Real dedication is when you load up a Skyrim save and spend three hours creeping around Markarth trying to figure out how a character could break into Understone Keep without getting caught. Because it's hard. It's very hard.
In The Dark
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Deep in the bowels of Labyrinthian, there were a series of deafening explosions. The walls shook, as massive balls of flame detonated along one of the labyrinthine (yeah no duh-) hallways. Alexander Meteuse strolled intangible through said hallway, watching with some amusement the attacks flying through his torso. Reaching the end, he walked behind the three obelisks before snatching up the three soul gems there and holding them up to the torchlight.
"What is this?" He exclaimed, reentering the physical world as he squinted at it. "How did he enchant the crystal itself to-cllk-ngh-" He stopped, then began coughing violently. "Ack, Divines, that hurts my throat so much, aaagh." He shook his head, wincing. "Is that going to happen every time I Shout? Oh, lord, that's a pain..." he stuffed the crystals in the pouch he'd rigged from leftover Draugr armour, and kept walking.
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Dulurza was on fire.
She was in the darkest dungeon in the history of dark dungeons, swinging an axe at shades of deceased souls who either used simple iron weaponry or ice magic.
So why was she on fire, you ask?
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MALACATH'S LEFT TESTACLE ARE YOU DOING?" Dulurza turned around and hollered at the young woman behind her, while trying desperately to pat out the flames spreading across her armour.
Cassia at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. She clicked her fingers and all the flames immediately vanished, clearing a circle of about five metres that Dulurza was on the edge of. "I'm sorry!"
"You SHOT me!" Dulurza accused, outraged.
"I shot the ghosts!" Cassia countered, walking up after her.
"You shot the ghosts with an explosion while I was in melee with them!" Dulurza stormed up to her and started looming. "Have you ever fought with a frontline warrior before?"
"Well, no!" Cassia retorted, flushing but not backing down. "But you were getting ganged up on, what was I meant to do? You've seen me fight, why were you in my way?"
"Because I stab things! You've seen me fight too!"
"Have you ever fought with a mage before?"
"Well, no!" Dulurza glanced away in embarrassment for a brief second. "Or, sort of! Xander got in close too and he couldn't do fireballs!"
"Yeah, I bet he couldn't..." Cassia rolled her eyes.
"Look, you are what we Orcs call 'squishy'." Dulurza mimed squeezing something, which merited an outraged look.
"Squishy?"
"Which means it's my job to protect you because you die so easily! So if the best way to do that is for me to get ahead and engage the enemy before they can reach you, especially if they're using ranged weaponry, then you need to stay back and stick to precision spells! Or do you not have any of those?"
"Of course I have precision spells! But that's not always right!" Cassia retorted. "Because I know that the standard way to do it is for you to stay back and guard me while I hurl big area damage spells at anything that's far enough away!"
"Well I guess we'll just have to decide which is best each individual battle then!"
"I guess we will!"
There was a pause.
Dulurza tilted her head. "...Did we just come up with a proper battle strategy and solve the problem?"
"I...think we did?" Cassia replied.
"So...shall we just, do that?"
"Yeah. Yeah, let's just do that."
"Alright then."
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The Hall of the Dead in Markarth was silent, but for the flickering of torch fires. Then there was a click, echoing through the old Dwarven halls.
Then, a low groaning noise, and the hissing of falling dust, as one door to the hall opened.
Hjarnagredda and L'laarzen closed the door behind them as quietly as possible, and began padding in through the halls.
"Think they saw us?" Hjar hissed.
"If they had, they would not be so quiet about their pursuit, would they?" L'laarzen smiled back at her. "We are safe, for now. Relax."
"Right." Hjar breathed out. "Sorry, not used to this. Animals don't hunt me back."
"I can imagine...well, this is us." L'laarzen walked up to the door on the opposite side of the Hall. "Now, we are lucky in that Brother Verulus is reportedly out of the city, with Throngvor Silver-Blood of all people."
"Ooh, illicit relationship?" Hjar guessed.
"Hmhmhm, perhaps. But what it means is-" L'laarzen clicked open the lock. From the inside, there was no need to pick it. Opening it revealed a bigger chamber, dotted with Dwemer structures and mage supplies. "-We can pass through here, with no distractions."
This late at night, the researchers were all in bed (well, except for one, but he was otherwise occupied), meaning they were able to navigate past the entrance to Nzchuand-Zel and back towards the main entryway. There, though they were inside the main door, two guards still flanked the archway to the Jarl's throne room.
"You sure you timed this right?" Hjar hissed, eyeing them.
"Certain." L'laarzen nodded, smiling. "She delivered the letter just before meeting you at the Hall. Allowing for the time it would take to read it, panic, and get dressed, and..."
The great doors to Understone Keep were thrown open.
