There has been quite a hiatus due to my travel schedules, and I've been unable to post a new chapter. However, I did not quit, as there are quite a few Books to be released! I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter.
Songs of Cinder, Book XII: Touching the Eclipse
"Hmm, Rahn is curious. How did this one end up on Vvardenfell?" the Khajiit asked, as the airship was surfing through the ash-filled bitter clouds.
"Wanna hear it?" Clemence replied, "My father, he was a good man. A wealthy merchant, sometimes spending all his coin on drinks, but he was a kind soul, unlike my mother. In fact, he drowned his septims because of her ice-cold heart. One day, he said he'd travel to the mainland Morrowind, to trade with the Dunmer, and eventually to bring my mother the Circlet of Enlightenment, something he said that would melt her chunk of ice... I wanted to go with him, but he told me to stay home. Then... the messenger visited us one day, saying that he was dead... Killed by some Dark Elf bitch! I grew up with the thought of avenging my father, and joined the Argonians that were invading Morrowind..."
"Argonians? Now that's a twist."
"They attacked the Dark Elves shortly after the eruption. Kicked the Houses hard, but were then driven away... Yet they are still out there, and they were after me in no time..."
"Rahn likes plot twists..."
"I... I... uh... I used to bed the Argonian chief," Clemence blushed, "And he was soon displeased, saying I didn't exceed his expectations and-"
"By Azurah," the Khajiit laughed, "The story gets ridiculous!"
"The point is, I lived among the rubble for two years, covering my tracks every damn day! The Argonians did not give up so easily, who could've known they have been holed up on Vvardenfell for hundreds of years! Even the chief's son, the young whelp of a lad, decided to continue his daddy's cause, and you don't wanna know what he wants to do with me!"
"Okay, alright, alright..." Urjorahn wiped the tears and stopped laughing for a moment.
"Your turn."
"My what? Rahn has no stories to tell. Sad."
Clemence took a disgruntled look at the Khajiit, and he coughed awkwardly.
It was the terrible sight of Solstheim, blanketed in ash and resembling a giant long-lost ancestral tomb, that distracted Clemence and made Urjorahn exhale in relief, for his story is a long and twisted one. The Young Phoenix, that's how the airship was called by Clemence, was right next to the refuge's rugged southern shore; Fort Frostmoth's lonely towers still looked strong and magnificent after withstanding an immolating ash wave. Urjorahn glanced at the castle and squinted; he was more than sure it was not as lonely as they think it is.
Young Phoenix was slowly alighting over the poisoned ocean, the breeze whiffled at the airship's ragged sails. It gained much needed acceleration and landed on the water, giant waves spreading in every direction, and then, the paddle-wings started slapping the water. The massive stone fortification was seen through a barrier of never-ending ash drifts. Lanterns dotting the docks illuminated the ship's deck, and then, the light passed round the colony's buildings as the two were getting closer and closer.
"Raven Rock." Clemence exhaled.
Redoran-style shell houses stood behind a street of Imperial two-story ones; the posts between the street and the wooden docks were adorned by the House's banners. Clemence docked the Young Phoenix to be welcomed by a calm, if a bit bitter, Dunmer in a noble's dress. It was made clear for the adventurers that the island is ought to be as inhospitable as the rest of ashen Morrowind, but the Dunmer's facial expression was quick to change when the two revealed themselves to be from Vvardenfell. Raven Rock usually expects the unwelcome visitors from the ice-cold west of Skyrim.
The locals always used to complain much. Even though the High King of Skyrim formally gave Solstheim to the dark-skinned refugees quite a while ago, they took it for granted, treating it as the only act of Nordic generosity. The Dunmer people always seemed to find a reason to complain. Despite this, Urjorahn and Clemence did see people with smiles on their faces, something they say is very rare nowadays. The ebony mine was reopened and they had work, after all. But nothing ever makes the refugees happy enough.
A large Imperial estate was one of the few beauties of the colony. Gatharian Manor was just outside Raven Rock's western watchtower, a few steps away from the coastal sacred stone. Rumors of a great hero of Oblivion Crisis reached Urjorahn's ears in the Retching Netch Cornerclub when he was taking a sip of sujamma and having one of the nicest meals of the past few days. His curiosity knew no bounds; soon he found his way to Gatharian Manor, but no one answered the knock on an ornate front door. Urjorahn sat on a chair that stood beside a door, and kept knocking for half a day. No one responded to his calls. The Khajiit ran out of patience, and attempted to pick the steel lock in haste. Once he was inside, he took a deep breath and sneaked towards the stairs before he heard someone growl and go down. He raised his ear and placed his hand on the dagger's hilt.
