(AN: -sigh- Dwemer ruins. I really hate Dwemer ruins. I'm gonna have to play through this one over again to see what it's like so I can get an accurate depiction. Also, I'm thinking about just dropping "Orc" as a title, since Orsimer is just "outcast Elves" and "Dwarves" was only used by the giants, which is why I use "Dwemer" to describe them all the time.)
Alftand
As they were leaving the College of Winterhold, Mjoll noticed that Imperial spellsword following after them. Once they left the gates of the College and were once more in what was left of the town, she looked back and saw that he was still on their trail. She indicated to Eirik that they were being followed, to which Eirik halted and turned to the approaching Marcurio.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well what?" Marcurio spat back.
"You're following us, why?" Eirik asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" the Cyrodilian retorted. "I'm spying on you for the Mage's College! There aren't many Nordic sorcerers in the College, obviously they're suspicious of you." Marcurio laughed. "Oh, the look on your face!"
"Huh?"
"I made my conditions," Marcurio stated. "Now what about your answer?"
"Answer?" Eirik laughed. "Why should I even consider taking you on? We travel light, barely have enough money for our traveling expenses. Including you would mean three times as much food, not to mention the high cost of your fee."
"Hmph! You're rather smart for a Nord," Marcurio replied. "Still, you owe me two drinks and I intend to collect."
"I'm sorry, but it will have to wait," Eirik said. "We're going up north, in search of something."
"Then you'll have to wade through the Sea of Ghosts," Marcurio retorted. "There's nothing up there but the cold black sea and icebergs. Besides, even if you were intending on doing this, it would have to wait until the morning. It's late as it is and you won't get far by foot before night falls."
"I've gone this far north on my own before," Eirik stated. "It's nothing I can't handle."
"Sure," Marcurio replied condescendingly. "And Ulfric Stormcloak is the High King of Skyrim!"
"Long live Ulfric!" a passing by townsman cried out, oblivious to Marcurio's mocking.
"Go fuck a cow!" Marcurio shouted at the bystander, then shook his head and turned back to Eirik and Mjoll. "Nevertheless, I'm coming with you. Pay me, now."
"Why do you think we need your help?" Eirik asked.
"Well, for one thing," Marcurio began. "Neither of you can cast a spell worth a shit. For another thing, you'll need the help of a spell-wielder wherever you're going this far north. Now get your heads out of your asses and take me with you."
Eirik sighed. "Very well."
"Wait!" Marcurio held up his hand, then opened it up. "Money first."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Eirik retorted.
"No, now hand over the drakes, come on now."
"No," Mjoll stated. "Now get lost."
"I'm talking to him, Lioness," Marcurio said, then turned back to Eirik. "We both know you would have been burned alive if I hadn't conjured that ward in the nick of time. You need me, whether your stubborn Nordic pride wants to admit it or not, now pay me my due."
Eirik and Mjoll exchanged glances with each other, then he turned back to Marcurio.
"Let's buy you that drink first," Eirik said.
At the Frozen Hearth, the three of them were seated at one of the tables. Marcurio was well into his third drink, all paid for by Eirik. Mjoll, meanwhile, was keeping her eyes about them, scanning the inn. It was almost deserted: the Nord proprietor, along with his wife and young daughter, were seated behind the counter. Of the patrons, there were only two of them. One was a hooded mage, though Mjoll swore she could detect a golden glow on his face that was not the dim light of the candles. The other was clad in dark robes and while he looked like a Breton, he was very tall. Mjoll didn't like the look of him and so turned her attention back to him and returned to the others.
"Very well, you've had your drinks," Eirik said. "Now, your price..."
"Is not negotiable," Marcurio replied. "Just pay up and don't make this any more difficult."
"Come now," Mjoll said, turning to Eirik. "How bad could it be?" Eirik sighed. "Come now, if it will make you feel any better, I'll pay for half."
He buried his face in his hands, then sighed as he reached for his purse. Mjoll, taking the hint, reached for her own purse. One by one they began making small piles of septims on the table. First in groups of ten, then in small piles of twenty and fifty. Marcurio, however, was losing his patience.
"Just give me your purse and I'll count out my own fee later," he replied.
"And rip us off like that Maven Black-Briar b*tch?" Mjoll retorted.
"You know, she's doing more good for Riften than you think," Marcurio smiled. Mjoll reached out and pushed back the cascade of gold coins that was piling up on the table.
"You think stealing from the poor is good for the people of Riften?" she retorted, her anger rising.
"Why not?" Marcurio replied.
Mjoll seized her tankard and threw it at Marcurio. In a quick moment, the Cyrodilian had conjured a ward which sent the golden mead splashing onto the table and on the coins. At this, the dark-clad stranger walked over to their table.
"Well well well," the Breton said with a smile on his face. "This looks like the makings of a merry little gathering. Spilled mead! Oh, what a waste! Not to worry, though. I brought some of my own." The Breton reached into his robes and pulled out a tall bottle filled with red wine that glistened in its bottle in the candle light.
"I apologize, friend," Eirik said. "But we're in the middle of a..."
"Oh, posh!" the Breton retorted. "A little friendly drink among such agreeable company never hurt anyone, did it? Oh, but I see you've got other things on your mind." The Breton reached for the gold, but Marcurio drew out his dagger and thrust it in the stranger's direction. "Hey! I don't mean no harm! But who needs gold when you have what I have?"
"Oh?" Marcurio replied. "And what's that?"
"A staff of great power," he said. "And I'll give it to any of you, free of charge."
