They had no leads. The truth had outed itself, but they had no leads to further hinder the insidious plot to usher Clavicus Vile into Tamriel. It was infuriating for all involved, but Neria was most frustrated.
The Imperial mage named Derrick had kidnapped her older sister. Until she could get her hands on Derrick's neck or Dawnbreaker through his chest, she could not rest easily. Simultaneously, however, she had no clue where to begin. Elsera seemed convinced she could find a lead, a possible answer, at the College. Neria wasn't sure why, but then again, Elsera had come back with a warning that suggested a Daedric Prince was up to no good... from nothing. If anyone could pull a potential answer or lead from thin air, it would be Elsera... or whomever did it for her.
Neria longed for a drink at Candlehearth Hall, or a chance to just lose herself in the mind-numbing work at the White Phial, even if for a while. She almost missed Nurelion's snippy attitude; she definitely missed Quintis. For even a brief moment, she just wanted to forget she'd had anything to do with this whole bandit thing... it had escalated into something she'd never dreamed possible, let alone something she'd ever be part of.
She did not like being at Ulfric Stormcloak's beck and call, especially considering she was originally supposed to have nothing to do with him; his rather racist attitude definitely did not improve her first impression of him, either. He'd since earned her respect, but to her, he was always going to be 'the xenophobic High King of Skyrim'. She was doubly irritated that he all but denied her a chance to relax and unwind since she'd first begun working for him.
Perhaps he finally noticed the impact her collective exhaustion was having on her ability to work or function on the whole; he granted her a day off, a chance to rest her mind and relax. To that end, she'd spent most of her day off in the White Phial, catching up with Quintis, enduring Nurelion's coarse comments, and otherwise helping out around the shop. Once they closed, she was off to Candlehearth Hall, more than ready for a drink or three to help her forget, even briefly, what had transpired.
"You look like someone who can hold their liquor!" The speaker was a man with black hair in a black robe, and he'd addressed her a few seconds after she sat down next to him and slumped forward, resting her head on her crossed arms. The exclamation made her glance at the man. "How would you like to take part in a drinking contest to win a staff?"
At first, she was going to decline. She had no interest in collecting a staff, especially not as a result of a drinking contest... but then she thought about it a moment longer. Hadn't she come all this way out to Candlehearth Hall to have a drink or three? She glanced at her arms for a moment, then back at the man.
"Alright, sure." The drinking would be just what she needed, and if she won, then she'd get a staff; if not, no big deal. There really was no possible downside to this that she could see.
"Excellent!" he beamed. "Oh yeah, by the way, my name's Sam. Sam Guevenne."
"Neria," she replied, nodding at him. "Ne..." She hesitated, not sure how the use of her birth name would affect him.
"Neria...?" he urged. He was not letting this go.
"...Ravell," she murmured quietly, so as not to catch anyone else's attention.
"Nice to meet you, friend!" he proclaimed. "Now then, how about that contest?" His cheerful disposition was certainly catchy; she found a smile creeping to her lips.
"This is my first drinking contest," she admitted, "but I think I've got this."
"Hah! Spoken like a true rookie!" Sam grinned. "Alright then, I've got this really special brew, packs a big punch. Still up for it?"
"Trying to scare me away?" she taunted.
"Is it working?" he said, quirking a brow.
"Not in the slightest," she chuckled. "Now stop delaying, Sam, or I'll think you're afraid of losing your precious staff."
"Very funny," he mused. "I'll start us off, then!"
"Augur!" Elsera shouted. She was in the chamber once more, the pit before her. Unlike last time, the pit did not glow blue. "Augur, answer me! I need to talk to you!" Still nothing. She was starting to wonder if she was being ignored; it would certainly fit his superiority complex. Her hands still balled into fists, though, and she drew a deep breath. For a second, she considered shouting again, but let the breath out in a slow sigh. She spun on her heel and stalked toward the door.
