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-Pyrus-
Eloquently, Vylornar swirled the dark ruby wine in his silver goblet. "Do tell me, kinsman, of what life is to be expected among this…assortment of talent."
Pyrus smiled in return and helped himself to some more. It was an old vintage, which he'd permitted to mature for as long as he'd owned it since his days as a younger man, for a special event as was this. There was no greater moment he could have dreamed than to dine with the Dragonlord Vylornar himself, upon the frosty evening of his arrival.
"You may be disappointed." Pyrus lifted the rim of his goblet to pursed lips. "I'm afraid none of these mages may ever compare to your soldiers' magical talents. They learn to further their own knowledge, or perhaps to land themselves a healthy job, a court magician, healers, scholars, even mercenaries if they're desperate."
Vylornar's smile was sly and thin. "And you?"
"I seek a greater future for myself." Pyrus drank lightly, though he took care never to part gazes with the Dragonlord. "I have mastered all that there is to be offered and studied here, in the mystical arts of flame. Seventeen years, and in truth, I feel there is just so much more to be learned. Fire is never truly understood until you become one with your element."
"A fascinating proposal." Vylornar leaned contentedly back in his chair. Beneath the rim of his hood, which like Pyrus he wore continually while in public, his dark orange eyes shimmered as bright as embers. "It is becoming more and more apparent, Pyrus Greatfire, that through the misfortune of your human blood, you have become akin with the elven."
Pyrus was delighted at the compliment. "If wishes existed, I would have long sought a way to banish the human from me altogether—or better still, had my mother sire me from a respectable pure-blooded Altmer in the Summerset Isles." He'd never visited the country of his ancestors' birth, as the burning south made for perilous travel; he hoped when Alduin returned from his pillaging in the south provinces, and the wars began to ease, he would leave this frigid land and seek out the greatest orders of magicians that Tamriel offered.
"It makes me realize how little I know of your past," said Vylornar, with a mild air of sympathy. "Do tell."
Pyrus dipped his head. "I did not even have the grace of being born where I ought to have been. No, I was born here, in Skyrim, though unlike these soft-hearted humans I feel no sense of kinship with this cold, rugged land. My mother abandoned me at birth, and I was raised by a pair of humans. Upon learning of my gift with flame, however, they were keen to rid themselves of me. They feared the majesty of fire."
"Are not all humans shy of true might?" sighed Vylornar.
"But I saw the flame as a way of release," Pyrus went on. "I immediately devoted my life to learning its secrets. By my nineteenth year conjuring fire was a natural gift, but it was wild, uncontrolled; I sought to hone it, to master what could not ever be truly mastered. I wanted to defy the boundaries I could not see. My ambitions were grand, and so I travelled to the frigid north and familiarized myself with the life of the College. I was a quick study, especially in destruction, of course. While frost and lightning are at my calling should the need ever arise, I ensured fire was my primary focus from the start. Even after I graduated I remained here, determined to use their knowledge as the source of my wisdom with my growing kinship with the flame."
Vylornar smiled. "And grown your kinship has."
Pyrus was again delighted by the praise. He thinks highly of me. "These college mages are shy of my gift," he said. "They wish me away, uneasy with the rate of which I devour their teachings. I would have left long ago if I had known of a better place to study."
"I'm afraid there is nowhere better in Skyrim to learn the secrets of fire," said Vylornar. He sipped his wine. "Except, of course, with our overlord's noble cause."
Excitement quickened Pyrus's pulse. He waited, though the Dragonlord extended no offer.
"Are there any other mages in this college as affiliated as you with a certain magical art?" Vylornar inquired.
Pyrus fought to hide his disdain. "Hardly. Certainly these mages possess skill, but they are meek with it. They find they are content with all they know, and are absently delighted if another opportunity to learn presents itself. They concentrate across a much broader range of skills—no doubt useful—and specialize in a certain school, but nothing particularly unordinary concerns them; certainly nothing worthy of a dragon's ear."
