Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder sprees, injuries, Daedric Quest spoilers
A/N: super-long AN at the end of this.
Last time…
"I'd rather you took off your armour before going anywhere near the carpets and blankets, though." I'm already unclipping the latches holding my bracers stuck to my arms. Easy enough. Cold. But easy enough.
Chapter 26 – Nightmares
I wake up depressingly early the next morning, unable to go back to sleep because once again, I am taunted by visions of blood and draughr and battle all night.
As a result, most of my morning is spend waiting for Marcurio to show up so we can leave, teaching Onmund some dagger techniques to pass the time and help the boy better protect himself if he ever runs out of Magical energy.
Of course, plenty of breakfast and water is available because Onmund would not dare make me feel 'uncomfortable' while I am 'in the College's care'.
We're training in the Hall of Attainment, the steel daggers in our hands glinting oddly in the unnatural blue light, when finally, the door opens and my wayward Imperial wizard walks in as if he owns the place, clutching a steel comb in his hand. Like he didn't pass out from overexertion yesterday, the idiot.
He's still a little wan, but the cocky smile on his face alludes to the fact that he's most certainly right as rain, or as much as one can be after being near-comatose from exhaustion.
But there is something… Different about him today.
I mean, I haven't seen him wear any amulets before, but this one he's wearing now I don't recognise. It's quite large, what with those golden circles, especially the central one. Is there a meaning behind the blue centre stone and the knot-shaped engravings around it?
…No, it's new, but that can't be it - a new accessory shouldn't throw me off this much…
"Good morning sir! Did you let your hair down today?" Onmund asks amiably, not as bothered by the fact as I apparently find myself.
His hair? Oh, now I see it. Aye, that must be why his appearance bothered me.
I take a few long moments to carefully scrutinize this new development.
It's far longer than I'd expected when out of that ponytail. Actually, I'm surprised I haven't noticed how long it is before. It's ideal for Dwemer braiding styles… Or it would be if it didn't look like a mess.
As if on cue, the mage notices my staring at his head. "Why are you pulling that face? You look as if you just stepped into a Skeever den."
"Why would I step on your head?" I shoot back immediately, eyeing the poor comb the wizard is trying to pull through his messily knotted brown tresses in vain with a slightly pained grimace.
He blinks at me curiously. "My head?"
"Aye. It definitely looks as if a Skeever or two live in it." I snort, rolling my eyes and taking a chair away from the wall so I can easily stand behind it. "Come here, let me help you with that mess. Hair is greatly valued amongst my kin, and it pains me to see you abuse it like that."
'Hair is greatly valued amongst my kin'. Let there never be a worse understatement. Also, shit, did I really just offer him that? Why would I offer him that? Too late to turn back now…
I do desperately hope that I'm not projecting my nervousness for all the world to see.
Marcurio deadpans with me, giving a stink eye but dropping down into the chair heavily anyway, heaving a mock-annoyed sigh.
He sat down… Too heavily. He must still be feeling out of it after all. I grab my tankard, dipping my hand in it to wet the Imperial's hair in order to make it more manageable.
"So… Hair is important in Dwemer culture?" Onmund asks carefully, for some reason keeping a strange look plastered on his face whenever he catches sight of Marcurio's new amulet.
"Indeed." I reply absently, teasing the brown hair, rough from exposure to the elements, between my hands, loosening the knots and carefully dragging the comb through it.
Like I used to do with Mellte. It's… Nice. Relaxing. "For Dwemer, hair is a symbol of status, so to say. For example, we only grow a beard after marriage, and we weave beads into our hair of varying metals depending on our station."
"Such as… say, a king, would have his hair woven all around his crown, and would have plenty of three-stranded braids, all held together with golden beads. A simpler, similar style is used for marriage ceremonies, usually involving only three braids woven around a plain circlet to signify two individuals becoming one."
As I fall into a lecture mode, my hands gain a life of their own, gently tugging back the strands I'm playing with into a sturdy fishtail braid. Marcurio keeps quiet, the tension in his shoulders fading visibly, little by little, as I work. Maybe he likes his hair played with, like I do.
"…That said, my father, as high ranking scholar, wore silver, mainly in his beard. Mellte and I wore our hair loose, being young, unmarried, and without occupation, but we'd braid it with wooden beads for special occasions or festivals."
