Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): None
Last time…
Then I let myself drop back onto the straw mattress with a groan, burying my face in my hands and ignoring the sleep-addled mumbles from Marcurio. Fuck. I don't have a key. Where in Oblivion am I supposed to find one of the three only entrance keys in existence? …What do I do now?
Chapter 21 - Raldbthar
"Stop interrupting me!"
I shut my mouth from where it was forming yet another retort to one very, very angry mage.
"As I was saying before you so graciously interfered -" He hisses snidely, sparks dancing across his fingertips and his right eye twitching sporadically, "- remember for any future reference that I do NOT appreciate a guard standing over me first thing in the morning! What in Oblivion did you DO to get us chased out of the city at the ass-crack of dawn?"
A deep breath.
"We're banned from Windhelm, Fjaldi. Banned! For a month! The ale will have gone bad by the time we're allowed back!"
The mage pauses for a few precious seconds in abject horror at the sheer thought of the stock of ale in our kitchen cabinets going rancid, allowing my poor, abused ears to get a break from listening to the ranting.
Alas. I highly doubt he's done yet.
"Fjaldi, what kind of stunt – ugh. Nevermind. I don't think I want to hear it! I suppose I'll just have to be glad we're allowed back in later. On to another subject, then, or I'll just give in to the urge to roast you over an open fire. What could you possibly want to check in a several thousand year old ruin?"
"Oh, not much," I shrug, already moving up the steps to said ruin, trying and failing to block out the stench of death that now hangs heavily in the area. Ugh.
A few snowy foxes scurry off between my feet, having been feasting on a bandit cadaver, and I suddenly find myself fervidly hoping nothing more… violate has come to see where the smell is coming from.
"We're only going to look and see if we can get entry to Fal Zhardum Din using a key that is most likely not even in the accessible parts of the city." I explain absently, dodging a pool of partially died, darkly gleaming blood spread across the stone as we quickly descend deeper into the dark tomb, my leather boots soundlessly tapping against the ancient, worn stone that speaks of the years upon years of my people's pride, their tonal architecture, being abandoned and left to decay.
Marcurio's scowl is burning a hole in my back even as we pass Alain Dufont's stinking, worthless corpse, heading further without much pause or regard for the bastard or his companions. The dismantled Animunculi lying about strike a chord in me, but I push down the discomfort and the memories of my mother and focus on the pride that some of my people's works are still guarding these halls.
It has been a long time, a very long one, since they had any reason to. Unless, of course, they are keeping Falmer from overrunning the surface.
"Yes, many parts of these places are buried in rubble by now…" The mage sighs, mournful at the thought of old secrets being forever buried and out of his ever-curious reach, eyeing the Animunculi and steam pipe mechanisms absently.
"I suppose it would be more fascinating to study these machines if they didn't make a habit of trying to kill me all the time."
"If they're trying to kill you, they're still doing their jobs right." Comes my acrid reply, as I artfully ignore the affronted 'Hey!' that follows, predictably, immediately. I roll my eyes, looking around to see any signs of – ah.
"Either way, I wasn't talking about the collapsed parts. You see this wall?" I gesture to the – at first sight – plain grey structure, framed by two golden pillars on either side, as most of the sections in this part of the ruin are.
"Yes. A wall. Such a fascinating concept." The Imperial nods drolly, decidedly unimpressed by my seemingly random observation.
I run my finger along a near-invisible line, where a few bits of stone have broken off. A perfectly straight line, and in the cracks faint patterns can be distinguished, the smallest gleam of Dwemer metal greeting my eyes. To the untrained eye, like Marcurio, it's just another crack in the wall.
But Dwemer architecture doesn't allow for something as asinine as that. Either the walls collapse at least partially, or they are not affected by much wear at all. Such is the nature of tonal architecture as far as I was taught.
It may have only been a few lessons to get young children interested in the art, but it hadn't much peaked my interest back then. Now, I'm glad to have retained at least some of the information we were given.
The fact that the graceful, straight doors, working steam pipes, traps, and breathtakingly well-crafted decorations are all still in place, oozing a sense of gold-and-grey familiarity that still resonates deep inside me, can attest to that. If these cities weren't built to last, they'd have fallen apart centuries ago.
"It's a hidden doorway." I start in a low voice, frowning as I scratch at it with my fingers, as if to pull the mechanism loose.