The wizard Calcelmo stumbled through, red-faced, wearing two odd shoes and tightly clutching a letter. From the words L'laarzen knew it enclosed, she wasn't surprised by his urgency. "Excuse me," he panted, "I must speak to Faleen immediately, apologies, thank you very much-" he ran straight past the two guards.
They looked at him, then at each other.
"Oh, I've got to see this." One said.
"Ugh. Fine, I'll watch here. Ten septims says she hits him."
"I'll take that bet." The guard held out his hand, got a shake, then jogged after Calcelmo into the throne room.
"That leaves one." L'laarzen glanced at Hjar. "Khajiit can draw his attention for a few seconds. The rest will be up to you, and your window will be small."
"I'll make it work. Thanks for this." Hjar replied distractedly, her focus on the doorway.
"You are most welcome." There is determination in those eyes...good luck, friend. L'laarzen stood up, brushed her dress off, and then skipped quite happily up to the doorway.
She waved cheerfully at the remaining guard, then gave a meaninful glance into the throne room, raising an eyebrow. He just shrugged at her, and she laughed lightly, before walking past him up to the museum. After just a couple of steps, not enough for his attention to leave her, she turned back to him with a hand raised and a question on her lips.
"Excuse L'laarzen, sir guard," she saw Hjar creeping up behind him, "but ah...oh where is it-" she kept her speech slow, made a spectacle of patting down her pockets before drawing out a key. "Here! Our friend Calcelmo has given Khajiit permission to enter his museum despite it being officially closed. However," Hjar was just behind the guard now. The reachwoman gave L'laarzen one last nod before dipping into the archway, "She is unsure if its okay to enter at this time of night. Only poor, foolish L'laarzen has left her satchel in there, and it contains all sorts of things she cannot bear going the night without, and..." she trailed off, blinking innocently.
The guard hummed. "Well, the old mage isn't the type to care much about 'reasonable hours'. The shifts that Elf has me working...but..." he glanced back behind himself into the archway, and L'laarzen's heart rate spiked. But whatever he saw, it didn't trigger alarm. He looked back at her. "I don't think he's in much of a position to mind right now. Go on in."
"Oh, thank you!" Relief not entirely faked, L'laarzen bowed to the guard, before taking off towards the museum. Her key fit into the lock, turned, and she let herself through into the museum displaying all the marvellous Dwarven artefacts that had been recovered so far. She would have liked to peruse them more deeply, but this was hardly the time for tourism. She had a mission.
Crouching down behind a cabinet, she stripped off her simple green clothes, folding them neatly into her bag. Dark grey fur blended seamlessly into the dimly hit Dwemer halls, and she withdrew a set of picks, a tinderbox and matches, and a potion of brief invisibility (for emergencies).
"No claws, L'laarzen." She breathed, before moving deeper in.
One door later, and she was officially trespassing.
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Hjar immediately moved to the darkest corner of the room, pushing herself flat against the wall and trying to make herself as small as possible. Don't like this. You know what I can do if I'm hunting deer? Wear camouflage. Or turn into a big ruddy werewolf. Now I've got to dodge through 'blind spots', what kind of...
The wolf growled, and she told it to shut up.
The chamber she found herself in was admittedly very impressive. A long set of stone steps led up through the cavernous space, and (following what L'laarzen had told her about the interior) she kept to the left, creeping practically down on all fours.
Slowly, the mournful throne came into view. Who needs that pretentious a name for their seat, anyway...oh, hello, what's this?
"Faleen, I-That is to say, I'm-"
"Shh. It's alright. I see now that you're a lot more eloquent out of person. I really should have expected it, someone with your mind."
The throne itself was vacant, the Jarl having retired for the night. But in front of it, Calcelmo and a Redguard woman were having a very intense chat. The few guards that had drawn the night shift (including the one who'd ran in earlier) were all blatantly staring.
Staring away from Hjar. L'laarzen, you're a miracle worker.
"I'm sorry," Calcelmo managed, "I just...I was always so nervous to talk to you, I never knew what to say-"
"Well then." Faleen put a hand to his lips, leaning in. "I suppose you'd just better stop talking..."
Awwww. Hjar left them to it, scampering up the last of the steps-
And coming face to face with a big grey dog.
The Jarl's quarters were directly in front of her, but directly in front of that, two hounds were laid on the floor, both of them immediately looking at her. They tensed, and one let out a low "boof" of warning.
Oh no you don't- the wolf inside her growled, and for once, Hjar let herself growl right along with it. A low, rumbling sound in the back of her throat laden with as much threat as she could muster.
The dogs immediately sat right back down with their tails between their legs, one whimpering slightly.
