A/N Sorry it's been a while! Just to draw the attention of anybody whose been reading so far, I've rewritten the final part of Chapter 3. It's a small section but it makes a big difference upon the story,so I would strongly recommend rereading Chapter 3 so you don't get lost in later chapters. Basically the major character who died last chapter has been replaced because I realised their role was too big to just kill them off so quickly! Hopefully will have the next chapter within the week. Enjoy!
Darkness was beginning to fall as Lucius made his way down the cobblestone road to Markarth, loose stones and dirt crunching softly under his horse's iron shod feet, kicking up small clouds of grey dust as it walked. To his left rose a jagged limestone cliff, a few pine trees defiantly hanging off the edge, whilst to his right the land fell away into another steep cliff, ending in a fast flowing river of black water far below, the distant forms of grey mudcrabs picking their way across the pebble strewn shoreline.
The canvas bag slung over his shoulder was filled with provisions, mainly smoked meats and a few bushels of carrots, whilst he nonchalantly ate an apple from his left hand, a blazing torch in the other. He didn't fear any of the bandit gangs who plagued the Markarth road. Most of them had fled when the dragons had first arrived and never returned, whilst the Forsworn had learnt to keep their distance from Lucius after he had struck down their leader, Madanach, whilst attempting to learn about the conspiracy within Markarth itself.
But as Lucius went he kept an eye on the deep grey clouds overhead, feeling similar to how he had when Alduin had ruled the skies of the province. And yet this time he would have given anything to hear the roar of a dragon above him. If he could somehow convince some of the venerable creatures to lend their Thu'um to fight the Dwemer, he knew that there might still be a chance of protecting Tamriel.
"Too bad I know nothing about them…" he said aloud, as if to banish the quiet sense of foreboding he got as he saw the ruined castles and tumbling waterfalls on all sides. He had delved into Dwemer ruins countless times, battled their automatons, even found his way into their capital city of Blackreach, far below the snowy tundra of the far north. But he couldn't say he had ever understood anything about that ancient race. Their technology baffled him and everything about them as a peoples were completely unknown to him. He only hoped that Markarth would give him some answers to his many questions.
As he turned the bend in the road he saw an overturned cart lying across the stones. By the time he saw the blood splatters on the rocks and the corpses of the cart's owners impaled on crude spears it was already too late. The first flight of arrows clattered off the road nearby or thumped into the side of the cart, and by then Lucius had drawn his sword, the moonlight reflecting off Dragonbane's black blade as he wheeled the horse around.
As he looked around wildly he heard the distinctive guttural roar of Falmer, loose stones clattering around him as the spindly pale goblin-like creatures scuttled down the cliff face to his left, whilst shadows in the caves overhead strung new arrows to their bows.
"For Talos' sake!" Lucius shouted out as the Falmer leapt down, cutting one in half as it jumped for him,whilist sending the others flying with a well-placed Unrelenting Force shout.
He grinned, feeling a sense of power as he rode down the other creatures as they tried to get up. Then there was a dull smack as an arrow embedded itself in his horse's neck and it went down in an instant, throwing Lucius into the road, sending a sharp pain into his shoulder as his armour dug into his skin.
Just as he began to pick himself up he felt a heavy blow slam into his back and he fell, winded momentarily. Out of the corner of his eye he saw three Falmer rush forward hefting crude axes and another nocked another arrow to its bow, whilst a distant shadow clambered across the rocks far above.
Lucius cursed and desperately tried to shift himself into a fighting position, but was too late as one of the pale creatures leapt atop the horse's carcass, axe raised in both hands, ready to crush Lucius' head like an egg.
Suddenly there was a distant swish and a single steel tipped arrow slammed into the back of the axe wielding Falmer's head and it crumpled, falling off the horse whilst the others looked around blindly for the mysterious archer. Then another Falmer went down and the others, chittering and shrieking to each other in their guttural tongue, beat a hasty retreat, obviously not wanting to risk fighting this new enemy.
Seeing that now was his chance to escape, Lucius quickly, but painfully, pushed the dead horse off him and scrambled out, just as a figure jumped down from the rocks nearby, shouldering their bow as they came. He retrieved his swords, ready to fight this new attacker, but instead saw the identity of the mystery archer, and felt a sense of deep relief and grinned.
"Faendal!" He said with a laugh, embracing the thin white haired Bosmer in a tight grasp, the other man laughing along as they broke apart and he began retrieving his arrows from the dead Falmer. "How long has it been?"
"Since you stumbled into Riverwood dressed in an odd set of Imperial armour with ten Stormcloak axes in your pack from Helgen?" Faendal replied with a wide grin. "Two years I think. Since we last saw each other? Must have been that evening in Solitude where half the Imperial Legion seemed to have crammed themselves into every inn and tavern in the city just before you set out for Cyroddil. That was at least a year ago though, just before the Thalmor reared their arrogant faces again. Tell me, did you ever end up sleeping with that girl Serana?"
