2nd Life Chapter 32 Ex Machina p2, an elder scroll series fanfic

Ex Machina pt.2

Salindil grabbed the little owlet, carefully detached its tiny talons from Curtis's scalp, and transferred it to the Dwemer woman's shoulder. She stared, transfixed, at the thing now perched on her left shoulder. It hooted and fluttered its feather back into place. It stared into her eyes then bent forward to preen an eyebrow.

"Minor wounds, just bleeds a lot," muttered the mer, flicking a negligible amount of power to the wounds, sealing capillaries and pinching the flesh together until it held together on its own. Brother Tellion brought a pitcher of water, which he tipped out a stream of water over Salindil's hands, then over Curtis's head like a bloody baptism.

The Dwemer crowded around them, growling. "Dumac" was the name heard often. Curtis had firmly shut his mind to them. Gelebor pushed forward and shoved the Dwemer back to make space for Curtis and Salindil.

The little owlet shrieked and fluttered and demanded their attention. It flew over to the chart stand and perched there. It started clawing at the chart until one of the Falmer obligingly tore off the page to reveal a map of Skyrim. A cartoonish tracing marked the sea path between Winterhold and the destination landing Northkeep and the trail to Darkfall cave. The Falmer recognized the area and seemed to guess the point of this chart.

The Dwemer grumbled.

"I heard that," said Curtis. "Gelebor, go ahead and tell 'em we've got a trip planned to what's left of the Temple of Xrib. It should give them an idea why we didn't choose a route through Blackreach. Hell, we can even take a quick trip to Blackreach if they really want to get depressed.

"But right now—lunch. And a lot of booze. I think we're pretty much done with the chart lectures."

Gelebor spoke. The Dwemer and Falmer argued. Salindil and his brothers frowned and began recasting the Calm spells. The little owl shrieked. A four-foot owl popped into sight.

"What? Oh, sure. Why not?" muttered Curtis. "As if anything I'd dreamed up would go as planned."

"That's quite enough. Conduct yourselves like civilized beings,"hooted Savos Aren, the owl. "In Jhunal's name, settle down!

"And you, Curtis, don't insult us. Of course we'd show up. This is too important. But you are pushing your luck and our goodwill."

"I'll do it when I really need to," Curtis muttered defiantly. "It's your ultimate responsibility when importing subcontractors. Besides, they were calming down and they weren't out of control, so why are you busting my balls?"

"Aren? That you?" asked Urag, visibly disturbed.

"Yes, my friend. Why are you so bothered? He's mentioned me."

"Yes, but, all things considered, familiar symbology—It's all a little too convenient, you must admit."

"Yes, it was a fix. Have him explain it." Urag scowled at Curtis.

"Hah." Curtis scowled back.

While Jhunal's messenger, the owl that was Savos Aren, lectured the Falmer and Dwemer, Urag worked his way around to Curtis's side.

"You've got some explaining to do," he snarled.

"What's to explain? We were expecting things to go south no matter how much we tried to explain things. We hoped Salindil and his pals could calm down the emotional storm that was sure to hit. It was all working.

"But, evidently, Jhunal thought we'd overlooked something so he stepped in."

"He implied you manipulated events," Urag stated.

"I did not!" Curtis wiped the water that still dripped from his hair.

Urag leaned close and growled. A very visceral, Orc-this-close-to-going-berserk, snarl.

"Well, fuck. Maybe. I really hoped somebody would step in if it looked like someone was going to jump. It's called 'Deus Ex Machina' meaning Machine God. It's a point in a play where the plot is so effed up that only a god can fix it by making an appearance and dictating the outcome. It also means the mechanical device that lowers the actor playing god to the stage."

"What did you say?"

"Whaddaya mean 'what did I say?' Did you hear me talking?"

Urag shoved him hard. "I could tell you were talking. You were saying something we hadn't planned was to be said. What did you say?"

"I kinda confessed that I was Dumac." Curtis involuntarily cowered a bit but Urag only closed his eyes, reigned in his temper, and blew out a deep breath.

"Trying to get yourself tossed back into the Sea of Ghosts? Idiot."

"I was trying to convince the lady not to jump."