"I said... no visitors today!.. Seguri, that you? Bastard, you have the key... Damnit!.." an elder groaned, and then drew his mace above his shoulder, "Who... who in Oblivion are you? Damn thief!"
"Hey, hey, hey, chill a bit, we can talk like, err, mortals, right? Uh? No need to swing the mace left and right, trust Rahn."
"I'll cut your tail off, filthy n'wah... Wait..."
"Lucky sod, Rahn has no tail, mate." the Khajiit lifted his brow when the elder sheathed his weapon.
"Tailless... Tailless? Is that you, bastard?" the elder went towards Urjorahn, "Is that... Wait, how? How-"
"Rub your eyes, there this one goes. Who the heck are you, hmm? Rahn's curious..."
"Rahn? Urjorahn? Damn, lad, you're alive! Remember your fella? It's me, Yen!"
"Err..."
"You look young, lad! Just as the time we... lost you. So, what happened?.." old Yen then took a suspicious look at the Khajiit, "Wait... How can I be certain you're damn real, eh? You might as well be a Daedra, disguised?"
Urjorahn did not utter a single word. He grinned.
"Rahn guesses he's only slept for two weeks, uh?"
"B'vek, no!" Yen chuckled in relief, "Urjorahn, old friend! I'm glad you're... well, it's hard to believe my eyes... You look just like... Like in Third Era, lad... I... I hope you know what's going on, what time it is. Year two hundred and two, Fourth Era."
The Khajiit nodded.
"And Llether... he... is dead, Urjorahn." Yen looked down.
"Sad. But Velar is not." the Khajiit replied, "He still bathes in the dark waters, but when the wall is repaired, it won't let the waters leak. Velar is hell-bent on cracking it open once more, let the flow of black blot out the eye of Aetherius, a hole torn in the cloak of Oblivion. He toys with Rahn, and let the stream decide Khajiit's fate. But he shall toy no more, the void of red shall not be cast upon the veil of night."
"I didn't understand a word."
"This one doesn't need to."
The two went outside and to the market stands when Clemence, working at the forge with a Breton lad like her, placed her crossbow by the sharpening wheel and rushed to Yen, startled by the looks of her.
"Stendarr preserve us!" she bowed humbly, "Isn't it Yen Gatharian? Bane of the Daedra! Bow before the champion, you furry fool!"
Urjorahn and Yen laughed out loud.
"No need for this crap," Yen replied, "I might be a hero, yet I'm still a simple man at heart."
"Uh... But he talks to you like you are a mere friend of his!" the Breton pointed at Urjorahn.
"Because I am a friend of his." Yen laughed.
Urjorahn stood surprised as Yen chuckled at Clemence's attitude. The two soon regaled the Breton with a tale of their travels back in Third Era, a time Clemence only read about in the lore books. The stories told over a cup of good old greef and the rumors of tavern wenches soon enlightened the three with an idea to visit the Councilor's library just a couple of streets away. Acting as a dusty old scholar having himself dug deep into both old and new tomes, Urjorahn found the stories of an ashen stronghold buried within Solstheim's southern wastes, the notes of travelers unlucky enough to cross blades with the Ash Spawn, whatever those creatures might be. The myths of the first-born of Akatosh, the black-winged Alduin, World-Eater, and his mortal enemy Dragonborn, a hero of legend; the Champion of Cyrodiil, known as the Hero of Kvatch, who helped the last heir of Septim bloodline close shut the marble jaws of Oblivion, ending the Third Era; the legendary Morrowind hero Nerevarine, Indoril Nerevar reborn, who crippled the treacherous Tribunal and ended the reign of the Sixth House and evil Dagoth Ur. There, he stopped, switching to the revised edition of the history of Morrowind, which included recorded events of the early Fourth Era. He learned that House Telvanni had its holdings on Solstheim, and that is where he should restart his quest. The giant fungus of Tel Mithryn was the adventurers' destination; Urjorahn hoped that the old Master Neloth would know a clue to the stronghold's whereabouts.
The blasted island did not have any notable methods of transportation aside from occasional gondoliers taking travelers back and forth between Raven Rock and Tel Mithryn. The three decided to go along the beaten path instead. Unfortunately for them, no wagon could be ridden east; in fact, no steeds were present on Solstheim at all. They had to travel on foot. The Bulwark, a front wall that protected the colony from ash waves, had its gates open, and the adventurers left in spite of the Redoran guards' admonitions. No one could know for sure what awaited the travelers beyond the Bulwark. And what did, was unbelievable.