That's what I thought. Fortunately their confrontation hadn't been heard; the two lovebirds had taken the opportunity to kiss, resulting in raucous cheering from the guards. Hjar knew that any more good luck was far too much to expect; she loped past the dogs and over to the door. She reached into her pocket, and withdrew the key that L'laarzen had pressed into her hand when they had met outside the mausoleum. One master key to the whole keep? Maybe not smart. The lock clicked open, and she pushed lightly at the door, wincing at the squeak it made. One of the dogs whined again, and she glared back at it, before slipping inside the room.
Okay, part one completed.
She clicked the door shut behind her, locked it, breathed out heavily, and turned around-
And came face to face with Jarl Igmund.
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Dulurza and Cassia crouched warily together, halfway down a set of stairs. In the room ahead of them, a man in black mage robes was barking orders at a large number of the shades.
"Ghosts. It's always ghosts..." Dulurza growled, glancing at Cassia. "I'll kill the mage guy if it means I don't have to fight them."
"Probably smart, if you can get close to him." Cassia agreed. "It's a decent distance to him though, he'll be casting spells at you the whole time."
"Can you ward me?"
"If I'm running up with you, sure, but I won't be able to deal with all of those if I am." The mage gestured vaguely at the shades all across the room. "Can you dodge him?"
"I'm confident I can strafe past arrows and attack spells. Less so if he tosses a fireball at my feet." Dulurza squinted into the room. "Could you take him?"
"Absolutely." Cassia smirked. "Nobody dishes out as much magical bombardment as I can. Well, maybe Julius could, but not this third rate chump."
"The 'chump' that conquered a Daedric temple."
"Eh, fine, noted. But I might be better off targeting the shades. If I blow all my magicka on him, they'll swarm me. Can you fight twenty ghosts in a melee?"
"One at a time, aye, not all at once. I wouldn't want to risk it without a choke point. And I'm not going near whatever you're shooting unless I have fire resistance up."
"Xander enchanted your armour, right? Doesn't it have fire resistance on it?"
"No, which I'm now regretting. Darkvision on the helmet, increased constitution on the armour proper, increased swing-strength on the gauntlets and muffle on the boots..." Dulurza trailed off. Then smiled. "I have an idea."
When the roaring of flames came from the entrance to the inner sanctum, Malkoran was ready for it. And so the interloper reveals themselves. Meridia has found a new champion, has she?
He spun away from Dawnbreaker's altar and conjured a ward in both hands, and not a moment too soon; the fireball that flew towards him was an enormous one, moving with a speed rarely seen from it's element. It crashed into his ward with enough force to send him stumbling backwards, exploding so violently that the wash of flame blocked his view of the entire room for a few seconds.
But the shield didn't falter. The emphasis of fireballs was on area of effect damage, not armour penetration, and so Malkoran was able to sweep the flames away and behold the young girl stood in the doorway. He grinned. "Destroy her!" He commanded, and the shades around the room tore up the central channel towards her.
The girl took a caster's stance, breathed in, and then on her exhale thrust her arms out towards the oncoming horde. The sheer magnitude of power that emerged from such a petite figure startled him. A torrent of golden fire rushed to meet the shades, filling the entire corridor and spilling out into the chamber where Malkoran waited. They weren't ordinary flames either; with a start, Malkoran recognised the golden hue of a restoration oriented spell. Fascinating...
Eventually, the attack cut out, and he walked forwards. The shades were all destroyed, of course, their bleached bones hissing and crunching beneath his feet as he walked. But the girl was panting in exhaustion as her eyes locked onto him.
"Sun magic." He remarked, smirking. "Impressive. Were you a vigilant of Stendarr? A member of the Dawnguard perhaps? Or has Meridia become so lax with her secrets as to hand them out to you?"
"Neither." The girl grinned. "I just figured it out." He blinked, and she laughed. "Oh come on, religion doesn't get to call dibs on certain magics. Fires of death and fires of life are pretty similar once you get to the heart of it; and I mean heart literally. They're about passion."
"The heart, hmm?" Malkoran brought his own hands up, ice swirling in his palms. You've wasted all your magicka on my minions, girl. Perhaps you could have fought me before, but not now. "I'll make sure to keep yours in good condition as I kill you."
The girl tilted her head. "How, though? You're already dead."
Malkoran frowned, and then Dulurza swung her axe from behind and cut his head off.
The plan had been fairly simple. Using Cassia's first fireball as cover, Dulurza had rushed into the room and taken cover behind one of the great stone pillars. Cassia had destroyed the shades, baited their creator out, and Dulurza had circled around the pillar until she was behind him and taken her swing. He might have been on guard, but there was no way for him to hear her while she was muffled.
Dulurza walked over the necromancer's body, sheathed her axe, and admitted "Okay, that was impressive. You are damn good at making fire."
"I am, thank you." Cassia grinned cheekily. "I think that puts me ahead on kills."
