Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Here's the second chapter, I do not own Skyrim or any other Bethesda games. I do own my OC's. Feel free to comment!

WARNING: Spoilers!

Revised: 24-2-2020

Last time…

How long have I been asleep? This book was brand new, a gift. This isn't possible! I mean, surely some of the scholars had been researching the time and space continuum, but they never got beyond theoretical debates, or so I'd heard. Had they been lying? I take another breath, my throat aching with the dust that entered my lungs, sending me into another coughing fit. Feeling wariness and trepidation creep up on me, I push open the doors that lead out of our halls.

Chapter 2 – Rude Awakening

…To stop shock still once more at the sight of rubble and decay that greets me. Large parts of the vaulted ceilings have fallen down, rubble and debris and metal parts litter the halls. Only the steam coming out of the pipes is still the same, though the pipes are dented and covered in dirt causing a grating, whistling sound. Some of the pipes are broken into pieces entirely, blocking the hallways to the forge.

Nchuand-Zel is a ruin.

This is in no way a prank of my well-meaning cousin, and with a sensation uncannily similar to a knife in the heart, I wonder if any members of my family still walk these halls.

Or walk anywhere at all, really.

I can't even gather the sense of mind to understand why the floor rushes up to me when my knees give out, and I barely avoid breaking my nose against the grimy floor. The ringing in my ears, the blood rushing through my veins is all I still hear and I can't breathe, can't breathe..!

My heart is going to give out, I'm sure of it. My chest aches, and I claw at it through the leather armour. There's a horrid sound when my axe clatters to the ground. The world spins, faster and faster. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I keep thinking, but it doesn't happen.

I just sit there. Shaking all over. In the middle of the ruined hallways of my home, where I can only just make out the stain on the pipe closest to me from where a passing scholar once spilled ink all over it.

Hopelessly, I try to use my inborn ability, the Calling, sending a mental distress signal to anyone who might be nearby, any Dwemer at all – but no-one comes.

Even after minutes that could have been hours have passed and I feel that my legs just might decide to support my weight after all, there's no answer, confirming my fears: not a single Dwemer is making the noise I'm used to, because not a single Dwemer is here to hear me.

There isn't a soul with the ability in these halls. Thus, there are no Dwemer. Perhaps if I can find one of mother's Animunculi, they can point me in the right direction... Especially since I can use the Calling to make a brief connection with them, as well as any other living being, as long as I'm directing it at them, rather than use a widespread signal.

I focus on my breathing. It's still far too fast, and my lungs ache when a coughing fit hits me after I breathe in too much dust. I don't move until I feel like I am not going to choke from the effort.

Shakily, and gripping my fallen axe tightly, I walk again, forced to go around bends and crawl under fallen beams, I eventually make my way to the main hall, where I spot a few Spheres buzzing around. "Hello?" I ask cautiously, jumping backwards when the things immediately charge their weapons.

A few tense beats pass before they lower them again, buzzing more incessantly, rolling over and around me as if celebrating my presence. But usually only their builders has such a privilege. What is going on? I clear my throat. "Where can I find food?"

I used to have a Sphere as a babysitter in Bthardamz when I was young, these were identical to that one. Funny how I think of that scrapheap now. I'd called it Bolt, since it had a loose bolt that made a rattling sound whenever it moved. It puts me at ease, to at least see that some Animunculi are still here. Even if… my people seem to have left this place, without me. It doesn't explain the gear I found, or why I woke up so disoriented, or why this place is in ruins. What in the mines is going on?

The Spheres lead me through more hallways, and eventually, I recognise the remnants of the buildings around me – they are leading me to the Trade Centre, the part of the city that had made Nchuand-Zel prosper. We traded with any folk at our doorstep and let competent traders of other races reside in the houses there, as well as building an inn for the travellers, and even two temples. If there aren't any Dwemer nearby, surely one of the outside traders might be able to give me more insight.

