Chapter 6: Ring of Fire
Skytemple ruins, a remnant of the Dragon cult that ruled most of Skyrim in the First Era. Who was buried there is unknown. Any markers or etchings or memories were long wiped clean by time. When the Collapse happened, it and the wizard's college were the only stone structures that remained of the great city of Winterhold.
The curses of magic and Dragons, if one were to listen to the embittered jarl of Winterhold.
Just bad placement was Curtis's conclusion. The 3-D maps the Argonians had created by diving around the bay and using magic wands [an X-ray fluorescent analyzer? a Star Trek tricorder?] to show Winterhold had been compacted sand from the shoreline up to the mountains. A former sandy seabed, raised by tectonics and all areas subject to soil liquefaction under the right conditions. The volcanic explosion in Vvardenfell, presumably another plate, was enough of a shove to subduct the edge of the plate Winterhold sat on.
He was just guessing that's what happened. Watching all the National Geographic specials that came out after the earthquakes in California and the Mount St. Helens explosion in Washington, the "Ring of Fire" excitement was hardly enough to make him an expert. But he thought Red Mountain a hell of a smoking gun. He also thought that the Throat of the World might be a sleeping volcano, what with the Aetherium Forge at Bthalft, the numerous hot springs that dotted the Rift, and the Velothi mountain range that he assumed was created by colliding tectonic plates like what raised the Rocky Mountains back home.
Anyway, Skytemple. A sizable, solid landmass that remained after the surrounding soil liquefied and sloughed off into the sea. Afterward, in the icy waters and grinding currents, there sprang beds of mussels with a unique mutation of bioluminescence. The meat was riddled with parasites. Yet it was a sight in the evening when the mussels opened, and delicate glowing fronds emerged to sift the water for food. Of the entire coastline, they were only around Skytemple. And from there formed an unnatural straight path to the drop-off.
A boulder had broken off the Skytemple isle and rolled into the beds. The tides had pushed the rock about, crushing the mussels and eventually scraping the tiny bodies aside to uncover three massive gold pipes. A trio of young dive-team leaders had discovered this during their unsanctioned sea walk to explore the pretty, glowing mussel beds. The pipes had long, multiple cracks from which leaked chemicals.
Scouts-The-Deep and Fish-Breath, two of the three primary project managers, followed it further to the drop-off and over and found the ends of three grate-capped pipes. Two spewed hot water out, and the water samples they took from the immediate outflow were heavy with substances that dulled their scales and made their flesh itch for days. One pipe sucked in water but, fortunately, without much force, so they weren't in any real danger.
Though lauded for the discovery, the young fools still received angry lectures and reduced pay for their impulsiveness and disregard of safety protocols, especially since they were dive captains, responsible for training their respective teams of Nords, Dunmeri, and Argonians. As exciting as this find was to the college, the priority and sole focus was the breakwater project and not the mystery of a hidden Dwemer ruin.
Now, more than ever, they had to recover what treasure they could from the ruins of Old Winterhold. Scientific enthusiasm was not enough without the gold to fund a project.
Now, more than ever, they had to recover what treasure they could from the ruins of Old Winterhold. Scientific enthusiasm was not enough without the gold to fund a project.
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"We will be getting a sizable addition to our workforce," announced Drains-The-Swamp at the monthly projects meeting held in the Frozen Hearth, where work leaders of the project and anybody else who was interested could attend. And it was usually a packed house ever since Curtis had started the tradition of laying out snack dishes of delicacies he'd personally prepared.
"I wrote my uncle at Ivarstead of our need for labor, and yesterday I received his response. He has recruited fifty young ones from the Geirmund's Honor Orphanage. Be pleased to note, honored hosts of Winterhold, that they are all Nord children collected of the Pale and of Winterhold. They are eager to prove themselves and earn pay so that they might resettle here in the north. They are on the march even as my uncle's letter was sent and should arrive in two weeks.
"And there will be another thirty or so to temporarily live at Winterhold, but only for the project, not to settle. Argonians from Windhelm. Fish…"
Fish-Breath, a black-scaled, three-toed, hornless Argonian like his brother, Scouts-The-Deep, stood up to say, "I have been talking with the ones who work the docks at Windhelm whenever I go down there to inspect and sign for supplies. Though conditions have been improving, there is still too much resentment despite earnest efforts by Steward Sadri of the Gray Quarter, and so they have decided it is time to move on. They come here to take over the salvage project. They are used to these cold waters and are fully supplied with their own diving gear enchanted by the Spellsword Faro-Sadri. Indeed, for the past few years, they had provided Windhelm with meat and oils from whales and the other giant fish they had dared to hunt in the Sea of Ghosts, and so they will also supply to Winterhold while they are here.
"What this also means, Sera Darylin, Master Tolfdir," he said, looking between the Dunmer engineer from Morrowind and the Master of Wizards, "we will need to hasten on the fabrication of the deep-water pods. Scouts-Many-Marshes and his people will be living down there for days as they sift the rubble for treasure. The adults, of course. The younglings, hatchlings, and caretakers, we hope, can find comfortable housing in town."
