Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. I'm not dead yet. It's just that work has been exceptionally busy and what I thought would be minor changes to this story's future chapters caused me to do a great deal of editing in what I thought were final drafts. I do plan on finishing a whole series. At this point I feel that I've put too much thought and effort into Ieago's adventures to leave his saga half-assed and unfinished. That and it's a great way to relax. One last thing before I let you go: I was glad to see the two previous chapters be received so well. A considerable number of my current favorites and follows occurred within days of posting those chapters. Thanks as always. It's great to know that people enjoy my efforts here.
The sky was orange and the shadows of the courtyard were long by the time Aela and I came down from Paarthurnax's aerie. We found Arngeir meditating in the main hall. He looked up when he heard us come in.
"So... you spoke to Paarthurnax," he smiled briefly, "The dragon blood burns bright within you. Did he tell you what you want to know? Did he teach you the Dragonrend Shout?"
I shook my head and replied, "No, but he told me how to find it."
The monk looked grim as he looked on Aela and I, "So be it. If he believes it is necessary for you to learn this... we will bow to his wisdom."
"He told us that the ancients used an Elder Scroll in their battle with Alduin. We need to find that scroll."
The old man's hands came up in a guarding gesture, "We have never concerned ourselves with the Scrolls. The gods themselves would rightly fear to tamper with such things. For where to find it," Arngeir shrugged, "Such blasphemies have always been the stock and trade of the mages of Winterhold. They may be able to tell you something about the Elder Scroll you seek."
"What do you think?" I asked Aela the next morning as we hiked down the path to Ivarstead.
She thought for a moment, "I think we are on the hunt of our lives. Alduin will be challenging prey."
"He can't ignore us for much longer. I'm surprised we've seen so little of him," I observed.
"He's not a simple predator Love. He won't turn and fight the instant he's threatened. He has his own time table-one that has little to do with you. In his own time he will work to wear you down and lead you into his own territory before turning on you.
I saw a distant expression on her freckled face. "That's how you would do it, isn't it?"
"Every hunter becomes prey at some point," she said.
The remains of Winterhold sprawled out in either direction away from the street leading to the College. The buildings on either side of the three of us were blackened heaps from recent fires. There was no sign of life that evening until we reached the crumbling bridge leading to the high promontory that supported the citadel and held it away from the ruined city.
A slender Altmer woman with incongruous pigtails barred our path to the College.
"You've picked a poor time to visit Winterhold travelers," the strange woman told Aela, Lydia and I.
"What happened here? Where is everyone?" Lydia demanded. The fires had burned out so recently that the air still stank of burned wood.
"Most of the locals are sheltered in the College for the time being," the elf explained, "Arcane pollution from the Eye of Magnus spilled out into the town."
The three of us stared blankly at her. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like "uneducated plebeians" before elaborating aloud, "An artifact in the College's possession became unstable. In the process of dismantling it, destructive energy leaked into the rest of the town. Until the townspeople have rebuilt, they are being housed by the school."
When she didn't seem willing to explain further I asked, "So may we enter?"
She clasped her hands behind her back and straitened her posture. "That depends. What do you think the College could offer you?"
I felt an immediate spike of irritation work its way across my shoulders. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm hunting for an Elder Scroll."
"The purposes of all comers to the College of Winterhold are my business," the strange woman harrumphed, "It is true though, there are some here who have spent years studying the accumulated knowledge of the Scrolls. But what you seek does not come easily, and can destroy those without a strong will. We could share what we know with you, but what could you offer in return?"
I mentally flailed for a good answer, "Ahhhh… I can read and translate the dragon alphabet?" I guessed.
Her pointy ears perked up at that, but her attitude was still incredulous. "Truly? You're a master of the dragons' language? Let's hear a sample. And I will know if you're deceiving me," she said.
Her eyes and hand flashed in unison before appearing to grow larger. I felt a pressure at the back of my mind. Ever have to do a challenging task under the careful eye of a judgmental supervisor? The magical compulsion felt much the same.
"Krii-lun-aus!" I shouted at the peculiar woman. The Graybeards give it the simple name 'Marked for Death,' but its effects on the target and wielder are complex. The victim of Marked for Death feels their life diminish like years of depression in seconds. The wielder becomes tremendously aware of their opponent. Studying the mage, I discovered many details of her physiology previously hidden to me: That her left arm was still healing from a fracture weeks ago. That she was young even by human standards. That she was in the early weeks of pregnancy.