She stopped before she could open the door, however, and glanced over her shoulder at the pit. Had she tried everything? She wondered about that. She bit her lower lip. It was clear he wasn't answering her calls... what if she...?
She spun fire and ice in her hands, then carefully tried to focus them together. It was her first time trying such a thing - and, as she expected, it faltered, winking out. She tried once again, this time trying to blend them together somehow. It faltered once more, and she grumbled under her breath. She'd start small, then. She launched a bolt of fire into the pit. Nothing happened, to her dismay. She tried ice next, thinking the blue associated with water and ice may have an effect. It didn't.
She tried various combinations: fire and frost, frost and shock, fire and shock... none of it worked out for her. The one she really wanted to try that was not working in the slightest - fire, frost and shock - was not cooperating. Still, she was determined to try it. Which of the elements blended easiest...? Fire and shock...? They both made sparks... She'd try combining them, then.
"Look at the industrious student," greeted her, making her jump. She glanced up to see the pit glowing blue.
"Where were you?" she growled.
"Not now. What, exactly, are you working on? Or were you working on, anyway?" he added, as if noting she'd dismissed the magics from her hands.
"Just... I don't know. I thought I could... 'wake' you, or something, and thought combinations of..."
"Fire, frost and shock together," he said. "Intriguing. That's not been done since the days of the Oblivion Crisis. Properly combined, it's a devastating spell to be struck with. Few have tried it; those that did failed and blew themselves up."
She stared at the pit's glow. It was uncharacteristic of the Augur to speak so... well, not in riddles.
"I mastered it, once. I can guide you through the steps, if you want."
She blinked at the offer, then considered it a moment longer. She really had nothing to lose, but definitely something to gain.
"Alright," she said after a long pause. "So how do I-"
"First, let me see your best attempt. Try again."
She blinked, but ultimately complied. She went with fire and shock, thinking it would be best. She concentrated both into her palms, then began to bring her hands together.
"Wrong. That is exactly how the others blew themselves up." The Augur's words stopped her. "You have the right idea, but do not force them to merge."
"What, let them merge of their own volition?" she shot back.
"I need a body... put your hand in the pit."
She stared into the pit. Those words were quite ominous, but he was trying to help... what was he...? She hesitated briefly, then complied. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the pit, and she gasped. It felt like ashes, but they were cold as ice.
"Hold your other hand out in front of you," he instructed. She complied, and a moment later, she watched fire wrap around her wrist. She stared as ice covered her fingers, then felt the crackle of lightning in her palm. Then she watched as the fire flew forward, engulfed the ice, then continued forth; as it did, she noticed the ice was gone from her fingers. She couldn't see it, but she imagined the fire and ice had connected with the lightning. A brief flash radiated from her palm, and she stared, wide-eyed, as the magical bolt of three elements flew from her palm and into the wall on the far side of the chamber. There was no scorching blast, no frigid shattering sound, no crackle of lightning or a thundering boom... just a flash of white light. When the blast dissipated, she saw the point of impact had been stained white.
"What-"
"In the days of the Oblivion Crisis, I believe it was called 'Wizard's Fury'. In this day and age, you may yet be able to call it something else, should you manage to perfect it yourself. A blast of magic that strikes the foe with all three elements, exploiting multiple weaknesses and overcoming many resistances and, in some cases, immunities. That was Wizard's Fury. What I demonstrated, however, was something far stronger... pure magicka, no element. Very similar to what you saw in Labyrinthian, except not... 'wild', as you called it. Nothing resists it, and no immunity to pure magicka exists in this day and age. No natural creature resists it, and there are no means of crafting such immunity in this era. Yet."
