Chapter 1 - The Price of Knowledge


The Lone Courier was quite angry with the Dunwich altar. It had been hours, and still every attempt of his to carve off a sample of the oily black stone it comprised of had been met with failure. As a man of science, the altar had always been a sticking point in his mind. With the immediate threats such as the Legion and the Enclave dealt with, he had indulged himself in his curiosity. So after having come all the way back from the Mojave to examine it its lack of cooperation was irritating in the extreme. Considering it was an inanimate object, perhaps "lack of cooperation" was an inappropriate expression. He pondered this question of semantics for a moment before seizing on an element of it. Perhaps the assumption that it was an inanimate object was the problem in his analysis? His brain set off at its usual speed as he paced back and forth before the bizarre structure.

He knew the ghouls had worshipped the altar, and he knew that it had existed pre-war and clearly had had some effect on those that were here before. Therefore, it could be determined that the object was capable of action in some form and by some means. He simply had to determine what that means was and how he could stop it from interfering with his testing. Clearly this construct was emitting some form of energy. It was not gamma radiation, as his Pip-Boy would have given him ample warning, other forms of radiation could not be ruled out. Some form of sonic emission such as infrasound was also a possibility, it certainly would have been able to influence the people around it, but the extent of the manipulation made it unlikely in the extreme. Yet, neither explanation would be insufficient to explain the inability of razor sharp titanium to even scrape the material it consisted of.

Despite his scientific mind, the Courier's wasteland approach to problem solving and simple impatience took over. If there was some form of device or technology that was protecting the altar, then he had a cunning and subtle plan to find out.

It was mere moments later the pulse mine detonated.

Once he emerged from behind a nearby support column and uncovered his still-ringing ears, he was immensely pleased with himself already. The altar was intact, which was a good sign. He sauntered over to it, trench knife in hand. It was time to see if the pulse mine had done its job.

He never got the chance.

A wave of blue light emanated from the altar, staggering him shaking the foundations of the building. Clouds of dust and dislodged earth blinded the Lone Wanderer as he desperately made his way towards the altar. A second pulse went out and he struggled to stay standing. There was a moment of absolute silence before it began again. Only now, the waves were going into the altar rather than out. And Courier Six was being dragged inexorably with them. Another one. And another one, they were coming faster, one after the other. As he struggled desperately to put distance between himself and the altar, he saw the light turn from blue to a sickly green. Parts of the altar fell away, revealing luminous darkness. A void that emitted that same corpselight as the pulses.

His struggles were in vain. The last of the altar turned to blackness and the Courier was pulled through it.

While the Lone Courier had absolutely no idea what had happened or where he was now, the fact that he could think at all gave him some small comfort. That he had not been totally vaporized was frankly more good news than he was expecting. Nevertheless, the adrenaline had not stopped pumping, nor the sense of panic start to fade. Looking up from the hard stone he had ended up on, he noticed two things. Books, and darkness. Pushing himself to his feet, he noticed aged pages strewn across the floor, written in some script he could not recognize. He clenched his right hand, finding his trench knife missing. He looked up and his stomach dropped. The amount of books was incomprehensible. Stacked along the walls as though in a massive library, but also in columns made entirely out of dark tomes that spiralled up into the blackness above him.

The Lone Courier stood, stunned, and afraid. He was conscious, this was not a dream. As incomprehensible as it was, he knew how he got here. He did not know where he was or how this was possible. In his attempt to demystify the horrors of Dunwich, he had brought himself into a waking nightmare.

Before he could even try to make a plan of action, he heard a sound not unlike a plug being removed from a drain from behind him. The sinking feeling deepened. He turned to face it.

What he saw was beyond his ability to see. A mass of pure darkness, with tendrils of void ringing its edges, its writhing pseudo-limbs half forming eyes. Far taller than he was, this ill defined shape menaced his mind with its very presence.

The Abyss yawned before him. And in his silence it spoke.

