A/n: This chapter mentions an in-game book from Morrowind called "Realizations of Acrobacy". You can find it on UESP (the Unofficial Elder Scrolls Pages) online if you search for it. It's not necessary to understand the chapter, but I'm sure some of you will find it interesting. Keep in mind that at the time of its writing (before the events of Morrowind), the Dunmer felt themselves incredibly superior to other races, in particular the beast races whom they enslaved (not that they don't have feelings of superiority now, but it was presumably more back then), and other races generally thought of Morrowind as a filthy backwater country, as their culture was completely misunderstood. As with many of the in-game books, it is unknown how accurate "Realizations of Acrobacy" really is, if at all.
I hope you all enjoy this longer-than-average chapter :)
Chapter edits include passives and grammar, and a few edits for flavor. I can tell in the previous version of this chapter that I'm trying to get a handle on past versions of Erich and Mehra and don't quite know who they are. Also, I made the fight scene at the end more... action-ey?
Also uh, changed Liz to Iiz. Not my fault that sans-serif makes it near-impossible to tell the difference between L and I :P
Quick note, too: I've decided that I'll only put a date and setting header for sections that take place in the past, and the following section that leads to the present.
You realize that all your life you have been coasting along as if you were in a dream. Suddenly, facing the trials of the last few days, you have come alive.
4E 0. Cyrodiil.
They lay among a patch of mountain flowers. A sweet fragrance drifted up from the blue blossoms surrounding them to mix with the clean scent of the nearby brook. Large, fluffy clouds rolled over the Jerall Mountains. Her unlikely company stretched against the flowers, his long, muscular legs tensing and giving her an inadvertent show.
Mehra found herself licking her lips at the sight of him. She wasn't one for barbarian men, but this one was different. Erich liked reading, more so than she, and his desire to learn about other cultures – in particular, the culture of the Dunmer – was refreshing. He was clever and charming, and told stories with such vigor and detail that he could make something as mundane as washing sound fascinating.
All this, and he was a lovely creature of delightful muscle and impeccable grooming.
"I was absolutely silly over that man," he said. "Lucien was dashing and brooding and mysterious and so serious."
Yes, Lucien Lachance. Erich made it sound as if his world revolved around the man, and she supposed it did at one point. Lucien; an Imperial man with a Breton name. The way Erich described him conjured an image of a short, tanned man with dark, almost black eyes framed by long eyelashes. Perhaps, he had long hair and a goatee and wore his tunics open at the chest – the sort of pirate-rogue look that some working class Imperials tended to go for.
"Do you still love him?" she asked.
"Love? I – I don't know if that's what it was. It wasn't very appropriate on my part, whatever it was."
Mehra said nothing. From the fact that he said he made up excuses to visit Lucien, it probably was inappropriate, given that he was Erich's mentor for some time. Mehra assumed that Lucien was some sort of training contractor with the Blades, and his position was what made Erich's attraction so inappropriate.
She didn't bother with matters of the heart and never had, but as far as she could tell, there was something mutual there. After all, Lucien willed a beautiful wizard's tower in the mountains to Erich. It was an extremely intimate gift.
It didn't matter much anymore because the man was dead anyway.
Mehra turned to admire the white stubble that grew along the ridge of Erich's jaw, and the soft, white hair that fanned out beneath his head. White wasn't a natural color for Nords, was it? There was light blonde, and this absolutely wasn't blonde. But Erich certainly wasn't an elder. She accepted it at first glance, but now that she had a good look at it, his hair didn't make any sense.
She leaned in and narrowed her eyes. "Your hair is white."
He blinked, grabbed a section of hair, and brought it in front of his face. "Yeah, I forget that sometimes."
"So, it wasn't always white?" she asked.
Erich shook his head and sat up. Grabbing the hem of his tunic, he tugged his shirt over his head to reveal a massive shock scar that trailed across his back and chest, and partially down his left arm.
"I got into a bit of trouble," he explained. "Did an errand for the Mages Guild, and I may have activated something at some Ayleid ruins by conducting an experiment I had no business attempting. I touched a broken pillar and got struck by lightning. Something must have happened though; I learned the spell that struck me."
She stared on in shock at how close the spell came to his heart. "You're lucky to be alive."
"Yep!" Erich laughed. "Just lost all my hair in the process. It used to be red but it grew back in white. Lightning must have killed the pigment or something."
Mehra fought to hide her disappointment when he dropped his shirt. He clearly took good care of himself, and it made this accident with magic all the more strange.
Perhaps, he had an impulsive side. She was just getting to know him, and he did seem very adventurous.
"What is this spell, then?" she asked.
Mehra sat up and watched intently as he stood. Erich walked a fair distance from her and turned around.
"It's called 'Finger of the Mountain'," he said. "It's um, quite a dangerous spell. So you cast it like this."
Erich moved his arms through the air. Slowly, he wove arcs of shock magic with his hands. His hair drifted out from his body in response to the crackling static, which grew in power as he called it to his body.
Erich winced as a particularly large branch of electricity ran down his spine. What was he doing, channeling his magicka in such a manner? He quite literally cast on himself as he gathered the element of shock.
Mehra blinked. She swore it looked darker around them, but maybe, it was from the fact that Erich practically glowed with shock magic.
With a flip of his hands, the spell tore loose from his body in a flash of light so bright that it caused Mehra to slam her eyes shut. She jumped at the following crack and boom of thunder.
When it was over and she dared to open her eyes, her ears rang from the terrible sound of the spell. Blinking away spots, she saw Erich miraculously still standing, albeit hunched over and panting.
There was no way that he should have winced had he cast properly. Erich was going to kill himself casting that way.
"Erich Heartfire!" She shouted, "Don't you dare cast like that again!"
He laughed and turned around. Erich reached up and rubbed blood away from his nose with the back of his hand. Behind him, a swath of the forest lay in charred ruin.
What in Azura's name was that spell? Mehra jumped up and ran forward, intent on knocking some sense into his head.
"Spells are always weaker if you cast them safely," Erich grumbled. "They need some oomph if you really want to take something out."
Mehra stopped in front of him, grabbed his arm, and led him back to the patch of flowers so he could rest.