"Oh, no. Firstly, they're already dead so they don't count." Dulurza protested. "Secondly, he was-"
She was interrupted when Cassia gasped, put her hands together, immediately summoned a globule of fire and hurled it right at her.
Wait WHAT-
Dulurza barely even had time to duck, but luckily she didn't need to.
The attack roared right over her head, and collided against something immediately behind her.
Turning, she saw another shade splitting into pieces and flying across the room. On the floor, Malkoran's corpse disintegrated.
"...Whew. That was close." Cassia sighed, relieved. "I told you I could do precision attacks when I wanted to-"
"What is with your family!" Dulurza rounded on her, the top of her helmet glowing slightly and steaming. "Why is it every time I adventure with one of you there's a moment where I think you've betrayed me!"
"Well maybe you're just paranoid!"
"You SHOT A-"
Alright, children, well done, you're finished. Yaaay...A sarcastic clapping echoed throughout the chamber, alongside Meridia's voice. This is all just...so underwhelming. Whatever, take the sword, get it to Alexander, and then I can throw him up into the air and talk to him.
"And we can use it to fix Elisif?" Dulurza called out.
Yeah, sure, fine. Meridia sighed. Maybe killing a ghost will cheer me up. Bring the Dawnbreaker to her, I'll talk you through the process.
"Thank you, lady Meridia." Cassia curtseyed. "We'll, uh...we'll tell everyone how impressive your temple is?"
You're damn right you will!
"You know everything made so much more sense back in Mor Khazgor..." Dulurza complained. She walked up to the altar, and drew Dawnbreaker from it's pedestal.
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Hjar, dressed in a poor-fitting cloak, looked at Igmund.
Igmund, dressed in his pyjamas, looked at Hjar.
Then Igmund opened his mouth and Hjar pounced, and he brought his arms up and she dropped on top of him, putting an elbow in his face, he grunted and collapsed under her weight and they both crashed down onto the floor. Igmund's head hit the hard stone with a crack, and while he was groaning and disoriented, she reached into her belt and drew a knife, putting it to his throat.
"Cry out, and I slit your throat." She painted.
"Aren't-ngh-you going to anyway?" The man grit his teeth, slowly refocusing on her. Nevertheless, he ceased his struggling.
"Hah. Let me guess, you've expected this to happen for a while now?" Hjar shifted her position on top of him, keeping her eyes on him the whole time.
"Go ahead then." He spat. Not literally, she probably would have drawn her blade across if he had. "Kill me, the same way you bastards killed my father."
Hjar scoffed. "Tch. It's always about revenge with you people, isn't it?"
"Hah!" Igmund smiled. "Don't act so superior. What besides revenge brings you here?" He tilted his head, a difficult act when it was pressed against the floor. "You're young. Let me guess. Escaped the city when the Stormcloaks freed it from you?"
"I was a babe." She snarled. "And you Nord bastards would have killed me too if my parents hadn't-" she stopped. Thought. "Huh. You are right about the revenge thing, I apologise."
He opened his mouth to reply and she leaned back down, pushing the knife against his throat until it drew blood. "I do have one question, though. Braig. An old git, you threw him in Cidnah mine. He claims you had his daughter killed just for defending him, when she was ten years old. That true?"
Igmund looked at her for a moment. Then he chuckled. "Braig? Oh, I remember that bastard. You know, there wasn't much proof he was with the Reachmen. His daughter, all young innocent looking, came up to the keep and pleaded for her pa's life. I thought 'here's an opportunity for some good publicity. Convince some of the sensible Bretons that I can be reasonable. Stop them being radicalised.' So I said I would hear her out, scheduled a meeting, sat down at a table with her."
His expression turned to disgust. "The little rodent tried to stab me with a kitchen knife. Want to see the scar I got to remember her by?" He reaches up with one hand, yanking down the collar of his nightclothes. There was a great jagged gash from shoulder to centre-breast.
Inconclusive evidence. That could be from anything. Said the rational part of Hjar's brain. But the rest of her...
"That's the day I learned the folly of reasoning with you people." Igmund's eyes were full of hatred. "You'd never be satisfied. You don't even know what you want, do you? You just rip and tear at anything anyone else has built. Nothing but a wild animal! And the only way to put an end to it is to stamp you all out. So aye, I killed that little bitch. And the look of surprise on Braig's face when he heard was the only reason I didn't have him flayed to death too."
Hjar didn't move for a long time, just staring into Igmund's eyes. He stared right back, unflinching. Then she sighed. "You know, you talk a lot of sense." She leaned backwards, enjoying the confusion in his gaze. "Yeah. Weren't expecting that, were you? You're right. There's not an innocent man, woman or child in this city." She leaned back in. "But that includes you, asshole. The man that made a promise to a militia to save his city, and then backed out on it the moment a bigger bully showed up. Who lets one family with full coffers run half his city, and somehow didn't realise the people he hates the most were running the other half. Or maybe you did, and just refused to admit it to yourself." At this point Hjar had literally no idea what was coming out of her mouth, it was just a stream of consciousness that was leading somewhere but she couldn't tell where yet, and whatever the end result was, it was going to be huge.