Lucius laughed, glad to share in memories of happier times as they walked the road toward Markarth together, glad his old friend had turned up just in the nick of time.
"Do you mean my new wife?"
Faendal's mouth fell open in mock astonishment.
"Always thought that was going to happen at some point that night. Then again I think I was under the table after foolishly challenging that Orc Legate to a drinking contest… I remember by the time I came to it was the day after and the entire Imperial army was gone. Speaking of which, what are you doing back in Skyrim? Everyone's been saying that you Imperials were about to push the Thalmor out of Morrowind and the whole Dominion was ripe for invasion…"
Lucius sighed, adjusting his pack on his shoulder as they passed over a weathered stone bridge.
"Things…happened…" he said, not being able to find words to describe the madness of the past day. "Long story short, the Thalmor are not our biggest problem anymore."
Faendal frowned, trying to gauge what his old friend meant, but his response was as light hearted as he always was. "Shame… I was making decent gold hunting down Thalmor spies in the highlands around here. Seems the Nords won't trust us Bosmer to join their armies but will let us hunt down our Mer cousins for coin. And save them the trouble."
"Look I want to explain it all to you but it's…"
"Dragonborn business?" Faendal finished for him with a slight frown. "I understand. I still remember when you spent a few months on Solstheim without so much as a letter to your motley collection of companions. And then there was that whole thing with the vampires before that. I'm glad I stayed back in Riverwood while that was going on…" he added with a sad smile. "So I know I probably won't understand the details of this special mission of yours, but can you at least tell me where it is you're headed? You look like you need some company."
"Markarth." Lucius replied simply. "I need to speak to Calcelmo about the Dwemer."
"Why? They haven't come back have they?" Faendal said, laughing slightly to himself, but then saw the grave expression on Lucius' normally jovial face and instantly was serious. "We need to pick up the pace then. The Falmer in these parts seem to have got a lot bolder in recent days. Maybe the two are connected?" he added helpfully and Lucius nodded, making a mental note to speak to Knight-Paladin Gelebor at the Chantry of Auri-El after his visit to Markarth. He was sure the ancient Snow Elf would remember something from his own meetings with the Dwemer. Any sort of information at that moment would be of great use, he thought to himself.
"Do you know anything about the Dwemer?" Lucius asked, hoping to break the silence that was beginning to descend between them, punctuated only by the distant crash of the river below.
"Only what I've heard from Alvor back in Riverwood. He had to make a trip up to Whiterun to find some books on forging Dwemer weapons for some rich fool from Falkreath who wanted a dwarven dagger for his collection of strange artifacts. He ended up discussing their smithing techniques a bit with me over a pint at the Sleeping Giant. Although come to think of it, my father owned a Dwemer helmet years ago. I remember seeing it in his study back in our home in Valenwood when I was a boy. Beautifully made but there was just something about it that felt…wrong. When he gave it to me I sold it off first chance I got and used the gold to get passage to Skyrim. I've never trusted any of that dwarven crap ever since…"
By now they had rounded the sides of a jagged outcrop, a squat stone Dwemer watchtower, and its golden domed roof still free of rust of marks after years of neglect, crowning its top, a green banner with the ram horn sigil of the Reach fluttering from its battlements.
Faendal looked noticeably uneasy at the sight of the loose collection of old Dwemer buildings up ahead that formed the mines and small farms outside Markarth's city walls and, as they passed through them, the dull clank of pickaxes and choking black smoke from the smelters filling the air, the two companions finally saw the capital of the Reach itself nestled in the mountains up ahead, the entire city lit up in a blaze of orange and yellow torchlight.
"No wonder they call it the city of stone." Lucius joked weakly, but still felt a sense of awe nonetheless at the sight up ahead.
The massive city wall loomed large up ahead, its battlements crested with the dull bronze of ancient Dwemer metal, watchtowers and arrow slits covering every inch of the ornately carved stone, whilst the shadows of city guards patrolled up and down. The vast bulk of the main guard tower looked down upon it all, but was still dwarfed by the vast mountains on all sides, and as Lucius and his companion walked toward the ornate gates, he noticed that the guards seemed uneasy, their hands constantly on their sword hilts or quivers, as if expecting an attack at any moment.
"The guards seem on edge." He muttered to Faendal, who nodded.
"It's the Forsworn…again." He said with a hint of frustration. "They became a lot bolder after the war was over and the dragon attacks stopped. Last week they burnt Karthwasten to the ground and there's been refugees trickling into the city from all over ever since. Most people are saying that Markarth's the only safe place in the Reach at the moment."
"For how long though?" Lucius said grimly as they headed through the city gates, getting approving comments on his armour and weapons from the guards, as always.