"Unacceptable," she hissed. "If you channel the destruction properly, it won't hurt you. You've got a deep well; you just have to access it safely. I am not leaving here until I am certain that you know what you're doing."
Erich shrugged. "You can try to teach me. Lots of people tried but it never stuck. Even Martin tried."
That wasn't good enough for her. Mehra had to make sure that he wouldn't kill himself casting. As it was, he cheated death every time he cast, especially whenever he cast the Finger of the Mountain.
She didn't like the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of him hurting – dying – over something so reckless.
Mehra knew this man for a only few weeks. Surely, she wasn't attached.
4E 201. Winterhold.
After their talk, it was somewhat easier to grasp the idea that Erich was no longer Erich.
She was in love with the man Erich once was, and those thoughts sustained her while she wasted away in prison for centuries. Mehra knew that Erich the Daedric Price was an entirely different being, though some of his mannerisms were similar. So she let it go and shocked herself with how easy it was to do so.
Love wasn't for her anymore. She saw far too much and would always be too old for anyone on the mortal plane. Was this why Aryon was alone when she met him? Could it be why Neloth was so short-tempered?
Her stomach twisted at the thought of Neloth. In all his harsh words, he was correct. And though she knew this, it still stung.
Mehra needed to shelve her pride and focus on training. If he told her that she couldn't return until she changed, then she would. Mehra would retrain herself and return to show him that she was worthy of House Telvanni.
She wished that Divayth Fyr lived on Solstheim instead, but thought better of it when she remembered her clumsy attempts to seduce him. Looking back on it, he must have known what she was doing. She was fortunate, then, that he ignored it and took pity on her when she showed up at his doorstep with corprus. He understood her and her selfishness. Maybe, he believed that she was the Incarnate. She certainly believed she was after his potion cured her corprus. Back then, Mehra believed that she could do anything – maybe even elevate herself to godhood as the Tribunal did.
Saving the world had never been about her. Even her time in prison didn't teach her that important lesson. It took going out and seeing people for who they were to realize that it was about everyone, and she was only a small fraction of everyone.
Mehra swallowed. Neloth told her to get over herself, and he was correct. He was angry and eccentric, but Mehra wondered at the wisdom – not just the knowledge – behind his thousands of years of life.
There was knowledge here in Winterhold as well, though as she studied, Mehra realized that she remembered most of what she forgot. She simply had to retrain her mind to be capable of casting strong spells once again.
She waited as the professor finished going over course materials for her final class of the week– Introduction to Enchanting. All the while, Ancano, a Thalmor representative, waited in the back of every classroom, watching the lecture. Everyone was given strict instruction to not disturb him.
"I have written a primer on enchanting," Professor Turrianus said. "It is available in the Arcaneum. There should be enough copies for this class. As we continue, you will read various other writings which will be assigned. If you learn quickly enough, we will briefly touch on some of the writings of Master Neloth of House Telvanni; however, most of his writing is advanced-level enchanting."
Mehra opened her mouth and shut it immediately. What was she going to say? 'He threw me out of his tower recently'? 'He's really tall in person'? 'He's actually quite attractive in a 'daddy' kind of way'?
She cleared her throat and looked around the room. Really, was she that hard-up that she found Neloth attractive? No way in hell was she going to share that thought with anyone.
To her right, one of Mehra's classmates – another Dunmer woman – fought to hide a grin at the mention of a Telvanni Master. With his outline done, Professor Turrianus dismissed the class and told them to get to know each other. Immediately, her classmate turned to pin her with a curious look.
"Looks like we have a few classes together," she said. "I'm not here to make friends, but it is good to see another Dunmer studying. My name's Brelyna."
"I'm Mehra," she replied, offering her hand to the shorter, younger woman.
"Mehra," Brelyna nodded. "So, you tested out of Intro to Destruction too?"
"Yes, and I'm glad I did."
The beginning destruction course was very basic, and Mehra was thankful that she remembered more than a mere ember spell.
"I hope this class teaches me some new things," Brelyna said. "And I really hope we end up reading some of Master Neloth's writings. Our people have a lot to offer to the world, especially the world of magic. Say what you want about House Telvanni, but some of the greatest mages in history came from there – Master Neloth being one of them."
"I agree," she nodded. "Also, anything by Divayth Fyr would be a good study."
Mehra sensed a bit of House pride from Brelyna, but didn't ask on account of the Thalmor operative lurking in the corner. He pushed off from the wall and approached them directly.
"Ladies, do not discount the great Aldmer mages as well," he said. "Telvanni mages are known for experiments on the profane, as well as dabbling in necromancy."
Mehra turned to give him the sweetest smile she could muster. Neloth was worth at least twenty of this man.
"I agree," she replied, "there are certainly great mages from all races. And that's what's so wonderful about studying magic; nearly anyone can see themselves represented by one of the greats. If you can see someone like yourself achieving success, it feels more attainable. Representation matters."
"I doubt anyone here will ever be represented by the great Masters of old," Ancano drawled.
He turned on his heel and made his way to the door. As soon as he reached the threshold, Mehra offered him her parting words:
"You stand here as well."
His step faltered, but he continued as if he didn't hear her remark. As soon as he disappeared, Brelyna turned to her with wide eyes.
"I cannot believe you just said that," she gasped.
"Just stating facts," Mehra shrugged. "The odds that anyone here will be remembered forever are quite low."
Technically, she was a great Master once as well, though she had nothing to do with the academic study of magic. Her interest in the Third Era was solely directed at which spells she could cast to become more powerful and dangerous. Now that she knew that she had an eternity– provided a dragon didn't snatch her off the ground – Mehra was curious about the particulars of magic.
"Wow, you're depressing," Brelyna snorted.
"It is true though," Mehra replied.
Together, they gathered their things and left the room to head toward the Hall of Attainment.
"Are you excited about the field study on Morndas?" Brelyna asked.
"It will be wonderful to see what we can find," Mehra lied.
