Inside the Box
Tel Windstand was celebrating the ground-breaking day of Windstad Manor when the Dragonborn claimed her land as the new Thane of Hjaalmarch. She had her husband take control once the manor was built so that he could establish another business.
He invited one Telvanni clerk to be his business manager. That clerk raved to family and friends in Morrowind about the opportunities. Soon after, a boatload of Telvanni sailed in, mushroom houses sprouted, and there was a town. The Morrowind giant mushrooms made some weird chemistry with Hjaalmarch's swamp and grew skins that glowed in the dark. Combine that with the pharmaceutical industry, and the infamous "magic mushroom" town was born.
Jarl Idgrod the Elder had no objections to the sudden appearance of a new town of Dunmer in her Hold. They promptly paid taxes, acknowledged her authority, and she got new Hold guards who were all spellswords. The Dunmer also had no problem making stews and roasts out of the frost spiders, chaurus, and trolls that wandered the Hold. The Nord folk in Morthal made little protest because the newcomers stayed in their own town and minded their own business.
For this week, the mushroom town was packed with tourists. The Telvanni were not convivial hosts, but they understood the basics of hospitality and profit. Their thane's husband was a Hlaalu, and he expected a certain level of profit. Not a bad thing since he made sure a goodly amount went back into the public system of the town.
The founding day was celebrated with a long, complex light show competition that started at sunset. Mages competed to demonstrate their mastery of light and fire in grand displays overhead. Of course, the mages found a way to dim the glow of the mushrooms so that the light they put out did not detract from the fireworks overhead.
And there was a new, novel play of light and sound courtesy of the Dwemer Master of Winterhold. A large area in the central plaza had been roped off for a large, square tent. The sign outside said, "Azura's Box," with cheaply made copies of the books "Azura and the Box" and "The Book of the Dragonborn" for sale on the long table just outside the entrance.
The audience was herded into the tent and stepped onto a wooden floor. A curved rail blocked off the back two-thirds of the tent. In the stage area was a large carpet covered in intricate runes. Four pedestals on the other side of the rails were each topped with black boxes with glass bubbles that faced the center of the open area. Once the tent was at capacity, the tent entry flap was rolled down, completing the spells that shut out all outside noise.
Four ushers took positions behind the pedestals, hands above the boxes. The fifth stood in the center of that stage and recited the story of "Azura and the Box."
Nchylbar had enjoyed an adventurous youth, but had grown to be a very wise, very old Dwemer who spent his life searching for the truth and dispelling superstitions. He invented much and created many theorems and logic structures that bore his name. But much of the world still puzzled him, and nothing was a greater enigma to him than the nature of the Aedra and Daedra. Over the course of his research, he came to the conclusion that many of the Gods were entirely fabricated by man and mer.
Nothing, however, was a greater question to Nchylbar than the limits of divine power. Were the Greater Beings the masters of the entire world, or did the humbler creatures have the strength to forge their own destinies? As Nchylbar found himself nearing the end of his life, he felt he must understand this last basic truth.
Among the sage's acquaintances was a holy Chimer priest named Athynic. When the priest was visiting Bthalag-Zturamz, Nchylbar told him what he intended to do to find the nature of divine power. Athynic was terrified and pleaded with his friend not to break this great mystery, but Nchylbar was resolute. Finally, the priest agreed to assist out of love for his friend, though he feared the results of this blasphemy.
Athynic summoned Azura. After the usual rituals by which the priest declared his faith in her powers and Azura agreed to do no harm to him, Nchylbar and a dozen of his students entered the summoning chamber, carrying with them a large box.
"As we see you in our land, Azura, you are the Goddess of the Dusk and Dawn and all the mysteries therein," said Nchylbar, trying to appear as kindly and obsequious as he could be. "It is said that your knowledge is absolute."
"So it is," smiled the Daedra.
"You would know, for example, what is in this wooden box," said Nchylbar.
Azura turned to Athynic, her brow furrowed. The priest was quick to explain, "Goddess, this Dwemer is a very wise and respected man. Believe me, please, the intention is not to mock your greatness, but to demonstrate it to this scientist and to the rest of his skeptical race. I have tried to explain your power to him, but his philosophy is such that he must see it demonstrated."
"If I am to demonstrate my might in a way to bring the Dwemer race to understanding, it might have been a more impressive feat you would have me do," growled Azura, and turned to look Nchylbar in the eyes. "There is a red-petalled flower in the box."
Nchylbar did not smile or frown. He simply opened the box and revealed to all that it was empty.