Power. That spell was pure power. Elsera's hand clenched slowly, and she tried to envision all she could do with such a power under her command... how much evil she could purge, how many people she could protect-
"Yours is a noble soul," he mused. "Not all who know how about pure magicka seek to wield it for good." A sound like a sigh echoed through the room. "I, sadly, was not one of those number. I once sought to wield it for my own selfish purposes, and damn everyone else. I mastered the art of small bolts of pure magicka, but tried for something stronger... larger. I came down here, to this very chamber, and drew a ritual circle in this very pit. I endeavored to perfect what I thought was a unique power, something I believed I had invented. I believed there were no limits to what I could do, what I could accomplish... what I could become." A chuckle echoed through the room. "I was right in the last regard," he continued. "There was an error in the ritual circle, something I had overlooked in my eager haste. I invoked my power... and it tore my body to nothingness. My body perished... burned to the ashes you see within this circle. Yet... I lived. My spirit remained, not as a ghost. I became... something more than human, a living creature... but I was not dead, either."
She blinked at all he said. It was quite a bit to take in... and it as also the most he'd ever said to her in a single go.
"One such as you does not deserve to suffer the same fate I did. To that end, I shall ensure you get this right and master it." His pit - his grave, his ashes - pulsed brightly for a moment. "Now, recall what I did. Try and replicate it."
She looked at her outstretched hand, and tried to recreate it. A ring of fire about her wrist... it took some effort, but she ultimately succeeded in creating it.
"Good. Next step."
She tried to line her fingers with ice, but felt a sharp stabbing pain in her hand instead. She cried out, and all at once, the ring of fire and the tiny slivers of ice she'd created were gone; all that remained was a small cut on the back of her hand.
"What was...?" she murmured, eyeing the cut. It hurt, but it didn't bleed; in fact, it was already starting to heal over.
"The most common mistake to make," he intoned. "Focus on too much at once, and the powers clash together as you try to form them. Their clash internalizes... I imagine I don't need to tell you the rest."
"Then how do I do this?" she asked, looking into the pit.
"Trust." He offered no further explanation.
"...Excuse me?"
"Trust the ring of fire will not disappear. Trust your ice-encrusted fingers will not break the frost coating them. Trust the sparks at your palm will not fly wildly and out of control. Once they are formed, trust they will hold their form... and push them from your consciousness. Focus only one one thing at a time."
She sighed softly, and prepared to try again. As she moved her hand, though, she felt the pain jolt through her hand for a brief moment once more. It caused her to wince, and she hesitated.
"Ignore everything else," he instructed. "Push everything out, anything that could distract you and cost you the spell - and thus, your life."
She once again began to form the ring of fire around her wrist, and gave a small nod as it completed... but wasn't sure if it would hold if she released her focus from it. It was counterproductive to all she'd ever learned before, about concentration to maintain a spell. The ring of fire was a spell... wasn't it?
She only had one way to find out. Without another thought, she released the spell from her focus, and quickly began to line her fingers with ice.
As she did so, she notice the ring of fire remained. Her hopes soared, and she continued her slow but steady work.
Mia was in Candlehearth Hall when Neria had arrived. On any other day, she'd have greeted the Breton and invited her to share a drink... but not only did some man calling himself Sam Guevenne beat her to it, she wasn't really in the mood to share a drink with anyone.
She was trying to drown her own troubles. That day at Mount Anthor kept flashing over and over in her mind.
The Slow Time Shout took hold instantly. Mia knew she only had a single chance to get this right; once the Shout wore off, she and Elsera were both quite likely dead. With their fall slowed, however, she had a greater chance of burying the axe deep enough to halt their rapid descent.
She swung her war axe at the cliff side, trying to bury it; the weapon clanged uselessly off the stone. She struck again and again, but each time, it only bounced off with a sharp ringing noise. It was no good; she needed more strength behind her swing. She needed both arms.
She glanced down at Elsera briefly, who clung tightly to her with her own arms. She hoped to all that was holy that the Dunmer did not let go, and released Elsera. To her relief, the elf didn't descend; she was latched on, as if her life depended on it. And it did, Mia mused.
She put it from her mind, then gripped the haft of her war axe with both hands. She drew the weapon back, then swung, with all of her might, at the cliff side.