Vylornar chuckled. "You would find the dragons are ever hungry for knowledge, Pyrus," he said, "even if it comes from a lowly mortal afraid to grasp true power. They are cruel and hard, sadistic and unchanging, but there are no finer teachers in Tamriel or Nirn itself. Remember Joorpaalrah, who cast aside his mortal name, the one frightened men name the Dread; our great lord Alduin helped him see the truth to be found in this corrupted world, and thus even the Dragonborn bowed to his greater wisdom. He cast aside a destiny that would have destroyed them both, and together they rendered about a new age of glory and fire, an age where all the corruption and malevolence in this world shall be purged in the flames of renewal, and from its cleansing ashes a new empire shall rise, an empire unified beneath the guidance of a god."
Pyrus shivered with awe. "It is a magnificent dream. I pray one day I shall live to witness it."
"Perhaps you shall," said Vylornar. He sipped his wine. "I shall be ever grateful to the mighty dragon race," he mused. "They offered me the greatest opportunity that I had ever seen in my centuries of living; a true purpose, a way to glory, a world unified beneath the black wings unfurled. In the old days, before the Dragonborn was even a quickening in his mother's womb, I was a mage, one of the many enlisted in the ranks of the Aldmeri Dominion that once spread havoc across the face of Tamriel. They and the old Empire fought what I view now as a petty squabble; a dangerous one as well, one that cost many good lives of both men and elves. It was Alduin who offered another way, one of victory and unity and power; was it not for those virtues the Dominion fought? But the World-Eater…he was a leader who I wanted to follow, who I was truly prepared to give my life for, should the need ever arise. When Joorpaalrah was named by Alduin himself, I determined to follow him; if the Dragonborn could change his destiny, foretold in the Elder Scrolls, then surely so could I."
"I always wondered how one became affiliated with the dragon cause," said Pyrus, struggling to keep his exhilaration under control.
If Vylornar noticed, he courteously ignored it. "Oh, anyone can pledge their allegiances," he said dismissively, "but to attract a dragon's attention in doing so, and the right dragon's attention, now that takes cunning. For me, it was as though fate intended me to rise high among the ranks of my overlord's ranks. My years of war had served me well, for my skills with magic were at a magnificent peak. I travelled north, of course, following whispers and events and rumours of a legend come alive, and a legend betrayed. Then, while in the mountainous pass of the mountains dividing Cyrodiil and Skyrim, I had the good fortune to be ambushed by a dragon."
Pyrus's eyebrows rose. "That was good fortune?"
"Certainly," said Vylornar, gracefully amused. "It was no ordinary brown or green, not even a bronze or white or orange; no, this one was a Revered, a rarer sort, a dangerous sort, and certainly not one any old mortal could defeat alone.
"But defeat it I did. Our fight, in truth, lasted only a short while. I decided that where physical and magical strength could certainly not compare to a Revered dragon, wit would serve instead. For a little while I concealed myself, forcing it to land and search for me on the ground. That was when I triggered the avalanche. The Revered could not escape its crushing flood in time and was smothered at once, while I protected myself by sheathing myself in fire's glorious embrace. When the snow settled I climbed free, unhurt. The Revered suffered a much more unfortunate fate."
Pyrus was deeply impressed with Vylornar's practicality.
"I found myself facing one of Alduin's lieutenants when I emerged from the drifts," Vylornar continued. "It turned out he had been searching for the Revered, and found it in the pass where I fought it. He was impressed at my talent in battle, and the ways I'd both wielded fire and found other means to defeat it when my ordinary skill proved not enough. He asked my name and I gave it freely. He departed and remembered me; and when Alduin began to rally powerful mortals to his cause, he found me and extended the offer, which I took gladly. After that, it was only a matter of proving myself worthy of first serving under the promise of such a glorious future, and then worthy of the rank of Dragonlord, a mortal entrusted with a dragon's most incredible secrets."
Pyrus felt a dark hunger stirring within him, mingled with such a bitter longing. Imagine all the secrets a dragon holds in its ancient heart; imagine all it could share…He kept such thoughts concealed, and satisfied himself with another taste of wine.
"Others saw the wisdom in serving under the World-Eater," Vylornar continued. "Now the ranks of the Dragonlords are growing, and as they do their reputations precede them. Perhaps you have heard of a few?"