When the students turned to look to Azura, she was gone. Only Athynic had seen the Goddess's expression before she vanished, and he could not speak, he was trembling so. A curse had fallen, he knew that truly, but even crueler was the knowledge of divine power that had been demonstrated. Nchylbar also looked pale, uncertain on his feet, but his face shone with not fear, but bliss. The smile of a Dwemer finding evidence for a truth only suspected.
Two of his students supported him, and two more supported the priest as they left the chamber.
"I have studied very much over the years, performed countless experiments, taught myself a thousand languages, and yet the skill that has taught me the finally truth is the one that I learned when I was but a poor, young man, trying only to have enough gold to eat," whispered the sage.
As he was escorted up the stairs to his bed, a red flower petal fell from the sleeve of his voluminous robe. Nchylbar died that night, a portrait of peace that comes from contented knowledge.
"And that is the essential story passed down from the Dwemer through the Aldmeris scholars. By the knowledge and magic of Master Curtis Johnson, Winterhold College's master of Dwemer Studies, you now stand inside the box of possibilities. What you will see, what you will hear, exist only here in this enclosed space. But it's as real as can be."
He paced back. All lights were extinguished. "Ready on the set? Five, four, three, two, now!"
A glorious red rose appeared, floating in the heart of the darkness. Fresh-plucked, glistening with morning dew, looking very real and solid though it was as large as a baby netch. They could see the veins in the petals, the leaves, and the play of light upon it as it rotated.
The rose faded and was replaced with a section of carved wall.
"We should have acted," whispered an aged voice heavy with regret. "They're already here. The Elder Scrolls told of their return. Their defeat was merely a delay. In the time after Oblivion opened, when the sons of Skyrim would spill their own blood, no one wants to believe that they even exist. And when the truth finally dawned, it dawned in fire. But, there is one they fear; in their tongue it's 'Dovahkiin.' Dragonborn!"
A chase scene through a snowy wilderness. The Wall. The Archimage Dragonborn's frantic flight to the edge of a cliff. Her magic gathering from her heart and hands. The Dragon. The magic strikes, and the Shout. The ground battles of the Archimage and her companions with magics, shouts, and weapons against the ancient demi-gods.
Music thundered from all sides. Those from Solitude who'd heard the bards of the Bards' College practicing their instruments outside recognized the Dragonborn tune. But how? There were no bards present in this tent. The floor shuddered and tilted ever-so-slightly beneath them in sync with the action before their eyes, eliciting startled cries and even a few screams.
The magnificent sight of all the Holds and even Solstheim as if on the back of a Dragon. The subtle shifting of the ground was in sync with what their eyes saw. Then in-your-face battle clips with dragons, giant steam centurions, trolls, bears, Forsworn, vampires, draugr, werewolves… The show lasted three minutes, but the cleanup and treatment of people who had ignored the entryway warning against food and drink and those faint of heart always took at least an hour. For three days, sunup to sundown, the show ran.
"You could probably buy your own hold if you took that on tour," said Viarmo, the master of the Bards' College.
"Yeah. Lord Revyn has arranged for a tour. Once initial development and production costs and investors are paid, all the remaining profit goes into the pot for my ongoing and future projects."
"Are you going to be making more of these productions?"
"Nope. It was a fun project, but coordinating all the pieces and the expense was insane. If Lord Revyn hadn't assigned a team of his best admins and accountants, none of this would have been possible. I mean, you guys charged me a hefty bundle. I lucked out at the College and got the wizards to work free only because it was a novel concept and it was good skill development and advertising for them, what with the Dragonborn being our archimage. Then there was convincing Frosty to do those flybys of all the holds and Solstheim, not to mention getting permission from the jarls for swooping in on their cities. A good chunk of change is going for his own cattle herd and the people to guard and take care of them. And the mercs going into Dwemer ruins and Dragon dens for those combat action shots. And then there's the people who supplied the gold and helped with all the work contracts. Lord Revyn and his people did most of the hiring and coordinating, which is why most of the gold from the ticket sales and all those stuffed dragon toys goes right back into his purse."
"So it wasn't a group of mages sitting in a room coming up with these images?"
"Well, it was when it came to the post-production editing. Putting it all together, I mean. Hundreds of hours of filming, choosing the best that tells the story and then putting it together in time with the music. It's a killer. I mean, I'm glad for the experience, but I don't wanna do it again."
"Are you sure you don't want to create more of these? I can think of many short ballads that would make for —"
"Sorry. Nope. But keep in touch with the college. There's some students who are interested in developing this and starting their own company. And, like I said, we have hundreds of hours of recordings. Something else could be patched together from the material. Of course, they won't be working for free. But, due to circumstances, something entirely new won't be possible. Unless they go to cartoons," he muttered, thinking of the two intense evenings of teaching cell animation and stop-motion. Future wizards of speed and time.