"So, stamp them all out, huh?" Molag Bal dominates. Hircine hunts. What do I do? "Alright. I will. And I'm starting right here."
She adjusted her grip on the knife-
There was a rapping on the metal door, echoing through the chamber. "My Jarl!" Faleen's voice called through. "Are you alright in there?"
Hjar's head jerked up to the door for a split second, and Igmund moved. His knee surged upwards, catching her in the stomach, and his arms grabbed hers and shoved, sending her toppling backwards. She flailed with the knife, drew blood across one arm, and then he punched her hard across the face, breaking her jaw, and hurled her against the table. She crashed into it, knocking a chair and mug over as she collapsed to the floor.
Stumbling back, Igmund turned towards the door, shouting "FALEEN! GET IN HERE, I'M BEING-"
He cut off abruptly. That probably had something to do with the dagger sticking out of his throat.
Hjar, still on the floor half a room away, lowered her outstretched arm. "Blood and silver." She said, simply.
Igmund gargled, and then collapsed.
"MY JARL!" Faleen's voice called from the other side of the door, along with a cacophony of others, and Hjar jolted to action. She stumbled to her feet, looked at Igmund, the door, and then swore loudly, slurring the word around her jaw. Knew there was no way this would just go to plan-
The sound of running water drew her attention and she turned, then blinked in surprise. Igmund had a damn waterfall in the back of his room.
He must have to get up to piss a lot in the night, said the part of her that was trying not to have a panic attack, and she started running deeper into the room. The Jarl had only bothered to excavate half his room; the waterfall came from some passage in the rock and ran down in a rapid stream through the cave, before vanishing into...
Oh absolutely not.
The door slammed open behind her and she moved, darting behind the raised dais where Igmund's bed sat as guards began to rush into the room.
There was enough of a gap in the rocks for the water to pass through. A big enough gap for her. But she had no idea where this led, no idea if it went anywhere, for all she knew it shrank until there was nowhere to go and she was stuck under the pressure of the water, just the thought was enough to have bile rising in her throat-
But the alternative was a werewolf tearing through Understone Keep.
This was so not what I wanted to happen when I came to get my people back-
Hjarnagredda sucked in a breath, then dove into the stream just before the guards turned the corner.
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Alexander Meteuse crept up behind the ghost, which was knelt on an outcropping of stone and casting a beam of purple light across a small chasm. On the other side, a dark figure floated within a glowing purple sphere. It was adorned in ancient robes that must have been incredibly fine when it was first crafted, but now hung tattered and limp about its thin frame. What little flesh was visible was cracked, fetid and rotting, and it's face was covered by an impassive grey mask. A staff, ornate and three pronged with a sphere of blue power at its tip, was gripped tightly in it's hand.
Morokei's taunting had continued throughout the dungeon, yet now he remained conspicuously silent, and showed no sign of recognising Xander's presence at all.
That purple energy...it's the same that Savos was using to try and control the Eye.
Xander stood behind the hooded ghost for a few seconds, before walking up and crouching beside it. After a moment, it turned to face him.
"Hey." He said, quietly.
"...Greetings, mage." It replied, hoarsely. It was a woman, he saw, though features were hard to make out. "I am Atmah, apprentice at the college of Winterhold. Or...I was."
"Alexander." He replied. "Me too." He looked across the chasm. "What...is this?"
"A monument...to all our sins." Atmah replied. "I...led a party of apprentices on an expedition here. I do not know how long ago...it has been so long...we stole the Torc of Labyrinthian from our betters...We believed that great magical power could be found here..." a rasping laugh came from her mouth. "We were right." She turned her head, looking down to where another hooded figure knelt, just like her. "Hafnar, my good friend...together, he and I seal this foul priest here. Girduin, Elvali, Takes-In-Light...all died. Savos...was the only one to escape. He...left us..."
Oh, damn. Xander swallowed. "He became Archmage." He told her. "He...he's dead."
"Savos too...?" Atmah looked down. "A shame...his face as he ran away...so guilty, but...I was more than willing to give my life for him to flee. This was all...my fault..." She looked back up at Xander. "Do you intend to release this monster?"
He winced. "I don't want to. But I need that staff."
"Then...I must fight you." Atmah moved to stand. "I cannot allow it...to ravage the surface-"
"Wait, wait wait wait, listen." Xander put a hand on her shoulder. Surprisingly, she was tangible enough for him to push back down. "Savos was the one that sent me down here. Winterhold is being ravaged by the Eye of Magnus; without the staff, the College will be destroyed. Skyrim might go with it."
