Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): Gore, canon-typical murder sprees, slightly more descriptive gore, blood, Falmer, more injuries. M RATING.
Last time…
"I won't hold us back."
I exchange a glance with J'zargo, who nods – he'll keep an eye out for his partner in crime.
Chapter 24 – Mzulft, part 2
Chaurus breeding caves smell like a combination of five week old dead fish, mouldy socks, sulphur, fungus, and unwashed animal. The stench is eye-watering, and even breathing through my mouth doesn't help since a similarly penetrating taste hangs in the air with the smell. Disgusting.
I have to hold back my gag reflex multiple times as we fight the lone Chaurus and get out of the nest as fast as possible – and I'm not the only one, as J'zargo empties his stomach. "This is worse than the mages' torture rooms in Fellglow Keep." The cat grouches, hairs standing on end.
…What were they doing in Fellglow Keep? Wasn't some crazy mage cult settled there?
Another Falmer and a picked-clean human skeleton and Chaurus behind separate doors later, we come across a rectangular room – but what really draws my eye is the shallow pool running down its length. Two Falmer stand on the other end, and I gesture for Marcurio to do the honours.
"With pleasure."
A blinding amount of Chain Lightning later and I'm sinking to my knees in the pool, scrubbing the worst of the muck I'm covered in out of my hair, face and hands. The smell is going to linger in my armour for weeks, if it ever fully washes out at all, but I'll have to wait until we're back outside before I can even hope to take off the sticky plates and blood-soaked underclothes.
I shudder violently, and not because of the water's temperature.
At the very least, my splashing about doesn't draw more enemies in our direction, allowing me to clean up at least semi-effectively.
I think I might feel mildly traumatised. I've never been covered in this much blood and gore – Jenassa usually kept her kills clean, not messy like these Winterhold students do. Another spear trap is disabled, and the treasure in the next room is worth facing the Chaurus hidden behind it, even if it does give me a long scratch on my armour.
The amounts of dents and scratches on my gear are getting ridiculous. I should make a new set of dragon armour – maybe gift some to Onmund and J'zargo, bracers or boots better than that horrid lack of armour they're wearing now. I should have given them spare parts I'd been saving for Marcurio back at Hjerim.
Oh well, no use crying over spilt milk.
I'm relieved when we get to leave the Chaurus-infested boilery when I spot the next set of letters on the doors: 'Aerodrome'. Sounds fancy, whatever an aerodrome is. Maybe it's the place we're supposed to be.
By now, the dead Synod researchers are a welcome sight – that way I know we're still going in the right direction. Mzulft has fallen into disrepair even worse than Nchuand-Zel, or so I think, from the small parts of my own city I saw on my way out. I should count myself lucky that I didn't run into any Falmer back then, alone, inexperienced, confused... That would not have ended well.
"I hate Dwemer ruins." Onmund groans, already walking by himself again and having regained some of the colour in his cheeks.
"J'zargo agrees. But J'zargo also knows that once we get through this trouble he will likely never have to set foot in a Dwemer ruin again." His tail curls excitedly as he adjusts his robes – he'd gathered everything of value he could find and stashed it underneath them, I've no clue as to how or even why.
I come to a stop when I see the tattered banner hanging proudly between two large, ornate, Dwemer head decorations. There are two paths from here, but I'm pretty sure they'll lead to the same point when the Dwemer of Mzulft showcase something like this.
A sign of pride lies ahead.
But there'll be a visitors area first, at the very least.
"Observe the banner of Mzulft." I say in a low voice when the others catch up from looting the Falmer we'd just killed. "The Dwemer here never travelled far west, so I've only seen it on dignitaries whenever they visited my home..." A wan smile plays on my lips.
"I wonder, had we been a less curious race, would they have ever even built an Oculory?" Would we have never dabbled in things we should have left untouched? And would we still be here as a result?
I shake my head slightly, heading for the left path. "I sense trouble ahead." Marcurio bites, already charging a spell in each hand. "You sense correct." I confirm, clutching my axes a little tighter, the blood making them slick. "Prepare yourselves."
We proceed slowly, cautiously.
Every breath my companions utter is too loud to my ears, and every squishing sound of a blood-soaked boot tapping lightly against the floor has my heart tremble.
The shadows seem to shift around me, foreboding thick and heavy and oppressing in the air. I shiver as if cold, but deep inside I know it's not that…
It's as if someone has walked over my grave with feet clad in red ice, unnaturally frozen blood, dripping, melting into my coffin and running down my neck.
Like the faint stains I spot, scattered here and there along the floor.
Unnatural. And worse than anywhere else in the ruined, solemn, silent city.
A tomb of my people.
The lone Falmer, a mere scout, at the top of the stairs is killed by my axe splitting it's skull whilst it's skinny, deformed back is turned, my heart racing uncomfortably fast.
The next Falmer isn't alone – a group of at least five of them are spread throughout a large room as J'zargo and I peek into it from the shadows as silently as we can before backing away. "Warmonger." I hiss darkly at Marcurio, who stiffens, eyes going wide.