"We can throw up some domes quick enough," said Darylin. "Won't be pretty, but we can make adjustments once they get here."
"Honored Kraldar, what are your thoughts? I know this appears to be a further invasion into Winterhold. Have you any immediate concerns?" asked Drains, looking to the Nord steward who would have the difficult task of explaining things to the xenophobic Jarl Korir, who was currently touring other Stormcloak holds to impress and to garner alliances. The Jarl had already made it quite clear to everyone that he resented the presence of all the non-Nords, and tolerated them only because he didn't dare kick them back into Ulfric's teeth after soliciting Windhelm's help to rebuild Winterhold.
"At the moment, no. You've already addressed two very important points — the influx of young Nords looking to settle and that the Argonians aren't interested in a permanent settlement," replied Kraldar. "The areas south of town would work for some grand halls for the newcomers as the land is already clear of trees and is fairly flat, and the Dragon has finally left. With the extra hands to help, they can help with extending the wall to include them. I'll just have to look over the budget for more lumber."
"The College would be happy to provide enchanted tents as we provided for the Azura festival," said Master Tolfdir. "Certainly easier and faster to throw together than stone or wood housing and with no strain on current budgets. More solid, permanent buildings can be delayed until people actually get here and have lived here for a while."
"Perfect, "said Drains. "Mistress Birna…"
"Extra food orders, clothing, household items…" The Winterhold leader of the recently re-established merchants guild shrugged and grinned, "No problem. We'll just send couriers to our suppliers to add to our current orders.
"More pots to bang together, knives, forks, hooks tools…" volunteered the town blacksmith happily.
"Hope some of them want to learn leatherwork. Sewing up that many flippers, tool belts, protective gear…" said his leather-craft partner, already sighing with weariness as he envisioned future demand.
By the time the kids arrived at Winterhold, there would be plenty of jobs ready for them.
After the meeting formally ended, Curtis drifted over to Drains. "An uncle working with the Ivarstead orphans, real nice of him to come through," said Curtis. "Mind if I ask what he's doing in the Rift? Working one of the mining camps?"
"A merchant, actually," said Drains. "Uncle Brand-Shei used to work in Riften but moved to Ivarstead when the Honorhall Orphanage moved there."
"'Uncle Brand-Shei?'" Curtis repeated, stunned.
"Yes, he's coming with the orphans. I think you will like to meet him. He was orphaned during the Accession Wars. Perhaps, ironically and possibly, by my ancestors in the invasion force, and then who adopted him. I suppose that makes him my grand uncle. Thus his name. He gets as many confused looks from other Dunmeri as you, Curtis Johnson. Helsette Faro-Sadri helped him find proof of his ancestry in House Telvanni. And Steward Revyn Sadri enlisted his help to free the Honorhall Orphans from the grasp of Maven Black-Briar. When that was done, he moved with the orphanage to Ivarstead, where he now runs a general goods store and helps orphans, too old to remain, find training and jobs. So he accompanies them here to see that they all find places and their footing in the world.
"It is entirely thanks to my uncle that I have this job. When the Windhelm steward concocted the mad idea to hire Argonians, Brand-Shei was the first he asked for recommendations and contacts because his ties to Black Marsh were stronger than the tribeless Argonians in Windhelm. Our uncle has always made sure to maintain constant contact and strong relations with each generation."
"Yeah. Be a real hoot to meet him," said Curtis, outwardly grinning but inwardly cringing. One of his early playthroughs had been as the thief Mudskipper, and anyone doing the Thieves Guild questline has to frame the luckless Brand-Shei for theft as the initiation test.
"'Hoot?'" repeated Drains.
"A happy noise in this case," Curtis explained absent-mindedly.
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Mage Lord Baladas Demnevanni had been let in on the secret that Curtis was from another dimension and one that shadowed the Dwemer's fascination with machines. He wouldn't talk to Curtis otherwise. Über-geek, Curtis classed him. And socially inept unless you could jive on his level, and arrogant about it because he was that type of geek. And because he was Telvanni.
Curtis asked if Demnevanni and Calcelmo of Markarth, the other über Dwemer geek, had a chance to work together. Urag solemnly informed him they did not get along; their debates usually ended in shouting matches and lightning bolts. Calcelmo had returned to Markarth. They continued to work together through correspondence; they just couldn't stand each other in person. Curtis's reading skills hadn't progressed enough to read technical material, so he had students read the stuff to him. From what he could gather, Demnevanni was a programmer, and Calcelmo was a coder. On the surface, it sounds like the same profession, but there were significant differences. If the Altmer could be persuaded to return to Winterhold by the time they started exploring Skytemple, that would be ideal.
"You want Calcelmo back here. You ready to be roasted by fireballs six ways from Sundas?" asked Urag, smiling somewhat gruesomely behind his tusks. "But, it's your funeral. I'll write him. For an untouched Dwemer site, yeah, he'll come. You explain to Baladas why he's back."