"Savos should have known...no mage can overcome this enemy." Atmah told him.
Xander gave one of his patented winning smiles. "Good thing I'm not a mage, then. Savos gave me the Torc. He trusted that I can do this. Can you?"
Atmah looked at him. "If we continue to hold it here...Skyrim will fall anyway...?"
"Yep. And given that the dragons are also back, if we did let him out it would basically just be a footnote in the apocalypse."
"Hmm...Then there is no point to wasting more time..."
Atmah moved to stand again, and this time Xander let her.
"We will release it." She declared, the hesitation in her voice gone. "We will attempt to aid you, but we will likely be destroyed quickly. That is fine. We have lived for too long. Do you need to prepare?"
"Oh, right, okay, we're doing this-" Xander got to his feet along with her, coughed, and checked his equipment. "No, I've already prepared. Let's go, before I lose my nerve."
"Very well." Atmah raised her arms, and below her, the man (Hafnar?) did the same in exact unison. The purple glow around them intensified.
"You may want to stand back." She warned.
"Are you about to explode?" Xander asked, backing up rapidly.
The ghost of a smile (Hah! Ghost-) became visible on the Redguard's face. "Not exactly."
There was a flash-
And then nothing.
And then something again.
Or more specifically, twin bolts of light flew down the purple streams from the two wizards to strike dead-on the Dragon Priest's bubble. With a flash, the streams, and the shield, vanished in an instant.
And Morokei moved like a lightning bolt.
His staff whipped upwards and discharged a beam of energy straight at Atmah, blue magic punching through her chest and immediately disintegrating her into a cloud of mist. Some flew free, some was sucked up into the beam.
Oh, that's why she wanted me to move ba-OH GODS-
Morokei swung the staff around and the beam scythed through the air towards Xander.
Panicking, he dove, hurling himself off the top level of the structure and immediately regretting it-
He barely remembered what Hjar the werewolf had taught him and tucked himself over one shoulder as he fell, but he still slammed into far too hard stone far too fast, drawing a line of sharp pain up across his whole body and stumbling back up to his feet. Now he was on the level of Hafnar, who was blasting bolts of lightning at Morokei at a rapid pace.
It didn't last. The priest flicked his off-hand and a swirl of darkness appeared, a Storm Atronach appearing out of it to catch the next lightning bolt on its own body.
Oh, look. It's the spell I spent three hundred septims for a scroll of. Done casually.
The Atronach clapped it's hands, and a bolt of lightning took Hafnar in the chest, destroying him in an instant. Then Xander was alone, and both enemies turned on him.
Oh no. He put his hands to his mouth and whistled shrilly.
Three purple soul gems of various sizes, set up in various places across the room, glowed to life.
Morokei's mask darted up to see them just before all three began bombarding him with fireballs.
"I liked your trap!" Xander shouted. "Mind if I use it against you?"
Another blast of blue energy answered him, and he ducked behind a stone pillar, wincing. The Storm Atronach approached him, floating across the bridge that linked his structure to Morokei's, and he ducked even further around the pillar to dodge the lightning bolts it peppered him with.
Not good, not good, not good...
He reached into his satchel, and withdrew the fourth soul gem he'd retrieved from earlier on in the dungeon. Taking a deep breath, he darted out from behind cover, pulsed a spark of magic into the gem and tossed it along the floor.
It clinked to a stop at the feet (feet? It doesn't have feet-) of the Atronach, which ignored it, raising its hands again-
Before an explosion of cold tore up from beneath it, the gem shattering into shrapnel and coating the bridge in ice.
The Atronach staggered and Xander charged in with a cry of rage, drawing his ebony sword and swinging it hard at the daedra's centre mass.
The blade landed, forced the thing to float back briefly, but hardly penetrated into the rocks that made the thing up.
Oh, yeah, don't use a slashing weapon against a STONE CREATURE-
He stumbled past it, slipping on the ice he'd made and dragging his sword along stone with a horrible screeching noise that set his teeth on edge. The storm cloak around it stung him in a dozen places, every hair on his body standing on end, and then the Atronach spun and bashed him with one of its arms. He was knocked off his feet, and crashed to the floor in the middle of the bridge.
Ahead of him, Morokei looked more angry than damaged by the onslaught of flames. His staff sucked up the fireballs before they could reach him, and it's beam tore through the room, catching each soul gem individually and causing them all to implode.
The Dragon priest looked down at Xander-
Who had an idea.
Grimacing, he forced himself to his feet, and focused his attention on the light of the sun and stars so high above. Blue light glowed in his hands.
The Atronach bellowed from behind him, and he spun around, no time, bringing his hands up as another bolt of lightning streaked towards him-
And crashed into a shield of blue light.