Honestly, it was another crawl through an ancient ruin. She did dozens in Morrowind, dozens on Solstheim while she waited for the Crisis to blow over, and even a few with Erich in Cyrodiil. Maybe she could find some items to sell off to get enough money for a small home in Whiterun. Torvar's snoring made sleep difficult, sometimes. She'd probably have to sell off her gem collection, but it would be worth it.
"I want to learn about magic in application," Brelyna continued. "I want to learn how to use it. Theory can get so boring."
Mehra nodded. Really, she wouldn't mind learning more theory. At the same time, though, she had to get her strength back up so she could fight with less worry. There would be time for theory in the future.
"I wonder if they cleared all of the undead out of Saarthal," she mused, watching as Brelyna screwed her face into a look of disgust.
"With how cautious Master Tolfdir is, there's a zero percent chance of danger there."
Mehra nodded in agreement, though she wasn't quite sure. Ruins were ruins, and in her experience, they were always crawling with something nasty.
He was skeptical when he first saw his new apprentice. Talvas was built like a Redoran bulwark – short, wide, and strong. His first instinct was that the rival House did a poor job selecting someone to send undercover, but Neloth squashed the thought. Though Redoran and Telvanni had no love for each other, the dire state of Morrowind led them to play nice.
It didn't take long before Neloth was certain of his decision to take Talvas on as an apprentice. Talvas proved himself to be the master conjurer his previous teachers claimed he was. Truth be told, he was a brilliant young man, despite his flaws.
Neloth watched as Talvas made another attempt to decipher his margin notes. Damned kids didn't bother to become fluent in Ancient Dunmeris, despite their dreams of attaining an apprenticeship with a Master.
He pursed his lips; he was the only Master left alive who used the language consistently. For the rest of the House, it was purely academic. Though any correspondence from Aryon was written in Ancient Dunmeris, Neloth was under no illusion that the young, thousand year old upstart knew the language from birth. Being the last ancient one alive wasn't as charming as Neloth thought it would be in his youth.
"Talvas," he called, watching as his apprentice flinched at the sound of his own name.
Neloth had to toughen the boy up. His gentle temperament and meek nature did him no favors. If he became a Master-Wizard, the rest of the House would tear him apart.
"Have you found anything yet?" he asked.
Neloth watched as his face creased in worry.
"No, Master," Talvas replied. "I apologize. Your notes in the margins were interesting and I got sidetracked."
This was his prodigy– hungry to learn, yet incredibly mindful of how he presented himself to his Master.
Neloth crossed his arms. Coming from anyone else, he'd call him out on a lie, but it was beyond Talvas to lie to cover up a shortcoming. He was so unlike Ildari – refreshingly so.
"Master," Talvas mumbled, "I realize that this is very personal, but if you allow me into your library, I'll be able to research more about the dragons faster."
"Absolutely not! It is my private library. I am the only one allowed in there."
Besides the dangerous books and scrolls, there were pieces so old that they would disintegrate if handled improperly. Thankfully, the most important parts of the library were moved before the eruption. A few powerful scrolls of healing would have been nice, but spell scrolls had been one of the last priorities, given the fact that he was quite capable of casting any spell which could be written on a scroll.
Shaking his head, Neloth went back to his research. Were the heartstones parts of the Heart of Lorkhan? Or were they simply pieces of Red Mountain which were closest to the Heart? He leaned more toward the second hypothesis; however, nobody really knew what happened to the Heart, except for–
"I apologize for asking about your library," Talvas said. "Have you found anything yet?"
Neloth looked up from his reading and scowled. "That's your research, not mine. If this dragon situation becomes more pressing – and I doubt that it will effect me in the least – , then I shall turn my attention to it. You're going to have to stand on your own two feet sooner than later, apprentice. It might as well be now."
"Yes, Master," Talvas replied. "I will do my best."
"Of course you will. I expect no less from my apprentice."
Talvas stared down at the book in front of him, his lips pursed. He was thinking, and the look on his face told Neloth that he debated whether or not he wanted to say something.
"Ask," Neloth grumbled. "You've got that look."
"Did you ever see a dragon?" he asked. "I mean, is that even from your time?"
Neloth sighed and put his head in his hands.
"They kept to Skyrim," he replied, "I don't think they wanted to deal with the Tribunal. The Northern Barbarians sought to fight them, and we already had our gods. There weren't many dragons left in that time, regardless."
Talvas stared at him with wide eyes, as if he were an artifact of some sort. "How old are you, Master?"
Old enough to be weary of the question. Old enough to have no interest in politics, and old enough to reliably predict multiple outcomes of war and intrigue. Old enough to become completely disconnected from petty social attachments.
Neloth shook his head. It had been a while since someone dared to ask such a question of him. He was in a generous mood, however; he'd answer the question that day.
"My best guess is somewhere over three thousand," Neloth replied. "I've quit keeping track of it – it's a tedious thing, and it's part of the House records if I decide that I ever want to know the exact number. With any luck, I'll live longer than Divayth did. His connection to Mehrunes Dagon was his downfall. I had Mehrunes' Razor at one point, you know; that very well could have been me instead of Divayth."
"Yes, how much of the Realizations of Acrobacy was true, anyway?"
Neloth slammed his fist on the table. Goddammit!
"That fucking book!" He shouted. "Really, you must shut up more often! You know why Gothren was losing to me? He had no military experience. He didn't have a damned clue how to lead an army, much less the damned House!"
He outlived Gothren. That was reward in and of itself. And though the Razor was nice, he didn't need it and never did.
"I was certain it was lies, Master," Talvas protested, his hands readied to cast a protective ward. "At any rate, Drothan was after the Razor last anyone heard of it, wasn't he?"
Hm, yes. Neloth pursed his lips and rubbed his beard. Frathen Drothan: he hadn't heard that name in a while.
"And he never returned," Neloth answered. "We told him that attempting to recover the Razor in order to topple the Empire was a fool's errand, given what happened to Divayth just for having a conversation once in a while with Dagon. I even attended the Council on the matter. Where did you hear of this, Talvas?"
Talvas glanced around the room in worry. Why did he seem worried? Did he sneak into his private library to look at his personal documents? Because, if he did–
"I read as many Council logs as I could while I was in Sadrith Mora," he replied. "If I'm going to become a Master one day, I have to know our history. And all I can say is a unanimous Council ought to have indicated to Drothan that he was doing something very stupid."