I sigh softly and ready myself to speak to them. I hope some speak Dwemeris. It's not common outside of the cities.

But as the spheres push open the main doors leading outside, I'm forced to immediately let my blades taste the blood of ridiculously large spiders, what in the mines – I let out a cry of surprise as the largest spider I've ever laid eyes on falls from the ceiling, the whole room covered in thick, sticky spider webs.

No, there's definitely not been any traders here.

Not if the thing grew THIS damn LARGE. The Spheres are quick to jump to my defence, hacking away at the humungous spider and trying to dispatch the smaller ones as I duck from a glowing piece of spider web, dripping a strange liquid.

Poison?

I curse and bury my axe in the head of one of the smaller spiders, its manacles clacking once more before the foul thing crumbles to the floor, staining my axe a blackish purple. The mother spider is clicking loudly, horribly, and I sprint up a ramp as it dispatches of one of the Animunculi. "Back away from it!" I snap, pushing all confusion and pain and uncertainty aside because that bitch is going down.

No time to think. Have to fight. I hear the echoes of my instructors in my mind: Remember your training.

With a battle cry, I launch myself off the platform and onto the things' back, hacking away at its neck and it's icky, too long, too hairy legs until finally, finally, the spider drops to the ground, sending me sprawling onto the blood-slicked floor with a squelching sound. I probably would have ruined my clothes if my cloak hadn't been treated against staining.

As it is, I stand up a bit wobbly, lack of food and the horrific sight enough to nearly send me into a second panic attack, but the whirring of a Sphere behind me, steadying and supporting me, brings me back to myself. That was easier than expected.

Also completely abnormal. Why didn't a single person take care of this?

Unless the entire city has been abandoned.

Not thinking of that right now.

I chuckle softly, wiping my brow and in the process making my face even filthier. "Thank you." The spheres hadn't seen this coming either. For all their intelligence, they're still machines after all. I give the surviving Animunculi a brittle smile regardless, even as the other one stays still and broken and the two Dwemer Spiders that had at some point joined us click at their 'real', hairy counterparts in distaste.

They bring me all the way to the entrance to the Trade Centre, but stop in the hall leading up to it. I blink at them. "Are you… Not joining me, then?"

The sphere buzzes once, as if saying 'goodbye', before they all turn tail and retreat into the deeper parts of the city. As clear an answer as any.

I straighten myself as much as I can, nervous. It has been… over three years since I've seen any person not Dwemer or Snowmer. The caravan who'd guided my mother and I through the mountains had held several Nedic people, as well as a Khajit. A strange yet enlightening experience, looking back. At the time, I'd been too busy grieving and pondering about my father to really care.

Then, with some trouble, I push against the gates – to find them stuck. I blink a few times, not too surprised since the spider infestation would have certainly made them lock this place – whoever 'them' is.

And if they believed nobody was inside.

I take another shuddering breath, before starting to pound on the double doors as hard as possible. Seeing the Animunculi leave and the hunger gnawing at my stomach only spur me on, and I start yelling and cursing as well.

I know from experience that sound carries through these damn doors. I'd been annoyed with it just last night!

After yelling my throat hoarse, I draw my axe, still slick with blackish spider blood, and aim carefully for the lock. Pained as I am to destroy more of my home, I want out. With a single hit and a sickening crack, it comes off, further alluding to how badly the city had had to endure.

How long did I sleep?

This time, the doors give, and I'm more than disgruntled when they finally open. I'm hungry, I just killed the biggest spider I've ever seen, I'm horrifically filthy, my people are missing, my family is missing, the city is in ruins, I have a headache, and now some weird golden elf is screaming at me in absolute gibberish exclaiming about the blood or my axes, or me, or both, or none of it, I have no clue because it's in gibberish. The silent younger (still taller than me) elf behind him is also just… Standing there. Jaw dropped and entirely useless.