"A wanderer seeking knowledge, so much like the others," it crooned. The voice filled his mind with icy cold, stifling thought and paralzying movement. The tendrils wound closer around the edge of the void. "The manner of your intrusion into my domain is nonetheless…" the abyss shuddered, "...worthy of note."

A tentacle of void reached out and carressed the face of the Courier. ""You will reveal this knowledge to me and I… will grant you my favor."

The inexplicable temptation to simply acquiesce welled up within him for a moment and threatened to overwhelm him. It was suddenly shattered by the sensation of something tugging at his left arm. He turned to look and was jolted into a state of sudden lucidity and panic as he watched a cluster of tendrils detach his Pip-Boy and carry it into the abyss.

The presence and aura of the entity before him was undermined by this brazen act of theft. All the existential horror and dread that had overwhelmed his senses had been supplanted by indignation.

"Hey!" he said and recoiled.

A great eye appeared in the center of the abyss, looked at him, and blinked. His outburst was apparently unexpected by the entity. The eye focused on him with a scouring intensity and palpable sense of malice. The feeling of fear returned. Before it had a chance to act on its intent, the Courier heard a pop behind him, and turned face first into a void ringed with purple flame. Immediately, he felt the sensation of falling. As he fell innumerable images passed before him.

He saw a landscape of storm clouds above seas of lava with twisted towers of black rock. He felt an icy chill as he saw a dead world, then suddenly looked upon a tranquil countryside with grand cities of glass and magnificent palaces before he was plunged into an all encompassing living darkness. But still further he fell past floating isles and then through visuals too horrific to comprehend.

Then, suddenly but not painfully, he came to rest somewhere hot, dry, and generally uncomfortable. He could see an ocean of lava around him, but that was not what had his attention. No, what occupied the attention of the Lone Courier was the massive being seated on a throne before him. Four armed, red, and horned, the Courier began to seriously consider the possibility he had ended up in hell. Before he could come to grips with this possibility, the being addressed him.

"Mortal. Welcome to my realm. I am Mehrunes Dagon, prince of Revolution, Change, and Ambition."

The voice thundered down to the Courier. He felt the power behind it and understood the menace that accompanied it, but did not feel the pure alien hostility of the other entity. Instead, its threat was more arrogant, its power more forthright.

This "Mehrunes Dagon" looked down at him expectantly.

Courier Six looked at the towering being, folded his arms across his chest, and spoke.

"Why have you brought me here?"

The Courier was blunt with his words

The being seemed somewhat amused by his attitude, its lips curling into a cruel smile.

"Because I have thought of a better use for you than a thrall of Hermaeus Mora. He,as boring as he is, only wanted the knowledge you possess. What a waste. Instead, I have a better use for you."

"What is it you want from me?" Six said, his voice slightly strained. A mix of resignation, confusion, and anxiety left him desperate for some kind of explanation as to what was going on.

"Want from you? Why nothing at all," Dagon opened his arms magnanimously, "You will get to filling the world with revolutions and destruction all on your own, mortal."

He narrowed his gaze but kept his patronizing tone, "I know your kind, the self-righteous, the ambitious, the ones willing to do whatever it takes to make things as they ought to be. What a force for change you will be! What I want," the smile returned, "is to turn you loose."

Dagon waved one of his hands and the Courier fell into unconsciousness.

He awoke to a sharp feeling of cold. He was shivering and near hyperventilating. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on frosty stone. Looking around, he cautiously pushed himself to his feet. He tried to use his arms to warm himself. The courier duster he wore was suitable for the Mojave, but not these conditions. Despite being mere months ago the events of the Divide seemed so long ago.

He seemed to be in some kind of cave. He remembered how he got here, but couldn't be sure all between the events with the Dunwich altar and his arrival here weren't just a bizarre nightmare. That pleasant fantasy was dispelled by the painfully conspicuous absence of his Pip-Boy. The skin where it once was was sickly pale compared to the rest of his complexion that had been battered and browned by the Mojave sun.