"By confessing you were Dumac? So instead of her jumping she should push you? Idiot," Urag repeated.

"Gimme a break, Urag! Did they look like they were out of control? No! Salindil and his bros did their job and calmed them down. We had this. Jhunal and Savos just wanted an excuse to make their appearance." The both looked towards the owl.

Actually, neither of them heard anything. The owl was sitting there staring at his flock, and they were sitting silent, staring back at the bird. Their body postures showed they were paying attention to something. Salindil, Tellion, and Meren came around to them.

"Do you hear anything?" asked Salindil.

"No. Guess we aren't included in the lecture," said Curtis.

"So, that is Savos Aren? Surely he must have said some reason to you why he makes his appearance," Salindil insisted.

"Not really. Just told me not to push my luck. Gelebor, you hearing anything?" The Snowmer shook his head. "Well, if I had to guess," said Curtis, "I'll bet Jhunal wants to remind 'em who's their God and that they owe him and that he's got some great, divine purpose for 'em. The usual B.S.

"It should work," he added reflectively. "For a lot of people, having something big and great to do when your personal world has gone to shit can be a lifeline. It's been working for me. Somewhat. Something else to focus on instead of sitting and wallowing in pain. Never give yourself time to think. Gotta keep moving. Gotta keep doing."

"Ah, of course. That is the most logical," said Salindil, nodding. "If we cannot do for ourselves, let us, at least, do for others. And if there is justice, mayhap they will do for us what we were not able to do for ourselves."

"Do unto others what you would have them do unto you," quoted Curtis. "Yeah, that's a pretty universal rule. Hell, even the Dragons know this. Fus Ro Dah, Force, balance, push. The balance of give and take.

"'Course, for them," he added darkly, "they're like greedy corporations and governments; they'll load as much shit on you as they can get away with, until you can find the strength or the allies to finally shove 'em right back. Though one could question what you have to become to be able to push 'em back. Nice subject for a late-evening drunken debate," he mused.

Urag punched his shoulder. "Not the time right now."

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Curtis agreed, shaking off his melancholy. "Just the royal K.I.S.S.-off. One-thing-atta-time. Baby steps."

"Curtis, shut up. Keep talking like that and people will start thinking you're all talk and no game."

"I prefer to think of it as open communications," retorted Curtis, grinning.

"Yes, well, people have to know what you're talking about to participate.

"Now, I've told my poor, time-lost flock that they face a terrible circumstance. I reminded them that they went into their sleep capsules knowing full well that time would pass while they journeyed. They chose to get onto the ship. They had thought they could weather any storm.

"I've also told it is not for them to judge your actions or your fate, especially since you were brought back to help them, among other things. Dumac had been deceived by the Kagrenac. Dumac protested the betrayal of the Falmer. It was Lorkhan who had spared Dumac from his vengeance upon the Dwemer.

"I suggest the subject of your first of many late-night drunken debates—aside from telling to them your own journey—should be the theories of relative time and speed-of-light travel. You know, pushing the speed of light like you push our patience and their credulity.

"Oh, Gelebor? Do remember your brother's words about 'battles of time and space.' Curtis can explain that."

Savos spread his wings and launched upward. The air stirred by his wings ruffled the hair of everyone. Then he was gone.

"Oh, sure, drop da bomb and fly away, Enola Gay!"

They all went down to the Archimage's chamber for lunch. Curtis was surprised to see Severus Timberwolf and Taliesin Faro Felix. He didn't know they were going to be present today.

"Hey, nice to see you guys. But what are you doing here?"

"What else? Living Dwemer and Falmer? Of course we couldn't stay away," said Severus. "Also, um, the Lady decided at the last minute to step out. We had the notion that her mask wouldn't be enough."

To hide that she was a vampire from a bunch of Falmer seers. Right.

