Chapter 12
What Friends Are For
XxXxXx
Ghost Gate, Morrowind – 3E 427
Jorun Veleth stood just inside Ghostgate, in the red zone, as the other Ordinators and Buoyant Armigers had taken to calling the area between the Shrine of Pride and the gate. It was an open area, no real places to hide and the shrine itself was just out of sight of Ghostgate. Pilgrims had been attacked by crazed beasts and ash monsters in that short distance, making it incredibly dangerous. Patrols that had been mounted to cover the path to the shrine had resulted in far too many deaths and injuries. They simply couldn't keep up a regular patrol there and the monsters knew it.
Dreylyn Llenim came out to stand next to him, looking out into the desolate red landscape. The wind was starting to pick up again. Another ash storm was on its way. They had a few hours until it would drive them indoors.
"It's very likely he's dead." She said bluntly.
"Not this one." Jorun never looked over at her, instead narrowing his eyes so his lashes would filter the ash away.
"You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
"Jorun, it's been almost a week already. No one has ever survived Dagoth Ur that long, let alone being on his own like that. And he said he was going to two other citadels before going to Citadel Dagoth?"
"What is your point?" Jorun finally turned to her, scowling, "That kid was our last hope. If you give up on that hope, you might as well go take a walk into Red Mountain and throw yourself into the crater."
"Jorun…" She sighed, "He might be a friend but what he did…"
"Was ordered by Vivec." Jorun made sure to throw out the god's name, knowing how utterly devoted everyone was to the warrior-poet. His personal faith in the Tribunal had been wavering lately, especially after meeting Nevano, "He didn't have to do any of this. He could have run and left us to our fate. He owed Morrowind nothing. After the treatment he suffered, he owed it less than nothing. Now we at least owe him enough faith that he'll succeed and maybe, just maybe, help get him home."
"The TRIBUNAL couldn't defeat Dagoth Ur!" She protested, "What do you think that small skinny kid can accomplish? And further more…"
"Shh…" Jorun waved a hand for silence, "Do you hear that?"
The Great Ghost Fence, the largest one ever constructed, was a symbol of the strength of the Tribunal. Thousands and thousands of Dunmer had given their ancestors bones, indeed some even sacrificed themselves and pledged their entire skeletons to the construction of the fence. The power of all those souls, augmented by the immense power of the Tribunal, had created a fence capable of keeping Dagoth Ur and all his minions and waves of diseases trapped within the Red Mountain region. Well, mostly anyway. The cliffracers had been a boon that Dagoth Ur had not counted on, carrying his plagues over the fence to the populace beyond.
But as the two Buoyant Armigers looked up at the blue translucent magical barrier, the constant hum that it always emitted faltered for a moment. That had never happened before. Even when the Tribunal had gotten in trouble with increasingly powerful Dagoth Ur, the fence had kept up its powerful presence. It hiccupped again, this time the barrier faded a moment as well, like a fire dying in the wind. Armigers, Ordinators and Temple priests, despite the danger, all came out to investigate the suspicious burp of silence with the two Armigers. Everyone in Ghostgate quickly get used to the constant humming within days of arriving to their new post. If anything, that hum became a comforting white noise in a place where fear, boredom and tension was commonplace. Of course sudden silence would attract more attention than any loud noise.
As they all watched in stunned silence, the great fence flickered once, twice…then with a shuddering groan disappeared completely, the prickly feel of magic bleeding from the air, leaving only an unnerving stillness in its wake. For a long moment, everyone stood in shock, unable to comprehend just what this meant. They didn't know if they should be afraid that the fence had failed, run in terror, or celebrate that it meant something else, something good for once.
"He did it." Jorun was the one to break the silence, "The kid did it. The Nerevarine…this means…"
"Oh gods, you were right." Dreylyn muttered, "He did win. Dagoth Ur is dead!"
Everyone began cheering and yelling, excited. At first Jorun joined in, for this truly was something to celebrate, but his mind quickly went to Nevano and the smile fell from his face, replaced by worry.
"Jorun?"