The Courier was absolutely furious with himself. He should have known better. Why was his curiosity insatiable? Had he not learned his lesson from the Sierra Madre? He supposed not, he noted ruefully, he had survived after all-and even made off with its treasure to boot. Now, his curiosity and insatiable desire for knowledge had gotten him well and truly in over his head. He paused for a moment and frowned, considering the utter inadequacy of expression. He was so far in over his head, he was very nearly drowned. He made an effort to shake himself from his self-flagellation and take stock of his situation.

Aside from his physical state, he noticed that he no longer felt a hostile tug on his consciousness. Wherever he had been before, there was some kind of ambient presence tugging on his mind. Here, it was lacking, it was… normal. Where 'here' was, was another matter entirely. A draft caused him to shiver. It seemed he was in a cave, though not a particularly deep one, given that he could see daylight from both an entrance and through a hole in the ceiling. As far he could tell, the only thing for it was to get out of the cave and see where that would leave him. Bare rock would not tell him anything. He walked towards the light that he could see, rounded the corner and was promptly forced to shield his eyes to avoid being blinded.

He emerged to what was, to say the least, quite a sight. Still, shielding his eyes from the bright sun he saw blue skies marked with wisps of high cloud. Below lay a valley of tall pines and lush green landscape, streaked with streams. A cluster of rustic wooden buildings represented a town below. He could barely make out smoke emerging from the chimneys, a clear sign of habitation. Opposite the valley and on his right was a range of sharp snow capped mountains. To his left, the valley continued on, with similarly jagged peaks on the far horizon. After the ordeal he had been through and the melancholy of years in the wasteland the Courier could have wept at the serenity and majesty before him.

"Never should have come here…"

The Courier's eyes widened as his head snapped to the source of the sound. Some fur-clad raider with a sword hadn't bothered to question his appearance from the cave, but rather decided to immediately attempt to decapitate him. The Courier stopped the man's arm mid-swing by grabbing his wrist and moving to the outside of the blow. Moving now behind the man, he pulled the man's hand back towards him, cutting his throat with his own sword. A second raider advanced on him, this one with a large axe. The Courier ran him through before he had a chance to respond. He quickly scanned the area and saw nothing moving.

It was over. Even without the aid of VATS he was an efficient killer. As the adrenaline subsided and his breathing stabilized, the Courier looked down at the bodies of the raiders. It was disappointing that the first people he had met were willing to kill him on sight. It was a good sign that they were human, but he hoped he would meet others in this new land that were less murderous in their intentions. As beautiful as the place he found himself in was, he needed to know where this was and just generally what was going on. His head hurt. He couldn't be sure if it was because of physiological reasons or just because of how overwhelmed he was.

A sharp gust of wind cut through his duster, chilling him to the bone. A slight shiver wracked his body. He was high in the mountains in a snowy clime. For all his cybernetic enhancements, he was still liable to freeze to death. He looked down at the victims of his efficiency. The furs they wore would protect well against the alpine climate. If only they weren't covered in bloodstains. He managed to find a carving knife attached to one of their belts and used it to cut the bloodstained parts off of salvageable bits of gear. Ultimately, he emerged more or less clad in furs under the duster, with a cowl that protected his face from the gusts that plagued him. He attached the sheath of the sword he had acquired to his belt. The weapon was made of crude iron, something that indicated that there wasn't widespread access to advanced metallurgy here. He also found a few gold coins that his attackers had had on them. A brief examination showed the profile of a man on one side, with the words "THE EMPIRE IS LAW. THE LAW IS SACRED." imprinted on its face. Not a very encouraging phrase in the Courier's opinion. It had an overtly authoritarian ring to it. Hopefully this "empire" wouldn't cause him any problems. The obverse sign of the coin was less sinister, but raised more questions. "PRAISE BE AKATOSH AND ALL THE DIVINES." Clearly that was this place's equivalent of "In God We Trust." He could discern that this place was polytheistic, but not much beyond that. Clearly "Akatosh" was of central importance, but it wasn't clear whether he was a god himself, or some kind of prophet.