"Welcome," said Severus, "I am Severus Timberworlf. I am not a member of the College, but I, like Curtis, have the same experience with being brought to the future by the whim of the gods. I was once 'Nerevar,' a king of the Chimer. King Dumac and I were friends." He was speaking to them in Dwemeris, Vvardenfell dialect with a pronounced Chimeris accent. The mainlander Dwemer frowned, but at least half of them understood well enough to translate to the others. Curtis was stunned that Severus was able to recall Dwemeris, and also a bit jealous. But, golly, missy molly, the eons hadn't improved Nerevar's cringy mispronunciations. It had something to do with the Chimer language. They just couldn't hear the important glottal stops, so it was "mushy" in places. And then he combined it with the commoner Vvardenfell dialect, which screamed "backcountry rube" to the mainlanders.

Three long tables in a "U" shape had been set up. Tolfdir, Colette, Drevis, Baladas and Calcelmo sat down with them. Serving food and pouring drinks were J'zargo, Onmund, Arniel, Joric, Savela, Flavia, Elden, and Ilya.

The little owl had returned to Joric and was perched on his shoulder. Joric was introduced as the priest of Jhunal. It had been his choice to serve rather than sit down with them. His excuse was that he was too excited to sit still.

They'd also decided beforehand that it could wait until much later that he would introduce himself as the former Archimage Gaulder and kin by marriage to Falmer seeress Kineher Yreloth. She was the oldest Falmer and the strongest beacon watcher. She was also the one who had detected Curtis through the one-way mirror. A simple and clever manipulation of light, admitted the Dwemer. A trick so old they'd forgotten about it.

None of them were yet ready to talk about what Savos Aren had said to them. Curtis, Urag, and the Auri-El priests made no mention of the owl avatar's visit. Curtis knew the Auri-El priests wanted to talk with the group first. This was a religious thing and he was so not the type to talk religion. Joric would probably take part in that discussion, but his obvious youth put him at a disadvantage. Urag said nothing, but he would likely be talking with Tolfdir later.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

Booze did have a way of getting people to talk. Salindil, Tellion, and Meren stayed sober and deftly worked their magic when talk got heated. Joric often popped in for the early hours. They'd quickly gotten used to this very young human who said the strangest things. They'd taken it as normal that Jhunal must speak often through the youngling for him to speak of things beyond his years. Urag attended, but he was only there to take notes. Taliesin assisted with note taking, but did not participate in the talks.

Curtis told them his story, the alien existence where there was no magic like there was here, where there were a hundred or more gods, but they were more elusive than magic. He told them of growing up with wonderful machines and hinted at the science that was almost like magic. He even told them of complex machines for leisure activity like games that simulated other worlds, like Zork, Dungeon Seige, Doom, Morrowind and Skyrim.

Yeah, Morrowind and Skyrim were exactly as it sounded. Morrowind allowed the player to be the Nerevarine; Skyrim, the Dragonborn. Then he told them it was a common fantasy trope where a "modern" guy or gal gets tossed into a world they thought was fictional. The two most common ways were via magic or by dying.

He'd died. But that wasn't the worst as far as Curtis had been concerned. No, he'd been saddled with the twist that he was the reincarnation of Dwemer King Dumac, whose soul had been blown into a parallel universe by a magical explosion, and where he'd then proceeded to live several lifetimes. Of those lives, he only had vague impressions, but even then he'd been a builder, an architect, even the king who'd built a magnificent temple city dedicated to Iddra, God of Storms. Hah. In this universe, the God of Storms was Sheogorath. Go figure.

He was still trying to come to terms. It had seemed a curse at first that he was also co-habiting his body with its original owner, Slitter, who was actually pretty cool about the whole setup, all things considered, though at first Slitter's rebellious bouts of rage had Curtis convinced he was experiencing schizophrenia. They were doing much better now. And as Dumac's life downloaded, Slitter had no problem stepping back and saying, "That ain't me."

That actually had been an anchoring point. "That ain't me—no more," is what Curtis had learned to say the more Dumac's life was presented to him. Time and space really could heal a lot of pain. Intellectually and emotionally, he could empathize with some parts as they corresponded with his life, but he was learning to detach himself, and Slitter's strong self-preservation and survival instincts were a great help.

"This is my life now" was an exercise in irony since recalling his last life on Earth was so important to what he was doing now on Nirn. If he'd died back there and had been reborn here with the blank mind of a baby, he'd be useless right now. Totally useless. But he'd been imported over with his knowledge and skills mostly intact, so that had to mean something.