"We don't have time to celebrate…those monsters no longer have a master." Jorun's words quickly sobered everyone up, "They're going to come here."
"Shore up. Ghostgate is still strong…"
"No." Jorun shook his head, "We gotta clear them out. There's no fence to keep them in. It won't be long before they figure that out. We've got to kill as many as we can to keep them from flooding down to Balmora. We also got to clear the way so the Nerevarine can make it back. He's alive I know he is. C'mon we have to get ready to fight!"
Galdal Omayn, the Grand Marshall of the Bouyant Armigers, looked over at Ralyn Othravel, the head of the Ordinators, "Well, the rookie raises a good point. Normally I'm not one to follow the brash ideas of newbies but… Ralyn, think your Ordinators can keep up with us Armigers with your fancy heavy armor?"
The mer frowned, "You are suggesting we completely disobey the orders given to us by Vivec himself and take on Almalexia knows how many ash beasts because a disgraced Ordinator turned Armiger suggests it for the sake of one heretic?"
Jorun shifted uncomfortably as everyone tensed and went silent, watching the two mer carefully. They were all willing to jump to arms but no one would go against orders, no matter how much sense it made and no matter how badly they wanted the opportunity to finally fight back. Finally, after a long agonizing minute in which Jorun fully expected an order to retreat into Ghostgate and a hefty reprimand, the commander lifted his chin.
"First faction to kill fifty of the bastards claims bragging rights. The loser buys drinks tonight." Ralyn looked over his men, "Arm yourselves, boys! I don't intend to lose to the Armigers! I have a bottle of aged Cyrodiilic Brandy for the mer that kills the most!"
"That's the spirit you stuffy old bat!" Galdal raised her glass sword and banged it against her shield, "Armigers, draw your weapons and form ranks! It's time we take back our home from these monsters once and for all! For Balmora, for Morrowind, for the Nerevarine!"
A roar went up from every Dunmer throat. Weapons were drawn, bows were strung and mages cracked their knuckles. They rushed to take up positions, the heavier equipped Ordinators taking up positions in front, bravely waiting to take the brunt of the creatures. The lighter Armigers took up supporting positions around them. Archers crawled up on rocks and swung up on top of the building, now that there was no ghostfence to block them, getting the best advantage they could. The mages joined them. Jorun positioned himself between the Ordinators and the Armigers, drawing the glass longsword he had been given when he had arrived at Ghostgate. All that was left to do was wait.
They didn't have to wait long, surprisingly. A mere hour into preparations, the first of the monsters crested the hill. Jorun flinched a little. He was far more familiar with city woes. The worst he had really encountered was one massive, heavily mutated rat with two heads. These creatures were…absolutely horrifying. There was no other way to put it. There were monsters and then there were monsters that made your nightmares look like stuffed animals singing and dancing around a blossoming fruit tree. These twisted beings were enough to make even a hardened warrior think twice about engaging.
"Easy rookie." Galdal said, raising her shield up, "Don't let them ugly bastards scare you off. Just watch out for spells, avoid the claws, kill them quick and you'll be ok. If you see a corprus monster, and trust me you'll KNOW when you see one, let the archers and mages take care of it. If it gets too close, retreat. Don't play the hero with those things. There's no need for anyone to survive the fight only to die from the divine disease."
"Nothing divine about it." Jorun muttered, steeling himself as the onslaught descended on them, letting his stubborn Dunmer pride overrule his fear.
The ensuing fight could be described as nothing less than insane. Desperate ash creatures, suddenly cut off from their master, fought madly. There was no strategy, no formations, nothing that had any semblance of anything other than a desperate struggle for survival. He just hacked away at anything that reached for his throat. He didn't notice fatigue, he ignored pain and he pushed aside fear. As long as he kept moving, kept fighting, he could keep it up. If it moved, it died. Whenever he heard a warning shout that a corprus monster had arrived to the battlefield he would retreat with the others and as soon as the mages and archers took it down, he was right back on the front. Every now and then, just to be annoying, a diseased rat or cliffracer would throw themselves at the brave defenders. It was just one more thing adding to the intensity of the fight.
"Ogrim!"