Neloth nodded. "He was stripped of his rank, all his privileges, and his tower. His plan was sheer lunacy. Empires come and go, and the Empire that Tiber Septim established will crumble slowly with the last of its heirs dead. But, you know who outlasts Empires? Telvanni. Our House will always be."
"Yes, Master."
Neloth studied Talvas for a moment. He was so young, yet he already lived an entire natural lifespan for a Dunmer, thus cementing himself as one of the elite. His apprentice would most certainly end up in an arranged marriage and have his pick of eligible women from the merit of his apprenticeship alone. Neloth wanted to keep his hands out of that one. Aryon could arrange the marriage; he wanted no part in it. Shaking his head, he turned back to his research on the heartstones.
There were more pressing matters for him attend to than this silliness.
From the moment she saw the amulet hanging on the wall, Mehra knew that the ruins of Saarthal were different. She ought to have left the amulet there and come back without telling anyone about it. Instead, the same curious greed that made her pocket three incredibly expensive enchanted rings – the same one that told her to hoard gems – made her take the amulet from the obviously trapped wall.
She stood in front of an altar in a small room lined with stone coffins and blinked at the pale apparition in front of her. Time stood still in the apparition's presence; Tolfdir stood frozen at her side, unblinking, while the flame on a nearby candle made no movement. The translucent robed man in front of her crossed his arms and studied her. After a moment's study, his eyebrows shot up in what Mehra desperately hoped wasn't recognition.
"Hold mage, and listen well." he said. "Know that you have set in motion a series of events that cannot be stopped."
Mehra sighed and closed her eyes.
"Again? I honestly don't try to do these things." she replied. "I'll put everything back where I found it if that will make it better. I don't want any trouble."
"Judgment has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing," he said. "Judgment will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching."
"You know who I am, then?" she asked. "I'm not nearly as powerful as I once was."
He didn't reply and disappeared in a flash of light, forcing Mehra to cover her eyes. Time reverted to normal; Tolfdir looked around the room in wonder.
"I swear, I felt something just then," he mumbled. He turned to her and frowned. "Are you alright, my dear?"
Mehra nodded and rubbed her eyes. "I saw an apparition of some sort just now. He said he was from the Psijic Order, and that there is danger ahead."
Danger again, and Mehra had the sneaking suspicion that it had nothing to do with the dragons. How in the world was she to avert two worldwide disasters?
Tolfdir furrowed his brow. "That's very odd. The Psijic Order hasn't been seen in a long time, and they have no connection to these ruins. Let's take a look around. Maybe something is in one of these coffins."
"Are you certain we should be looking around if we were warned?" Mehra asked, watching as Tolfdir approached an ancient sarcophagus.
"Well," he sighed, "if we don't, then someone else will. What if that 'someone else' is an innocent person? What if they are evil? Part of magical study is to protect others from harm. Besides, we must get to the bottom of this."
Though he had a point, Mehra wasn't certain that digging around in coffins was the best approach. They ought to get the Arch-Mage to seal away this section of the ruins; at least then, it would take someone very powerful to break the seal.
Predictably, as soon as they approached the coffins, the lids fell to the ground to reveal angry draugr. Mehra drew her sword and readied flames in her hand. Charging forward, she attacked them head-on, careful to avoid using shouts. She had to stay beneath the Thalmor representative's notice and being discovered as Dragonborn was very noteworthy.
They made quick work of the undead; when the last one fell, a path opened up, leading deeper into the ruins. Tolfdir motioned onward, and Mehra followed.
They arrived at a large room with more crypts lining the walls. Draugr burst out of their graves from all sides, and Mehra charged in. With each spell she cast, she remembered more of her forgotten skills. Just a week in classes and a fight, and already, she was on her way to becoming formidable once again.
Maybe, she could do this after all.
It didn't take long before every last draugr lay dead. Tolfdir stepped over the fallen corpses to examine the carvings on the coffins.
"You don't see crypts like this in typical Nordic ruins," he marveled. "I'm going to stay here to check it out."
Mehra glanced toward the far end of the room. There was another path, presumably leading deeper into the ruins.
"What would you like me to do?" She asked.
Tolfdir gave her a nod. "You tested out of Introduction to Destruction, yes?"
Mehra nodded.
"You seem quite capable," he replied. "I think you might be too advanced for some of the classes you're in. At any rate, I imagine you'll have no trouble if you go on ahead. Just be careful."
Mehra nodded and continued onward, despite her reservations that an instructor would send a student off into dangerous ruins all on her own. Ethics aside, she didn't mind; after all, it was an opportunity to practice her skills.
The crypt wound downward, following a similar pattern as Bleak Falls Barrow and Dustman's Cairn. Mehra encountered hallways lined with draugr, and numerous traps and puzzles. To all appearances, it seemed to be a typical Nordic ruin, but the apparition's warning was clear in her mind.
There was danger ahead. She sensed it too, with each step she took deeper into the ruin. Hours passed, and the growing nervousness in the pit her her stomach caused her to wander in the dark and rely on her assassin skills to move as quietly and efficiently as possible.
Eventually, she stopped in front of a heavy, ebony door. She wasn't sure if she ought to press on; something felt strange about this place.
Mehra wheeled around at the sound of footsteps behind her. Tolfdir emerged from the darkness, an orb of candlelight hovering over his head.
"I thought it high time I caught up with you," he called. "How have you been doing?"
"Just fine," she replied, "it has been a typical ruin so far."
"Sounds good, Mehra," he smiled. "Let's press on ahead together, shall we?"
There was something in his smile that reminded her of Erich, and in the back of her mind, she thought that Tolfdir may be his long-lost cousin from the Third Era. It was certainly possible. But how would she even begin to ask Tolfdir if he had a cousin named Erich? She'd look doubly suspicious, and she was quite certain that it would be upsetting for him to find out his last surviving family member was an insane daedra.
No, it was better to leave that alone.
Tolfdir motioned toward the door. Pursing her lips, Mehra leaned against the door and pushed. It groaned on its hinges and slowly swung open, revealing a set of stairs washed in blue-green light.