"Free?" Mjoll asked suspiciously.
"Well, if you can out-drink me, that is," the Breton smiled. "Three rounds of my special brew, winner takes all. What do you say?"
"I'll take that," Marcurio said. "Three flagons of this tavern piss isn't nearly strong enough. Let's see what you've got!"
"Good man, good man!" the stranger said, removing the stopper from his bottle and pouring a round for Marcurio. Just as it was about to spill over, he began filling his own cup, then turned to Eirik and Mjoll. "What about you two sorry sods? Why not live a little, right?"
"I don't know," Mjoll whispered, turning to Eirik. "I don't trust this man."
"Come on, now!" the Breton challenged. "Are you Nords or aren't you? You wouldn't let a Breton and Imperial out-drink you, would you? Come, at least the Dragonborn isn't afraid to hold his liquor!"
"What did you say?" Eirik asked.
"Don't be daft, man! Not yet, at least!" the Breton said, then burst into laughter at his jest. "Come now, you strode the stone bridge to the Mage's College like the lusty Argonian maid strode her master's..."
"Lorkhan's balls!" Marcurio exclaimed. "That is good stuff! Excellent vintage!"
"...in front of all of Winterhold!" the Breton exclaimed, waving his hand in a broad gesture. "To say nothing of the legends about you! Why, it won't be a secret anymore that the Dragonborn has indeed come." He looked about, then turned to Mjoll. "You, lady! Can you sing?"
"Uh, not very well..." Mjoll blushed.
"Oh, come now," he retorted. "I'm sure you could do well. Come on, sing us something. Sing us this man's song, eh?" He wrapped his arm around Eirik's shoulders, while slipping his drink into Eirik's hands. "I'm sure you know how it goes. 'Our hero, our hero...'"
Mjoll averted her eyes, then looked at Eirik, who was drinking deeply from his cup. Once done, he turned to her with a smile.
"Come now," he said. "What harm could there be?"
"Oh, I could kill you now!" Mjoll whispered. She then cleared her throat, and began to sing. Her singing voice was warm and reminded Eirik of a cold night in Candlehearth Hall, listening to another such voice.
Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes
"Excellent!" the Breton cried out. "Let's all have another round, shall we?" He then began pouring drinks for them.
"You never..." Eirik said, turning to Mjoll. "You never told me that you...that you could sing."
"They have minstrel colleges in Cyrodiil," Mjoll replied. "And I think you've had more than enough."
"More than enough?" the Breton laughed. "My dear girl, there's no such thing as more than enough wine! And you, you've been holding out on us! I insist you have at least one drink to loosen that tongue of yours."
"Where did you learn that absurd song?" Marcurio asked.
"My father taught it to me," Mjoll said. "He told me the legends about the Dragonborn, although I never expected..." While her lips were still open, the Breton practically shoved his tankard to her lips. She coughed and spat it out, then took a swing at the Breton.
"Ha!" he exclaimed. "Now that's more like it! You've got fire in you."
"Eirik, are you going to...Eirik?" Mjoll asked.
But Eirik was leaning over his empty tankard. It was his second helping and already his world was starting to grow blurry. All he could hear was the Breton's laughter. He reached out and felt the cold steel of a tankard.
"Don't worry, Dragonborn," the Breton said. "You're in good hands. Have another."
"N-No, I couldn't..." Eirik said, his mouth lolling lazily open.
"Come now, you've barely had enough!" the Breton laughed. "You can hold your liquor, can't you? I've had more than you and I'm fine. Come on, the staff is almost yours!"
Eirik reached for the tankard, though his head was swimming. His hand seemed to be moving slower than an old horker. He drank a little of the drink, then everything became a blur of opaqueness and distorted colors and half motions.
The next thing Eirik knew, he was waking up in someplace cold and windy. There was a soft, warm thing pressing gently against his face and he felt for a moment that he was once more with Lydia in the glade in Morthal. His head hurt worse than it had on the cart-ride to Helgen, the haft of an Imperial sword having stricken his head like the club of a giant. Slowly, through the poignant ache in the depths of his brain, Eirik pushed himself up and saw an olive-skinned Bosmeri woman sprawled out beneath him, her crimson hair covered with snow and both of her breasts exposed. He could tell that she was Bosmeri because she had softer ridges than Dunmer or Altmer, her skin was, of course, darker.
Almost nervously, he pushed himself off and looked about. He was on what looked like a cliff-edge before the sea. About him in the snow drifts were several empty bottles, something golden half-buried in the snow, and several other bodies lying about. Suddenly he heard a voice cry out in a loud exclamation of joy.
"By the Eight, what a night!" That was the voice of Marcurio. "I've never had this much fun since I came to this skeever-hole of a country!" He laughed aloud, then began feeling about and laughed again. "Oh, that was something!"
Eirik pushed himself up and began shaking off the snow. Nearby he saw another woman with dark hair, lying face down in the snow. Near at hand to this one, however, Eirik saw Mjoll pushing herself out of the snow. Her breastplate was gone and her shirt was torn down the center, revealing the cloth that bound her breasts. Eirik noticed that the cloth bulged somewhat more than Lydia's bosoms had, but Mjoll's hands quickly covered herself up as she saw Eirik awake.
"Where's my armor?" she asked grimly.
"How should I know?" Eirik asked.
"You should know," she replied. "You were the one trying to tear it off. You have quite a bit of explaining to do!"
"What happened?" he inquired again.