Jorun looked up in alarm. Sure enough, attracted by the sounds of battle, a massive ogrim, a servant of the daedric prince Malacath, had wandered in. Horrendously ugly, sloppily massive and dumber than a drunken orc, it was a force to be reckoned with. It was a walking tank of blubber that could destroy just about anything it wanted. Azura help any fool that made one angry. This particular ogrim was bigger and uglier than most. It tipped its head back and roared so loud and long that the Veleth could actually smell the putrid stench of its breath, almost making him gag. Archers and mages focused their attacks on the daedra servant but the arrows couldn't penetrate the thick layer of fat and spells merely left scorch marks on its skin. It roared again, this time in anger. Their attacks were making the ogrim angry. Very angry. Then its piggy little eyes landed on Jorun.
"Veleth!" Dreylyn yelled, "It's focused on you!"
Another thing about ogrims…despite being hugely fat and sluggish looking, they could run astonishingly fast over short distances, especially when they zeroed in on a target. Even if Jorun had started running the instant they had first seen the ogrim he still wouldn't have been able to outrun it once it focused on him. He only had one option right now and even THAT had an abysmal chance of survival: fight like hell.
Years of being an Ordinator had given Jorun extensive training on long blades and blunt weapons. The Buoyant Armigers had started teaching him lighter, faster weapons like short swords and bows but they were still very unfamiliar in his hands. Another Ordinator threw him a steel spear. Jorun braced the butt of the spear on the ground, wedged under a good-sized rock and waited, praying to whatever god or goddess that happened to be watching at that point that this would work.
The ogrim came hard and fast and, completely disregarding or failing to notice the spear altogether, impaled itself in its eagerness to get to the tall mer. Jorun fell flat on his back on impact but held on to the spear with everything he had in him. If he dropped it now, he was a dead elf. The blade sunk deeper and deeper, impossibly deep. The blade disappeared, then the cross piece, then the haft began to sink in. The Ogrim was still coming, massive clawed hand balled and ready to strike down on the mer in front of him. Jorun was trapped, he was vulnerable on his back and there was no way he could escape in time. Suddenly there was a loud POP. The ogrim froze…then a massive gush of blood rushed out of the wound, coating Jorun and the ground around him. The ogrim groaned and swayed. Jorun could barely see through the thick slop of ogrim blood but he could see the massive shape begin to fall. Throwing what was left of his dignity aside, he scrambled, clawing at the soaked ground to get out of the way just as the ogrim fell, shoving the spear the rest of the way through so that it stuck up like a morbid flag.
"Not bad rookie!" Galdal said, coming over. She made as if to clap him on the shoulder but thought better of it once she got a whiff of the sticky ichor coating him, "You might want to consider a shower after this…and burning that armor…and your clothes."
"Just remember he was an Ordinator first!" Ralyn shot at the Armiger.
"He's ours now, cranky pants!"
Jorun swiped at the blood on his face, suddenly realizing it was silent. The death of the ogrim had scared off the remaining monsters. For the moment at least.
"You did good." The marshal turned a bit more serious, "More will come, but for now we can breath. Not around you though…you stink."
"I'm…very well aware." Jorun tried unsuccessfully to brush more blood off of him, "But in all honesty, there was no way I could get myself killed this soon after getting this assignment. My wife would bring me back to life just to kill me herself. If I had to choose between my wife getting mad and facing another ogrim…it's the ogrim every time." That earned him a good laugh from every man there and more than one smirk from the women.
Three more waves of ash beasts assaulted them but, despite the fatigue starting to creep over all the defenders, they beat back every single wave. Bodies of ash beasts began to pile up, actually doing a fairly good job of driving back several would-be attackers, giving them all some relief. They were fully in the groove of fighting, ready to attack whatever came over that hill. So when a solitary mer simply walked over the hill and down the path, it threw them all off. Even Jorun had to take a few moments to fully realize that it was not another enemy, that it was an elf. Nevano had made it back.
Jorun broke rank and ran up to him, surprised and happy to see the younger mer walking around, "Nevano…whoa."