Xander's eyes widened; even as the pain of his magicka circuits frying was indescribable, even as the shield before him shattered entirely under the force of the spell...
I did it. I did it! I made a ward!
And now he was completely empty. But Morokei didn't know that.
The priest laughed gutturally as Xander turned back to it. "Mey." It declared, 'fool' in the dragon tongue. "No mage's shield can protect them from me. The man who sent you here was no exception."
"Savos? Oh, I'm nothing like him." Xander grinned.
Morokei didn't hesitate. He simply pointed the staff of Magnus at Xander and fired.
Just as planned.
Xander didn't bother trying to block that with his nonexistent remaining magicka. He simply inhaled, and Shouted "FEIM!"
His body turned ethereal. The beam tore straight through his stomach, and into the Storm Atronach behind him.
The blast of energy made the daedra groan in anguish. The storm within it swirled into the beam itself, and the stones fell away from the collective whole and crashed down onto the frozen bridge, lifeless.
Xander, throat burning (not doing that again today-) redrew his sword, and charged.
Morokei's face wasn't visible. But it still looked absolutely furious. "YOU DARE!" It roared. Magic grew in it's offhand, but this time it directed it downwards. An enormous thunderbolt tore down into the stones of the bridge, and the entire structure rumbled.
Xander's stomach lurched as the bridge cracked. Morokei fired again, again, again, and the bridge split in a dozen places before tumbling down onto the dirt and water below.
Xander may have been immune to magic and immune to pain but he wasn't immune to gravity, he fell completely uncontrolled along with his support while swearing incredibly shrilly. His feet slipped on the (still) ice covered stone, and he went head over heels, back cracking into a slab of rock before he rolled to a stop on the ground. It didn't hurt, but it was still disorienting, and he groaned while trying to find his feet, barely able to get to his knees. That was when his etherealness decided to run out.
"You dare to wield the power of my masters against me?" Morokei howled. "You pitiful men with your endless audacity, daring to claim the divine right of the living Gods!"
Xander glared at the floor. "Oh, that's rich, coming from the zombie who rules in their place!" He turned back, shoving himself up to his feet and drawing two staves from his back. The staff of turn undead and the staff of fear both fired at once, bolts of light streaking towards Morokei.
They certainly hit him.
"SAHLO!" 'Weak', the priest declared, tossing out idle flashes of lightning. They didn't even target Xander, instead striking his staves and splintering them into pieces. He screamed, shrapnel digging into his skin and making him collapse onto his back, dropping the ruined remains of his weapons.
"Hmph. As expected." Morokei floated over to the edge of his platform, but did not deign to move down the stairs to Xander's level. "Many mages have tried to challenge me over the centuries. From whence do you think I obtained this staff? All had their own ideas, their own specialties, their own little tricks. But in the end, when faced with true power?" It levelled the staff at Xander. "You are nothing."
Xander tried to get up, but his exhaustion was catching up to him. His arms shook, and couldn't seem to bear his weight. Everything was aching, and he couldn't do anything but sag against the ground beneath him.
The staff began to glow, and he grimaced, shuttling his eyes.
Damnit...
The staff of Magnus fired, and the beam of light took him flat in the stomach.
8˂
L'laarzen crouched down in front of the great stone tablet, and slowly breathed out the word "Fascinating..."
The writing was minuscule, but it very clearly had a list of individual symbols, and then a set of words, then strings of words, then full sentences. And on the opposite side, the exact same thing, but a different set of symbols and words.
It's a comparison. A translation. One side Dwemer, and the other side...Falmer. She stood up, and looked around.
She was hardly educated enough to know exactly what the purpose of this room was, but she could guess. From the paintings, artwork, and memorabilia that all seemed out of place with the Dwarven style, the diagrams of Elven biology, maps of cities long gone...
How ironic. Calcelmo built a museum of the Dwemer in Understone, yet Nzchuand-Zel contains a museum of the Falmer.
Presumably, the Dwarves had wanted to maintain some record of the people that they had destroyed. And then they had been destroyed in turn...
"Fascinating." She repeated aloud, turning around. "An entire culture. A people, from so long ago...heh. Khajiit begins to understand how these researchers become so curious." She walked up to one side, where a statue of a Falmer rested on a pedestal. A small thing, it sat cross-legged, with gems for eyes. Strangely, the plague beneath it that would presumably provide some context had been pried off of the wall. Odd. I did not think Calcelmo would be so disrespectful...
"L'laarzen has killed many of what your species has become." She told the statue. "She truly regrets it. It is saddening, to see such a mighty race driven to such an ignoble end...but as an apology, Khajiit promises to remember you." She smiled, sadly, not entirely sure what she really wanted, but... "L'laarzen may have to kill the Falmer. But she will try to save the Snow Elves."