Oh, and that time and space thing Gelebor wanted an explanation for? Well, physics wasn't his field, but he explained what he knew of the theories around light speed and time and perception deception and time distortion. Like stars in his universe, for example. The stars in his universe weren't holes poked into a black ceiling by fleeing gods; they were distant suns. Very distant suns. Now, if they could take his word that light has a speed and needs time to travel from one point to another, then maybe his explanation would make sense.

He didn't know the equations, all he knew that it was about 300,000 kilometers per second in a vacuum—and now explaining the metric system—and that in his old home universe, the light of the sun took between eight and nine minutes (not even going to explain Earth units of time) to reach Earth. So wrap your mind around the fact that every sunrise is a false sunrise because the real sun is eight minutes higher that what you think you're seeing.

Therefore, looking at the night sky was looking into the past. The star you might be wishing on could have been dead for millions of years. But since its light was still streaming, was still traveling, it looked "still alive." In fictional space battles with laser beams, it made for a cool display of a light show. In reality, you wouldn't even see the light. Destruction came with the light, and even the healthiest eyes needed time to send the signals and the most alert, undistracted brain needed time to process. When the light hit, you'd be exploded particles before any of those processes could happen.

In Vyrthur's case, his talent allowed him glimpses of his god's world, the God of Time's worldview. What he could understand of it, he hadn't like it. Saarthal had already happened. When he'd seen the reflected future, it was too late; the Falmer were already dead.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

The next night, Severus told his story as the confused outlander who had been forced by Daedric Prince Azura to return to free Morrowind from the failing rule of the mortal-born Tribunal Gods.

Severus told the actual Morrowind story that he'd lived, his personal history and discovery of his past life as Indoril Nerevar Mora. He confirmed that it had been his destiny to kill the mortal gods of the Tribunal—his wife and friends—and to put an end to Dagoth Voryn's sad existence.

Voryn, who had once been his friend, had grown jealous of Nerevar's friendship with Dumac. He believed Dumac was deliberately deceiving Nerevar by hiding the blasphemous work of the Kagrenac. The paranoia was fed by Lorkhan, the dead god, stirring under the summoning and binding spells of the Kagrenac. And so Voryn betrayed Nerevar by going to Lorkhan's children, the Atmorans, King Wulfharth, and leading the Atmorans into Vvardenfell to free their god.

I live because that one died. It had been a constant reflection in the years following as more memories of being Nerevar filtered slowly back to him. He, Dumac, and Sul had fought their way into Kagrenac's workshop to destroy Kagrenac's works upon the Heart of the Red Tower. Voryn had a choice of two targets to strike—Dumac, who was focused on destroying the machines around the Heart, or Nerevar, who was focused on defending himself from Kagrenac. Something of his love for Nerevar remained, and he drove his dagger into Dumac's back.

Boethiah's little joke only lasted for that battle. He'd lost when Lexi, Sotha, and Vehk turned on him. He died, and they betrayed the will of the Daedra. Lorkhan whose heart still beat within Red Mountain, buried in the ruined workshop, was still power-linked to Kagrenac's tools, and that was how the Tribunal leeched his godhood for themselves. And eons later, Dagoth Voryn, now Dagoth Ur, would steal the tools, breaking the power of the Tribunal, and Azura would play her card and put Nerevar's soul into an orphan from the Empire of Man.

Then he told of the decades after the end of the game, the family he had raised with the hero of yet another Elder Scrolls game, and the Great War from his perspective, and how the aftermath of the Great War affected the world now. And from there, why the Dragonborn felt it was necessary to get them as soon as possible to the ancient Falmer Vale hidden in the mountains of High Rock.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

Xrib, the Dwemer explained, was not a god. He was a legendary, revered scientist who outlined the principles of the power of tonal magic. His temple was not a temple in the religious sense, but it was a place of learning and knowledge. That made sense to Curtis, who had always wondered why the ESO games presented the Dwemer as atheists, yet they had temples and sacrificial altars. Calling this then the "Xrib Institute" was like the Isaac Newton Institute, the Salk Institute, or any number of learning institutions named after Albert Einstein.