"I barely remember myself," Mjoll groaned. "That damn Breton must have put something in our drinks. I...I remember..." She rubbed her forehead, then looked at Eirik, then down at the Bosmer woman beside him, then shook her head.
"Marcurio!" Eirik shouted.
"Oi?" he called back.
"Any idea of what happened?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," the Imperial replied. "Although, from the looks of things, it was amazing! Three, Nord! Three! And I'm pretty sure all at once as well, though I'm not exactly sure how that's possible."
"Ugh, men," Mjoll said in disgust. "At least Aerin wasn't this disgustingly lusty."
"Not with women, at least," Marcurio jested.
Meanwhile, Eirik turned to the Bosmer who was now awake, distinct red eyes open, and looking up at him with a slavish expression on her face.
"Do you know what happened?" Eirik asked.
"Everything," she smiled.
"Would you mind telling me?" he asked again.
"Can I at least get dressed first?" she replied. "How you Nords can endure this cold half naked I'll never know!"
The Bosmer went about her business clothing herself while Mjoll sought out her breastplate in all of the snow. Marcurio, meanwhile, was not moving from where he lay. At length, however, the Bosmer woman told Eirik a little of what had happened. Mjoll also listened in, though Eirik noticed that she kept a respectable distance from both Eirik and the Bosmer.
"Well, it was late at night when three riders arrived at Haelga's Bunkhouse in Riften," she began. "It was you three. You..." She looked up at Eirik. "You were rambling like a madman, always shouting about Lydia and Mjoll and tearing down the Thieves Guild with your bare hands."
"Go on," Eirik urged.
"You ran into the Ratways, eager to destroy the Thieves Guild single-handed," the Bosmer continued. "You came back with a golden statue of Dibella. Then you took me by the hand and ran out to the stables, where you tossed me onto your horse and galloped off to this spot where..." She winked. "Well, if you don't remember what happened after that..."
"What about me?" Mjoll asked.
"He was most interested in pleasing you," the Bosmer said. "A little too much, if you ask me. That was why he went to destroy the Thieves Guild." She snorted. "But I can tell from your look that you've got something to lose. Don't worry, all he took from you was your armor. That was when the other one showed up."
"Which other one?" Mjoll asked.
"Her," the Bosmer pointed to the one still lying in the snow. "She came after us, followed us from Riften. Showed up just as you two were fighting over her armor. One of you hit her and then, well..." She smiled at Eirik. "You came after me."
"I think I've heard enough of this," Mjoll said icily. She then continued her search for the rest of her armor.
"Marcurio!" Eirik shouted. There was no response. He turned to the Bosmer. "Uh...I don't know how I can..."
"You've already paid," she replied. "You were insistent, but you paid upfront."
"Take my horse," Eirik said. "Or whatever horse it is. No need to pay me, I think we're done here."
"Until next time," the Bosmer woman said, winking at Eirik. He turned and made his way through the snowy drifts to where Marcurio lay. There he saw the Imperial wizard lying with three women: a Nord, a Redguard and a Khajiit.
"No, no," Marcurio replied. "Don't wake me, this-this is amazing."
"We have to go," Eirik said.
"Why?" he laughed. "We came where we wanted to."
"Huh?"
"He whispered to me something, that's all I remembered," Marcurio said. "He told me to go here. That's where we need to be: the middle of nowhere."
"Not nowhere," Eirik said, looking up. In the morning light, he saw an island somewhere off in the sea to the north with a line of smoke floating in the wind. "There's someone out there. Let's go there, it should be warmer there."
"Can we take them along with us?" Marcurio asked.
"No," Eirik said.
"Good," Mjoll added coldly. "It looks like a long swim through the cold Sea of Ghosts: just what you two need."
Eirik pulled Marcurio out of the snow, who them began pulling the women out of the snow where Marcurio had been laying. The Cyrodilian apologized for not staying longer with them and told them to find their way back to the nearest town. Eirik, meanwhile, made his way down the cliff-side and towards the shore. Behind him followed Mjoll, who was strapping her armor back on. Once they reached the shore, Marcurio finally joined them and made an audible shudder of disgust.
"What?" Eirik asked. "Never seen the ocean before?"
"No, that's not it," Marcurio replied with a heavy tone of condescension. "I just don't feel right about swimming in ice-cold water, that's all. Damn, if only I had a potion of water-walking. They're five hundred drakes a piece but only because they come in pretty fucking handy in a frigid place like this."
"It's not too late to turn back, you know," Eirik stated.
"I still haven't got my gold," Marcurio stated. "That bastard interrupted us while you were taking your time. By the way, where is your gold?"
Eirik felt on his belt and did not find his purse. He turned to run back up the hill to where he had woken, but found Mjoll walking towards them, with two things in her hands and a look of great disapproval on her face.
"You forgot these," she said, hanging first the bag to Eirik. The other thing was a golden statue of a woman clad in nothing but a skimpy skirt about the waist.
"Dibella," she said. "Goddess of beauty and patron of artists. From that girl's story, I take it you stole it from the Thieves Guild." She shook her head, but said nothing more.
"I think you should leave that behind first," Marcurio said. "It would only weigh you down out there." Eirik placed the statue in the snow, then began wading out into the water. "This is not going to be pleasant!"