They passed into the market square, the stalls shutting up for the night as patrols of guards marched past, then on past the gently flowing mountain stream that tumbled down from above, to their left and right the houses and shops of the city marked by golden doors and walls carved into the rock.
When the two companions reached the gates to the Jarl's palace, Understone Keep, feeling the cool spray from the waterfalls nearby falling upon them, Lucius turned to Faendal, pulling a roll of paper and stick of charcoal from his pack and scribbling down a quick message, then signing off with the word 'Dragonborn' in the runes of the Dragon Language.
"Take this to the Jarl." He said firmly, pressing the message into the Bosmer's hand. "Make sure he reads it and understands it. Have his steward make a copy and send it to all the other hold capitals."
"Then what?"
"Get a horse from the stables and ride to the border with Cyroddil. There's an outpost of the Blades in Bruma. Give them the message and they should be able to take it from there, and then return to Riverwood. We're going to need all the men we can get soon enough."
Faendal looked about to protest, but then nodded grimly as Lucius passed him a small bag of gold.
"This should be enough for the fastest horse in the stables. Anything else keep for yourself."
The Bosmer didn't need telling twice, turning on his heel and pushing through the keep's gates and inside.
Lucius sighed, taking a second to look out over the sprawling city of stone and bronze beyond, to appreciate the brief moment of peace, then, trying to push images of Serana and his friends battling against the Dwemer without him out of his head, headed into the keep.
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Understone Keep was cold and filled with clanking and metallic scraping of ancient Dwemer machinery, much of which Lucius doubted its current occupiers understood. Passing through the group of city guards in green and brown scaled armour at the door, he continued to the left and into the vast open cavern that Calcelmo, one of Tamriels greatest experts on the Dwemer, had taken over as his own private laboratory and research station. The High Elf barely noticed the heavily armoured form of the Dragonborn, as usual. Humming softly to himself the Altmer continued meticulously examining the inner workings of a Dwarven crossbow with his long green tinted fingers, and spent another minute looking over the elegant but brutal weapon before finally turning to Lucius with an amiable but absent look on his lean face.
"Ah…you again." He said, barely seeming to remember the man who had brought dozens of unique dwarven artifacts to him over the years. Lucius didn't' take it as an insult. The old man may have seemed in a world of his own but his mind was quick and possessed huge amounts of knowledge about Tamriel's most unfathomable race that he hoped to take advantage of. "What is it this time? My nephew was telling me you had found some interesting artifacts in Morrowind recently."
Lucius felt a slight grin come to his face. Even in the midst of the Second Great War this brilliant but absent minded academic was still doing his research. But then that grin faded as he spoke.
"I need to speak with you about a...disturbing piece of news. Somewhere private."
Calcelmo breathed deeply.
"If this is about that Imperial excavation in Blackreach I…"
"The Dwemer have returned."
For the first time since he had met the Altmer historian, Lucius saw a look of surprise on the old man's face but his response was brisk and to the point.
"We shall discuss this in my private study."
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Calcelmo study was as cluttered and disorganised as always, but the old man simply threw aside half-finished projects and stacks of research notes as he sat down, motioning quickly for Lucius to do the same, his face flushed and red faced.
"Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
Taking a deep breath, Lucius began.
"I was with a legion of the Imperial Army on the slopes of Red Mountain, working alongside the armies of House Redoran to push the Dominion and their Argonian allies back into Black Marsh. The force we were up against was the last obstacle before we marched on Black Marsh. The battle was going well, the Dominion's main force was nowhere to be seen then…they appeared. A whole army of Dwemer soldiers, automatons, everything. It was like nothing I had ever fought before. I mean, I've fought automatons and against people using dwarven arms and armour, but this was completely different. It was like fighting against a mountain or an ocean wave. Their armour was thick, their shields broad, their weapons….cut like the swords of Oblivion." He said, pausing for a moment, remembering the horror of seeing his brave friend Mjoll the Lioness hacked in two by a Centurion, the splash of blood across the shining gold axe blade. "I called upon all my powers, the Legion fought with the ferocity of Nordic berserkers. But none of it mattered. Even when I called in Odahviing he could barely make a dent in the Dwemer's ranks. I had to run… and I hate to say it but, if I hadn't, I would have died."
Calcelmo nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he said. "How did these Dwemer 'appear' as you put it?"
Lucius sighed. "It was insane. The whole Dominion army was lined up ready to fight then they started just dropping dead. It was a few at first, then entire regiments would just fall and die without a word, but you could see in their faces expressions of unimaginable pain. It was horrific."
"This is old and powerful magic Lucius." Calcelmo said simply, his face pale. "You may have used or heard of soul gems. Many use them. Mages and warriors alike. But the magic they use is an old and powerful one."