"Yeah, we feed the drugs in the food, of course," said Curtis. The mind-speaking gifts of the Dwemer had accelerated his recall of the Dwemer language so he could now conduct higher-concept communications. He still found the ultra-hearing method a sure-fire headache inducer since Dunmer weren't hard-wired genetically to operate in that manner, but at least face-to-face talking was finally possible.

"It's a process of desensitization. They've come to trust us somewhat, but they're still skittish and easily turn hostile. We've mostly figured out the warning signs, but we've also tagged 'em. See those are dye dots on their shoulders? Those are identity marks and the color tells us reaction levels to the drugs.

"We had something of a breakthrough last week. They've started allowing a couple of our people to hold their children.

"Ah. Feeding time. See those guys over there? Gelebor's taught them some songs he's managed to remember. Uh, we picked 'em out for the melodies. Sorry if the pronunciation's bad or the words are a bit rude. He wasn't much on lullabies and what he remembered were, uh, tavern songs and maybe a few hymns."

"They are playing fingers harps. Some of the Falmer also have those harps?" observed a Dwemer.

Gelebor had been talking to his people, convincing them to accept the new name of Snowmer since the rest of the world now only associated their original name to the degenerated race. Gelebor also had to quit using "the Betrayed" out of consideration for the Dwemer.

"Yeah. After a time, we left some lying out. They got picked up and started trying to imitate what our musicians played, then they started making their own tunes. The finger harps, the kalimbas, are easy and cheap to make so if some get broken or lost, we can replace them. We wanted instruments that were sturdy, so not stringed instruments, and we figured drums were also not get enough of percussion with the machines. That also left out bells and whistles and rattles.

"We're just concentrating on the basics here. Good food, some music, warm blankets, and soft, fuzzy toys for the kids. Doesn't seem like much, I know, but when we started, they'd be all out trying to kill us. They hate anything from the surface. Everyone, everything was an enemy to be destroyed and eaten.

"All those generations fighting against the Dwemer, obviously, we can tell what it took to survive. Oh, sorry."

"Only logical," said Gourd, Dwemer, Tonal Composition Analytics. Whatever that was. "And when my people were gone, they had to find out how to survive when there were no food warehouses to raid, no enemies to eat. Foraging outside while blind? Hard enough even when sighted.

"Basic genetic imperatives would identify and emphasize those traits necessary for survival. The crude notes with refinements to be made over time, if the race survived long enough." He contemplated the Falmer children playing in a circle, rolling a ball to each other. Soft, metal chimes within the toy allowed the children to track its movement. The child catching the ball would make a sound to let the other know who had caught it, then the ball would be set to rolling again.

"Gelebor said he had finally been noting rising intelligence within the last thousand years, which indicates they have found a stability in their circumstances that allows for long enough leisure periods that they can focus on something other than immediate survival needs. Long enough to get bored. Long enough to want something else, something more.

"The use of music, has it been identified what they respond best to?" he asked.

"Um, yes. We have noted they seem to like certain songs more than others."

"Instrumental or vocal?"

"Huh?"

The Dwemer sighed. "If I could talk to your musicians, my lord, perhaps I can help identify those patterns of music that elicit optimal response." Curtis introduced him to the healer researcher studying the effectiveness of music and the two guards, who were self-taught musicians.

"My Lord." The Dwemer and Snowmer had done some talking and decided to give Curtis back his nobility rank and make him their official leader. According to Salindil, who had sat in on their meetings as a neutral counselor, they'd decided not to go their separate ways as Snowmer and Dwemer. There weren't enough Dwemer to restore their race. And the Snowmer, well, they had no desire to breed with Falmer.

He went to the lift where the rest of the Dwemer were doing overdue maintenance work. Of the group, Gourd and Tazval had attended classes here at Xrib's Temple, studying energy patterns. Tazval had grown up in this area, and she had lived in what was once Alftand. She was visibly not happy about the future trip to look over what was left of her home. She'd been the one who'd almost jumped that day.

The Snowmer had retreated into the research quarters to pour over current studies and testing results. The reality of what their race had turned into was still more than they could bear to look upon. They looked at the drug formulations and questioned the researchers. Gelebor, who had risked his stomach and mental stability to test the drugs and give the healers intelligent feedback on the effects, defended the experiments and diverted any misplaced aggression the Snowmer were feeling.