The sense of impending doom becomes suffocating, and I almost choke on it if not for the fact that it would instantly warn my enemies.
The Falmer Warmongers are like Orc Chieftains. The big bosses amongst the Falmer. Even more so than the Shadowmasters could ever hope to dream. They know multiple schools of magic, like Destruction, Conjuration, and Healing and use heavy armour and weapons on top of that.
Almost certain death.
I take a few deep breaths, coming to a chilling realisation as the mages wait for me, their eyes wide and their soft, shuddering breaths nearly loud enough to alert the monster up ahead.
I'm scared.
I feel real, paralysing fear. I want to curl up under some blankets and let the world fend for itself. But… there's people counting on me here. Even if I don't want to fight, I won't get a choice.
The second realisation hits me like a sword in the chest – and a sword in the chest is a likely possibility, what with the danger of this group of Fallen, twisted creatures.
I have no choice.
Risking another glance, I note that the nearest Falmer have their backs turned to us. The Warmonger is standing, unmoving, it's face aimed unwaveringly at me even though it has no eyes. Pale, long ears turn and flick in our direction.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say my own rapid, pounding heartbeat gave us away.
No choice.
With a soundless exhale, I gather all the steely willpower I can muster.
I point at Onmund and J'zargo: "Provide support", then at Marcurio: "Ready?" He smirks then, confidence regained a bit though his eyes bely his own fear, and nods at me, Chain Lightning at the ready.
I return his grin with what feels more like a grimace, hefting my axes.
Then I stroll out into the room like I'm on an easy afternoon walk, giving away my position instantly as I focus on the Warmonger. A single, drawled sentence escapes my lips in a small show of my impending hysteria.
"Hello darlings, guess who's home?"
…
The world descends into a loud, screeching, foul-smelling, blood-soaked, spell-filled, glorious chaos as I proceed to Shout my body intangible and pounce on the nearest enemy as all the others rush in around me with my axes high and a war cry on my lips.
The battle rages around me, spells sizzling and fire and ice and electricity fly past me and over my head, and the Warmongers lets out a horrid screech, startling me as it charges.
A shock spell slams into the ground at my left as I dodge desperately, ducking underneath the blade and jamming my axe into the foul creatures hide. A kick in the gut sends me back, sprawling, gasping, but I can't lose. I have no choice.
"SHIT!"
The Warmonger slashes violently. I roll to the side, bringing my blades up again, blocking a downward blow, feeling dark satisfaction at blood seeping into fur. My ankles scream, but I move towards it once more, cautious this time.
Back on my feet. A spell passes by my head, mere centimetres. I don't turn to glance. I see a sword, a spell, stained armour. It trusts the blade, low, sends the spell high. The blade clatters to the ground, but the spell burns and hisses, I flinch, my ear dissolving into agony.
I cry out in pain, scrambling to the side instinctively. Bad move. A fist in my face, at my throat, and I grab a thin, scratchy wrist, struggling, fighting.
Marcurio's pained cry cuts sharply through my mind, clearing it as fog falls before the sun, redness in my vision. I cry again, this time in rage. And this time I don't flinch. All around me, a dragon roars.
…
I blink slowly, the blood seeping into my eye making it hard to see. Black sludge, comparable to badly burned, sickly smelling stew, a limp arm sticking out of it, discarded. A Dwemer axe firmly embedded between what would have been eyes, red and white fluids dripping to the filthy ground like egg yolk.
I turn to the side and vomit.
…
After I finished off the Warmonger, J'zargo looted the foul thing. I stand around blankly, uselessly, as Marcurio scouts the other paths, and Onmund sits down to rest his arm with a grimace.
The blonde Nord is also the first to reach me when I hit the ground, sinking down on one knee with a grunt as white-hot pain shoots through me at the movement. I let him guide me by my arm to the nearest suitable rock, where he gives me a stern glare.
"Sit down."
Black sludge at the edge of my vision, taunting, nauseating.
I sit.
"You must have gotten injured in the fray – I would have been shocked if you hadn't gotten hurt. I can't believe you're so careless!" He lectures me sternly, trying to pry off the sticky, gore-covered pieces of my armour.
Something pierced my armour? It doesn't really register, and now that I think of it, my surroundings weren't this hazy before.
What pierced my armour?
"Dear Kynareth! The dagger's still in you! And your knee, by the nine your knee and your face, too-" Stabbed?
"Onmund, calm down. Fjaldi, I feel I haven't told you how much of a moron you are enough…"Now that he mentions it, my side feels kind of funny. I look down, confused, my mind slow to catch up with what my eyes are seeing in the shock.
My body… hurts. Now, I let out a groan in pain, tilting my head back to blearily stare at the high ceiling. A wet cough leaves me and my skull seems too heavy for my neck when it weakly rolls back down to see the hilt sticking out of my side. I glace further down – and the arrow in my knee.
I snort.
The fucking ARROW in my fucking KNEE.
Somehow, in my shock, it's hilarious in its familiarity.
"Curio, hey. Hey, listen to me." I slur, tugging at his sleeve and once those brown, beautiful brown eyes are entirely on me I grin balefully.
