A/N: Hello and welcome once again! Thanks to everyone who came to read the last chapter, and to lluvialpz who faved and OnnaMusha who left me some reviews. I love getting feedback so much, whether it's positive or constructive, so even if you didn't like the chapter I still like to hear from you! Hope everyone enjoys this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing about what Llovesi finds in Bamz-Aschend!
Chapter 15: Ruins Within Ruins
The hall of Bamz-Amschend was just as cavernous as Llovesi remembered it, though fortunately it was silent this time. One of the ancient pillars had crumbled, coming to rest just below the hole that had been gouged in the wall, where Llovesi was currently crouched. The blue-glass ovals set into the stone of the pillar twinkled almost invitingly in the light of her torch. Llovesi responded to the welcome, dropping carefully out of the tunnel, grasping the ledge for the briefest of moments then letting herself fall onto the pillar.
She didn't understand this calm feeling upon entering the ruin, as she scrambled down the pillar, casting the light of her torch around. By all rights she should be a panicked bundle of nerves, stressing about enchanting Trueflame, defeating Almalexia and rescuing Julan. She had been a near-constant bundle of nerves since coming to Mournhold, and this was the most serene she had felt.
It wasn't as if she'd ever had a positive experience in the ancient Dwemer strongholds on Vvardenfell either. But still something called to her in this one, as if she could take one more step and walk into the past. It called to that same small part of her that, without magic or explanation, still found Almalexia attractive.
"I'm Llovesi," she whispered, a tiny plea in the echoing, dark hall.
Her feet found hard ground and she stopped to get her bearings. The hall seemed to be in astonishing condition, considering its age. Only two pillars had broken, one being the one she had just climbed down, and Llovesi imagined it was due to the battle a few days prior, not to any degradation over time. No, the Dwemer built things to last. Even braziers still burnt down here; perhaps powered by whatever technology they had created. Llovesi glanced at the scabbard on her hip. The sight of this technology gave her hope.
Bodies still littered the ground. The flesh parts of the fabricants had started to decay, and a thick gagging smell choked the air. Some creatures had been buried under chunks of stone, some Dwemer constructs also crushed to death; their powering soul gems shattered on the ground.
The other broken pillar was blocking one of the exits from the hall, so Llovesi turned right, her hand on Trueflame's hilt as she walked towards the only accessible door. It revealed another hall, smaller than the first, though still incredibly spacious. It was lined with many doors that led onto smaller rooms, with many shelves. Some sort of storage. Llovesi passed through the maze of forgotten objects: parts of machinery, rusted weapons and armour, sacks that had rotted away until they were barely a breath of material. But no books.
There were no constructs or centurions to disturb her search at least. She came across a few, broken and littering the riveted metal floor. Here and there they were scratches, metal flooring pulled loose, revealing bare rock. Evidence of a fight. Perhaps they had been destroyed by the investigating Ordinators, or by Almalexia herself. For Llovesi remembered the name of Bamz-Amschend now. Home to the Weather Witch. Maybe she would find a way of stopping the ash storms while she was here.
The next large hall revealed many tables and chairs, all in the same burnished metal, flickering under the light of the braziers. The doors at the sides held beds, the sheets and mattresses long since rotted away. Most disturbing of all, the were small piles of dark ash beneath these beds, small piles sitting in armour, as if the wearer had simply vanished one day.
How far had the Ordinators come? Maybe she was the first person to set eye on these halls in centuries, Llovesi thought as she gazed at the sad little heaps of ash. What happened to you?
Part of this revelation came when, out of seemingly nowhere, a spider centurion launched itself at her. She drew her spear as it skittered round her feet, and plunged the tip into the metal, crushing it and breaking the soul gem that held the creature in animation.
Through the door at the end, down the winding passages she went. How deep am I now? Another large hall. Bamz-Amschend was far larger and more spacious than any ruin Llovesi had every set foot in before. She crossed the threshold of this latest hall and, this time, she was stepping into the past. I've seen this place before.