"Because hair is… was, so important to us, it was highly unusual for anyone other than direct family to braid it, with the exception of extremely close friends or to-be-wedded couples… Ah, what's the word for that, again?"
If Marcurio is not a part of the category 'extremely close friend' by now I will eat my boot.
"…" Fuck. Did I really just say that, I should NOT have said that..! Gods, what will he think now?
I give Marcurio a panicked glance, but he's luckily not even looking in my direction.
"Engaged." Said Destruction mage mutters, a little choked. I frown down at the man in concern, before placing a hand on his forehead. Is he alright?
"Are you sure you're ready to travel? You don't feel warm, but you seem a little red…"
I ask him worriedly.
If he's not ready, I'm not leaving. It'll set us back, but a setback is better than a death sentence.
"…And on a side note, what's with that amulet? Does it hold any special enchantments?"
I mean, he wouldn't wear it otherwise, Marcurio isn't the type for jewellery… Or at least, he didn't strike me as the type.
I finish the fishtail braid with a flourish, floundering over how to secure it for all of a few seconds before I remove two of my own clasps from the side of my head, using one to tie off the braid and the other as a sort-of decoration near his left ear.
Or, well, 'decoration' isn't what it is, obviously, but I think he'll be pleased to find out later that I gave him a Dwemer declaration of 'Master Wizard'. Not that I'll tell him now. His ego is already big enough to encompass everyone in this room and then some.
"This? You don't know… Oh it's… uh, nevermind," Marcurio huffs, shifting a little before standing up abruptly, keeping his face angled nervously away from me. I wonder why.
"It, uh, it has an enchantment! Right. It helps me give my restoration magic more power… It's nothing, really."
"That's not nothing! It's -!" I exclaim with a grin, ignoring J'zargo's grouchy curses as he stomps past us moodily, claws on his ears to block out the sounds of us and glaring daggers at everything that moves. "- a very useful enchantment." I continue in a lower tone, amused at the Khajit's antics and a bit distracted as a result.
Marcurio just shrugs.
"I suppose so. Think nothing of it."
I sigh as I watch the mage help himself to breakfast, Onmund watching both of us with eyes bigger than dinner plates, for some reason I can't fathom, before leaving the room at a hurried pace, making a beeline for J'zargo as the Khajit tilts his head towards the Nord.
I can just hear the blonde start exclaiming something in surprise before the door slams shut, but I definitely didn't imagine the finger pointing right at me as it did.
I wonder what he saw. I suppose it's as Marcurio said. I should think nothing of it… Aye, it's probably nothing. They're likely just saying goodbye. We'll be leaving in a few hours after all.
…
The journey to Dawnstar, which is the settlement second closest to Labyrinthian - according to my pretty new map with my markings all done in ink, not charcoal - is undertaken by a much happier group than the one that left Mzulft a few days earlier, despite now missing a certain fire-flinging member.
Marcurio has… mostly… recovered from what Tolfdir explained to me was extensive magical exhaustion combined with physical exhaustion and a minor head injury from hitting the wall, making one lovely soup of unconsciousness, during which Onmund and I both saw to it that our own injuries received their due healing sessions.
But I didn't spent all my time training Onmund to defend himself, oh no. I had a free evening, and the Master Enchanter at the College was more than happy to speak to a peer.
The library is a place I have yet to visit, to my never-ending chagrin.
I can now make items glow red whenever an undead enemy lies in wait nearby. Not sure if I'll ever use it since light will give away my position in most cases, but nice to know nonetheless.
Overall, I'm in a rather happy and content mood, which isn't even remotely affected by yet another dragon attack that has Onmund running for the hills - until Marcurio drags him back by the scruff of his neck while giving the poor sod a lecture so drenched in sarcasm that even I can barely figure out which parts are genuine and which parts are sarcasm-only.
By now, I'm getting used to dragons showing up wherever I step. The petrifying terror that floods my veins the moment I first hear their malevolent roaring only lasts a short time before I'm on the move – but the fear of losing my life or the lives of the ones around me keeps on haunting me every time I battle.
The scares and nearly ever-present fear are starting to become old friends. Is it healthy to be afraid this much and ignore it?
…
Dawnstar serves to dampen my mood the slightest bit, the oppressive air that reeks of evil – Daedra – making my brows twitch downwards. "Evil is afoot here." I mutter darkly, alerting Marcurio and Onmund to the fact when they seem oblivious to the near-palpable purple energies swirling in the air.