Nevano looked up at him, yellow eyes glowing oddly bright. He was so covered in bloody ash that he almost didn't even look like an elf anymore. Blood still seeped sluggishly from a massive gaping wound on his left shoulder, soaking his already soaked and ruined armor. Slowly Nevano opened his mouth…and a stream of words in a language Jorun couldn't understand came out in a voice that…wasn't Nevano's. It was deeper and that accent was…not the Cyrodillic tint that Nevano usually had nor was it the rough Morrowind accent that came from years of exposure to ash. Then the glow faded from Nevano's eyes and, like a puppet cut from its strings, the young mer's legs gave out. Somehow Jorun caught him before he hit the ground, scooped him up and carried him into Ghostgate and to the nearest healer.
For the next four days, Jorun stayed close by the unconscious mer. The list of injuries was incredible: broken ribs, broken arm, broken leg, claw gouges over his already abused ribs that could have been from a cliffracer or some other ash beast that had begun to fester, innumerable other bruises and scratches and, to top it all off, that massive gaping would on his shoulder that looked suspiciously like a bite mark. He shouldn't have been able to walk out of the crater, let along the several hour hike back to Ghostgate. In fact, his injuries were severe enough the healer had given Jorun that worried look that said she wasn't sure if Nevano would survive that first night.
But he did survive. The morning of the fifth day, Nevano finally cracked open his eyes. He rolled his head a bit and finally bleary yellow eyes met worried ruby eyes. Any fears of Nevano being permanently broken were dashed when the younger Dunmer opened his mouth.
"First fetcher to ask me if I'm ok is going to get hit over the head with Sunder…"
Jorun laughed.
XxXxXx
Lost Knife Hideout, Skyrim – Second Seed 4E 201
Nevano slowly opened his eyes, wincing from the dim light in the cavern. He had a massive pounding headache in addition to the lingering pain in his chest. These attacks were getting real old, real fast.
He turned his head and Keening was still sitting there, the firelight making it glow red like it had been doused in blood. Nevano couldn't say he was anymore pleased to see it now than he had been…how long had he been out? There was no way to tell inside a cave. He groaned and pushed himself up. Now it all made sense why the bandits didn't mess with the package. They couldn't. No one could handle Keening with their bare hands. He pulled his bag over and dug through it. At the very bottom of his bag, wrapped in black cloth to blend in with the dark material of his pack, was the whole reason he had originally felt secure in leaving Sunder and Keening in their respective hiding places in the first place. Mistakenly, as it would seem. He tugged off a leather glove and winced as Wraithguard slid over his skin. It didn't hurt persay but the protective enchantments on the gauntlet were always ready to lash out at intruders. He could feel it, like thousands of needles hidden behind a cloth, just ready to slice through to the intruder who dared attempt to wield it. After it had settled on his hand, the beneficial enchantments reluctantly washed over him like cold water. All in all, Nevano wasn't overly fond of Wraithguard.
Keening was a different story. Like its sibling, Sunder, Keening had a protective ward on it. It wasn't very pretty; it would attach itself to the bare skin of the unprepared and suck the life out of them like an evil leech. It wasn't as prickly as Wraithguard though. When he picked up Keening it was far more willing to allow its enchantments help him out. It never warmed to him like Truefire and Hopesflame did. It was fairly indifferent. The only time he had felt it was when he had been destroying the heart. It had flared to life in his hand, almost HAPPY he had destroyed the accursed thing. But then it had gone silent and hadn't given off an aura since.
But this time, when he picked up Keening it felt…different. He could feel Keening try to enact its enchantments but it sputtered and died. Nevano frowned as Keening lay pretty much inert in his hand. Wraithguard was just as powerful as it always was, if not more abrasive than normal, but Keening had been through a much rougher route. It was completely drained and Nevano wasn't sure if he could recharge it…or even if he should.
"What happened to you?" He murmured to the blade. Of course he wasn't expecting it to answer…and as long as Nerevar stayed quiet too he could live with the unanswered question. But by oblivion Keening was such a shadow of its former self he was pretty sure it could be handled by simply wrapping a cloth around its hilt. But why did the bandits leave it if they could handle it? Nevano really doubted that these bandits would know Keening when they saw it. Or had Keening given the last of its power to killing the first bandit that handled it? That was a good possibility.