The breathlessness hit her chest as if she'd been submerged into ice water. She remembered it as clear as day. He had led her here, in her sleep. Led her by the hand past the guests, the dead and rotting guests. Dagoth Ur had talked with every one, while maggots writhed in their mouths in response. And she had woken, the same breathlessness pushing her tongue to her mouth and slicking her body with sweat.
It was real. Who's eyes had she seen through in the dream? Had it been a dream at all? But the banqueting hall was so empty it might never have been inhabited. Llovesi hurried past the long dusty table and waiting chairs, hurried deeper into the ruin. She felt stretched, distant, at war with herself. The sooner she finished her business here, the better.
The hall led onto another long winding corridor, with slopes taking her ever further down. Strange machinery stilled whirred above: long-blades that moved in a circular fashion, the last ghosts of the Dwemer's presence sending a gentle breeze from above.
She could hear more machinery from a room at the end of the corridor, and she pushed the metal door open with her shoulder.
Well, there were the books. Stacked abundantly on desks, in the shadows of a giant Dwemer construct and clicking machines, being read by, well, what was that she had thought about the Dwemer's last ghosts...?
The man was tall, robed and armoured, with an impressive long beard of dark curls and with pointed ears. He was also vaguely transparent, the metal walls showing slightly through his form. The man–no mer, he was Dwemer–turned round as the metal door behind Llovesi slammed shut.
"What?" he barked, and his voice was both far-off and loud. "What are you staring at, you gormless child? You look like you've never seen a Dwarf before!"
Llovesi managed to shut her mouth. "Not for a while," she said.
"Oh, yes." The Dwemer waved an impatient hand, turning back to the book he was studying. "Forgot about that. Dumb fools zapped themselves out of existence, didn't they? Course that was long after I fell in battle... and long before you were even born from the looks of it, little whelp. Feels like only yesterday they all left me here alone. Why are you bothering me anyway? Leave an old spirit to his haunts."
He was now hunched firmly over his book, apparently deeming the one-sided conversation closed.
"Those books," Llovesi said, moving into the room. "Do they say anything about enchanting blades?"
"Damned if I know," the Dwemer replied, scanning the texts and magically flicking the pages rapidly. "Almost completely decipherable, aren't they? Course, that's what you get when barely educated troopers keep diaries. Been working on them for, well, centuries probably, though it's hard to tell. Still can't make hide nor hair of most of it."
"It's just, I need to enchant this blade," Llovesi persevered, pulling Trueflame from its scabbard. "I need to add fire to it, and was told that maybe I would find out how down here, from the mystics that enchanted it years ago."
This caught his attention finally, and he swept across the room to her, staring at Trueflame. His expression was some strange mix of anger and curiosity, his dark eyebrows furrowed and his eyes widening. He ran his long fingers through the transparent curls of his beard.
"Ha! You're looking for a mystic? Got none of those left. I was just a soldier, kid, plain and simple. Radac Stungnthumz was the name, still is, if there're any left to call me by it. But you say you want to add fire to that blade?"
"Yes. Can you help with that?"
Radac took the blade from her with the same telekinetic magic he had used to turn the pages of his book.
"Sure, sure," he said distractedly, spinning the blade in the air between his ghostly hands. "Made weapons for my troops all the time, didn't I? If fire is all you want I can take care of that for you myself! You don't need a mystic, whelp. Can make a real nice 'fiery blade' for you, I remember when they were all the rage. I swear, no one is happy with a simple blade that cleaves bone... always need the special effects."
He seemed in danger of being even more distracted. Llovesi waited patiently, then decided to prompt him.
"So, will you do it?" she asked.
"What? Yes, yes, don't nag me at me whelp. I've been here more years than steps you've taken in this old place. Just remember that. I'll do it, but I'll need some Pyroil Tar–"
"Some what?"