Speaking of being afraid, Daedra are nothing if not terrifying in everything they do. I sense a severe problem, but I wonder what it could be? A scream echoes from the Inn, and we exchange looks before quickly running towards it, followed by one of the guards who also heard it.
"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! ERANDUR, YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!"
Is what I hear when I step inside, so harsh and shrill that I fear for my eardrums, my gaze immediately falling onto the small gathering, a desperate-looking Dunmer priest in the centre of the attention of two women - one of which is yelling at him.
Before the banshee can open her mouth to further verbally abuse my poor, innocent (hah), sensitive ears, I smoothly interject.
"Is there a problem here?" The place is mostly silent, and everyone here seems to have bags under their eyes from lack of sleep, even though the fire crackles merrily and the warm wood gives off an easy, soothing atmosphere.
What kind of demonic entity could cause this? I want to know. This Dunmer seems to hold the answers I seek.
The priest looks me up and down, cataloguing every crack and scratch on my armour, the quality of my armour, and then my Dwemer axes, even as my own gaze falls to the man's decent quality Dwemer metal mace, bound to his waist.
An odd choice of arms for a priest worshipping a Divine that isn't Stendarr.
He seems impressed with me, and relieved as well. "We have a severe nightmare problem here in Dawnstar," he begins, ignoring the huff from the woman who mumbles 'severe? An understatement', "And while I think I may have found a possible solution to the problem, I can't tackle it alone. I may have the power of Mara at my side, but that says little about my combat ability."
I barely resist a scoff.
A practical, realistic priest. Never thought I'd see the day.
I turn on my heel to face Onmund and Marcurio. "Well, what do you two think? A little detour?" Onmund shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, but I want to preserve my power for when we're out to get the Staff." I pat him on the shoulder even as Marcurio chuckles and shrugs.
"You know the deal. Stay out of anything too nasty, like a troll toilet, and I'll be at your side and service." I note that the Amulet he wore all the way here has disappeared somewhere, the Imperial not seeming to miss it. That's… Alright, it seems a bit suspicious now.
"I've a feeling this will be as nasty as a Chaurus nest." I mutter dryly in reply to his earlier comment, following after the haggard priest of Mara – Erandur, up a large hill, to a nearby tower where three Frost trolls lie in wait.
…At least the guide of this little quest knows his way around that mace.
We're not inside for more than three seconds before I give my most informed opinion: "How quaint, I hate it already." Marcurio chuckles, but the priest seems nervous more than anything – he has the eyes of somebody trying to hide a secret, and it does not sit well with me.
I'd prefer to leave Marcurio out of what appears to become Daedric business very soon, but the man seems insistent on coming along to prove he's recovered from his Magical exhaustion, so I let him tag behind me, as per usual.
Though fighting our way through the tower is anything but the usual. The smell, sweet, so sweet that it cloys my nose and makes me nauseous, like burnt sugar, makes my eyes water, and as it dispels, orcs and worshippers alike wake up and decide to kill us immediately.
It takes all I have to get my axe to their faces before they even realise they're awake, and Marcurio's shock spells are a big help, but still, it's off. All of this. Something is turning on those tiny red flags in the back of my mind…
I get the vague – more like definite – idea that Erandur knows more than he lets on. His information is too precise, the way he walks through the halls like he knows exactly what lies ahead too obvious. Marcurio notices it too. And before I know it, I have a bottle of Vaermina's Torpor in my hands with the uncertain instructions to drink it to… disperse a barrier.
"Can't we just break out the wall?" I ask the Dunmer, somewhat incredulous.
The former priest of Vaermina – and had that been unsurprising - shakes his head sadly. "It would take far too long. The people of Dawnstar deserve a fast solution after I've sat in silence for far too long."
Nightcaller Temple is not even that structurally unstable, unlike other towers and Nordic buildings out in the wilds of Skyrim I'd seen. One wall won't make a difference.
This place hasn't been abandoned for too long, no, it's too intact for that. A few months, at most, when disregarding the lack of food.
"And you're sure this Torpor isn't just a deadly poison?" Again, the answer is unsatisfactory, and I growl menacingly at the priest before snapping: "Marcurio."
