Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder, death, active cannibalism, mentioned cannibalism, gore, Namira, Daedra, Eola.
NOTE: THIS CHAPTER DID NOT GO THROUGH LAST-MINUTE CORRECTION as I did with all my other chapters. Might be something off in grammar or even content. Alert me if there is!
Last time…
"Come find me, Ysmir. Fjaldi. Come find me when the Madman of the North gives you what you need. Come, for time is running out."
Chapter 32 – Unusual Tastes
Once we're all back outside, shaken but alive and, by some miracle, without any severe injuries, Ondolemar is pacing in front of the bottom of the stairs leading to Nchuand-Zel's excavation site.
Erandur is instantly on guard, but Marcurio gives me a single look and deems the Altmer no threat, instead eyeing the elf curiously. Seeing the priest's unease, I give him an easy smile.
"Go ahead. Take a walk outside or something." He gives me a grateful smile and hurriedly walks past the Thalmor, who watches him go with a raised eyebrow. "…It has been a while since I've seen you, Fjaldi." The second eyebrow joins the first. "You look… different somehow." I think about the many scars I've acquired over the past year, my draconic armour, and the dents and scratches and injuries…
Just to mess with him, let's not.
"Oh, you mean my hair? Aye, I really do like the thoughtfulness behind dear Jarl Idgrod giving me something to pull it back with, it was becoming quite the bird's nest."
My hair now falls just past my shoulders, and I've braided back my fringe on both sides of my head, exposing my ears for all the world to see, my hair parted to either side of the appendages. The silver clip I'd received from jarl Idgrod held the braids securely, stuck on the back of my head, where my hair still hangs loose. I don't think it looks bad at all – Also, I went through several hours of agony whilst Marcurio and Erandur took turns criticizing the different styles I tried until they settled on this. I can brag, or at least, I should be allowed to.
If Ondolemar was anything less than the well-bred Mer he proclaimed to be, he would have laughed. As it is, his lips twitch minutely. "If you say so." A few moments pass in silence. Then I wiggle my eyebrows and spread my arms, pouting like a child at the Altmer. "D'aww, you're not going to give me a hug?" The Mer makes a weird sound, like a cough through his nose, as he looks me up and down. "You are covered in Falmer blood." I quickly glance down at myself and sheepishly lower my arms. "Whoops." With that vision I had… Which all of us saw back in my old room, it slipped my mind. "Well…" I roll my shoulders.
"How about I go get changed and then we can catch up, old friend?" The Thalmor justiciar nods solemnly, falling into step besides me as Marcurio trails after, still brimming with curiosity – he's going to snap and ask a dozen questions in the next five minutes, I just know. "We have not known each other for even a year, friend." The elf reminds me as fondly as any proud Thalmor would be able to say. "Nope," I agree, popping the 'p' and smiling mischievously. "But, you are old."
"Downright a relic." He deadpans in the most absolute monotone any person can produce. My imperial companion is literally vibrating. I snicker. "See? Oh, and I don't suppose you've met my buddy Marcurio?" When the Altmer then proceeds to be absolutely bombarded with questions after a brief 'how do you do', the subjects ranging from: "How long have you known Fjaldi?" and "What was he like?" to "I thought all Thalmor were assholes, what seems to make you the sole exception?"
Ondolemar discreetly guides us to his quarters, and even though I look forwards to catching up with him after all this time quite much… I think I'll have to wait.
The expression on Erik's face when he runs up to me is torn between horror, intrigue, confusion, panic, and something I cannot quite identify. Seeing two of my best friends walk off, Ondolemar's shoulders easing by the moment as the elf gets caught up in their mostly one-way interrogation, I turn to the boy. "Fjaldi..!" He whispers hurriedly, looking around as if afraid of getting caught breaking and entering. I raise my eyebrow, before sighing deeply. I should have expected this.
"I thought you promised not to get in any trouble?"