Eirik was the first one walking out into the sea, which was as cold as a thousand knife-blades of ice pricking his skin at once. With a deep breath, he leaped into the waves and started pulling himself through the icy water as fast as he could. The cold numbed his limbs and the salty water stung his eyes and tongue as he accidentally swallowed it every few seconds. Yet he pushed forward, through the churning ice of the sea, where Yngol was lost in the voyage of the Five Hundred centuries ago. The water froze his fingers and the blocks of floating ice that he occasionally brushed up against were no better. He knew not if the others were following him, nor had he the time to look back and see: he knew that he had to go forward or forfeit his life in the cold black Nordic sea. His head was pounding even harder from the hangover of last night and the profound ache of his body in the icy water. Suddenly his lungs tasted air, cold, frigid air, but it was air again. There was something beneath his hands and feet besides water, but he was shivering too violently to think and slipped into the cold darkness once again.
Eirik's eyes opened after an eternity in darkness. He thought that he would see the face of Tsun, the golden-toothed guardian of the Whale-Bone bridge to Sovngarde. But that was reserved for the honored dead, not those who had frozen to death in the sea. Slowly his eyes opened and he saw himself inside what looked like a cave of snow and ice. Near at hand was a fire burning, whose light was cast upon a giant, squarish device of brazen metal. Near at hand, wrapped in heavy blankets, were Mjoll and Marcurio. Before them and between the fire and the massive block strode a man in a hooded robe, musing and muttering to himself endlessly. About the icy room, he could see a bookcase, a bed-roll, a lantern or two, and a bucket.
"Awake, are you?" the man asked. His voice revealed his age, as did the long gray beard poking its way out of the bottom of his hood. "Good, good. Things must not be lost which are lost to begin with."
"Huh?" Eirik coughed.
"He's been saying that since we arrived here," Marcurio said. "He saved us from the seas."
"Uh, thank you, good sir," Eirik said to the old man.
"Dig, Dwemer," the old man said, ignoring Eirik's statement. "Dig into the beyond. I'll know your lost unknown and rise to your depths!"
"Who are you, good elder?" Mjoll asked.
"No one," the old man shook his head. "A seeker of knowledge. Delver of the lost things. Some people called me Septimus, after the dynasty that created our glorious Empire."
"Septimus Signus?" Marcurio asked.
"You wrote that book," Eirik stated. "The one about the Elder Scrolls."
"Indeed," old Septimus replied giddily. "Absconded with the Empire, kept in the White-Gold Tower. Ha! The fools. They thought they gathered all the Elder Scrolls, but they only found the ones they saw, or thought they saw, at least. But I found it, I did! A lost one, a forgotten one, a sequestered one."
"Where is it?" Eirik asked.
"Alas, I cannot go to it," Septimus shook his head. "Not poor Septimus. No, for I...I have arisen beyond its grasp."
"Are you alright?" Mjoll asked.
"Oh, yes," the old man said hastily. "I am well. I will be well. Well to be within the will inside the walls."
"So..." Eirik said hesitantly. "Where is it?"
"Here!" Septimus exclaimed.
"Here?" Marcurio asked, looking about in the room. "A rather odd place to keep an Elder Scroll."
"No, no, no no no no!" Septimus said. "Not here here. Here!" He waved his arms about. "This plane: Nirn, Mundus, Tamriel, whatever you wish to call it. Nearby even, well, relatively speaking. Ha ha! Cosmologically, it's all nearby."
"This is ludicrous," Marcurio sighed.
"Can you help me or not?" Eirik asked.
"Hmm, one block lifts the other," the old man said, stroking his beard. He then burst into laughter. "Ah, yes. I'll give you what you want, yes. Poor Septimus will give what you want, in return for something...something...wonderful!"
"And what is that?" Eirik inquired.
"You see the Dwemer ruins?" Septimus asked. "A masterwork, the depths of their greatest knowings. Ah, poor old Septimus is wise among men, but an idiot child to even the dullest of the Dwemer."
"Typical Imperial bullshit," Eirik snorted.
"No no, this is for real, my friend," Septimus said. "Or as real as anything in Mundus can be. Ha ha! Still, the Dwemer were great, yes! They reached into the trans-mundane, beyond this plane and into the void. Perhaps they found what they were seeking among the stars, hmm? Perhaps they are the new gods of the sky? Nevertheless, they left many good things behind, hmm? Useful tools and inventions."
"Machines of death, you mean?" Eirik asked.
"No!" three voices said at once. Eirik saw that both Mjoll and Marcurio had taken old Septimus' defense.
"The Dwemer were counted the wisest of all the races in Tamriel," Mjoll said.
"For once, I agree with you, Lioness," Marcurio added. "You know, for a Nord, you're cleverer than I thought."
"But the Dwemer were the most clever, hmm?" Septimus interrupted. "They found things, things that no mortal has ever discovered since then. Ways to read the Elder Scrolls, hmm? But, of course, one does not simply walk into the Dwemer ruins and find such a priceless gem, hmm? No, a foolish thing to think. Mustn't think that, must we? No!"
"Then where is it?" Eirik asked.
Septimus seemed practically excited as he held his lantern up to the level of his eyes and told them the secret.
"There is a place," he said. "In the deep places of Mundus, where it is said the Dwemer sought out the greatest secrets of the earth. 'Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.' In the common tongue, it is called Blackreach."
Only the cold wind howled through the icy cave once those words were spoken. Some, at least, knew of Blackreach, and feared its mention. Many stories roamed about it, and Eirik had heard his fair share of some of those legends. Needless to say, he wasn't interested in seeing if any of them were true. Suddenly, old Septimus began chanting, half to himself and half to them, some words of an old rhyme.
Under deep
Below the dark
The hidden keep
Tower Mzark
"Hmm?" he laughed. "Alftand, the point of puncture. Of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits and the darkness lies beyond."