Large brown eyes move to me instantly, and I can see the indecision and uncertainty in his gaze. "…If I die, kill him." Don't make me die like this, whatever gods are up there listening -
Not waiting or his answer, I open the bottle, squeeze my eyes shut tightly, and down the entire contents of the potion, the same sickly sweet taste assaulting my taste buds. I'm dizzy when I drop it, dizzy and tired and the glass shattering is the last I hear before –
In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, bright, unnatural lights surround me, my eyes having trouble focusing on the details of the room around me, and the faces of the men in front of me, their robes dark splotches and their voices echoing.
They call me by a different name, Casimir, and their cries bounce off the inside of my head even as my mouth responds without my consent, the world fading in and out of focus, twisting into psychedelic shapes and lightshows as if in a dream. My – Casimir's body starts to run through the temple, passing fighting devotees and orcs on the way who shout various things after him. I'm caught as an observer, the inability to move bringing me closer and closer to panic as I – he keeps moving.
I, Casimir, no I, No, wait – I observe through Casimir's eyes as he pulls at a chain on the wall, releasing the miasma, sickly cloying smell far more intense than it was just moment ago but Casimir has never smelled it before.
Then I wake up, and I'm not sure if I'm still dreaming or not.
Blinking at the chain in front of my face, I look to the side where I knew there was no barrier, I activated the miasma and it appeared – the barrier has been there since I set foot in the temple… Shaking my head to disperse the remnants of Casimir from my mind, I collect the Soul gem on the stand that's keeping the barrier active.
When Erandur starts talking, his voice my voice overlaps with Casimir's, and I know who he is and what he did before running, and it's like I did it, but I didn't, and gods, I'm so confused, so tired, am I even awake? This is what I get for – worshipping the Nightmare goddess – NO. Messing with Daedra.
"Someone slap me, I'm having a hard time staying awake." I croak out, swaying slightly with the two different accounts of the same location.
A hand hits my cheek, palm flat, leaving a stinging mark and snapping the world around me back into focus – I hadn't realised the colours had still been shifting.
The alertness is like bucket of ice in my face after being swaddled in a stifling blanket cocoon.
"Thank you." I tell Marcurio honestly, even as I rub the now undoubtedly red shape on my face with my free hand, the axe loosely held in the other clutched with a little more certainty.
We proceed cautiously, and I end up having to kill the two priests of Vaermina whom I had been helping in a dream just a few minutes prior – This Daedric business is definitely not for those faint of heart… or those without a good head on their shoulders. Past the corpses of Veren Duleri and Thorek, Erandur starts a ritual to presumably destroy the Skull of Corruption.
Marcurio seems a little faint. "Sit down for a bit, this place is getting to you quite badly." It's true, I can tell without him saying a thing, even as I watch the mage sink onto the bench.
Next time – and I'm sure there'll be a next time, with how much trouble I'm finding all over this forsaken province – next time, when facing Daedric opponents, tricks, plots, and other assorted shit, I'm leaving my followers out of it. Some things I'm better off handling alone. I vow to myself.
Of course, that's when things get worse. "He's deceiving you." Sounds a deep, ethereal female voice, and I look around confusedly whilst Marcurio stiffens. Erandur, or Casimir, whichever one he is, doesn't hear her, caught up in his ritual as he is.
"When the ritual's complete, the Skull will be free and then Erandur will turn on you. Quickly! Kill him now. Kill him and claim the Skull for your own! Vaermina commands you!"
I have a Daedric prince talking to us, this is definitely on the list of 'things getting Worse'! Of course, it's also my cue to sit down next to Marcurio and twiddle my thumbs – and hold back the mage when he tries to follow the Prince's command, grabbing his hand roughly and bringing it to the clammy wood, clutching it tight to ground myself as well.
"Don't be an idiot, 'curio." I chide him gently, knowing he's about as scared as I am, which is scared enough for my legs to stop supporting me properly. "Even if he frees the Skull, we can take him." And so, all that's left is pretending to calmly sit and wait, knowing full-well that I'm risking the anger of a Daedric Prince aimed at both Erandur and myself.
Tsk. I'm no stranger to visions and nightmares. I think somewhat bitterly.
Even if Vaermina tries to turn my sleep into emotional agony… Not much will change. I'll only have nightmares more often.
After an eternity, a small explosion takes place, and Erandur slumps in exhaustion over the shattered remnants of the Skull of Corruption. All his energy and determination seems to have vanished alongside the cursed artefact.
Letting go of Marcurio's hand reluctantly, I stand to approach the priest.