Pyrus assented. "Of course; there are even books written of some of the greatest. Dragonlord Cadmir, a Breton whose mastery of the magical arts was so great it is believed he was worthy enough to be blessed with a dragon's immortality; Dragonlord Astarr, named 'the Bonereaver', who raided ancient cairns of fallen heroes to make his gilded suit of armour and ensnared the skeletons of his fallen foes to guard his crypt in death; Dragonlord Ollos, whose cruel nature won over even the cruelest, most unforgiving race of all; Dragonlord Analor, bane of heroes, responsible for some of the most crippling blows to Skyrim's tarnished legacies such as the destruction of Jorrvaskr, famed mead hall of the Companions, and the end of the ancient Stormcloak rebellion and Stormcloak himself."
Vylornar quirked his brow. "It appears you are well-read of our history. I note you have not mentioned Nisenthril, but that is forgiven; he is the easiest of the first five Dragonlords of Alduin to forget, while younger Cadmir has made quite the name of himself in the half century he has proven worthy of true power."
Pyrus fought to hide a satisfied smile. I've impressed him. "These books were documented throughout the Fifth Age," he said, "though no doubt there are many more worthy of immortality in the pages."
"Immortality!" Vylornar's lip curled, his mild air vanished. "Books preserve only the perception of a history from their creator; true immortality is to see into the Currents of Time itself, to feel its darling caress. I do not care for an ink-dotted page in a book. I intend to exist, to witness the great new world the World-Eater strives to create, a new world which already is taking shape from the ashes around us."
He paused. "And books are incorrect; those you have mentioned all have twisted truths. Cadmir was taught by the dragons the secrets of writing time, to raise the ancient dead, to eternally bind his servants' souls and flesh to ensure their unyielding loyalty, but not once were the dov so foolish as to bestow to Cadmir the gift of immortality. Common enough among his ilk, Cadmir is ever hungry in the pursuit of knowledge. He will not be satisfied, and the dragons intend to keep him as such; he is powerful this way, but not enough that he may ever think he could betray our overlord."
"Fascinating," Pyrus lied. I care little for conjuration. Let Cadmir keep his corpses; I wish only fire. "And the others?"
"Astarr, I suppose, is almost correct; until his death, he wore the bones of the Five Hundred Companions he collected in a raid of Ysgramor's Tomb. When he died, he slept in that armour with the Companions' trapped souls guarding his rest, but it is the bones of his wingsteed who died under his living command that prowls the ancient halls. Ollos is cruel, without doubt, but it only impressed thedov, not swayed them. Nonetheless, his methods of extracting answers from his prisoners, answers most useful to his overlord, entitled him with Joorpaalrah's respect, and thusly the dragons'." Vylornar's voice softened with audible disgust. "And as for Analor…No doubt he is responsible for the Companions' eradication, and the death of Windhelm's final Jarl, Ulfric Stormcloak…but as for the eradication of the Stormcloak line, it is yet to be purged from the new world."
Pyrus blinked. "The Raiders?"
"Yes, these so-called 'Nords of Old', openly resistant to Alduin's cause. Like the dawn of the Fifth Age, thousands, millions, fought back against the World-Eater and the turned Dragonborn—and thousands and millions died. Resistance after resistance was destroyed; the Aldmeri Dominion, the Forsworn, the Empire, the short-lived folly of Merigard, the fool Guilds that thought themselves strong or chivalrous enough to take part, until only one opposition remained. We thought they had been purged when the Fifth Age was rendered, with Windhelm's destruction and Nidrinnilzraised from its rubble and ashes. We were mistaken; under the banners of a Stormcloak heir, the Nords of Old have risen in full force from a dormant rest, and fight to reclaim Jergevild, the easthold."
"The arrogance of humans knows no bounds," Pyrus frowned. "Small wonder the greatest of the World-Eater's ranks are elven in origin."
Vylornar's thin smile returned. "Indeed; the elven races nurture the greatest ambitions alongside the dragons', thus they tolerate us more than humans—not to mention the humans were their primary enemy right from the first Dragon Wars." In one fluid motion his goblet of wine had returned between his slanted golden fingers. "This heathen show of Raiders should not last long. Our great overlord is deeply aware of the disturbance in Skyrim's east. He has assigned one of his many lieutenants, Zoornahldir, to…quell this trouble in Jergevild. Over the few years this pitiful rebellion has rekindled and grown in strength, from simple shows of power to dragon lair raids in the east, though it is now plainly apparent that they are on the losing side. Recently there was a mass confrontation of Raiders in the mountains that border Skyrim and Morrowind, and Zoornahldir reported a freeflier captured a most significant figure to the Raider cause; Ulfric Stormbear, uncle to the rebellion's hope and leader."