"Alftand is less than half a day's walk south from the College," Marcurio said. "Shouldn't take us long to find it, even for you Nords."
"Wait, seeker!" Septimus said, approaching Eirik with eagerness in his eyes. "Before you go, know this: not all can enter there. Only poor Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock. Two things I have for you, two shapes: one edged, one round. The round one for tuning. Dwemer music is subtle and soft, and needed to open the cleverest gates." He gave to Eirik a sphere made of the same bronze-like Dwemer metal that he had seen in Mzinchaleft and on the giant cube behind Septimus.
"The edged one..." he began, presenting a square device as big as a brick. "A lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a library full of knowledge. Only...it's empty." He placed it in Eirik's hands. "Finds Mzark and its sky dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube."
Eirik looked at Mjoll and Marcurio. She averted her eyes from his gaze and he knew all too well for what reason. Marcurio, on the other hand, made a few gestures with his hands, indicating that old Septimus was clearly out of his mind.
"Are you sure about this?" Eirik asked.
"Trust old Septimus," the old man replied. "He knows you can know."
With these two seemingly useless treasures in hand, Eirik turned to Mjoll and Marcurio once again.
"He's clearly lost it," Marcurio said. "And what a pity, that it had to happen to such a brilliant, enlightened mind."
"Nevertheless, did you understand...anything of what he said?"
"Yes, actually," Mjoll said. "Most of it was rhymes, but I think the truth was there."
"Alftand, find the secret underground cavernous world of Blackreach," Marcurio said. "Look for a tower I've never heard of and transcribe the Elder Scroll for him. Seems simple enough."
Eirik turned to Mjoll, who said nothing once again. He then looked back to Marcurio, who had his hand raised.
"There is one thing I would like to recommend before we go, if you don't mind," he said.
"What is it?"
"No more swimming in the freezing ocean," Marcurio said. "Lorkhan's balls, you practically killed us all out there!"
"Well, then, wise one, how do you intend to return to the mainland?" Eirik asked.
"Easy," he said with a smile. "We walk."
Once they essayed at last to leave, they followed Marcurio out of the snowy cavern. The room with the giant sphere was at the bottom of what looked like a long, vertical tunnel of ice with a path winding along its outer edge. Up this winding path Marcurio led the two Nords, till they came to a makeshift wooden door that was all that separated them from the outside. On the other side, they found themselves on an island floating somewhere off the coast of northern Skyrim. The wind was blowing wildly and there was snow flung high and fast upon its crest, scratching their faces and blinding their eyes. Nevertheless, Marcurio espied a tall pillar of stone rising up out of the sea afar off southwards, towards the coast.
"See that?" he called out to the others, who huddled behind him, still wrapped in the blankets Septimus had given them. "That's the College of Winterhold. My guess is that we're off the coast."
"Great," Eirik stated. "So how are we getting back to land by walking?"
"Stand back and prepare to be amazed," Marcurio said confidently as he strode towards the water's edge. Nearby, at least ten feet outward, was an iceberg floating close to the island. With a commanding shout, Marcurio held out his hands and a sheet of whitish, opaque ice crystals erupted off the surface of the water, most of them crisscrossing in long, pointed stalactites. Marcurio then stepped out and slowly walked across the wall of ice that had grown between the land and the iceberg. The ice crystals cracked beneath his feet and groaned under his weight, but they held until he was all the way over. He then turned back to them and winked.
"Well, are you coming?"
The two looked at the icy bridge in awe, then Mjoll made her way across the bridge. It held under her weight, which was a little more than Marcurio's, considering the heavy armor she wore, and soon she too was on the large iceberg, leaving only Eirik on the farthest side. With a wary look at the icy bridge, he ran across, feeling it crack beneath his heavier footfalls. He reached the iceberg with his boots getting wet but nothing else. They then turned about and looked across the strait that would lead them back to shore. It was a long way and there were long stretches of at least two or three bow-shots in length where there were no ice-plates, only cold black water. Marcurio grimaced at this, but then held out his hands and spoke the words of command once again.
About an hour had passed by the time the three of them were finally upon land that did not move, though it was still clad in frozen snow and freezing, slippery ice. As Eirik looked for his booty of last night's debauchery, he saw Mjoll stand off from him and Marcurio.
"Looks like things aren't going well between you two," he stated.
"Don't you have something better to do?" Eirik asked. "Gods above, you're about as bad as Crixus."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he replied. "Nevertheless, I'd say even a blind man could see the animosity growing between you and the Lioness, especially after last night. If you plan on keeping her with you, you should really talk to her."
"And what do you know about friendship?" Eirik retorted.
"More than you, it seems," he said with a smile. "Come now, let's not spend any more time arguing. We've got a Dwemer ruin to find!"
For the rest of that afternoon, they walked along the northern coasts of the hold of Winterhold, looking about for any signs of a Dwemer ruin. Marcurio, however, did not look. He knew where he was going and said so in no uncertain terms. Even when Eirik, the eldest member of the group, tried to assert that it was his responsibility to find Alftand and the Elder Scroll, Marcurio retorted with his usual Cyrodilic cheek.
"Stupid Nord, you'd be lost without me," he said. "Swimming through the cold ocean. You know, if you had just asked me first off, I could have used that spell and spared us all the risk of freezing to death in the Sea of Ghosts!"
"I didn't know you were capable of such things," Eirik said.