Satisfied, she turned back to Calcelmo's workstation. There was an abundance of paper rolls and charcoal, and she grabbed and unfurled one. Crouching back before the translation stone, she got to work producing a copy.
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
Alexander Meteuse cried out in pain. The moment the staff touched him, his entire magicka system lit up and stung, every residual drop of energy being wrenched out of it.
He finally understood why the staff was so coveted, and so feared; it consumed magic. Drained it from the subject, absorbing spells, sapping at their energy until the greatest mage was reduced to...reduced to...
...Hold on a minute.
Xander opened his eyes. Flexed his fingers.
And then he stood up.
Morokei jerked backwards a little as Xander got to his feet, swinging his arms around and cracking his neck as one of the strongest magical artefacts in Mundus blasted into his chest. "What..?"
"Nid." Xander spoke. "Nothing. You're damn right I am. Ah, Divines, that stings..." he started giggling. "Hehehe, just a little more than it stung every day while I was growing up. Really, is this all you can do?" He started walking forwards.
"Impossible." Morokei declared, continuing to fire the staff as he floated slowly backwards. "No mage can possibly tolerate the pain of-"
"Total magicka exhaustion?" Xander scoffed. He began to climb the stairs. "Such an overdramatic name, don't you think?" Most mages would never fall to that point except in dire situations. Even when trying to grow their reserves, there was no point, it would be like a warrior deliberately going too far and pulling their muscles during training.
But Xander had the magicka capacity of an Orc teenager. He pushed himself to that point with five seconds of a basic healing spell.
"There are three things you failed to realise, 'Glorious'." Xander said, topping the stairs and striding towards the dragon priest. The heat of the staff was burning a hole in the fabric of the clothes at his chest. He ignored it. "Firstly; never underestimate the ingenuity of us mages. We define ourselves by being able to learn. To grow. You thought you could leave Savos to escape for decades and he wouldn't find a way to stop you? Are you arrogant, or just stupid?"
Morokei found it's back pressed against the stone, as Xander just pressed closer and closer.
"Second; don't compare me to the 'pathetic mortals' you've slain before me." The grin on Xander's face was taking on a manic gleam, highlighted even further by the stark spell-light. "I'm not some second-rate magical apprentice, priest. I'm a God in the making! Revel in the honour, you religious fool; your entire life has led up to the point where you would be but a stepping stone in my ascension! When I have rewritten the laws of the universe to my will, the footnote that Morokei was a Dragon Priest will be the only reason anyone even remembers Dragons!"
He spread his arms and laughed, tossing his head back as he guffawed under the rush of adrenaline.
As the staff's assault on his system continued, as his broken and beaten cells of magicka were pushed beyond what they should ever be forced to bear...
Something very important inside Xander was lost forever.
Finally, Morokei let the beam end, the staff dangling limply from his side as he beheld the monster before him. "Who...are you?" The Dragon priest rasped.
"I am Alexander Meteuse." Xander replied, returning his hands to his hips. "And I still have one last thing you failed to realise, Morokei. Thirdly, and finally," He gripped the hilt of his blade. All the drama vanished from his voice, and he casually remarked "If you'd just shot me with lightning at any point during that, I'd've died. Who's the 'Mey' now?"
Morokei stared for a full second. Then, startled out of its reverie, it's arm jerked up-
"Too late." Xander drew his sword and swung it, and lopped the limb off at the shoulder. Morokei screamed, sagging against the wall behind it, as Xander drew back,
Smiled,
Then buried his sword in it's throat.
*Raucous applause*
Xander triumphs! Just FYI I'd like to take the time to credit Ymfah's YouTube masterpiece 'how to beat the college of winterhold without magic' as a big inspiration for a lot of Xander's stunts. I did plan a scene where he lured the wispmother to open the fire door for him, but cut it because this chapter's too long as it is. A few of you spotted his unique 'resistance' to the Staff of Magnus, but seemed to think that alone would make the fight laughably easy.
It didn't. This is a semi-realistic interpretation people; if Xander takes a firebolt to the face without protection he's going to die.
Elsewhere, L'laarzen is coming to terms with That Time She Commit A Massacre. Dulurza and Cassia are...having a surprisingly simple time of it cranking through the Meridia quest. Huh. Sure hope nothing bad happens to them...
And Hjar. Ah, Hjar. Making a particularly big choice with some particularly big consequences. This is the first time we've taken a long step outside of the ordinary bounds of the questlines we're partaking in. It won't be the last, and the full-on assassination of a Jarl WILL have consequences. For Hjar personally, for the Reach, and for Skyrim as a whole. For now though, she just needs to survive.
Next Time: Someone gets wet, someone falls from a high place, and someone makes one hell of an entrance.