Pyrus's eyebrows rose. "A freeflier, you say, captured Ulfric Stormbear?"
"He lived in sympathy to his kindred's cause, though preferred a life devoted to the growth of his kind," said Vylornar quietly. "However, such a significant deed to further the rule of our overlord shall not go unforgotten by either side. While the mortals to our cause suggested Stormbear was placed under the…influence…of Ollos—the information he would have of this rebellion, they claimed—the dov demanded a vaxnilz."
"I've heard of those," said Pyrus, intrigued. "Apt judgement before dragoneye, where the traitor is trialed before Akatosh Himself."
"You choose your words well, kinsman," said Vylornar lightly. "Vaxnilz is committed every day, every month, every passing year—but for a true vaxnilz, it must be performed in the heart of the home of this country, and that must be in the midhold, Ahgelingrah, where traitors shall suffer through shame and sneers before gifted the release of death—and even then they face judgement in the soul lands, from noble Aetherius to heathen Sovngarde; from these and between our great overlord draws his strength, nourishing his insatiable hunger upon the spirits of the deceased." He took a sip of wine. "The dov demanded the Stormbear face a vaxnilz, and none argue with a dovah. The execution was set to be this morning; perhaps it has happened already, and the Raiders will be crippled. The face of this uprising, a youth named Kaarn, was Ulfric's nephew, and the younger relied much on his uncle's wisdom in the ways of warring with dragons." Vylornar's face twisted into a sneer. "He is young, a cub playing with his claws. With the old bear dispatched, I have every confidence Zoornahldir will eradicate this blight quickly—and we shall ensure the Old Nords do not dare to rise again."
"As do I," said Pyrus courteously. "I would very much like to meet this Zoornahldir." He felt a little light-headed at this point. He had to be careful; he must not let human clumsiness spoil this perfect moment he shared with this esteemed Dragonlord.
Vylornar said nothing for a while. Pyrus tried to read the pyromancer's face, yet analyzing it was proven to be a challenge. Even absent-minded, Vylornar's face was inscrutable, a flawless mask of concealed thought. If only I could perfect such a face, Pyrus thought sullenly, slouching into his chair. Yet another thing I could learn from encountering these dragons.
Vylornar set down his drained goblet. "I do not wish to linger long in this frigid peak of Skyrim," he said curtly, rising, his magnificent molten robes falling gracefully around his lithe, dangerous form. "The dragons will surely have completed their census of the commonfolk, and more still will have left to hunt the ice fields west of here. It is long past time I find the Arch-Mage of this establishment and commence this College's assessment."
Pyrus hastily stood. "You needn't bother Othalos. If it is information you need—"
"Enough," said Vylornar, and Pyrus fell silent at once. "Your gesture is…appreciated. However, it is by the command of the greater I serve that the statistics of the affairs of the College are received from the one who oversees this operation. That authority, kinsman, belongs to Othalos Miden."
Pyrus swallowed the flash of frustration that hardened in his throat. Othalos is an old fool, he wanted to say. He supports no cause. He only reads the books you so detest. He does not even come down from his room to eat; he has the other mages bring him meals. I can help you more than that bookish Dunmer ever could!
"Do know," said Vylornar, turning to the door, "your report shall be considered most amiably. I thank you for the wine." Then he'd disappeared, and Pyrus was alone once more.
Alone in a surge of rising, overwhelming rage; no doubt influenced by the strong wine.
After all I have done, after all my accomplishments, findings, gained knowledge…Fire burned in his soul, as hot as dragonflame. Even the great Dragonlord Vylornar does not see me as who and what I am, like all the rest of these insufferable fools!
With a flourish, Pyrus let the flames flare in his hand, red then blue, so fierce it almost burned. Into the fire he channelled all his resentment, his fury, and watched it grow brighter and hotter.
He will see. Pyrus quelled the growing blaze with a single twitch of his finger. Even Vylornar shall see. Oh, how he shall see fire made flesh!
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