"Of course you didn't," Marcurio retorted. "Because you're afraid of magic, just like the rest of your people. Still, it's magic that saved you here and it will be magic that will save you in the depths of Blackreach."
They walked on in silence once again. Above their heads, the skies seemed to echo the dead, empty mood of the company. The sun was hidden beneath a wreck of dark clouds that promised snow this far north: blinding sheets of razor-sharp ice-pellets in a blizzard, blown inland by the northern wind. Far above, they heard a roar echoing in the hills. Eirik gripped the Bloodskal blade in his hands, for fear that it might be another dragon. He had barely escaped his encounter with the last dragon with this priceless weapon, as his final blow had nearly wrenched the blade out of his hands and sent it hurling down the ravine into the sea with the dragon. Instead, Divines be praised, it was thrown into the bole of a tree on the ground level. This was advantageous, as Eirik would have great need of a sword in the darkness of Alftand.
Once more he looked over at Mjoll, just out of hand's reach and still bearing a grim expression on her face. He had kept the matter quiet long enough. Sheathing his sword, he walked a step closer to her and began to talk with her.
"Do you remember back at old Septimus' camp?" he began. "You seemed both eager and wary of going into a Dwemer ruin again."
"I believe you know why," she replied icily.
"Uh, that's something that I'm still struggling with," he spoke up, a thought coming to mind.
"What is that?" Mjoll asked.
Eirik came closer to her, and spoke then in a lower voice, so that what he said would, hopefully, not be overheard by Marcurio.
"Your secret," he said. "I mean, you told me that you were to be invincible, unharmed by sword or spear or shaft until the day you died, right?"
"Aye," she replied.
"Well, then, why did you despair of life in Mzinchaleft?" he asked. "Were you not invincible then also?"
Mjoll seemed rather uncomfortable with this answer and said nothing. They walked on in silence before, at last, Mjoll turned to him and spoke.
"The gods ordain the time of our lives and our deaths," she said. "I was in such pain in Mzinchaleft as I had never felt before, but it was more than pain. There was a weakness of both mind and will, brought about by being underground for many hours and away from the light. In that hour, I felt that this was my appointed time."
"Hmm," he mused.
"Now was there something else you wanted to know or are you busy with your new friend?" she asked.
"No, I wanted to talk to you about..." he began, but his voice faltered. "Well, you know..."
"Last night, you mean," she said.
"Uh, yes."
"I don't believe there's anything more to be said," she said plainly. "Yours is not the life which I intend to lead."
"What?" he asked.
She halted, gazing at him with her piercing, amber eyes. "I had thought of you as an honorable man," she began. "A man of principle and good moral standing, who put others before himself. Now I see that you're no different than Crixus or Marcurio."
"Why?" he asked. "Because of one night?"
"I am aware that drinking has that effect on people," she said. "But..."
"But what?"
Mjoll's seductively large lips quivered in anger as she spoke again, her words slow, measured and venomous.
"You...tried...to fuck me!" she hissed.
"I-I'm sorry," Eirik returned. "I can't remember anything."
"Granted, I don't remember much of it either," she said. "But the evidence was plain enough. You tore off my breastplate, then ruined my shirt to get me naked and sprawled out beneath you like that Bosmer whore."
"I wasn't acting properly," Eirik stated. "Look, I'm sorry..."
"Sorry that you tried to take advantage of me?" she replied.
"Yes," he said grimly. "I'm sorry for that."
"And that's it?" she asked. "Just a simple 'I'm sorry for that' to pardon what you did last night?"
"I didn't harm you, did I?" he asked, the fear in his voice. He had no clue as to what had happened the night before and could not tell if he had done only what Mjoll had said or even worse.
"How can I ever trust you again?" she asked. "After seeing you lying with a harlot!" Eirik said nothing. "And then you stole from the Thieves Guild, repaying one evil with another evil."
"I'm sorry," Eirik said grimly. Mjoll did not reply. "Please, say something."
"What is there to say?" she asked. "I should leave you now to go into Alftand on your own with your pig of a friend!"
"Oi!" a voice shouted.
Eirik turned from Mjoll and saw Marcurio, a long ways off, standing on the top of a hill of snow. He surged through the snowy drifts as fast as his feet could carry him and was soon standing toe to toe with Marcurio.
"Stopping to enjoy the sights, are we?" he asked. "Well, if you want a sight, behold this!"
Before them was a wide valley, with many tall cliffs of ice upon all sides, leading down into the sea below. Near at hand was a shelf of ice jutting out from the main girth of the ice cliffs. Upon this shelf were built a series of towers. Three of them at least were still standing, but some of them had toppled down. From the looks of things, this was the sight of an excavation, as there were rope-bridges connecting each of the towers and their levels.
"Is that it?" Eirik asked.
"Aye, that's it," Marcurio said. "Alftand. Are we going in already or do you two want to enjoy the sights again?"
"No," Eirik said, shaking his head. "We're going in."
"Good," he said. "I hate long waits, I get bored very easily. Oh, before we go in, a friendly reminder: try not to set off any traps, will you? The Dwemer certainly were no fools when it came to protecting their ruins." He looked over at Eirik and smirked. "Afraid, are you? Big bad Nord afraid of a haunted ruin?"
"Just shut the fuck up," Eirik replied grumpily, still upset from his talk with Mjoll.
"If these ruins frighten you," Marcurio said, wrapping his arm around Eirik's shoulder. "Take comfort in the knowledge that I am here."