But it still brought to mind; why did Arniel want Keening? How did he know where to find it and, most importantly, HOW did someone get Keening out of its hiding spot? Nevano gave an annoyed grunt as he made a temporary scabbard for Keening and strapped it to his back. This was going to be something he would have to look into at some point. His stomach clenched at the thought. This meant he was going to have to go back to Morrowind. Not right now though…first he needed to have a chat with Arniel. Time to make the long trek back to Winterhold. It was time to go.
Nevano placed a wrapped up Keening on Arniel's table wordlessly. He had had a week to get over his shock on his hike back. Actually it had taken him less than a day to get over the shock. After that had come the anger. He had made some excellent time through the wilderness burning off that anger. After a while even the bears thought twice about messing with him and more than one wolf had run from him without even offering to growl. Two days later the fire of his anger had died down and he was left with a numbness he couldn't quite explain.
"Oh you got the package!" Arniel immediately ran over, carefully unwrapping the blade, being very careful not to touch what was underneath, confirming Nevano's suspicions he knew exactly what he had ordered, "Those idiots! It wasn't wrapped properly. I'm surprised you weren't killed when you touched it…"
Nevano didn't say anything. He was fairly certain if he tried, his anger would return full force and that wouldn't accomplish anything right now.
"I guess I should tell you what I've been planning…in full I mean." Arniel said, still messing with Keening, "You already know that I wanted to figure out how the Dwemer disappeared and it took me a long time to gather all the research. See, Kagrenac created three tools to tap into the Heart of Lorkhan: Wraithguard, Keening and Sunder…" Nevano quit paying attention at that point as Arniel launched into the full history of the tools. He was more than familiar with that particular bit of history, intimately familiar. "What I find interesting is that Keening still has power…I mean, yes I expected the mortal wound effect to still be there but I didn't expect there to still be any sort of enchantment. Wraithguard, Sunder and Keening, like the Tribunal, drew their power from the heart. The heart was supposedly destroyed back when the Nerevarine killed Dagoth Ur. Their power SHOULD have diminished by now. I couldn't find Wraithguard or Sunder so I can't compare…but Keening should suffice."
Nevano's mind was reeling. The tools drew their power from the heart? But…the heart was destroyed! He was the one to destroy the damned thing…he had seen it, heard it, FELT it be destroyed. What is Azura's name was going on?
"That's why I got the soul gem charged up, so that Keening could draw power from it. But with Keening's remaining power, augmented by the soul gem, I can definitely recreate what happened to the Dwemer. See they didn't just disappear, they went into another dimension entirely using the tools!"
Nevano blinked. That…actually made some semblance of sense. But really he didn't CARE at this point. There were far more pressing issues about the TOOLS than about a centuries-lost race.
"Look Arniel…after you conduct your experiment…" Nevano said slowly, still conflicted on just WHAT he should tell the man, "There's a few things we need to discuss…and I have a lot of questions for you."
"Of course. But right now, let's see if this works!" Arniel eagerly went over to where he had the charged warped soul gem up on a dais. Nevano stood back. He didn't understand magic all that well but he knew Keening and he knew just how bad things could go when it came to mage experiments. He had heard explosions coming from the Chorrol Mages Guild hall, and there had been rumors of one mage getting himself stuck in a nightmare realm. If something were to go catastrophically wrong with this little experiment he didn't want to be caught in the cross fire.
Arniel took a deep breath and picked up Keening with his bare hand. "Ah! The spell worked!"
"Spell?"
"I found a spell that would protect me from Keening's protective wards for a short time. I only have about 5 minutes before it wears off."
Arniel swung Keening through the air and struck the soul gem. Nevano cringed when Keening produced a high-pitched hum. It was the same hum he had heard when he had attacked the Heart of Lorkhan. Suddenly the room flashed red and a searing heat assaulted his skin. It lasted only an instant but it was enough to leave the mer rattled.