There was definitely something down here.
Entranced by the light, Mehra trudged down the stairs and froze at the bottom. There, in the center of the room, a giant orb covered in runes floated. Light emanated from it, casting a blue glow about the room.
The orb felt like pure magic.
Behind her, she heard Tolfdir marvel at the sight. In all his years, he'd never seen anything like it before, either. Tolfdir passed her and approached the orb, his head tilted to the side.
She wasn't so sure about this. A chill ran down her spine; something felt wrong.
Mehra jumped at a sound behind her. She whirled around to see a glowing, axe-wielding draugr charging at her. Swearing, Mehra drew her sword, dodged his axe blow, and thrust her sword straight for his chest.
Against all reason, she missed. The glowing light around the draugr deflected her sword and sent her flailing face-first toward an altar. She wheeled around, grabbed a handful of ash out of a nearby brazier, and threw it in the creature's face. Though the barrier deflected the ash, the draugr flinched, buying her enough time to get some distance between them. Mehra threw a fireball behind her back at him, but the barrier once again absorbed her attack.
She glanced around the room for something to use against it, but came up with nothing. It was useless that barrier up around the draugr.
Not only that, but this was no ordinary draugr. Whoever he had been in his past life was very skilled in combat.
At the far end of the room, Tolfdir fared better in his faceoff against a pair of common draugr. He casually tossed shock spells at them and turned them to ash before they could even come close to him. Still, they kept him busy enough that he couldn't help her until there were much less of them.
Mehra didn't have time to be impressed by his power. She glanced at the orb and back to the rapidly approaching draugr. Both were bathed in the same strange light. While she knew that there was a connection between the orb and the barrier, she had no clue how to deactivate it.
"Tolfdir!" Mehra shouted. "We've got to get this guy's barrier down! My attacks are doing nothing!"
"I'm on it! He must be using the orb here to power his defenses!"
The draugr threw a fireball at her then charged her, slamming her into the stone wall. Breath rushed out of her lungs. Gasping and coughing, she smelled the thick embalming fluid on the undead, and the unmistakable smell of death as he laughed in her face. The draugr slammed her against the wall again and she saw stars. Another slam against the wall, and the draugr continued his rattling, wet laugh.
He was playing with her. Shame that she couldn't kick him in the balls for it.
"Your fire is weak," she spat.
The draugr didn't understand her. Instead, he grinned – rotten, withered lips stretching over shrunken gums – and drew his dagger to deliver the final blow.
The blue light that surrounded him flickered and died. Mehra dodged to the side and hit his forearm as hard as possible. The dagger clattered to the ground.
Wasting no time, Mehra drew her own dagger and stabbed him in the neck. She pushed the knife deep, severing the connection between his brain and his body. The eerie spirit lighting his eyes flickered and died. Sighing in relief, Mehra pulled the dagger from the draugr's neck and pushed the dead body off of her.
Thank goodness she had Erich's dagger. It was made for a quick kill.
Tolfdir turned from the orb and walked over to her. "Are you alright, Mehra?" he asked.
"Got knocked around a bit," she shrugged, "but I've had worse."
Tolfdir nodded. "You're tough. Don't worry about how I got that barrier down, alright? The safety of my students is my priority.
Mehra wanted to push him on how he did it, but opted against pressing her luck. She was new, after all, and the College seemed rather strict.
Tolfdir looked down at the felled draugr and frowned. He reached down to grab a piece of ancient parchment pinned to the creature's chest. As he read it, his frown increased.
Mehra peered at the scratchy characters on the paper. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't Cyrodiilic.
"What's it say?" she asked.
Tolfdir pursed his lips, then recited the writing on the page:
"Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer
Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord.
May your name and your deeds be forgotten forever
And the charm which you bear be sealed by our ward."
Tolfdir shook his head. "It's a writ of sealing. This fellow committed a most terrible crime to be stricken from historical record. The orb here must have something to do with this."
He reached down again and unhooked the amulet around the draugr's neck. "This is the charm that sealed him, along with this sealing ward. Now that I feel it, the amulet here has a pretty hefty fortify magicka enchantment on it."
Mehra stared at the amulet in confusion. Perhaps, it fortified the magicka of the orb's barrier. She wasn't really sure; amulets, barriers, and enchanting were far from her field of expertise.
Tolfdir pressed the amulet into her palm.
"Since you took him down, I suppose you should keep this," he said. "I don't believe it to be cursed, since he was defeated. It looks fragmented; maybe you can find the other pieces, if you're lucky. At any rate, I'm certain it can help you in your studies as you learn how to cast new spells."
Mehra examined the amulet. A leather cord wound around various teeth and fragments of tusks. In the center, a golden, engraved, and cut pendant hung, brassy with age. She also felt the enchantment but was wary of wearing it for fear of a curse.
She tucked it into her pack as Tolfdir turned and walked over to the orb to examine it in more detail. After a while, he shook his head.
"We need to get the Arch-Mage down here," he said. "This discovery is incredible. I don't dare leave this unattended for a moment. Can you please return to the College and inform him of this discovery?"
"No problem. I'll go now."
Mehra glanced around the room and smiled. There, behind the orb, was a pullchain and a door which presumably led to the beginning of the ruin. Entering the small tunnel, she made her way through until she ended up in a frosty cavern with a dragon word wall. Her feet carried her toward the wall, her eyes focusing on a singular word that etched itself into her mind.
From her earlier fight with a dragon outside Solitude, the word was instantly revealed: Ice – no connotation, just ice. Iiz.
Since she was alone, she figured she ought to test it. Mehra turned toward the corner of the room.
"Iiz!"
A blast of frigid air flew across the room, freezing everything in its path. When the she was certain that the shout wore off, Mehra crept forward to examine its effects more closely. She toed a patch of ice and shivered as cold seeped into her foot. Unwilling to test it further, she backed off, turned toward a chest in the middle of the room – must have missed it after seeing the word wall – and opened it.