Eirik and Marcurio made their way down the side of the hill and onto the ice shelf, where they sought out the rope-bridges which led into a tunnel in the side of the shelf. It looked like a mine-shaft burrowed into the side of an icy wall, but there would be nothing of value to mine here, at least so they thought. They also noticed that it was very dark inside, which sent Marcurio into a complaining mood.
"You did bring torches, didn't you?" he asked. "Or did they get wet when you decided to swim the Sea of Ghosts?"
"Can you not be quiet?!" Eirik retorted.
"What's eating you?" Marcurio asked.
"Last night."
"Last night?" Marcurio laughed. "That's hardly a reason to be angry."
"Mjoll is angry at me," he said. "And she has every right to be: I was wrong."
"Not that I have anything better to do than listen to your sob stories," Marcurio said with blatant disinterest. "I think we should focus on the task at hand. Look on the ground beneath your feet."
Marcurio whispered something and a ball of whitish light appeared in his hands, illuminating the ground before their feet and on the walls for at least a good fifteen feet outwards. Directly before them were the remains of a camp-fire, with several crates which, they guessed, had been used for seats. The tunnel then branched off in two directions, with one of them blocked off by a cave-in of stones and the other leading onward and deeper still. Thither they went until the path split again, with the straight-forward path leading to a dead end with a few barrels, what had probably been a storage room, and the right-hand path continuing into the ice. At the cross-roads of the second splintering of the ways, however, there was another ruined camp-fire, littered with abandoned bed-rolls and a few odd items here and there, but it was also drenched in an even darker token: blood.
"This is a grim scene," Eirik stated. "Whose blood do you think it is?"
"Clearly human," Marcurio said. "This couldn't have been too long ago, as the blood's still red." Holding the floating ball of magical light aloft, he threw it outwards and down the snowy tunnel, while he conjured another one swiftly. With quick footsteps, they walked over to where the ball of light had halted. The tunnel snaked off to the left, going down a pace or so until it leveled out at a wooden support platform, then continued on down into the ice. The walls and floor of the tunnel, however, were still streaked with blood.
"What do you suppose happened?" Eirik asked.
"Steady," Marcurio replied. "With a master of magic at your side, you have nothing to worry about."
"Rather confident in yourself, aren't you?" a voice asked from behind. Eirik and Marcurio both turned about to meet the newcomer.
"Mjoll!" Eirik exclaimed in surprise. Upon seeing that it was only the Lioness, Marcurio turned his attention to the tunnel. Eirik, however, was more interested in her. "What are you doing here? I thought you had decided to leave."
"I have," she replied. "And I will, but right now, I want to see this journey through, to whatever end."
"Shh!" Marcurio hissed. "Quiet, listen."
For a good long moment, they all stood quiet in the snowy tunnel. The gentle howl of the wind outside could be heard, though they were deep enough that it affected them little. Suddenly they heard something echoing farther down the tunnel. It was a voice, a keen, clever voice that could only belong to one of the peoples of Tamriel.
"Where is it?" the voice echoed. "I know you were trying to keep it for yourself, J'zhar. You always try to keep it for yourself! You hid it, J'zhar, I know you did! Where is it this time? Where did you hide the skooma?"
"Khajiit," Marcurio whispered. "We won't have much hope of sneaking up on him, not with you two being louder than a dragon."
"He could be farther down the tunnel," Mjoll said. "Still, be cautious."
With carefully measured steps, they made their way down the tunnel as it wound about through the snow and ice. At last they came to a wide arch of stone, capped with the familiar brazen metal that glowed in the light of Marcurio's spell. Mjoll was the first to speak, in a whistle of admiration.
"The ancient Dwemer," she began. "Were masters of subterranean construction. These ruins show only a fraction of their capabilities."
The others said nothing, though Eirik saw that Marcurio also looked upon the gloom-shrouded Dwemer hall beyond the arch with equally rapt attention. At last they passed under the arch and found that there was water flowing on the floor. It made their footsteps splash as they walked down the long ramp into another chamber. Once they reached the bottom, Marcurio held out his hands to bring them to a halt.
"Look down," he said.
At this they all looked down. Before them lay a spidery machine made of the same brazen Dwemer metal that capped the stones of the tunnel. Nearby they heard the hiss of steam, but no other sound. No gears grinding or machines releasing more of the same. Marcurio kicked the spider worker gently with his boot, but it made no response.
"Damn machines," Eirik said scathingly.
"That would be animunculus," Marcurio stated. "There's a difference between what the Dwemer built and a machine."
"In that you're wrong," Eirik replied. "I've fought these before. They're mindless machines, damned to endlessly perform tasks for masters who have long since departed this world."
"Wrong again!" Marcurio said smugly, turning to Eirik. "What, did you run about blindly in said Dwemer ruin? Is that where you got your knowledge of them?" He snorted. "They're machines, yes, but it's more complicated than that."
"What's more complicated?" Eirik asked. "It's metal, it has no mind. It's a machine."
"Wrong," Marcurio retorted. "They have some connection to what Conjurers call a 'soul', and therefore are capable, in their own way, of being harnessed by skilled Conjurers and their energies utilized."
"Typical sorcerer double-talk," Eirik stated.
"Typical Nordic ignorance," Marcurio snorted, as he turned and continued down the hall. Eirik and Mjoll followed after him. "Here, let me explain it in a way that your tiny mind can comprehend. When you 'encountered' Dwemer animunculi before, how did they respond?"
"What do you mean?"
"Were they active when you entered or not?"