She and Elsera were both snapped upward suddenly; the sudden downward motion caused Elsera to slip a bit, and she began to slide off of Mia. The Akaviri woman reached down, however, and seized the back of the Dunmer's collar, pulling her up so Elsera could fix her hold on Mia; once she was back up, Mia's arm slid around Elsera and squeezed her firmly against her.
The axe was holding this time. Mia hoped it would hold long enough for the others to arrive below them and facilitate a rescue.
They had. Several long minutes after the Slow Time Shout had worn off, several agonizing minutes after her arm had tired beyond all imagination and she felt as if she couldn't hold onto her war axe any longer, soldiers massed below them. At their urging and promises of her safety, Elsera had released Mia and fallen into their arms, safely caught. When it was Mia's turn, she took a moment longer than Elsera did - ripping her ebony war axe free, she fell backward, felt numerous hands catch her and keep her alive.
She and Elsera were heralded as heroes for slaying the beast, which had disappeared shortly after it died; Elsera had compared its sudden disappearance with what happened to summoned creatures when they died. They all agreed Derrick must have summoned the creature; the Stormcloak named Galar confirmed the theory with his story.
Not everything had been happy and bright, however. When Mia had found Adalla, she could not understand why the high elf seemed so furious with her Akaviri partner. The more Mia pushed, the more agitated Adalla became. It finally culminated in a fierce slap across Mia's cheek. She didn't know which stung more at the time, the slap or the fact that the woman she loved had struck her.
A week later, Mia decided it was the latter. Her cheek felt fine, but still an agonizing sting lingered. A week later, Mia couldn't figure out what had made Adalla so furious. Attempts to talk to Adalla had earned her nothing but a cold shoulder from the elf; two days ago, Adalla had stalked out of the city and hired a carriage to Riften for one person and a saber cat. She climbed into the wagon, beckoned Adima to jump in; when Mia tried to follow, the glare Adalla shot her was one of pain, anger and disbelief. It had been more than enough to freeze Mia in her tracks, such that she could only watch the wagon pull away and make its way south toward Riften.
Mia had been left behind by the one she loved, by the one she thought of as family. The pain of that was more than she could bear, and she spent much of her time in Candlehearth Hall now. No matter how much she drank, though, she could not forget her problems. It was probably just as well, all told; she needed to figure out what exactly it had been she'd done wrong.
The complicated part, then, would be convincing Adalla to forgive her for whatever it was. Mia let a bitter chuckle escape her throat before swirling her mug of sujamma, imported from Solstheim, and taking a long drought of the Dunmeri alcohol.
Far easier said than done. Mia, a woman of Akavir and one of the era's Dragonborn, had what she considered to be her greatest challenge yet looming before her.
How she wished she was facing Miraak again.
A.N. - Ah, the moments following a simultaneous victory and defeat.
Neria. I'd mulled this idea around for quite some time - sending her on a trip around Skyrim, courtesy of Sanguine. It may seem to be pointless (all three occurrences may seem pointless, in fact), but it's setting the stage for what happens as a result of her decision.
One thing that's always intrigued me is just what exactly happened to the Augur. When I realized we don't know exactly what happened to him, I decided to take some creative liberties. I also thought it'd be kind of fun to make him formerly power-hungry, only for him to realize the folly as he now is. In keeping with the contemplation of how he'd cast spells - if he can do so at all - I figured someone having contact with 'him' (his ashes), he could focus his own power that way. I'm rather pleased with how it turned out, myself; he holds immense power, but can't use it at all if anybody distrusts him.
How does one set the stage for a horrifying event in which Mia or Adalla is involved, and unable to triumph with relative ease? Separate them, of course. Adalla has her reasons for being so furious; if it's not readily apparent yet, give it until next chapter. By then, however, it will be close to too late - and by the time they're reunited, it -will- be too late. (Because that's not ominous in the slightest.)
So, in all, not the most exciting chapter, perhaps - in comparison to what's happened thus far with Derrick and Vile and the plot to open a portal - but it does set the stage somewhat for what occurs next.
-Spiritslayer