Killing a few scribs was hardly a challenge for the three, and the hot midday sun, shining upon them through a dome of cinder, was a far more annoying thing. The vast expanse of nothingness, a few burned trees and ashfall, a place that once was a lush Skyrim forest was before the travelers after a steep climb up the basalt formations on the hill. The mushroom's top dominated the eastern horizon, providing them with an easily identifiable landmark to walk towards. Yen and Clemence swept the ash from a chest near a hollowed-out tree, the Dunmer opened the chest to find no valuable loot inside, and sat by it, hoping to shelter himself in the shade. Urjorahn scouted the surroundings, checking every rock and root in hopes to find treasure. The serenity of the midday camp was broken when they heard a roar thundering in the sky, and then an enormous winged shadow surfed above the trees, sending the ash drifts aloft, revealing itself to be a dark scaly nemesis breathing fire. It was a dragon.
Urjorahn, Yen and Clemence gathered in a hurry, the latter showing signs of being slightly afraid of the thing they encountered. The Khajiit unsheathed his shining shortsword and shoved Yen.
"Hey, remember Rahn told this one that dragons were just invisible, eh?"
"Dragons?"
The dialogue was soon interrupted by a stream of fire finding its way to the camp, the shadow following it, and Clemence's rain of steel bolts.
"Rahn wishes he didn't say that."
The dragon landed before the three with a deafening roar, as five of the fletcher's bolts were sticking out of its scaled wing. The adventurers advanced to the monster in their desperate attempts to defeat it. A few dozen of blows, followed by a strange shouting of alien words and a conjured ward before the fighters, and then another few dozen of swings and blocks. The dark scales of a mighty creature could withstand these attacks, but it could not be said that the adventurers barely made a dent on that dragon. At dusk, the fight ceased, the dragon was not slain but its strength was being drained away with time. With both sides unable to fight any longer, the dragon ascended, attempted to fly away but fell under the pressure of its damaged wings. The column of ash was raised above its resting place, with every tree eventually falling down on the dragon. The three, severely wounded, sighed in relief and proceeded further east.
The village of Tel Mithryn was standing on a high coastal hill. A small creek divided the open wastes and the settlement. A silt strider dock was just before the village's entrance, and a middle-aged Dunmer was tending the steed's carapace. A forest of Emperor Parasol, a common feature of the House Telvanni's lands, was the only thing between the travelers and Tel Mithryn. The courtyard dotted with roots, spiral staircases to the fungal houses, a magnificent walkway to Tel Mithryn's large round front door - a typical Telvanni settlement at best. Urjorahn expected to meet Neloth personally, but the adventurers were greeted by his steward instead. It didn't matter much, as they were informed of stronghold's location as well as its name: Archagruhn.
Just north of the sacred obelisk, the Sun Stone, stands this piece of Dunmer craftsmanship. The three couldn't help but wonder how it was built, as Velar's mortal form was destroyed hundreds of years ago. They had no time for thinking; they had a fort to besiege. The sky was turning black as the adventurers approached, the red eclipse was conjured in the sky, casting a shroud of otherworldly night over the island. Velar himself came to spectate the battle that was about to ensue, perhaps even take part in it himself.
The walls were occupied by sinister creatures of magical ash, holding their fiery swords and spears steady. The so-called Ash Spawn, mindless beasts perhaps even made using the power of Dagoth Ur's dark curses, were stationed in the derelict towers and around the overgrown trama roots that made their way through the stone rubble. They did not look like the ashen zombies of Corprusarium, Yen thought. Still, there was something foul about those soldiers.
Three adventurers are hardly a force to be reckoned with, and it was obvious that they were not enough for a siege. Under a red eclipse, the three set up camp, too hesitant to make a move towards the Ash Spawn. The shadowy figure slipped through the fort's ruined western gate, past the spires of trama root trees, avoiding the dim light of dark elven lanterns hanging on them. Urjorahn climbed on the watchtower's wall, his cowl on and his dagger ready. He hoped that he'd pass undetected, as the ashen monsters were watching over the eastern wing. As the Khajiit got to the rail on the destroyed top of the watchtower and hopped on the scaffolding that barely looked stable enough, he started examining the Ash Spawn's garrison patterns. This was no easy task - an impossible one in truth - the creatures were guarding Archagruhn without a slightest trace of organization, and thus no patterns were followed. Urjorahn tied the end of his rope to a rail and checked whether it was safe to pull. The second end was tied to his belt. With this done, he took a deep breath and leapt, translocating to the tower's rear support structure in a cloud of shadows. He ran back to the camp, where Yen and Clemence were planning a stealthy assault on the main gate. The three knew they wouldn't succeed if an open siege was to be undertaken; the retainers of House Telvanni didn't care much, so it didn't make any sense to rely on reinforcements in case of defeat.