The novice adventurer flinches away from me for a moment, before the urgency returns. "I – I have to speak to you. Not here though, in private..?" My second eyebrow joins the first as I'm overcome by a sensation of unease. I… sense trouble. Possibly, deep trouble.
"Very well." Marcurio's robes disappear around a corner as I drag the young Nord into an alcove. "Spit it out, what did you do?" My eyes narrow dangerously, worry settling deep in my gut. "Please tell me you didn't get involved with that Forsworn business?" But he's already shaking his head, and I let out a trembling sigh.
"Then what?" He looks at the floor guiltily. Oh, I'm not going to like this. "I… uh, I need to go to Reachcliff cave, but I'm too scared to go alone. Y-You see, I went to help brother Verulus since there was a problem in the Hall of the Dead, and there I met this woman…"
…
"I see." I mutter thoughtfully once he's done recounting the story of how he got himself neck-deep in the shit. "So you want to know what this… Eola… Has to say before something untoward happens? Say, Erandur stumbling upon her and seeing her for what she is?" Erik swallows thickly, looking seconds away from falling onto his knees and begging for my help. Though… I've already made up my mind. "I – Fjaldi, you were the only one I could think of, I know that she's a – a cannibal, and that you think that it's disgusting, but I -"
I wave him off with a small shake of my head, grabbing his shoulder to support the teen before he does something stupid – like falling out of the alcove and showing himself to the nearby guard. "No, no, that's not it." I lower my voice to a whisper, looking over my shoulder ever-so-often to see if nobody has the idea of listening in on us, which would prove disastrous.
"Listen, Marcurio and Erandur are probably both busy with other things right now, and they'll be unwilling to do much searching since we've already traversed a Dwemer ruin today. I'll join you, and I'm willing to hear her out… IF you're sure."
A cannibal is a human who eats other humans? Does that also count for elves? Elves who eat elves? What's elves eating humans called? Or Argonians eating Khajit? Or is it all seen as the same thing? If so… I think back on my time in Nchuand-Zel and Bthardamz, lingering on the yearly Awakening of Sait'iis Celebration. Not that I was old enough to participate before it was banned from all Dwemer city states after the Alftand Incident.
"You're… You're acting like cannibalism is the least important factor here!" Erik whispers lowly, the sound barely above a breath of air, and I'm not sure if he's angry or strangely… hopeful? No, that sounds wrong. I cough in my hand awkwardly, again looking out of the alcove but seeing no-one. "…Let's just say it would be hypocritical for me to make a big deal out of it."
The Nord's eyes go wide as saucers, his breath hitching as he looks at me as if in a whole new light. "N-No way, you've..?" I frown and glance away from those too-big eyes, swallowing thickly. "My people had some… Unique ideas about certain festivities. I'd tell you more, but…" I trail off, giving a meaningful gesture to our surroundings.
The twelfth of Sun's Dusk, where we celebrated the Awakening of Sait'iis, who brought order to the land of the death and judgement to the souls of the living. It included sacrificing an elf or human not of the Dwemer race, a great honour for the sacrifice. Consuming the sacrifice afterwards was part of the festivities, something about instilling order through eating that which belongs to the Dark Lord…
My mind turns to the book still carefully tucked into my pack. 'Practicing profane religious rituals', indeed.
I suppose that even if I never participated in those festivities, I'll be intimately acquainted with at least some sort of cultist ritual by the end of week, I'd bet.
Erik nods, quiet as the grave when we walk out of the city as faux-casually as possible, luckily not spotting any familiar faces or convincing any guards we're actually Forsworn. "Do you know where it is?" I ask the teen once we're walking across the bridge to the east, past the mines. "I asked the butcher if he knew the place, since he has to be familiar with the area because of his produce. He gave me pointers." The blonde admits.
I hit him over the head. "Don't just ask people things like that! He could have been anyone! A Forsworn, an Imperial spy, a Daedra worshipper, anyone!" I groan and rub my temples when the other's mouth finally forms a small 'o' in realisation.