"A tongue!" She breathed. Her attitude made a complete turnaround. "Yes, by all means you are welcome at the College of Winterhold. No doubt there is much we can learn from each other. Look for the Arch-Mage, a dark elf named Savos Aren or his second, a Breton named Mirabelle Ervine. And I'm. . . I'm Faralda. It's an honor to welcome you here.
"And what do you plan to do with it?" The orc asked, "Do you even know what you're asking about or are you just someone's errand boy?"
Savos Aren had directed me to Urag gro-Shub, the taciturn chief librarian at the Mages' College. If there is any more knowledgeable lore-master in Skyrim I have yet to hear of him. He greeted my inquiries with scorn.
"I plan on reading the Scroll," I replied. It was the day after we arrived at Winterhold. I was alone that morning. Aela and Lydia had rapidly lost patience with all the mages' questions about me and gone to help the cleanup efforts in the city.
Gro-Shub barked out a laugh, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms, "I knew it. Everyone comes in here, expecting my help and they don't even have the proper questions. An Elder Scroll is an instrument of immense knowledge and power. Just to read an Elder Scroll, one must have a rigorously trained mind, or else risk madness. Even then, the Divines usually take the reader's sight as a price."
"A price for what?"
"The simplest way to put it is 'knowledge,' but there is nothing simple about an Elder Scroll. It's a reflection of all possible futures and all possible pasts. Each reader sees different reflections through different lenses, and may come away with a very different reading. But at the same time, all of it is true. Even the falsehoods. Especially the falsehoods."
"Do we even know who wrote the Elder Scrolls?"
He shook his head, "It would take a month to explain to you how that question doesn't even make sense," he paused for a moment, and "The Scrolls exist here, with us, but also beyond and beneath. Before and after. They are bits of the Divine made substance so we could know them. Sorry. Talking about the Scrolls, you usually end up in vague and irritating metaphors like that. Some who study them devoutly go mad."
"I'm already risking body and soul on my quest, I might as well put my sanity up too."
"Ha! You think if I even had one here, I would let you see it? I would be under the highest security. The greatest thief in the world wouldn't be able to lay a finger on it."
"But I'm no thief. I'm the Dragonborn."
"What about... wait. Are you? Were you the one the Greybeards were calling? I'll bring you everything we have on them, but it's not much. So don't get your hopes up. It's mostly lies leavened with rumor and conjecture."
Gro-Shub walked me over to an alcove and came back later with a two books.
"Here you go. Try not to spill anything on them," he said and left me to my work.
I looked without enthusiasm on the hundreds of pages that each tome encased. Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls and Effects of the Elder Scrolls seemed to stare indifferently back.
"Well, I'll start with Effects and see if I can't learn something," I said to myself.
It was not until I had gotten through most of Ruminations that I finally had a good grasp of the concept of the Elder Scrolls. The author had clearly gone insane, but he was still at the cusp of being intelligible. The metaphor I found that worked for me then is the one I still use when I am asked about my adventures ever since:
The basic truth of the universe is that anything is possible. Existence as we know it: Mundus, the Planes of Oblivion, perhaps even Atherius are simply one set of locations in an infinite and branching network of possibilities. Surrounding our location on this network are any number of alternate possibilities. Some are ours but at different points in time, others are wildly apart, still others are what our reality would be if history had taken a different course or if the laws of nature that we know were different. How all these possibilities are related and affect each other is beyond my comprehension. I do understand however, that a few artifacts and people let us glimpse at these different realities or look back on our own. Among these artifacts are the Elder Scrolls and the possibilities are endless.
Too bad not a single word hinted at where in Skyrim an Elder Scroll might be found or how to go about finding one.
My eyes were blurry and my head ached the next morning when I handed the books back to Urag gro-Shub. "The author of Ruminations went out of his way to be crazy," I commented.
Urag grinned in that toothy way Orsirimer have, "Aye, that's the work of Septimus Singus. He's the world's master of the nature of the Elder Scrolls, but... well. He's been gone for a long while. Too long."
"You think he's dead?"
The librarian shook his head, "Oh no. I hope not. But I haven't seen him in years, and we were close. He became obsessed with the Dwemer. Took off north saying he had found some old artifact. Haven't seen him sense."
"Do you know where he went?"
The librarian shrugged, "Somewhere off in the ice fields, if you want to try and find him."
"Looks like I don't have a choice."
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