"Let me finish! Pyroil Tar, Pyroil Tar... never heard of it? Course, it's probably one of those old techniques that've vanished over the years... centuries. Anyway used to have some here in my forge... but I guess that was a long time ago. Probably all gone now, all been looted away. My guess is by those dratted Daedra–"
"What Daedra?" Llovesi asked.
"Always with the interruptions! Always with the questions! If you were my trooper I'd have you whipped! Those dratted Daedra in the lower caves of Norenen-dur, in the Citadel of Myn Dhrur. It's an old ruin far beneath Bamz-Amschend. Deep, deep caves. An old Daedric ruin. Fool Dunmer... worshipping those beasts. More fool us, for building our barracks right on top of it. Ruins within ruins, kid. Anyway, listen close, and no interrupting.
"Go back the way you came, take a left then take the second left. You'll go through some rubble into what we used to call 'The Passage of the Walker'. Access to Norenen-dur is there, though I reckon it's one of the passages that got caved in when that bloody Daedra invaded the city. You Chimer? No? Falmer. Eh, some sort of mer. You got magicka anyway–blow up the cave-ins or something. Pyroil Tar'll be in a little metal jar, smells like coal. Take care down there, youngster. No telling what you may run into. You might discover a new way to die. That'd be something, at least. You should be able to find some tar, though. Bring that back to me."
He placed the blade back into her hands and Llovesi took it, careful to avoid the sharp edge.
"Fine-looking blade by the way," the Dwemer said, in a slightly begrudging tone. "That's the old craftsmanship, right there. You treat it right. Don't lose it or anything."
Llovesi bit back her sarcastic response, reminding herself that the cranky soldier had decided to help her.
"I'll be back before you know it," she said instead, sheathing the blade and walking back the way she came.
"I doubt that," Radac muttered, watching her go. "I didn't get to where I am now by letting whelps surprise me!"
Radac's instructions were clear, precise and, above all, easy to follow. Down here in the deep halls the only sounds were Llovesi's light footsteps on the riveted floor, the way her breath hitched in her throat, and occasionally an echo of a creak from above. The ruins were standing up to the test of time remarkably well, which was why 'The Passage of the Walker' came as such a surprise when she broke through the rockfall.
It still bore the scars of its history. Long gouges in the walls and floor–Llovesi shivered, thinking of the vicious claws of Daedroths and the cruel weapons wielded by Dremora. The yellowed metal of the floor had been ripped up in even more patches, and there were more fallen rocks, fixed in place by time. No braziers burnt here, and Llovesi took a new torch from her pack and lit it with a spark from her fingers.
She took in all this damage in the flickering light, then made for one of the rock piles, one she hoped was blocking the tunnel to Norenen-Dur. Crouching by it, Llovesi listened intently. Then she rose to her feet, frowning, and moved to the next pile of rubble. Here she smiled grimly, hearing what she was searching for. The distant whistle of wind chasing through tunnels beyond.
She cleared the passageway the same way she had the first, releasing a powerful burst of heat and power that knocked her back, but cleared a gap in the rubble. The cumulative effect of both explosions was now clear on her skin in numerous tight, darkish burns. There was little that could be done about those now–Llovesi decided not to waste her few healing potions on burns that, given her race, were not too much of an inconvenience. She could drink another potion to restore her magicka though, not knowing what she would face below. Then, she stepped forward cautiously, sending the light of her torch dancing off the walls of the newly cleared passage.
It dropped away steeply from what she could see, old carved rock heading ever downwards into the gloom. Cool air was coming from somewhere down there, it ruffled through her braids as she swallowed hard and started to descend. Llovesi didn't know how long it took to carefully walk down the passageway, always conscious of tripping, conscious of the wounds she'd already sustained: scrapes and burns and bruises from the battle the day before.
