisingly plumb, but muscled, bosmer woman was the first to notice Bernadette, who has just entered a small reading parlour where the Scribes usually gathered. She grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her out of the library. The lady then led Bernadette through the university, into a small, battered building.
Inside it was an amazing workshop, filled with designs, dwemer clutter, books, strange metal parts, crossbows and many, many more things.
Bernadette's jaw dropped.
"You like it, huh?" the woman grinned. "And to think Amroth wanted to steal you first for his pile of astronomic rubble."
"Astronomy?" Bernadette perked up.
"I'm Ferean," the woman shook Bernadette's hand quickly. Then she rubbed her hands together energetically. "So, to see if you're good for something and whether or not I might want you as an apprentice, let's work on that," Ferean pointed at something looking like a crossbow in construction.
Bernadette smiled. "Yes, ma'am."
This was going to be even better than Octavian's combat training.
15