"It is locked by the defence system only accessible from the inside. It's meant to protect residents from invaders, leaving a few places open to make the enemy think they've found all there is to be found. Behind the defence are the living quarters for other Dwemer than just the guards or the odd noble family that invites non-Dwemer visitors – and also amenities like bathhouses, schools, forges, and so on…"
I trail off dismally, engulfed by the memories of old times flashing through my eyes – the emergency drills, how my mom would joke and laugh but how the worry flashed every time a Dwemer neared the mechanisms at more than a walking pace, how we had to go home and stay there until being called, how the Falmer were purposefully left out of these drills, how…
I shake my head as if to shake the images from my mind.
"Don't tell me no human or other Mer has ever questioned the lack of building stations for a race renown for creating and developing technology and weapons beyond their time..?" I add after tearing my gaze from the hidden doorway, partially curious about the answer but mainly incredulous at how it seems even Marcurio is blindsided by the question.
Then again – who has really explored these cities without losing their lives to my people's powerful defensive mechanisms?
It's a waste, at least a dozen homes lie beyond this too-solid wall, and they'll likely not be uncovered for another three thousand years, if this tiny crack is all that shows the doorway for now.
It also serves to give me some very uncomfortable, or well… Haunting information on my people's fates.
Something I rather wish I didn't have to realise, but – Whatever happened to my people, they had the time to activate their defence system. But, if they're all gone even though this place is locked tight… where DID they go? There's no way anyone could have left the Raldbthar living quarters like this.
…They couldn't just have up and vanished, right? The history books must have been wrong on that, right? The only thing that would have the power to do that is…
Is…
Gods?
No, it can't be. What did my… Alright, but even if a researcher or two went against them, does that justify possibly ex-exterminating all…
Even innocent children?
The gods are not that cruel, are they?
And if the threat came from within… Oblivion, whatever happened, they must've all been terrified. The thought makes me a little ill, and I grit my teeth together before dropping my hand as if the stone itself has dared to burn me.
"We'll have to see how far we can -" The sounds of spells charging have me turn swiftly, and my eyes widen even as I let go of my axes when I see Marcurio in a vehement fight with no less than three Dwemer spiders. Horror crawls onto my face when the mage showers the Animunculi – mom, my mom's masterpieces - in a barrage of ice.
"Marcurio, STOP!," I cry out, aghast. Swiftly, once the wizard drops his hands in surprise at the raw emotion in my voice, I jump in between him and the Animunculi.
"I wish you no harm. Please, don't attack my friend and I! We only come to seek knowledge!" I call to the spiders, even as my companion reluctantly stops charging his spells altogether, when the intelligent machines seemingly freeze in mid-air at the consonant-rich words of my mother tongue.
Similar to the spheres in Nchuand-Zel, they all seem overjoyed at hearing me, if more wary. It leaves a sour taste since they aren't supposed to be wary of any Dwemer – were they without purpose this long? Were they betrayed? – but I smile fondly as their manacles click together merrily and they scurry up to me with varying indications of glee.
Like dogs seeing their owner come home from work.
A faint, fond smile still on my face I turn to tell Marcurio not to fly off the handle or into the attack so quickly the next time we come across any surviving Animunculi, but…
My companion is gobsmacked.
Shocked.
Floored.
Flummoxed, whatever one wishes to call it, as he stares uncomprehendingly at what he only ever knew as ruthless killing machines.
A long silence reigns, and suddenly, I find myself a little nervous.
What's he going to do? How will he react?
…
"So… You weren't kidding after all, when you said you were a Dwemer. An expert is one thing. Only a Dwemer could get…" he gestures at the spiders, looking rather faint, but also overcome with a quickly mounting excitement that has me swallow thickly in apprehension. I can already almost physically feel the questions brimming beneath the surface of Marcurio's somewhat calm façade.
"Aye."
A stupid response, and I want to hit myself for it. But now is not the time.
"You know… I've heard there's actually a living Dwemer in Morrowind."
Slowly, painstakingly slow, I turn around to face him. The hope swelling in my heart is acutely painful, like a dagger stabbing into the muscle, and I draw in a shaky, disbelieving breath.
"Say what?" I breathe, not daring to think, trying in vain to swallow that hope because I'll only be disappointed and I'm -
I'm… not the only one?
But rumours of a living Dwemer wouldn't have gotten here in these past few months or I'd have heard…
He nods, a deep frown on his face, the likes of which I've only ever seen when the man is putting every last scrap of his bright mind to work.
"He… suffers from Corpus disease, or at least he's been with the Telvanni family for many years now, from before the Nerevarine ever even went there and, well… But. He's alive."
The hope bubbling up in my chest like a pus-oozing tumour dies a quick death and I let out the shuddering breath I'd been holding.
Corpus?