After what felt like hours, though she sincerely hoped it wasn't, the passage levelled out and became waterlogged. Llovesi splashed into the ankle-deep flood and followed it further onwards, the orange light of her torch flickering on the old walls. Then the passageway ended suddenly, blocked by a distinctive dark red stone. Llovesi guessed it hadn't been the true entrance to the Daedric citadel anyway, only a cleared passageway that had been created after the ruin sunk beneath the earth. The wall had a large gap clawed between two hunks of stone, probably large enough to allow two figures to slip through at a time.
Beyond the wall, the architecture was low and constrictive: short corridors with narrow spiked walls and ceilings that nearly brushed the top of Llovesi's head. She moved cautiously through the cramped and claustrophobic halls, thanking Azura when she finally stumbled upon a door. When she opened it, she could only gape.
She'd entered an impossibly large cavern, the ceiling obscured in shadow. There were great, flat stone steps set against the walls, and winding round pillars, reaching into the heights of the cavern. The only thing Llovesi could think to compare it to was the Urshilaku Burial Caverns that she had visited last year, though those had felt peaceful and calm. This stairwell was foreboding in its very nature, dizzying architecture and angry red angles. Still, what choice did she have? Llovesi drew her glass spear, and began to climb to the top, taking the large steps two at a time. Where were all the Daedra? Because even though the ruin no longer held worshippers, she expected the creatures bound to the place to still roam its halls, much like the forgotten Dwemer centurions above.
She had to pause half way up, clutching at a stitch in her side. From this point she could see neither the top, nor the bottom from whence she came. She shuddered, and moved onwards.
Finally, she came across a great stone door with a ring set in its centre. She still couldn't see the top of the stone cavern, but the twisting steps ended here. Like the doors in Ald Daedroth, this door was shaped like a seashell, and had probably once born intricate designs before time had mostly beaten them away. She took hold of the ring, and pushed. She could read the carved Daedric lettering around the handle; it had not yet succumbed to the years. Myn Dhrur.
Llovesi blinked in the sudden light of many braziers, and cast her torch aside. She was standing on a flight of steps, over-looking a sunken hall. Daedric buildings and halls had been built into the great cavern, but even their impressive towering shapes were dwarfed by the sheer vastness of the place. Below her, water extended in all direction, buildings like little crimson islands peeked above the flood. On the opposite side of the cave, a raised dais mirrored the steps she stood on. And there…
Llovesi moved forward carefully, squinting in the shifting light. There on the dais, was a pile of objects, some glittering in the light. Balanced on the pile was a throne and lounging in the throne, was a Dremora.
He stood as Llovesi descended the steps, and raised his arms wide in front of his throne.
"A mortal intruder! I am Khash-Ti Dhrur, and this is my citadel!"
His voice was like metal that had learnt to speak, like the blood of a thousand slain foes screaming. It raised Llovesi's skin into cold bumps, but she kept walking, splashing through the water until she stood at the foot of his dais. While she approached she kept her eye on the nearby sinking buildings, but no other Daedra reared their heads.
She stood before him finally. She had never come so close to a Dremora that wasn't yet attacking her. His skin was bright red and somehow hard looking, swirled with intricate black tattoos. Two curling horns burst from his brow, nestling in his thick dark hair. His eyes were a deep, glittering black, and he licked his lips with a long black tongue as she approached, crossing his arms over his armoured chest. The Daedric plate armour covered his entire broad body, save his face, and a large warhammer hung at his hip.
"No mortal had breached these halls in centuries!" His voice splintered its way through the air. "What is your purpose? Assuage my curiosity quickly, and I shall reward you with a faster death! You have breached the citadel of a Kynmarcher, and must suffer my consequences!"
"I'm looking for some Pyroil Tar," Llovesi said defiantly, raising herself to her full height and staring into the Dremora's sneering face. She could now see the treasure that cradled his throne. Pieces of armour, and bright jewels. Rusted weapons, and hunks of metal. Books, mechanisms, and other plunder, ripped and looted from the halls above and brought stone here to pad this creature's ego. And there, a little metal jar.
"So, your purpose is a thief's purpose! When I have killed you, I shall feast on your flesh, mortal! When you are dead I shall send your soul to my Lord in the Deadlands! To arms my brethren!"