His Dwemer had become interested in the TV and films they saw in his dreams and the workings behind it. All he saw were old memories. What his Dwemer saw were fantastic tools they'd never imagined and that they wanted to recreate. They had the skills; they just didn't have the vision or mindset to look beyond what they'd been taught to see. But now that they saw it, they were determined to recreate it. His Dwemer spent a hell of a lot of time vacuuming his brain with Slitter as their tour guide through Curtisville. Curtis didn't need to relive his life, so the Snowmer helped him avoid the embarrassment by creating an awakened or daydream state. Curtis concentrated on knitting while imagining himself in a noisy airport terminal filled with obnoxiously loud people. They were just loud noises, and he was good at ignoring loud noises.
So they created image-capture devices — straight to digital Dwemer cubes, with no plates, film, or chemicals involved. Child's play compared to image-processing an Elder Scroll. But Curtis had taken back all but one of the recording crystals once the project was done, gifting the last one to the Winterhold College for study. The mages at the College hadn't yet figured out how to reproduce them and wouldn't without further studies into Dwemer sciences, which Curtis was not competent to teach.
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
The day's performance was over. People outside were watching the overhead fireworks show. There wasn't the explosion and sky echoing booms he usually associated with fireworks. The fireworks of this age were basically explosions with some chemicals mixed into the fire. The fancier stuff of separating shells with delayed explosions to create puffballs or other shapes, or sequential cannon shots for placement, those hadn't been imagined yet. But with skillful timing of illusion magic springboarding off the bursts of lights, a mage could create giant visual illusions.
Curtis had his fill of people and all the daily hustle and welcomed the silence inside this tent. It was a perfect time to meditate as he recharged the projectors.
He started one up and froze it as soon as the flat, ghostly image of the rose appeared. On an impulse he sang Seal's "Kiss From A Rose." When he finished, a woman spoke behind him.
"I've heard that before. A traveling Nord bard. But you sing it better, sera."
Curtis looked around, annoyed at this intrusion. Red eyes glowed back at him. "The show's closed for tonight," he informed her gruffly.
"Yes. But I needed to get away from the crowds. The jostling was more than I could tolerate," she replied.
"Fine. But once I'm done here, you leave."
"Acceptable."
He finished charging the projectors and went to stand over the intruder. She had a Dunmer coloring, but her bone structure was Nord, late middle age, and had an aura of immense power. Well, she had to have a good measure of magicka to overcome the security barriers of this tent that protected its contents once the entryway was sealed for the night.
"All right, I'm done here. Time to leave, sera," he said.
"Have a drink with me," she proposed boldly.
"I'm sorry, but I'll have to decline. I'm way beyond tired right now and not good company," he replied.
"Then we'll talk here."
Curtis waited since it seemed the only way she would move was if he physically dragged or pushed her out of the tent. And he was suddenly feeling very reluctant to touch her. An image flashed through his mind hinting that this was not a lady to anger.
"All right, sera. What is it you wanted to talk about?"
"Jhunal assures us you will help restore Morrowind despite the enmity of centuries past. We will not oppose your works."
"Oh? And who is 'we'?" She made no reply to that.
"Uh-huh. So, if I go to Almalexia and tell everyone to get out of the city because I want to start up the Dwemer machines below, who is gonna back me up?"
"By the time you need to do that, House Mora will have gained the authority and influence to issue that command."
"Uh-huh. While I have every confidence in Serjo Revyn's skills to cultivate power, you're talking about Divine Intervention, which is what we'll need to even get to that point. Those machines are old, and I don't have an army of engineers."
"You will manage. Jhunal boasts of your skills."
"Uh-huh. How 'bout the other three of Morrowind? I've learned it's like working in the middle of an ash storm if they're not cooperating."
"When has that ever stopped the godless Dwemer?" She smiled suddenly. "But you have a god now, and Jhunal is an amusing fellow, much like you've become. You weren't so tolerant back then, even as we weren't. And he's proven he can hold his own. I've said my piece. Good evening, then." She turned and walked out of the tent.
"Okay. Sure… Lady Rose," he said to the closed tent flap. Was that… Nah. Though, if it were, cool. Free pass.
Related story(s): #21 Krosis and A Kiss; #23 Re-Generations; #27 Severus
Ted Hsu: Hm, yes. I've grown to like wearing masks in public. Two years no bronchitis from allergies and cold carriers in public buses, not living half-drugged on medications.