Rolling my eyes with a scowl, I pick up the pace. "Let's go, in case someone follows us because you couldn't keep your mouth shut." The woman Erik mentioned, Eola, is already waiting outside when we walk underneath the arches towards the cavern. She seems satisfied when spotting Erik approach, but when her gaze turns to me her face turns stormy.
Putting on an aloof mask and straightening slightly, I rest my hand on my axe and follow at a small distance from Erik. "I thought I told you to come alone." She hisses angrily, and I'm forced to refrain from rolling my eyes. "Don't mind me." With that, I give Erik a sly look from the corner of my eye, as if I find this situation to be funny. "After all, you and I, we are… similar. Erik was lucky he came to me first, rather than my companions." She startles, before narrowing her eyes to slits as she takes me in keenly.
"Bosmer or Breton?" I huff at her, jutting my chin out in challenge. Fake it. Fake it. Fake that you're confident and for Oblivions' sake do it convincingly. "I do not serve the Lady Decay. I serve the White Lady, Meridia, Daedric Prince of Life and Infinite Energies. I will not judge you for it would be redundant for me to condemn another for Daedric worship of any sort."
A few beats pass in silence. "I can tell that you speak no lie. But I can tell also that the Lady Life is not the only… less accepted deity you worship. Tell me, and perhaps I may spare your life." I nod stoically. When you have someone with you who will definitely die if you don't play along, play along. "I serve the Dread Father Sithis, if you must know, girl. Now, may we proceed or shall I send you to join him in the Void, instead?"
An ugly snarl forms on her face before she visibly strains to calm herself. "Very well." She then addresses a stiffened Erik. "Now, the draughr are inside." He nods hesitantly.
"Would… both of you come along?" I nod swiftly, even as Eola's smile turns sharp and wild. "Why, I was hoping you'd say that."
A few hours later, we're in the 'dining room' a second time. I had to talk Marcurio, Ondolemar, and Erandur into staying in Markarth for the evening, telling them Erik needed the experience if he was ever going to be a good adventurer. Brother Verulus was bought, and as I stand off to the side, I watch the spectacle unfold.
As I said… I would be a hypocrite to condemn the coven of Namira. My people have had similar things, after all. I puked all over Ma's shoes when I heard it for the first time, if I recall correctly. And I never tried it myself. Guess now will be my… chance.
"W-what's going on? Who are you?" The priest of Arkay stutters as the people in the room pause their conversations to join me in my watching – they haven't noticed me yet, since I snuck in after Erik to stand near the draughr sarcophaguses. Speaking of Erik, he looks quite ill, I hope he won't be sick before the party even starts.
I lean back more comfortably against the wall as the teen catches my eye. His pleading eyes give me reason to give him a reassuring smile, and to my surprise, it appears to calm him.
"Priest of Arkay, I'm your friend." Eola says, shrouded in Daedric energy. Hypnotism? Smart. "You're my… friend." Verulus echoes, his voice lilting slightly at the end.
"Yes. I'm your friend. And I've invited you to dinner." Eola gives her most mesmerising smile, and I see Erik get antsy again as the priest once more echoes the words, all semblance of a free will gone from him. "Why don't you lay down and rest, while we get the meal ready?" The cannibal of Namira's long eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, the perfect picture of innocence even in her hide armour.
"Come with me, our feast is about to begin." She orders Erik as brother Verulus starts to walk towards the altar at the end of the room with purposeful, if dragging, steps. I follow him and Eola slowly, walking past the table holding the dinner guests – one of which I recognise as the Markarth butcher.
Erik you lucky little bastard.
Once Eola and Erik are both standing over the blood-covered altar, apparently called 'Namira's table', the cannibal woman smiles at the teenage adventurer. "Go ahead. Carve."
It's almost sad that he got into this so soon after leaving his house – but the Lady Decay will protect him, should he choose her… Or if she chooses him. Erik draws his Steel dagger, and, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, strikes.
Verulus lets out a single, sad croaking sound before his soul leaves his body, leaving Erik to stare down at the corpse, looking a little green. "He looks so… sweet." Eola comments, before urging: "Go ahead, have the first bite." Seeing the teen's hesitation and nausea, but also that he kind-of-wants-to, I step up to the altar.