Curtis observed them. He'd tried earlier to talk to them about their race's visual talents. That was a big thing they had no ability to factor in this program. Gelebor had given a lot of info about some of the visual skills his people had, but it was still all theory to the non-Mer. How could they test for it? How could they even identify it?

Nothing could bring the Falmer back to what they had once been, but in time, what they could become would be far better than what they were now. This wouldn't save all the Falmer out there. No, the bitter truth was that salvaging and restoration will always take more time, more effort, more expense. As a business model, it would always operate at a loss. Gods had it easy by creating from raw material. Salvaging meant working with the flawed or broken remnants.

And that was just inanimate objects. Salvaging people was infinitely harder. Even with these savages, they had to want the change and find their own incentives to work for it. Again, not uniform blank objects, they had their internal flaws as did all people. The researchers here—a generous term granted to a four Restorations students (two studying general practice, two into alchemy), two librarian apprentices (documentation), three carpenters, and a dozen guards—were guided by priest-healers who were familiar with those mental and spiritual difficulties.

Someone finally asked who was paying for all this effort?

"Primarily my sister and her husband," answered Taliesin. "But don't worry; they won't ask more than you're ready to give. They're more concerned that you find your way to peace and that you don't turn into, oh, delusional mer who think they have to avenge their people. They have enough conflicts to deal with already."

"And, really, you needn't worry too much about it for now," Severus told them. "Curtis has come up with so many inventions and tools my family finds incredibly useful and profitable for years to come. This project is seen as an upfront repayment of those future profits."

"Look, if you wanna pay 'em back, I have an idea," said Curtis. "But again, only after you guys have settled and we've secured the Vale from outside intrusion. But let me tell you my idea. There's the project in Barnz-Amschend beneath Mournhold. We, I mean Dumac and all the Vvardenfell Clans knew Red Mountain, the Red Tower, was getting ready for a big blowout that would make Vvardenfell uninhabitable and wreck a lot of mainland Morrowind. We were building weather-control machines, but a lot of the later funding and development resources got hijacked, stolen by our Kagrenac—whom I told you I trusted implicitly and which he used against me—to give his pet projects priority.

"So we get those machines working, change up some of the weather patterns and maybe stabilize magma activity to give Morrowind a faster recovery time. I know the original theory behind that build is sound; it provided the basis for the Numidium project he secretly worked on. Urag can tell you how that monstrosity worked out.

"Now the machines may be too old or too wrecked, or maybe it's too big a project for how few of us there are, or the damage has gone too long past the point of original estimates, but we can try or at least work the problem and come up with alternatives. Sound good?"

He didn't expect immediate answers from the Dwemer; they were too busy crunching the numbers before they'd answer. Instead, Snowmer Balvus, a Pathfinder seer, answered. "I can see some good coming of that; not enough to cure, but enough. It will be very important to our patrons. It will give them the power to continue to lead Morrowind to a better place. This is a continuation of the prophecy you told us, Severus, of the dragons born to redeem the Dunmer."

Kinehar sketched out an image of an encircled tree onto the non-magical "magic slate" toy that Curtis had introduced and was popular with children as a drawing and writing tool. "This is important, but what is it?" she asked, holding it up for everyone to see.

"That's the new banner for the House our family is creating," said Taliesin. "We're calling ourselves 'House Aldmora,' and it's being made up of a few defecting members of House Hlaalu and Sadri, our House Felix and at least three other families by marriage, and Uncle Wolf's family. By family election, Uncle Wolf, Severus has been appointed House Father. We're pushing for official recognition in Morrowind. It's an uphill fight because we insist on having non-Dunmer in our foundation.

"So, why's this important?" he asked Kinehar. "What significance is this banner to your vision?"

Kinehar looked at Curtis. "This seems something you need to answer for us. I saw you wearing this badge."

Curtis scowled into his beer as he thought about it. Then he looked at Severus. Mental minutes ticked by. "So, Severus, you asking us to join House Aldmora? We gonna do this again?"

132_v3 04.23.21 – typos, minor word/phrase changes

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