Eirik sighed, already feeling nauseous from the thick, stuffy air. "Well, I do recall that the halls were empty. It wasn't until we passed by a large Dwemer pipe or some kind of chamber that they appeared."
"Exactly," Marcurio said triumphantly. "Now, answer me this: how can a mindless machine know exactly where you are and at what time to most effectively deploy their battle chassis?"
"Huh?"
"Ha ha!" Marcurio laughed. "You should see the expression on your face, like a dumbfounded ape!"
"I grow tired of your insults!" Eirik threatened.
"And I grow tired of your stupidity," the Imperial retorted. "If I left you behind, it would be like leading a child into a wolf's den and then running away, leaving her there to die."
"Do you really think I'm that helpless?" Eirik retorted.
"I think he's right," Mjoll asid.
"You're siding with him?" he asked, turning around.
"I've been in these ruins before," she said. "They're beautiful...and dangerous as well. We need someone who knows what he's doing, and obviously he does. Remember what you told me about the chauri in Mzinchaleft?"
Eirik's countenance fell as it seemed though he had lost the argument as well as Mjoll's respect for him. They continued on in silence, until they came to a place with a stone table and a door barred with steel bars that cut off access. Beyond, they could hear the rumbling of gears and the hissing of steam. Beyond the portcullis of the door, the Dwemer machinations were still active. Near at hand, however, the table was strewn with more of the Dwemer spider workers, which lay dissected and in pieces. Eirik pocketed a book of research notes, which he hoped would possibly give him some insight later on.
"Wait!" Marcurio cried out. "There's another way over here."
They turned about and saw another tunnel leading on into the darkness. It was then that they realized that it had suddenly become dark, pitch black even. The soudn of steel clanging loudly against stone was heard and Marcurio groaned. Something was alive in the darkness around them. Eirik drew out his sword and he heard Grimsever being drawn behind him. Suddenly there was a flash of blinding light and then a smell of burning steel, like the rich, acrid odor of a forge. Then there was a quiet glow as something began burning. It scuttled about, sending the orange light of fire flickering about, until another blast of light caught it aflame again, where it finally ceased moving and came to a halt. A small ball of light was cast again and they were flooded with Marcurio's candlelight. What they saw at his feet was one of the Dwemer spider workers, which they guessed had come from the tunnel, alerted by Marcurio's presence. But both of them were amazed at the speed with which Marcurio had dispatched it.
"Do you now see?" he asked. "If you two had come in here without me, it would have taken a lot longer and probably delivered a few good hits on you."
"I still prefer my sword," Eirik said.
"Ha!" Marcurio laughed. "Why settle for mindlessly hacking and stabbing your foes when you can roast them alive with a gout of arcane fire?"
(AN: You have no idea how much I hate Dwemer ruins, particularly writing Dwemer ruins. In the game I die so often and frequently in them, which naturally creates an aversion to going into them. Furthermore, those places, imo, seem very out of place with the rest of Skyrim. I mean, at first we're in a world of swords and magic, Viking-like Stormcloak rebels and the Romish Empire of Cyrodiil, there are elves and dragons and it's all mystical and epic Lord of the Rings-ish. But then we go into a Dwemer ruin and there's steam, cogs, running water, hell, even electricity and robotics. Aside from just plain racism [which the Dwemer definitely showed to the Snow Elves], why hasn't this technology been shared with the rest of Tamriel? But apart from that, the whole steam-punk atmosphere of the Dwemer ruins takes away from the epic scope of the land conflict and seems really out of place. But that's just me, because it seems that everyone [Mjoll and Marcurio included] loves the Dwemer. Who doesn't, they're the atheists of Tamriel, complete with genocidal tendencies, slavery and all other 'good' things, right?)
(So, naturally, I'm glad that this chapter is finally done! Unfortunately, there's still at least THREE more Dwemer ruins in the future chapters. But, since this was a long chapter, you've got plenty to review. Yay, Marcurio! I've given him something of a back-story, which is why he's in Winterhold rather than Riften [we'll see about that later], and, as this chapter was already getting so boring, I threw Sanguine into the picture. No, it won't be, as Doug "the ex-Nostaglia Critic" Walker calls it, a "big-lipped alligator moment", because it actually will have some weight on the rest of the story and, as you can see, Mjoll is still very upset about it. I did also change the outcome, so that it's not just a night of drunken debauchery at the Temple of Dibella, because I do have a time-line that I'm trying to keep to, and dragging our heroes ALL the way to Markarth would be counterproductive to what I've already planned out. That might still happen, though it would have to be carefully orchestrated as they would be more wary of Sanguine's presence now.)
(I am aware, also, that I was very liberal with the lore the last time I went into a Dwemer ruin in this story. I've tried to stay a bit closer, and even had Marcurio make that comment about the Dwemer animunculi, in response to Cyrus' review that Dwemer machines aren't "mindless robots" as I said before. As, in said previous chapter, fire is useful against the animunculi, that makes the need for a wizard keen with Destruction spells very great. I gave him the Wall of Frost spell because we didn't have any potions of water-walking on hand, no boats, and I do try to make this less unrealistic [i can't say more realistic because then somebody, probably you, Cyrus, will point out some outlandish thing from one of the fight scenes]. Therefore I couldn't risk another awful swimming through the Sea of Ghosts, so I decided that he would show his usefulness and create an ice bridge using that spell. Seems legit enough, I think. Wow, that was one long author's note! Longer than any of the ones from my other long stories, which is quite something. Any way, review and comment and I'll try to get another chapter [and shorter at that] out a.s.a.p.)