"It seems my adventuring days are over…"
He scowls. "What? No they're not. You'll be fine. Just give us a moment to remove the weapons and feed you potions." I'm already shaking my head, grinning like an idiot – "No. No, you don't it get, 'curio." Another snort passes my lips, and I'm starting to feel a little light-headed.
"I used to be an adventurer like you… Then I took an arrow in the knee."
As soon as the last word leaves me I'm laughing, too loudly, mind going to the guards and their endless comments and worries and so many of them took and arrow in the knee and I think it means something else entirely gods this isn't even funny why am I laughing it hurts to laugh and I can't see a thing or hear anything over that awful ringing noise in my ears -
My laughter is abruptly cut off by a agonised howl as the dagger is yanked out of my side, and I instinctively clutch it with my hand, pushing down even as I double over.
The aforementioned arrow in my knee is swiftly broken and pushed through, as well.
My breath comes out in short, shallow, pained gasps – I'm all out of breath, for Sait'iss' sake. It hurts – My vision is covered in black dots and I feel myself fading…
…
A cool glass bottle is put at my lips, and a hand is gently guiding my dirt-covered head to drink. I close my eyes and lean into the touch, barely feeling my body swaying as I let whoever is holding me feed me health potion after health potion – that wasn't a health potion but an antidote was the dagger poisoned? The whole world shifts out of focus, turning black, then, white, then black again.
As the liquids finally start to work, I feel my thoughts becoming clearer again, coming back to the present bit by bit as the person almost cradles my body in an embrace, the warmth seeping through my armour and a familiar scent faint through the stench penetrating the air.
I cough a few times, grabbing at the knee of whoever is having me sitting between their legs as I try to catch my breath, squeezing my eyes shut tightly with a small moan of discomfort.
"Fucker."
I'm usually not one to curse, not badly at least, but I think this situation rather calls for a vulgar word or two. Four. Twenty. Whatever. "….me back. You're back, right? You were gone for a moment there thanks to that poison." A blonde is saying.
Do I know him? I give the man a considering look, waiting for my brain to kick in properly.
Oh, right. Onmund. The Oculory. The Falmer. Who is holding me, anyway?
"Poison?"
My tongue feels like lead, and the taste is just – ugh. "It's a good thing you brought all those potions with you, both from Hjerim and scattered around this place." The young mage continues blatantly ignoring my question. "What poison?"
"You'll be fine, it was a lingering Damage Health poison, a weak type but it can put you out fast." J'zargo comments from where he's turning a crystal to observe it from different angles. "J'zargo thinks he likes this crystal, but he might not get to keep it."
If J'zargo is sitting there… and Onmund over there… Then Marcurio… dread settles in my stomach as I slowly look up. Straight into those eyes. I blink rapidly a few times, only now fully taking in my position. I'm propped up against his solid chest with my back, the mage's legs on either side of my waist and his hand holding my head steady as he pours one last stamina potion down my throat.
Oh. My pointed ears turn a vivid red even as a milder blush covers my cheeks. This is… quite intimate.
Marcurio doesn't seem to mind, Xrib's forge, he doesn't even look uncomfortable, seeming perfectly content to stay where he is and wait for me to get up on my own.
Does he… like me close by? I probably just startled him. Of course he'll be worried that his money bag expires. I gnaw on my bottom lip, frowning at the corridor ahead and missing Marcurio's gaze moving.
"We need to get moving." We're almost there, I can feel it.
That said, standing up is more easily said than done.
With the help of both Marcurio and Onmund, I manage to stand a bit shakily and take several steps with a pronounced limp. Just as I'm about to grit my teeth and push through the pain to walk without assistance, J'zargo presses his Staff of Firebolt into my hand. "J'zargo thinks you might need a crutch until we get outside." I give him a thankful smile, and hobble after the two apprentices as they take the lead, Marcurio sticking with me – something I greatly appreciate.
Endure, Fjaldi, endure. I ruthlessly remind myself, gritting my teeth together.
Every step has my knee scream out in protest and my side twinge painfully. Healing potions are not numbing potions, so as you heal you feel the way muscles and bone knit back together – agonising, but I've faced trolls and draughr and dragons, so I can face an injury.
In front of the second locked door – leading up a ramp, of course, because why make it easy? – lies another dead Falmer. "I'm starting to get quite sick of Falmer." I state sullenly, getting quiet mutters of agreement in return as J'zargo tries to open the Dwemer gates without much success.
Then we all hear a 'click' from the other side and freeze, J'zargo taking a few steps away from the door until he's next to Onmund again. We all stare apprehensively, my hand resting on my axe again when something rummages behind the door…
A/N: AAAAAND WE HAVE A 'M'-RATING HERE I THINK. I changed it.
SPECIAL THANKS FOR THIS CHAPTER GOES TO Shadowblayze FOR BEING AN AWESOME REVIEWER! Seriously, you're great at giving me inspiration for next chapters~ Thanks to you I have actually written 3 ENTIRE CHAPTERS IN ONE GO! Which means I'll be able to update now AND Monday! So thanks again!