About as useless as the two Men in matching odd mail outfits that wouldn't protect them from a Mudcrab, both carrying entirely oversized weapons. They're also yelling in gibberish, but get this, in a different accent of gibberish.

I undergo the newly invented form of torture for all of five minutes before I am completely done. "WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?!" I scream, louder than them, and my throat does not appreciate it even as I sheathe my weapons with a wince when the guard-Men raise theirs threateningly. Why are there no Animunculi here? They guarded the walls and the entrance last time I was here. Though, my memory is hazy, and I might have missed any guard-Men walking around.

But no guard in a Dwemer-ruled city would wear armour that shoddy.

Something keeps niggling at the back of my mind, and I'm not sure what it is, but I'm pretty sure that the weird way the weird-elf's eyes slowly light up as they train intently on my person has to do with it. Slowly, the man asks another question, and this time the words sound different, more flowing. Then, another series of words, said in a questioning manner, again said differently. Different languages..?

It takes an entire rotation of different words before finally, I thought he would never get it, this IS a Dwemer city, regardless of who lives on its surface levels, the Mer says something recognisable: "You…Dwemer…Yes?"

I don't dare relax. The guy's accent is terrible though, so bad that it startles a snort out of me. "I am." The words act like a trigger – within seconds, the creep is beside himself with emotion, dancing and yelling again, this time at the guard-Men and the other elf. Even though they are all ridiculously tall, it looks kind of funny. The guard-Men grumble, but leave, even as the mini-elf tries to calm down the creep.

I decide to take a leap, so to speak, when nothing else logical comes out of the only person that can even remotely speak my language, apparently. "Excuse me?" The elf pauses, staring at me intently again. I pat myself on my stomach with a sheepish grin, figuring body language will do where something more sophisticated fails. "Food?"

"Foh-eed?" the Mer repeats, before nodding and snapping something at the other elf. A mini version of him. Mini-elf. "food."He says then, and I try and copy, the strange vowels and sounds rolling across my tongue in a way that's stressfully unfamiliar. He seems oddly pleased. I'm… not convinced that this is a good idea. But to be honest with myself, what other choices are there? I let the Mer take me down to a station with an unnerving, skull-adorned, glowing table and an alchemy laboratory. I take place on the stone bench nearby, trying and failing to ignore the bent and dented scrap metal around me.

This creepy elf… Is a scholar? The books scattered around the place seem to point in that direction, at least. While I'm trying to compare the strange contraptions to what little of scholarly items I know, bread and some sticky good are pressed into my hands. Eyeing the red sticky item, I opt to eat the bread first. Well, more like devour. I could probably handle two or three more.

That red stuff looks suspicious. Maybe poison? But why poison me?

I investigate the sticky food item like a researcher would. I observe it from every angle before sniffing it, then sinking my teeth in it carefully. All under careful scrutiny of the two weird elves.

My eyes widen. Wow. This is – this is absolutely delicious! Soft, and creamy, with something citrus-y sweet underneath it all. It's gone within seconds, and after a hopeful glance around that I'll deny to my dying breath, I slump slightly in disappointment. The mini-elf laughs, like the tingling of the small bells my people use to keep track of smaller livestock.

He points to himself. "I am Aicantar. Ai. Can. Tar."

More gibberish. What's he trying to say? His name?

I glance at the finger he points at himself. It must be his name. "A- Ain… Ainc- " frustrated, I narrow my eyes at him in absolute focus, going over the ways the alien sounds rolled off the elf's tongue. "Ai-cantar." I manage, with all the solemnity of a funeral.

When the elf nods enthusiastically, I let a small smile grace my face, though it fades just as quickly, as I'm painfully reminded that he is not Mellte. "You may call me Fjaldi. Fjaldi of Bthardamz." An uncomprehending look. Oh, right. I point a finger at myself, making sure to pronounce my name as clearly as I can. "Fjal-di. Fjaldi." He is silent for a few moments.