"Corpus? You wouldn't be talking about the Damnation of Sait'iis, are you? The fate worse than Death?" I wave him away before he can answer, or inquire as to the illness I mentioned. The Spiders are still sitting there, watching my every twitch and waiting for orders after millennia without any. Corpus? Corpus disease? That's what the Dunmer called it, right? Shit. Shit. Shit. I want to see him. I want to verify it. I HAVE to verify it. But – But with this gods damned Dragonborn business and, ugh, I can't go to Morrowind now, not with all of these problems still apparently needing my solving. Perhaps not in a year.
It's…
It's best to put it aside for now.
"Nevermind it, then. I do not think I would ever want to meet him. The disease is highly dangerous and contagious. Pretty sure it was an epidemic at some point in Dwemer history. The pictures… weren't pretty. I don't want to refresh the memories of my people by tainting them with… that."
Well, it's as good an excuse as any.
I think about my mother, hair dark as ebony, laugh lines on her face, framing a pair of brilliant green eyes… Or were they blue? Mellte had blue eyes, but Uncle had – uncle had…
I purse my lips, any semblance of a good mood, little as I had, vanishing into thin, dusty air. "Are there enemies ahead?" Yes. "You will help my friend and I get past them?" another affirmative, and I give them a feeble smile. "Let's not wait too long, then. I'm liking this place less every passing second."
We pass by several traps and a repairing station for the Animunculi that were supposed to be guarding the entrance but got destroyed by the bandits. The Deep Market, which I only recognise as such because of the numerous Dwemeris runes along the doors, is a Falmer-infested hellhole.
…
We lose all the spiders before we can get past several more pressure-plate activated traps, and once more Animunculi have jumped to life and have been talked down from attacking Marcurio for invading the city, though they won't follow, we take a precious breather.
"Are you sure it's a good idea to push on? This idea of yours seems to be getting worse and worse every moment. Also, how's your shoulder?"
"Arrows can't pierce these scales. It will be a giant bruise by tomorrow, though. Your leg doing any better?"
"Well, thank you for asking. The only thing I thought you'd be interested in is whether or not I can still walk."
I actually consider you one of my best friends, you idiot. Don't underestimate the value of me jumping to your defence before thinking of my own safety. I want to snap. I settle for chuckling mirthlessly.
"I can make you wait here, asshole."
"Don't snub me in other languages, bastard. Also, I'm far too impatient to sit here and wait while you go and have all the fun."
"With your input so far, what difference does sitting around make for you compared to coming with me?"
He huffs without venom. "You're dead."
"Weird how I'm still breathing then." I quip in return, knocking back the last of my stamina potion with a grimace at the taste. The double doors just ahead would look inviting under any other circumstance. I give the mage a warning glance. "I trust you to know your physical limits and adhere to them, unlike some Nords I've met. Don't be afraid to fall back when you're hurt, as long as you warn me. Now… Follow me."
It has become a bit of an inside joke between us. 'Follow me', and anything related to Skeevers. It helps to lift the mood at least, if only marginally.
The Animunculi stick to their own areas, not willing to abandon their posts for me or Marcurio, but they do not attack us either, and I'll admit it's a welcome reprieve from the large amounts of hostile Falmer.
"I found this weird crystal. Can I keep it?"
"…I have no idea what that is, either. As long as you don't lose it in case we need it later."
"A useless trinket, then. You know… I might just sell it."
"Sell it, I dare you. I'll smother you in your sleep. It may be an important artefact. My culture is ripe with highly advanced magical artefacts, so I might just not have heard of it."
"Okay, okay! Fine. I'll keep it as a souvenir, then. In a nice case with a painting of us in front of Raldbthar and a shiny plaque. 'Our first Dwemer ruin', I'm sure it'll look lovely."
I snicker softly. The jabs lightening the dark mood that prevails in the Falmer-infested ruin. In the back of my mind, something nags – I feel that the stone is important… somehow. Meh. Not important enough.
"It matches the other one I found. I kept that one too, it's right here, actually." He holds up the two crystals – and he's right. It's a perfect match, in fact.
Okay, so maybe a little important once we find out what the things are actually for. But not our top priority. This dungeon may take a while yet.
Needless to say, with how annoyingly difficult the Falmer are, I let out a whoop of joy when the fully functional Dwemer Centurion joins our little team for a short while. He takes a little more convincing not to attack Marcurio than the spheres, and a few times in our 'conversation' using the Calling I'm forced to show him images of the Falmer, Marcurio helping me, and the likes – it works, though it sets us back a little, time-wise.
Marcurio, for his part, is about as enthused as I am, if more subdued in his reaction and more out of scientific interest than any feeling of safety.