"We should all get some fresh air." My voice seems to break some sort of tension in the air, making the room seem a little more real.
The priest of Mara nods shakily, and so I grab Marcurio's hand in one hand, and Erandur's wrist in the other, guiding the two distraught males back to the first room of the temple, even though I want to collapse into a small heap myself, the air becoming clear of the sweet scent once we step through the purplish portal.
I take a deep breath as if to cleanse my lungs, but I find it makes me feel instantly less lazy and more alert, away from the Daedra's influence. "I think I'll stay here, to atone for my sins. I'll build a shrine of Mara and seal the portal leading further in forever." Erandur starts after he finds his voice.
Marcurio collapsed onto one of the benches the second he was able.
"If you ever need my services, I'll be more than happy to provide. You've done Dawnstar a great service, friend."
I exchange a long, considering look with Marcurio. Then: "Sitting around here won't do you any good." The priest seems confused when I drop down on one of the unoccupied benches with a sigh.
"You see, I tried much the same thing – to stay in the place where I'd lost my entire family overnight." Now, his expression turns empathetic, but I detect no pity even as he sits opposite me.
Marcurio steps outside with the feeble excuse of going to get some fresh air – I'm sure he just wants to give us both a moment to talk. "It… well, it didn't work out, as you can see, since I'm here. It starts to eat at you, you see? It's not, not very healthy, to cling to the past too badly." Hypocrite, a voice in the back of my head hisses, and I'm forced to agree.
"You can come with us, if you want. Marcurio and I are headed for Labyrinthian at the moment, along with a student from Winterhold, to retrieve a Staff. Why not join us and see if you prefer wandering over stagnancy?" I try to convince him. The Dunmer leans back slightly, a frown on his face, but at least he's seriously considering it. He glances at the portal to our left, large and imposing, and the sad state the rest of the room is in.
A sigh passes his chapped, sluggishly bleeding lips from where his old friend's fist hit his face. "You might be right. Very well, I'll accompany your group, but I shall reserve judgement for now." I give him a broad smile.
Good enough.
Rising and stretching, I look him over properly, taking in his shoddy gear. "Welcome aboard. I'll get you some decent boots and bracers, maybe chainmail to wear underneath your robes for protection. We leave tomorrow morning, whenever you're ready." He looks like he isn't sure what he's getting into, but he's also quite excited not knowing that. I can really learn to like this elf. Even though he's older than Uncle.
Greying hairs are no indication of skills, though.
A/N: First of all: thank you TichePotato for your tips and critique! And to Shadowblayze for Still being an awesome reviewer!
Now, for some of my theories:
To msyendor (sorry I'm so late): I got my hands on an in-game copy. Many parts of the original text were said to be wrongly translated from the older Aldmeris versions. In the wiki of the book it's admitted that the 'essence' of both translations is the same, however.
"A Dwemer child of eight can create a golem, but only a truly great warrior and armorer can pretend to be one." Is the newly translated version. As you mentioned, the original Aldmeris line is "A Dwemer of eight can create a golem, but an eight of Dwemer can become one." (-Marobar Sul)
I'm not classified to draw a definite conclusion, but one thing I see is that in both cases, they claim a Dwemer child can make a golem (which were already used by Dwemer at the time) while in both other cases, the 'pretending' or 'becoming' golem refers to wearing full-body Heavy Armour, which was still quite rare at that time. I think both sentences are meant to represent the, how you say, "Look, we made a new thing and bested you with our kick-ass rare full-body armour." Feel free to tell me how you interpret the sentence!
Fjaldi would just see it as another sign to be proud of his kin and his own role as Forgemaster, because hey, they did outsmart their enemies using techniques that he's been taught to use. At the end of the day, he's a smith, not a scholar.
I see the Calling more as an individual connection between two people who have the ability (like the Psijic order are rumoured to have), actually also because of a Chimarvamidium quote! "…He had been warned of their attack by a Calling by one of his men". 'A' and 'one of' both being singular, I assumed that Jnaggo (the armorer) send a direct message to his superior, who then alerted the troops. Hence, an individual connection. Also, the living Dwemer in Morrowind is said to have been in another realm entirely, and thus any Zero-Summing Dwemer from Nirn, well…
Either way, I've plans for that.
The Dwemer disappearance… I have plans for that, too. To an extent. Expect regular updates until April, at least.