"Fjaldi. #!%# %&(%%$ %. $^#&*## #%^&." I stare at him silently, not understanding a word of what he said, until he realises his mistake and chuckles, looking around searchingly before grabbing a wooden plate, paper roll and piece of charcoal. He rolls out the paper across the wood, and hands it to me alongside the charcoal.

" %$%^#^&*$$%? Uhm, ##? $%?" he mimics writing, and I nod in understanding, making a sketch of the sweet treat I just had, and drawing a crude arrow towards it, before turning to show it. The Mer – Aicantar, laughs loudly, startling the muttering weird-elf. "$^$ boiled crème treat." Then, he points at the weird-elf. "Calcelmo." I frown, as the weird-elf - Calcium? No, Calcelmo - Looks up at what I assume is his name. He bites something at the mini-elf and continues his feverish writing.

"Calcelmo." I try. And sure enough, the elf looks up again, this time irritated. He turns on his nephew right away, sending an ocean of gibberish the poor elf's way in a tone that I recognise as scathing. I throw a piece of scrap metal at the man, glaring at him and tutting in disapproval, using the charcoal to draw another arrow along with a sketch of a demon. I make sure the arrow points at the weird-elf as I raise an eyebrow. "Surely you're not so primitive as not to understand this? Stop harassing him." I bite.

It's clear these two are kin. How dare they do this in public, it's distasteful? Family is the highest good a Dwemer can have. Bonds of kinship are not to be taken lightly, as Ma would say. "Calcelmo. Aicantar. " I say slowly. The elf mutters something again. Then, he exchanges a few words with Aicantar that fly completely over my head, though Aicantar mentions my name several times in an increasingly agitated tone.

Eventually, Calcelmo barks out a single sound, abruptly turning back to the skull-adorned table. Aicantar gives me a feeble grin, reaching out his hand for me to take.

I ignore it, but stand, tilting my head. When he starts walking, looking over his shoulder constantly, I follow, hoping I interpret the gestures correctly, gaining an approving nod, and he turns his hands into fists, pointing only his thumbs upwards. I copy the gesture in faint confusion, and he laughs.

I scowl down at my hands. This won't do. I feel ridiculous. I'm already sick of not understanding him.So I use the Calling again, despite the headache that is sure to intensify. I make sure that he knows the connection is there even as he startles violently, and I shush him mentally.

"It's okay! I'm not out to hurt you." Speaking via the Calling is very odd, since you do not use words, only a combination of thoughts, images and feelings to convey a meaning unless you truly focus. Not necessary since I don't speak his language anyway. "I am looking for something," I convey, "relax." He does so after a few moments where we are both frozen, nodding, and I feel an immense wave of excitement flowing off him that is so infectious it has me crack my first genuine grin since I woke up.

I only briefly observe the very basics, taking Aicantar along for the ride – letting him see and learn all that I see and learn. I stick to the very surface of his mind, recalling the elf's memories of the places' layout, and the foundations of the language as his thoughts come and go. The process only takes a few seconds, but leaves me stumbling inelegantly and Aicantar groaning loudly, both of us clutching our heads.

It's a handy ability to have, the Calling, though not without drawbacks and severe limits. Any longer and I'd have lost whatever I'd eaten – the bread and boiled crème treat. "I… sorry am." I utter, searching through the newly acquired information to string together what I hoped was an apology with the weird elongated vowels they use.

But wow. An entire language, a civil war, prevalent racism in everyday life, and the city, Nchuand-Zel… Or at least the surface level, is now 'Markarth'. With vague sense of 'trouble', though I did not keep up the connection long enough for me to see what that is. At least the simplest words are not beyond my understanding now, though the headache will likely last the next two days. Aicantar will be rid of it much faster. "It's no problem… Hey! You speak our #%# ^!"

I raise a brow. "Language? The words… words speak we?" I stumble over the sounds, so unlike what I'm used to that my tongue hurts from the strange twisting.