Inside was a pair of enchanted Nordic daggers, along with a gigantic, Nord-sized ring, and a handful of gold. Mehra put the items in her bag. Combined with the other things she found in the ruin, and the money she earned from some of her Companions jobs and dragon slaying, it was possible that she had enough money to purchase a modest home in Whiterun.
Satisfied with her findings, Mehra left the cold, forgotten cavern that housed the word wall and trudged her way up to the surface. She made it to the entrance of the Saarthal and slipped by her classmates to throw open the main door of the underground ruins.
The midday sun beamed down on her and the surrounding snow. Mehra squinted and gingerly picked her way up a melting slope to reach the main path leading toward Winterhold. She continued onward, occasionally glancing to her left.
It was hard to miss the gigantic statue of an elegant woman holding a crescent moon and sun in her hands. Nestled between the rocky, ice-strewn mountains, the figure stood out against the wilderness, her stern gaze pointing toward Morrowind.
Without a doubt, this was a shrine to Azura. The statue was surprisingly human, but in the land of the Nords, she supposed it made sense. After all, Azura would be pleased with worshipers even from those who were not among her chosen people.
Mehra swallowed and looked up at the statue's reproachful face. She really ought to make herself right with her, at the very least.
She needed glowdust from the College. There was no way she'd come to the altar empty handed. She owed Azura a prayer of thanks, as well as repentance for her murders.
Mehra heard that Azura taught her faithful with harsh lessons, and even her chosen Incarnate was no exception. A two hundred year prison sentence was a harsh lesson indeed.
Mehra trudged her way through the slick and melting snow until she reached the entrance to the College. By the time she reached the front door, Mehra figured she ought to seek out the Arch-Mage first and tell him about what happened in Saarthal. She entered the Hall of the Elements and crossed the hallway toward the Arch-Mage's quarters. Stopping in front of the door, she knocked a few times and waited for an answer, but heard none. Shrugging, she inched the door open.
"Master?" she called.
There was no reply. Mehra opened the door all the way and frowned when she saw a flight of stairs in front of her. It was an odd place to put a door, but perhaps, this was to keep foot traffic down on the stairs. She jogged up the spiral staircase, stopping at the top. Strangely enough, there was no door at the top of the stairs.
How did anyone have any privacy here? Nobody had a door on their quarters.
Mehra stopped in the threshold.
"Master Aren?" she called.
"Enter."
She stepped into the grand quarters and tried not to think about how bored and irritated he sounded. She looked around for him – not sitting next to the beautiful alchemical garden, not at the ornately carved desk, not seated on the nearby plush chaise – and frowned. Perhaps, he was in the next room?
Mehra stepped forward through the room's dividing archway and glanced around. She found him seated in the plainest chair in the room, reading a plain, brown-backed book. He was a slim man – Dunmer, as his name suggested – and his fur fringed, triangular robe mimicked an older style of Dunmeri dress. A charcoal, knotted beard rested in the middle of his collar, hiding any perceptible wrinkles except those on his brow. His ruby eyes scanned the pages of the book.
Her hair stood on end. Mehra didn't have to see him in action to know that the Arch-Mage was very powerful; she felt magical power rolling off of him in waves, though not nearly as strong as Neloth.
"Tolfdir would like you to come out to Saarthal immediately," Mehra said.
Master Aren sighed, not bothering to look up from his book. "Please don't tell me another one of the apprentices has been incinerated. I have enough to deal with right now."
"No," she replied, "We found some sort of orb. It appeared to resonate with power, but that's all I know. I've never seen anything quite like it."
He closed his eyes. Clearly, this wasn't a concern to him.
"Feels like it could be similar to the Heart of Lorkhan," she offered.
Similar, but not as powerful – thank the Gods. Still, Mehra didn't like the implications of the orb's discovery.
The Arch Mage frowned and closed his book. "I... see. Well, I'm sure Tolfdir can give a more... specific explanation. We will have to safeguard it, of course – whatever it is."
He finally looked directly at her. "Oh, you're new here, yes?" he said.
"Yes, Sir."
"'Sir'," he repeated. "How quaint. What is your name, Apprentice?"
Master Aren smiled in amusement, painfully reminding her of Aryon and his insistence that he wasn't better than anyone else.
"Mehra."
"Well, Mehra, I am quite content to see nearly any aspect of magic explored and investigated here. But I do not and will not approve of any research or experiments that cause purposeful harm to your fellow members of the College. Are we clear?"
"Absolutely," she replied. "I will not cause any harm."
His gaze bored into hers, and though she stood over him, Mehra felt small in comparison. Who knew how old this man was, anyway? He certainly felt older than she.
"And if you're going to ask about the doors," he sighed, "it's a safety issue. And I hold myself to the same standard as I hold everyone else."
"It sounds like there's been some trouble," Mehra said.
"Not often, no," he replied. "Some risks must be taken, to be sure. I am simply trying to avoid untimely deaths. We also must make an effort to avoid worsening what Skyrim thinks of us. All I will say is that one profane act is more than enough. Now, if there isn't anything else?"
Mehra shook her head. "No, Master Aren. Thank you for speaking with me."
He smiled and nodded at her, then shut his book with a sigh. Figuring that she did her duty, Mehra turned on her heel and returned the way she came.
She hunted down Enthir – the College's sole and questionable general trader – purchased the necessary glowdust for her offering, and sold off what she could of the expensive items she lifted from the ruins. He didn't ask where she'd gotten the rings and daggers, and, in fact, didn't flinch at the large sum of gold she asked for in return.
She kept the fragmented amulet from the draugr. Mehra earned it, after all, and the enchantment on it was quite powerful. Perhaps someone could take a look at it just to make sure that it wouldn't curse her.
With her personal errands complete, she left the Hall of Attainment. Mehra stopped at the bottom of the main staircase at the sight of one of the instructors approaching her with a strange look on her face.
"Yes, Master Faralda?"
"Ancano is looking for you," Master Faralda mumbled. "Do not tell him anything important if you found something in Saarthal."
"Yes, Ma'am," she replied.
"And your Destruction is going well?" she asked.
Mehra nodded.
"Good," Master Faralda replied. "I shall look forward to your next skill test."
With that, her instructor took her leave.