Lucius nodded, but he felt his skin crawl as he remembered the terrifying trip he and Serana had made to the nightmarish realm of the Soul Cairn. He had vowed one day that he would find a way to free those lost souls, and he knew that he would one day. "I know the magic of souls." He said simply as Calcelmo continued.
"But the use of souls in magic is not just through gems and soul trapping spells. The ancient Nords of the Dragon cult are known to have used ancient and terrible magic in their rituals called soul exchange- a life for a life, to put it simply. It's not my area of expertise, but I have heard theories that the Draugr of Nordic ruins are a result of these rituals, where one soul is sacrificed to bring another into this world, or to bind a soul to an object or body. I have believed for some time that this is how the Dwemer's automatons worked. They would sacrifice one soul, probably some poor captive of theirs, to bring their machines to life. But, you say that a whole army was wiped out by this magic?"
"Thousands. Elves and animals alike." Lucius said, still remembering the horror of watching an entire army wiped out in an instant.
Calcelmo was silent for a second before then saying "This is terrible magic. The Dwemer returning is an awful thing indeed.
"I thought you loved the Dwemer?" Lucius said with a furrowed brow. "Their technology, their society, this city is built upon that." He added, gesturing at the ornately carved stone room they sat in, reverberating with the distant clank of machinery.
"I respect them yes…" the old Altmer said evenly. "But don't mistake that respect for any kind of sympathy or affinity. They were a noble race in many ways of course. There are many stories of their skill in battle and the bravery and honour of their leaders and peoples. But they were in many ways an inherently evil race. They thought themselves above all others. The Dwemer of Skyrim blinded and tortured the Snow Elves into savage monsters. They slaughtered the ancient Chimer of Morrowind and the Nords of Skyrim alike. Their weapons of war cut through any and all whom faced them. No, Lucius…" he said sadly. "The return of the Dwemer is a curse upon Tamriel. Now, I need to know more before you leave. I know you must be ready to go and fight them. A noble quest at least, but I fear that thousands of years of technology and progress by the rest of Tamriel will be nothing compared to the armies of the Dwemer. Did you see any striking features or warriors in the Dwemer armies?"
Lucius furrowed his brow, remembering the awful scene playing out on the slopes of Red Mountain. "I remember automatons. Hundreds of them. Centurions, Spheres, Spiders bigger than men."
"It appears wherever the Dwemer have been they managed to make new automatons. All of their old ones were left behind when they disappeared. Wherever they have been, they still have the resources to outfit a new army." Calcelmo said, then gestured for Lucius to continue.
"There were warriors atop giant golden spiders, riding them like a man would a horse. They cut through General Tullius' Firstborn cavalry without even trying…"
"The Riders of Dahaka. I remember seeing a passage on them in one of my texts on the Rourken Clan of Hammerfell. The Redguards of old were hunted across the Al'ikr Desert by these riders in what they termed 'The Day of Red Sands'."
Lucius' eyes widened. He hadn't expected these ancient Dwemer regiments to still be active. But still he felt compelled to learn more as he spoke. "There were also these warriors, draped in blue cloaks, carrying long spears and with golden masks in the style of beautiful women."
"They are called the Guard of Kemel Ze, bodyguards to the king that resided in that ancient city by the sea in Morrowind. I have only seen a few tales mentioning them, but it appears that they were composed entirely of female Dwemer. This is very strange and foreboding indeed for these two great regiments to fight alongside each other…"
"Why?" Lucius demanded. He was, as Calcelmo had guessed, itching to be out there and fighting the Dwemer. But he knew he had much to learn, so sat forward in his seat as the old Altmer spoke again.
"You must understand my friend that the Dwemer were not a united peoples. If they had, they would have overrun and conquered all in their path. You see, the Riders of Dahaka are from the Rourken Clan of Hammerfell and the Guard of Kemel Ze hail from Morrowind, both of whom were deadly enemies whilst still on Tamriel. If you had known more of the different Dwemer clans when on the battlefield, you may have seen differences in colouring, emblems and insignia throughout the army. I fear that, wherever they have been for millennia, the Dwemer have united behind one leader to conquer all of Tamriel. And I don't believe that any army, of Men or of Mer, can stand against them…" he added darkly.
Lucius sighed deeply as Calcelmo stood up, a grim look on the elf's features as he said. "However that is not to say that I don't still have hope. Although the Dwemer are unlikely to agree to any kind of diplomacy, if what you saw at Red Mountain is any indicator, there may still be a chance of defeating them. I for one, will gather what texts and information I have and ride for Cyroddil. If anyone is in a position to stop the Dwemer, it is the legions of the Empire."
As he said this he turned for the door, then looked back at Lucius again as the Imperial asked.
"What if we can't stop them?"
Calcelmo looked him in the eye, and Lucius knew the elf was entirely honest in his words as he spoke.
"Well my friend, if the Dwemer win and enslave us all, what they did to the Snow Elves will seem almost merciful in comparison…"