He sent Llovesi back with a sudden blow with his hammer, winding her as she fell to the ground. She could hear the sound of many footsteps approaching as she forced herself from the ground. All manner of Daedra were coming, from the distant reaches of the flooded hall, for them–for her. Golden Saints and Dremora and Daedroths and Ogrims and Clannfear and Scamps and some dark-skinned Daedra of a female aspect that Llovesi didn't recognise. All the servants of the Four Corners. She knew instantly that she didn't have a hope in surviving them, and also that accepting this thought would mean her end. And she had too much to live for.
She pushed hard against the ground and flipped back onto her feet. Then she launched herself at Khash-Ti Dhrur. The Dremora seemed taken by surprise at her sudden and direct attack, and they fell over together into his pile of looted treasure. His hot breath tickled her ear as she rose first and punched him hard in the gut, ignoring the pain as her first connected with metal of his armour. She hit him again in the face, when he seized her wrist and held it so hard the bone protested.
"Foolish, mortal!" he hissed, seizing her neck with his other hand as the army of Daedra began to ascend the steps of the dais behind them. "You fight in vain! If you surrender now I will kill you personally, instead of throwing you to the hoard!"
Llovesi allowed herself to be lifted into the air, then kicked Khash-Ti Druhr hard in the face. He dropped her and fell back again. Blood burning in her veins, Llovesi dove at the pile of treasure and seized the small metal jar. It felt strangely warm in her hand, and she didn't need to bring it to her nose to know it was what she was looking for.
The first Daedric soldiers had breached the dais, and Llovesi ran at them. She grabbed her spear from where it hard fallen but, instead of a futile attack, she drove the butt into the ground and vaulted over their heads, landing at the foot of the steps with a splash. Behind her Khash-Ti Dhrur was clutching at his throat.
"Get her, you pitiful fools!" he croaked. "She has stolen from us!"
Llovesi ran through the water, sending great waves of spray into the air. The Daedra were on her heels, and she screamed as claws raked her back, opening her armour and the skin beneath as quickly and easily as unlacing a shirt. But she kept going, putting on a lung-tearing burst of speed and pulling herself up the steps she had come down, throwing herself back through the door to the staircase. She slammed it shut with her back, panting and streaked with blood and sweat. But she couldn't stop. She could hear explosions as Dremora and Daedroths cast fire and ice behind her, and she could hear the shrieks and wails of the Scamps and Clannfear.
The door shook behind her, so Llovesi ran, and she jumped.
Her entire body slammed into one of the stone pillars, and it took her remaining bit of strength not to let go and fall. Instead she clung to it, sliding down as the creatures of Oblivion shouted and screamed above her. Then it was back through into the very first passageway, darting this way and that, trying vainly to remember which way she'd come. All the passages looked the same, all menacing and low and blood red. Her sight failing, she could no longer ignore the agonising pain in her back, nor the aching of her limbs. Her breath became even shallower as she limped along, the Daedra behind her spurring her long. The cries echoed strangely in these corridors; it sounded as if they were coming from all sides. She grasped her hands tighter, her fists clenching on her spear and the small metal jar as she ran.
Then, through luck or some divine intervention, she saw the hole she had come through. But even if she escaped they would follow her. Llovesi screwed up her face, and summoned one last spell. Then, as she dove through the gap, she released a fiery maelstrom behind her, her most powerful explosion of the whole misadventure. The rumble resonated through the ruin and she rolled, picked herself up, and kept running. Rock began to fall, splashing behind her, blocking the way she had come. Every breath tore a hole in her chest now, and the passage way was growing dark even as she climbed upwards. The little jar was still warm in her hand. If I die here, it will all have been for nothing. No one else can stop Almalexia. No one else can save Julan...
... Llovesi. Keep going...
"Looks like you nearly did discover a new way to die, eh, whelp?"