Yen went outside; the eclipse dominated the dark sky. He shot a look at the fort, pulled up a chair and opened his book. The strange echo of a hundred armor plates interrupted his reading break. He stood up and looked south: dozens of silhouettes appeared on the horizon, every one armed to the teeth and mounted on a guar. The ash-sodden ground trembled at the army's approach, the leader sprinted forward and lifted a flag of House Redoran above his men. Yen stood still, as Hlormaren, clad in fine ebony, unmounted his guar and greeted the three.
"Need help?" the Master grinned, Yen was unable to reply, "Modyn sent me here. Surprise, eh?"
"Just in time, damnit! Out of nowhere!" Clemence exclaimed, "But, who are you?"
"Oh," Yen replied, "The finest warriors you've ever seen..."
Hlormaren arrived to Raven Rock shortly after the adventurers' departure. The heavy warship they sailed on housed quite a bit of supplies, arms and armor. Hlormaren's lieutenants unfolded their siege tents, and the soldiers dragged boxes towards the campfire. Yen took a metal staff and cracked the boxes open. Quivers of ebony bolts, swords and axes, crossbows and throwing stars, dai-katanas and shortswords - everything the attackers might need, including polished armor sets of steel, silver and ebony.
Yen always liked the element of surprise; his plan to call Hlormaren worked, and now Archagruhn stood before a fortified encampment of Redoran warriors ready for an assault. The adventurers admired the old hero's tactics, and Yen was to command the army alongside Hlormaren.
The other side did not stand idle either; Velar was certain to foresee the attackers' reinforcements, and Archagruhn's inner halls, seen through the towers' cracks, were engulfed in a brief interplay of red light and complete darkness as if the horde of Daedra was being summoned to ambush the enemy. There was no time to lose and the siege could no longer be delayed.
A blink of an eye, and then, blind rage, the shades of red, the deadly blow, the army swarming the fort's gates, flooding the towers and battling the undead, a massive push on the doors, and the Daedra.
Hlormaren and Yen held their shining weapons aloft, mounted on their guars and advancing into the fort's collapsed main wing, buried in dirt and ash. Followed by an unstoppable force of fifty Redoran soldiers sweeping away the wild Dremora troops, Urjorahn rushed into the deepest chamber of Archagruhn. Pillars of stone held the balcony, carved into the cove's wall, and the stairs down to the shrines with alien engravings. A red void swallowed the lights of lanterns, sending forth more Dremora to surround the Khajiit.
"Welcome... back," the voice echoed. This was no secret Velar was about to play his part. Urjorahn knew, "The final ingredient within the Impure... Now, you know, I understand what I needed you for... Amusing! Not under the red harvest moon, but an eclipse is when the heart shall be thrown into the fire, and let the curse be unleashed upon the unholy plates!"
Two black hands appeared behind the void, pointing at the nightblade, whose bloodied sword awaited the next rage-filled orgy of battle.
"Go..."
The Dremora advanced, and Urjorahn raised his blade. Then, his vision blurred, and he dropped the sword. All the Khajiit saw was an another horde gathering around the prey, with the leader coming close, ready to proclaim the hunters finally victorious. A splatter of his own blood blinded Urjorahn; all he felt was the wave of pain, the sound of unheard screams as if he already bid farewell to the spirits of the afterlife to depart to Foyada Padhome instead. He felt the rush of blood, and then it stopped, the flow was no more. The laugh was the last thing he heard, and he was unable to tell whether it was the Dremora, or the void spirits that grappled his soul.
When Yen and Clemence reached the shrine wing, there was no horde, but the stains of blood leading to a heavily breathing Urjorahn. Clemence ran to him, touched his cracked cuirass to see that it was severely damaged, a hole torn in ebony like it was simple leather, blood dripping from the broken ribcage. She started to cry, as Yen tried to console her. Both stood before dead Urjorahn.
Lifeless, heartless, banished.