"Nothing…no that can't be…" Arniel swung again. Again nothing happened but the hum became more intense.
Nevano recoiled back against the wall, his heart pounding. Keening was giving the mage a clear warning to stop, that this wasn't right. But he either couldn't or wouldn't hear it. Nevano clawed at his ears and rocked back and forth. "Once with Sunder then with Keening, once with Sunder then with Keening, once with Sunder then with Keening…" he muttered to himself over and over, trying so very hard to keep himself grounded, to keep himself from getting sucked deeper into the flashback.
"Stupid thing…I KNOW this should work!" Arniel cursed, oblivious to his audience's plight. "Work damn you!" He struck a third time.
Keening produced an eardrum-shattering shriek just as the world inverted itself. Nevano doubled over, hands clapped over his sensitive ears. He could imagine the explosion of energy as the heart exploded, he could hear Dagoth Ur's outraged scream as his immortality was severed.
The sensation ended just as suddenly as it begun, leaving the world as calm as if nothing had ever happened. Keening, suspended in mid-air for a brief moment, clattered to the ground, making Nevano wince badly but the noise made him open his eyes, the horrible images in his head disappearing as cold stone walls closed back around him. Arniel was nowhere to be seen though.
Slowly, warily, Nevano peeled himself off the wall. He was covered in a cold sweat, his heart still racing. He desperately wanted to just curl into a ball in a corner and wait for the crippling anxiety to pass but he knew that as long as he was in here, around that warped soul gem that had just sucked in Arniel, the thing that reminded him far far too much of the heart, he wouldn't be able to calm down. He needed to leave. Now.
As he turned to go, he saw Keening still sitting on the floor where it had fallen. As much as he didn't want to bring the accursed thing with him, he couldn't just leave Keening here, especially not after what he just saw. He wrapped Keening up again and hastily shoved it in his pack. He needed to figure out just what was going on. He needed to find out how Keening was found, he needed to find out just what was meant by Keening drawing power from the Heart of Lorkhan and its power STILL lingering in this world and, above all, he needed a drink.
Nevano sat in a corner of the Frozen Hearth Inn, as far into the shadows as he could get without missing out on the lovely heat from the fire. The inn really wasn't that crowded, nothing in Winterhold ever was, but that suited him just fine. He didn't want to deal with anyone right now, not after that. His mind was trying to sort through what he had just witnessed up at the college but mostly it was coming up with…nothing. There was just a nonsensical buzz that, every time he tried to reach in to untangle the web of thoughts trapped in there, only buzzed louder and slipped out of his grasp like water. After a while he just gave up and bought another brandy.
The inn's door opening, letting in a draft that made the fire flicker, interrupted his brooding. His gaze flickered up, mostly to glare at the Nord walking in for allowing precious heat to escape the building. A snowstorm was blowing outside, driving all but the guards on duty and the foolhardy indoors. Nevano still wasn't used to the cold climate even on calm sunny days. It would take a lot of convincing to get him out in this weather.
"Are you Nevano?" The Nord had come over to him at his lonely corner table, "I was told to look for a Dunmer in Winterhold that wasn't a mage. I have a letter for you." The courier patted at his vest, searching for his note, "Where did I put…ah yes, here we are. For you." He handed over a slightly crumpled, much folded letter. "There you are sir!"
Nevano took it and glanced at it, pausing only to toss a coin at the courier. Once the courier left he unfolded the letter and read the untidy scrawl.
I need your help. Meet me in Whiterun, at the Bannered Mare.
-Gunjar
Nevano didn't need to think twice. He swallowed the last of his drink, grabbed his pack, pulled his hood over his face, and walked out of the inn into the swirling snow. It was time to go again.
XxXxXx
A/N: I realize that I throw a lot of seemingly random names out there. Aside from the obvious OCs like Jorun, Nevano and Gunjar, almost every single name out there is an actual in-game NPC. I give them a twist in their personality of course but I do a lot of research to make sure I get the names and ranks correct. Also, this is probably the longest flashback I'll post. I had to finish that bit. I suppose I COULD have made that a fic on its own buuuuut this just made far more sense to me.