Mehra opened the door to the Hall of the Elements and saw Ancano waiting below. True to Master Faralda's word, Ancano was indeed looking for her; as soon as he saw her, he walked toward her with a scowl.
"You were in Saarthal, yes?" he asked. "What happened there?"
"Yeah. We found a thing."
"What kind of 'thing'?"
"Didn't Master Aren tell you?" Mehra asked, feigning innocence.
Ancano gave a fake sigh. "He doesn't tell me anything. I wish it weren't so."
Mehra peered up at him and smiled sweetly. "Men; can't count on them to talk it out, am I right?"
He rolled his eyes. "Do not insult my intelligence. Something was discovered in Saarthal that was significant enough that Tolfdir sent a new member of the College, alone, to deliver word. That sounds precisely like the sort of thing that should matter to everyone, especially me."
If he were truly an adviser, why would it matter so much? Certainly he'd be able to see a report, or at least, he could talk with the Arch-Mage himself.
She didn't give him the answers that he wanted. Ancano turned to leave, but froze in mid-step. Pursing his lips, he regarded her with a cool glare.
"If you're studying here. Why did you bring a sword into the ruins?"
"I'm a spellsword," she replied. "But I did test out of Intro to Destruction."
Ancano tilted his head to the side and sneered. "Then cast at me, apprentice. I wish to test your skill."
Mehra swallowed the temptation to cast the nastiest spell she could muster and instead, readied a modest fire spell. The last thing she needed were Thalmor Justiciars stalking her.
Ancano held up his hand to ward off the spell, the glimmering barrier signaling that he was ready. Mehra let loose her fireball and watched as it bounced his outstretched arm backward just enough to make him startle. With that, he let the ward down.
"Your mastery is indeed above your peers," Ancano remarked. "I shall be watching your progress intently. In the meantime, you'd better cooperate next time I question you."
Mehra nodded and forced herself to look agreeable. She didn't answer to this man and she certainly wouldn't in the future.
With that, Ancano stormed off. Mehra shook her head; everywhere she went, she encountered such angry young people. Were she in a position to do so, she would have advised them to be more understanding of others.
Ancano was the first to genuinely get on her nerves. It spoke volumes about him.
With a heavy sigh, she left the College behind and took the road back toward Saarthal. As Mehra drew closer to the statue of Azura, she saw a faded path branching off from the main road, in the direction of the shrine. Figuring it was the right way, Mehra turned off. The path wound across the mountain; boulders and sharp turns blinded her to the direction until the rocks plateaued.
At the top of the plateau lay the large shrine. Stone stairs led up to the shrine, and at the top, a lone figure stood with arms reached toward the sky, completely dwarfed in the statue's shadow. Mehra sucked in a breath at the sheer size of the statue.
She approached with her head down until she reached the altar. Glancing up, she saw the priestess watching her – a young looking Dunmer woman, tightly wrapped for the winter.
"Greetings, traveler," the woman said. "I am Aranea Ienith, priestess of Azura. Have you come to pray?"
"I have, sera."
The priestess pursed her lips and regarded her for a moment. Coming to a decision, she nodded.
"I will not presume to know who you are," she said, "but Lady Azura wishes that you prove your loyalty to her before she speaks with you. My Lady revealed your coming to me."
Mehra swallowed. Of course.
"I am humbled to have the chance," she replied.
"Someone has our Lady's Star," Aranea said. "I was told to direct you to a fortress endangered by water and a mer mage able to turn the brightest star into the blackest night. This is all I was told."
A very simple riddle, truth be told. Perhaps, Azura wanted to make this easier on her.
"Sounds like Winterhold," Mehra said.
"I agree," Aranea nodded. "Though I do not know which mage she refers to. Perhaps, someone at the College would know."
Mehra pursed her lips and crossed her arms. No doubt, if someone corrupted Azura's Star, they would be thrown out of the College.
"I doubt they will share with me," she said. "There are strict rules against profane and dangerous practices there. If someone there messed with the Star, they would be kicked out on their ass. I can almost guarantee that dropping the person's name to someone would also be forbidden."
The priestess frowned. "Then there must be someone who has the information in town. Maybe, you can try the tavern?"
Mehra narrowed her eyes in thought. She went to that tavern to read Brand-Shei's father's journal, and everyone looked like a normal patron there, except for one.
"There was an Altmer sorcerer last time I was there," she said. "I bet that's our guy."
Aranea smiled. "You truly are the right person for our Lady to send. There are no bounds to her mystery and brilliance."
"I feel that finding the guy is the easy part," Mehra sighed. "If the star is corrupted, then there's a big problem."
"Indeed," she replied. "But Lady Azura has chosen you to find it. You are indeed blessed."
Mehra nodded and sighed. At the very least, Azura entrusted her with a problem of a very personal nature. She certainly wouldn't send just anyone to go fix the Star, would she?
Swallowing her doubts, Mehra took her leave and headed back the way she came. Even if Azura would send an average worshiper on this task, it didn't matter. She reminded herself that she didn't need nor want to be treated different from anyone else.
Mehra made her way through Winterhold again, seeking out the only tavern in the town. As soon as she spotted it, she stopped in her tracks to the sound of a whistle toward her left.
"Hey beautiful! Lookin' good!"
A catcall? Seriously?
Mehra turned around to give the man a piece of her mind, but the words died on her lips as soon as she saw him.
Erich.
He leaned against the wooden frame of an old house, his arms crossed over his chest, cheeks flushed, and a smile on his face.
"I don't holler at women," he said, "but you were lost in thought. Didn't mean to upset you – it just came to mind. Sorry."
Mehra rolled her eyes and chuckled despite herself. "What are you doing all the way out here?" she asked.
"Just felt like saying hello," he replied. "I'm glad to see you made it all the way up here without freezing." Erich pushed off from the wall, stepped up to her, and gave her a side-hug.
"Do you want to take a walk?" she asked. Maybe they could just catch up – no heavy topics required like their last conversation.
He nodded, took her arm in his, and lead her toward the road out of town. When they were out of sight and hearing range, Erich snapped his fingers. A cane appeared in his hand and he pointed it toward a nearby boulder, sending a gust of air that blew the snow away from it. After tapping the newly dried rock, the cane vanished. Erich motioned toward the new seat with his hand.