A thousand Daedra pounded on the inside of her skull. Llovesi groaned and tried to sit up, and immediately wished she hadn't. Her back was stiff and sore–a great jolt of pain ran from her neck to the base of her spine. She screamed, and sunk backwards.
"Easy now. I may have saved your life, but the pain won't go away for a while. Magicka tends to be less effective when you're dead."
The room swam into focus.
"Radac?" Llovesi asked.
The face of the ghostly Dwemer moved backwards from hers.
"Right enough," he said. "I got tired of waiting, so I came down to the passage to look for you. Lucky I did. Looks like the Daedra had some fun with you. Still, sounds like you've cut them off down there, and you brought me the Pyroil Tar."
He moved his hands into her field of view, and between them, spinning softly in its own light, was a flaming blade.
"Trueflame," Llovesi whispered, and suddenly she didn't feel sore at all. She leapt to her feet, and grasped the blade by the hilt, wielding it with a flourish.
Radac looked as amused as his cantankerous face would allow.
"There's your shiny blade. Hope it was worth the aggravation. Now, I'd better just tell you how to work it, because the way you're waving it around suggests you're going to get yourself hurt."
Llovesi lowered the blade immediately. "Go on," she said.
Radac took the blade back, and held it upright. "Look at this depression in the centre of the blade," he said. "The oil sits here and, with the enchantment I've applied, flows down into the hilt where the enchanted flame mechanism is found. The blade will burn any way you wield it, unless,"–and he turned the blade so that the tip was facing the metal floor–"you turn it upside down. Then the oil flows out of the mechanism, and you can sheath it safely. Clever design, even if I do say so myself."
Between them, Trueflame's fire faltered, then winked out. Llovesi took it, and held it upright again, watching in wonder as the enchantment sprang to life. Then she held it upside down as Radac had shown her, then sheathed it.
"Thank you," she said.
Radac waved a hand. "Go on now. I'd ask you what your intentions were, but then I don't much care. Goodbye."
The reminder of why she'd reforged Trueflame in the first place stirred Llovesi's memory.
"Radac, has Almalexia been down here?" she asked.
The spirit stared at her as if she'd lost all her wits. "Now why on Nirn would your Dunmeri Goddess come down here?" he asked incredulously. "I think those Daedra addled your brain!"
"She's set up the Kar–uh... the Weather Witch. Set it so there are ashstorms in Mournhold."
"Well, that's a damn strange thing to do. Why do you fool Dunmer worship her anyway? She was always a bit highly strung, if I remember my youth correctly. Come to think of it though, yours were not the first footsteps I've heard down here recently." He fixed her with another glare. "You all suddenly remember this place exists, or what?"
"Is there a way to reach the Weather Witch? To shut it off?"
Radac waved his hand irritably. "What am I, a tour guide all of a sudden? I fixed your pretty sword, didn't I? And now you have even more questions! Look, the path to Skybreak Gallery is blocked. Seen it myself, when I came down here to find you. Only this rock fall looks recent, and I'm guessing it's more than you can blast your way through. So, here are some instructions: forget about it."
"But–"
"Are you deaf? Take your sword and leave me now! If you want to talk about the Karstangz-Bcharn you talk to your Goddess, not me. Here are some more instructions: turn around. Place left foot forward. Place right foot forward. Now repeat these steps until you're out of my damn sight!"
Llovesi gave up and left. Even if she couldn't halt the ashstorms here, she had Trueflame, and that achievement kindled hope in her heart. Radac Stungnthumz watched her go, and he couldn't prevent a begrudging smile from appearing on his face.
It was night in the world above, and Llovesi forced her way back through the ashstorms to the Craftsmen's Hall. Some part of her was even happy to see them. For a moment below, she'd thought she would never again see the surface. Now, Trueflame sat comfortably on her hip. She would get Bols to repair her armour, stock up on potions, see if one of the alchemists could check her injuries and, in the morning, she would go to the Temple.
Almalexia would see her, whether she desired it or not. It was time to finish this.