Revealing my presence to the shocked dinner guests, who all sit frozen in their seats when they see the odd drunk that disappeared a few months back stand right next to their new initiate. Eola only tilts her head curiously.
"It's alright." I murmur softly, briefly squeezing the teen's shoulder. "Nobody in this room will judge you… Eat." Carefully, Erik uses the dagger to carve out a thin strip of flesh. It parts from the corpse with ease, dripping crimson onto the altar, down Erik's trembling fingers, and I can see the veins and the thin layer of skin which the teen peels off like peeling an overly ripe tomato, the wet tearing sounds almost too much for his stomach – and mine - to bear. He swallows thickly, holding it up in front of him for a few moments. Then he places it in his mouth, staring intently at the spike above Namira's table as he chews it and then swallows a second time, before holding a hand up to his mouth and swaying.
I immediately shift in order to grab him before he actually stumbles into one of the large urns standing next to the altar, righting him with a solid hand on his back.
"Easy now, easy."
Then the Daedric Prince herself starts to speak. Because, of course, it would be weird for her not to, right?
"Mortal. I am Namira, Lady of Decay." My mind flashes back to Mephala and I shiver for a moment, but it passes unnoticed by the entranced coven.
"Your consumption of the blood and bile of one of Arkay's own is… pleasing, to me. I give you my ring. Wear it, and when you feast on the flesh of the dead, I will grant you… my power." And just when I think it cannot get worse I hear the following words:
"Wallow in your wretchedness my newest Champion."
Well, somebody just threw away all chances of ever reaching Sovengarde.
Erik's grin is blinding.
Somehow, I don't think he minds.
I manage a wry smile as Erik looks downright giddy as he inspects the ring around his finger. "Thank you, my lady." He utters, with all the awe and devotion of a proper Daedric Champion. I'm so proud. I didn't like the other Princes so far, but Erik and I just got a whole lot more in common.
Except that I'm merely a lowly devotee of Meridia and Sithis, and definitely not their Chosen.
The room's other occupants, myself included, are frozen in silence for a few moments longer, until Eola finally manages to find her voice.
"I knew when you walked into the Hall of the Dead, that you were special. Of course, I hadn't even accounted for your friend, back then." She smiles, not unkindly. "Stay for dinner, and feel free to mingle with your new coven." Her gaze turns to me, and I give her a respectful nod.
"And you… Fjaldi, was it? Of course, I shouldn't let you leave alive, since you have no role here, but… Out of respect for our champion, I will permit you to stay and take part in the festivities, as well, so long as you do not return without good reason." I agree easily, and after watching Erik speak to the dinner guests for a while, exclaiming in surprise various times and getting a small reprimand from the Markarth butcher – Why do I keep forgetting his name? – I help Eola prepare the 'meal'. Of course I also take a moment to actually take a few bites of the non-human items around before telling Erik I'm leaving.
"Wait, already?" I give him a wan grin. "You know I can't stay away long before the others start to genuinely worry. Thank you, Namira's Champion, for the meal." He smiles brightly, and doesn't really look like the new head of a cannibal coven at all. I bite back a laugh – looks are deceiving, it's the gospel truth. "Alright. I'll be coming back with the others and… I think I'll be staying here in Markarth for a while. Hope you don't mind me leaving your group so soon." I wave away his concerns. "Don't get involved with the Forsworn or go blabbing my secret to the others and we're good. They… Erandur, especially, don't need to know about the… party."
With that, I say my goodbyes, thanking Eola for the meal as well and giving Lisbet some gold as an investment in her shop. She thanks me profusely, and I grab one last bite off the table – a sweetroll, dessert – before exiting through the secret path and making my way back to Markarth alone, watching the sun setting over the mountains.
Today has been… fairly interesting, all things considered. But I am to be surprised once more, because when we're all in the inn that night, Erandur has a story of his own to tell.