"The words we speak, yes." Aicantar agrees, the biggest grin I've seen as of yet on his face.

I nod decisively, "Aye, Good. That was the Calling. Ability people my with born are. Look we in minds." He seems stumped for a few seconds.

"You can read minds?!"

I blink at him once, twice, then I chuckle. "No. It more… complicated. Less easy." I gesture around vaguely, frustrated that I still cannot express myself well, even though my parents always insisted on me being well-spoken. I am curious despite my confusion and trepidation at the absence of Dwemer and the ruin everywhere. What sort of society is this, that words like 'magic' and 'mage' are as common as 'warrior'?

"Alright. I guess you'll learn how to tell me about things in time. How about I take you to the $#%#& for now?"

Again, one of the words is beyond my understanding, and I frown. "That last word is what?"

Aicantar mirrors my expression. "Did you not learn the whole language at once?" I shake my head after deciphering the meaning of the sentence fully, a hand resting on my axe as one of the guards walks by. The new information entering my mind is disconcerting: 'dangerous, corrupt, don't trust any of them'. I have no clue why anyone would employ a guardsman if he cannot be trusted with the safety of those in his care. Or why they would be… bought, if guards were as well-paid as the ones I knew.

"Not able. Language is no…not easy. There are too many words. Keeping the Calling activated for… much time, is… dangerous?" It comes out as more of a question, even as I follow the weird-elf – Altmer, my mind supplies, through the upper level. It's desolate. Broken. Ruined. I remember being proud of these halls, their splendour, and the many market stalls placed along the sides. Now, it looks more like a political command centre. I don't much like the change. I stay silent even as I'm eventually handed more food, vegetables this time, with a muttered apology from Aicantar.

"You are really a Dwemer?" the Altmer asks as he takes a seat on a stone bench, and I ponder for a while, slowly eating the leafy greens. The tone in his words – awed? Wary? Disbelieving? Strangely hopeful? Pitying? I cannot say, and it's irking me.

"I am of the Dwemer race. Aye. You act like it is strange thing. Live you a Dwemer city, but never seen a Dwemer?" I attempt to ignore the pressure on my chest, the feeling that goes beyond uneasy, making my breathing hitch in my throat when Aicantar shakes his head. But his verbal answer… I refuse to think that I understand it at first.

"There haven't been Dwemer in Nirn for #$ #... A very long time." A very long time? As in, years? Decades? Eons?

"How much time a 'cen-tuuh-ri-ez' is?" I ask warily, not daring to believe it. He looks at me then, and the look of utter sympathy there cannot be faked.

"One century is a hundred years."

My world grinds to a halt. What..? No… That cannot be… I stand up, angrily. "You lie." He holds his hands up in a placating manner, and I ignore the other Altmer in odd robes and Elvish armour as they approach at my loud accusation.

"I'm not! The Dwemer all disappeared for reasons nobody knows! Well… Not all Dwemer, apparently." He ends softly, eyeing me. My body is frozen, hands splayed out on the wooden table and eyes wide in horror.

"They are gone..?" I breathe, and the swords being drawn I don't hear over the ringing in my ears. The fight seems to drain out of me. Ma… Mellte… Uncle… Kleffdis… All the workers at the forge, at the Animunculi stations, the children I went to school with, my friends in Bthardamz and in Nchuand-Zel..? Gone? Disappeared? "Then why- " my voice breaks, horror clouding my vision. I feel faint. "Why am I still… here?" Aicantar rushes over as I sway dangerously, and I numbly bring a hand to my face to feel the wetness there, the tears. "I am… Alone..?" I whisper, aghast. My family is gone. My people-

The floor falls towards me and the world around me turns black as I crumple in a dead faint.

I felt this would be a good place to cut off – that said, most chapters will vary in length, mostly between 2000-4000 words, for easy reading! R&R if you wanna.

Sneak peek!

…That's how I found that I'm what counts as a Daedric worshipper.

Are you curious yet?