The Courier supposed his best bet for finding some answers lay in the town he could see below him. It seemed to be bustling with activity, which piqued his curiosity. Based on his encounter with the raiders, despite his baffling method of arrival, where he was wasn't particularly alien. While the landscape before him was totally unfamiliar, everything seemed within the bounds of normality compared to what he had seen before arriving here. As he began his steady descent from his position halfway up a mountain, he tried to make sense of how he was feeling.

Beyond the uncertainty and bafflement that had been caused by his displacement, he felt a sense of wonder and genuine excitement and the prospects that lay before him. Putting aside for the moment how he had gotten here and the strange entities he had encountered, he was in a new place with everything to discover. He was sure Arcade would have had some choice words to say. Nihil novi sub sole, indeed. Whatever else he could say about his experiences, thus far, they were certainly new. His curiosity that had led him to tampering with the altar had been rewarded, just as it had every time before. The question of how to get home was one he willfully shoved to the side. That was a matter for later. Now he found himself in a brand new place where he was free to indulge his curiosity to the fullest. The prospect of exploring this virgin country, despite everything, was enough to fill him with undeniable excitement.

While the Lone Wanderer tried not to dwell on what had happened between his meddling with the Dunwich Altar and his arrival in this place, the nagging absence of his Pip-Boy made it hard to avoid it. He had worn the device for nearly eight years of his life now. Not only was he deeply accustomed to its presence on his arm, but being without it left him practically naked in terms of defense. He clutched the hilt of the iron sword he had taken. It was a pitiful substitute for a silenced sniper rifle. And God only knew that his courier duster and some scavenged furs were no replacement for his elite riot gear, let alone his power armor. He felt his stomach drop as he realized where all of that was now. In the hands of that entity. He sighed as he realized that his experience in discovering this place would inevitably be tainted by the everpresent anxiety that would result from fears of what could be done if his Pip-Boy and its contents were exploited.

Before he could reconcile his anxieties with his excitement he found himself nearing the bottom of the mountain. It hadn't taken him a lot of time. Even when not in any particular hurry, Courier Six moved quickly. He didn't have a reason to, he was just eager to get things done quickly. In his life, there was hardly a dull moment, so slowing down to enjoy the scenery was not something he tended to consider. There was always someone somewhere that needed helping with something. As it was, he nevertheless slowed his pace momentarily as he scanned his field of vision. It took only a second for him to find what he was looking for, a road that ran parallel to the mountain, towards the town he had seen. With his objective sighted, he returned to his usual pace. The roads were heavily worn, sporadically cobbled, though he supposed he couldn't be surprised, considering the mountainous terrain. It wouldn't exactly be the first priority for a robust road network. The nature of the roads spoke to a pre-industrial society. In fact, so far everything he had seen pointed in that direction. There were no signs of pre-war civilization, no broken concrete or worn down asphalt. There were clear blue skies and thoroughly unmutated flora and air cleaner than he had breathed out of doors. Whether he was still in the continental United States, or still on Earth, or even in the same dimension he did not know. The Dunwich altar could have done any number of things to him, to say nothing of the variety of locales he had seen before he arrived here. The places between the entities certainly weren't on Earth. Still, as the Courier plodded along the road, he wasn't overly perturbed. After having been kidnapped by Elder Elijah and abducted by the Zetans, ending up in strange places wasn't outside his experience. And his circumstances were currently much better than in either of those cases. At least he didn't have an explosive collar around his neck.

The Courier slowed as he came to a fork in the road. There was only one road sign, but it pointed in what his at the very least adequate sense of direction told him was the town he had seen. Apparently it was called "Helgen." Another piece of information, he thought as he returned to his pace and set off down the road.


AN: Something I've been working on. BoW is still in the works, but its sheer length makes it difficult to get back into. Let me know what you all think of this start, I thought shaking things up a bit might be a good idea. I'm always open for feedback, suggestions, or any kind of criticism.