I'm almost tempted to let my guard down – but even the strongest Centurion can't keep every arrow from reaching me. Luckily, we don't find more Falmer, only more Animunculi, as we proceed. The Centurion eventually backs away to return to his station.
"This has to be the easiest dungeon delving we've done in weeks." Marcurio chuckles as we reach the last chamber, and I agree easily enough – Nordic ruins aren't exactly the type to hold possible allies. They were built during and after the Aetherium Age, after all. And men and Mer never did like each other very much.
The mechanism in the centre of the room is the one that opens the gates to Fal Zhardum Din… provided one has the key. Which, on our whole way here, I'd been looking for and hadn't seen heads or tails off.
Not that I know exactly what it is I'm supposed to be looking for – but the mechanism at least gives me clues on how the key – a sphere, definitely, is meant to appear. "We're looking for a spherical object, likely made out of Dwemer metal, about this big." I tell my human companion, but even a thorough search of the room reveals nothing.
"Why do you need it?"
I sigh, standing over the mechanism and committing the scene to memory. "Later." For now, we have to find a way out of here that preferably does NOT take us past all those corpses and stinking Chaurus nests again. At least our search had me recognise some other useful contraption.
The Lift should still be in working condition. Or at least I pray it does. I eye the new pieces of treasure I'd gathered along the way, getting unwanted comments from Marcurio every time I emptied another chest. Something will need to guard all that treasure… And it will keep out other intruders, like, say, a lost guard.
"Fjaldi no." the mage warns me, seeing the glint in my gaze as he observes my interactions with the mechanisms around me, leaning against the wall. I give him a large grin. "Fjaldi yes." I turn to the last two spiders, that had followed us to the final chamber of the dungeon.
"Whilst the rest of your fellows are obviously going to stay in here, how do you feel about watching this treasure while I keep it in the lift? I'm not sure it won't break down while I'm going up and it's a waste to leave it here, but I cannot take it elsewhere just yet."
When the lift comes to life, shakily and creaking, the other Animunculi, aside from the silent Centurion, disperse before they're even fully out of sight. Inside the lift, there's me, Marcurio, a heap of treasure, and two Dwemer Spiders. "I'm pretty sure they'll be docile unless they feel I'm threatened." I explain to Marcurio, almost yelling over the sounds of the mechanisms around us croaking back to life with much protest.
"That may be, but have you thought about how their joints will freeze before we're even in the snow?" I hadn't, but I'm not telling him that. "It's… good strength training, if necessary." The Calling makes it so much easier to talk whenever we need silence, or in this case, when we need to overpower the noise.
I can see him shake his head. I try to use the ability as little as possible, both so as to avoid a headache and to avoid startling Marcurio – which technically means I'm just avoiding the headache either way.
…
I use the newfound coin to pay for new high-fat rations for the cold road ahead from a conveniently nearby Khajit caravan. Luckily for us we thought ahead, as the road to Winterhold proves, if not only downright freezing, fraught with danger.
By the time we get to the shoddy remains of what once was a large city and seat our frozen butts near the fires of the inn, we're both quiet and miserable, nursing warm drinks and rubbing feeling back into our fingers even as my meagre supply of health potions is downed like the red concoctions are going out of style.
Three dragons and a fort of angry mages will do that to a man. And a Dwemer, for that matter. "Marcurio."
"Yes?"
"As your employer I order you to learn some basic restoration magic whilst I try and find out what the library at the college can mean for me." He groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, taking a large gulp of his drink. "Why don't you learn it?"
This is the moment where a lesser Dwemer would have started sweating bullets and folded like a wet piece of paper. I manage to get by with just sheepishly rubbing the back of my head.
"Trust me, I've tried. I only know one spell, flames. But… It's barely enough to light a twig, let alone to 'roast my foes in arcane fire'. Magic isn't for me. Give me an axe over a staff any day. Most Dwemer had very little interest or inclination for the magical arts and I'm no exception to that rule."
He laughs at me, but it's more playful than anything as he nudges my ribs with his elbow. "Now there I sense a story I just have to hear." The night falls fast, and we eventually move to one of the tables to eat even as we speak in hushed voices, occasionally sniggering or exclaiming about one thing or the other – though the only topic we really discuss is my appalling lack of magical aptitude, before I decide enough is enough and we rent two separate rooms for the night. The innkeeper seems to be glad for any business at all, elf or not, mage or not.
It's… refreshing.
It shouldn't have to be.
A/N: And I MADE IT JUST IN TIME. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and do tell me what you thought, reviews make my day I swear! See you next time!