Mehra sat down on the rock and smiled. He must have done something to warm it.
Erich sat down next to her. "So, what's new?" he asked.
"Well," she replied, "I've been given a chance to prove myself to Azura again."
He nodded and stared out at the ice packed ocean. "That's good then. I'm sure it's a very private matter."
Mehra sighed. Closing her eyes, she nodded. "Yeah, it is." She couldn't betray her Lady's trust by mentioning the profaned Star, even if she felt Erich was trustworthy. While they weren't outright enemies, Azura and Sheogorath didn't generally mix.
She thought about telling him of her meeting with Neloth, but decided against it on account that it seemed like it would be uninteresting. What else could she tell him? Really, making casual conversation with a Daedric Prince wasn't something she was prepared for. Anything she said would surely be common.
There was that Thalmor infiltration mission from Delphine.
"Here's something interesting for you," Mehra said. "I don't know if you know this, but the Blades got run out of the Empire as part of the White Gold Concordant. Since I appeared as the Dragonborn, the remaining Grandmaster of the Blades contacted me. She thinks that the Thalmor might have something to do with the reemergence of the dragons."
Erich closed his eyes and shook with laughter. "Thalmor? Dragons? They don't even share history. Unless the Thalmor actually are dragons. Then that would be a problem. Seems plausible, really. There's lots of them with green eyes, you know."
Mehra bit her lip. No, that thought was insane, but she had to consider the source.
"Anyway," she continued, "she wants me to infiltrate a party of theirs and steal documents. I'm very much out of practice with stealth, so I'll probably get killed in the process. So I suppose I'm on limited time right now."
Erich frowned and an envelope materialized in his hands. He opened it, took out a sheet of paper, and read it.
Mehra blinked. He was reading her invitation to the party.
"It spoke to me in your pack," he mumbled. "Sounded like one of those uppity fellas, too. Reminds me of Haskill, that sweet man."
She forced herself to appear unphased by what he said. This was Sheogorath speaking as much as it was Erich.
"Hey," he said, "this invitation has room for a plus one. Maybe I can show up, and we can have a bit of sneaky fun together. It'll keep you from getting killed –which would be unfortunate– and it gets me out of the palace for a bit. Sounds like perfect mischief, if you ask me."
"You won't reveal yourself?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Nah. Seems too important to get too silly."
Mehra breathed a sigh of relief. If she had Erich with her – utterly overkill as he was now – there was no way she would be killed. But there was more to think about than just herself; Malborn could end up in danger.
"We have to keep the guy who helped me set this up safe," she said. "He's a Bosmer named Malborn, and he serves drinks at the Embassy. He did a hell of a lot to get me connected to this."
"Sounds fair to me," he shrugged. "Guy's a friend of the Empire, then."
Mehra nodded quietly. Though he was insane, Erich's ties to the Empire still held strong. She wondered what lengths he would go to in order to keep the Empire from collapsing, even as a daedra. Perhaps, the Empire had a powerful ally in Sheogorath.
The seer's words came back to her: "the curse of madness cannot be broken".
Erich was the real thing. Amazing. Was it really a curse, though? It seemed that he was very well off. He certainly knew a lot of things.
Oh.
The pendant from the crypt. She could ask Erich if it was cursed.
Mehra dug through her pack, grabbed the pendant, and held it out to him.
"Hey, is this pendant cursed?"
Erich tilted his head and looked at it. "Nah, I don't see a curse here. Though it depends on what you mean by 'curse'. Lots of curses were said over it."
She frowned. Mehra wasn't the superstitious sort, but it did seem bad to wear an amulet that was the cause of a lot of strife.
"I mean," he said, "if you wear it and you're not using it for evil, you won't need to be sealed up with it as your ward, will you?"
Unnerved by the eerie accuracy of his words, Mehra nodded and put the amulet around her neck. She wasn't going to use the amulet for evil.
Mehra looked up to see the Arch-Mage walking out of Winterhold's main road, presumably in the direction of Saarthal. When he reached them, he looked at the rock on which she sat in curiosity.
"Fascinating rune, apprentice," he said. "Quite skilled – it takes a lot of practice to create warmth without fire."
Erich grinned broadly next to her, and her stomach lurched at the sight of the long canines in his mouth. If the Arch-Mage noticed, he'd surely kick her out of the College for consorting with daedra.
"Thank you, Master Aren," Mehra replied. "I wish you safe travels."
She hoped desperately that Erich would let it slide that she took credit for his rune. Master Aren didn't need to notice him.
"Appreciated, Apprentice," Master Aren said. With that, he continued down the road toward Saarthal.
When he was out of sight, Mehra sighed in relief. That was close.
"Do you think he saw the fangs?" she asked, staring out at the new set of footprints Master Aren left in the snow.
Erich turned to her with wide eyes. "I have fangs?"
"Have you not looked in a mirror, Erich?"
He frowned, shook his head, and summoned a mirror. Curious, he peered into the glass and smiled, gasping when he saw the daedric fangs and slit pupils.
"Yeah," she said, "you look a bit 'off', for someone walking around the mortal plane."
"I'll have to cover it up when I do this infiltration mission," Erich mused. "Now that I think of it, my predecessor looked like a man with reptile eyes, fangs, and claws. Must be a 'me' thing."
"Maybe so," Mehra shrugged. "Dremora have that, too."
He shrugged. "They have horns, though. And I don't have those. Well – not now, I don't. I could if I wanted to."
Erich blinked and tilted his head to the side. Scowling, he stretched his legs out and stood.
"I've got to get going. Just got a prayer from someone in trouble. Thalmor hunting down daedra worshipers – you know how it is. Good guy, really; remembers the yarn. Most just think of the cabbage and cheese, but the yarn! The yarn is important."
"I'll um," Mehra mumbled. "I'll remember that, Erich."
He turned to her and smiled. "I'm certain you will, my dear. You're mindful of your Daedra."
With that, he summoned his cane, tapped it on the ground, and disappeared.
Mehra stared at the footprints he left in the snow.
What in the world did she just get herself into with him?