A/N: Mod=Dwemer Spectres
Chapter 61: Ancient Knowledge, p.2
"So… Does he ever leave his house?" Curtis held his tankard up for a refill. Ambarys obliged him with a top-up.
"No," Ambarys answered curtly. "Unless it's royal business. His Majesty has been very helpful in manufacturing reasons. Never thought I'd be grateful to that blowhard."
Curtis nodded. Curtis had managed a few minutes of a meeting with him. Lord Revyn's blank eyes and robotic smile were just sad. A draugr had more zest for life. Yeah, the poor guy had pretty much collapsed when his wife, the Dragonborn, jumped through the Sovngarde gate. For a month after, he'd holed up in his basement office and wouldn't talk to anyone. Just cried and held his baby daughter. Only his well-trained subordinates kept his financial empire running smoothly.
"Vivec finally intervened," said Ambarys. "Went down there one day. Don't know what they discussed, but Revyn started tending to business. More or less. But as you can see, you have have to get on the list to see him. Even us, his friends, have to make appointments." Ambarys fussed over a few bottles, polishing and arranging them on the shelf behind him. "Can't help him with mourning since we don't know if she's dead. Just missing in action. All we can do is wait, hope, and pray he never hears her voice on the other side. If he didn't have that ability, I know he'd be coping a lot better. 'Ignorance is bliss,' and all that."
"But not hearing her voice means she's still alive," countered Curtis.
"Alive, yes, but over there and out of reach. In living death. Revyn's talent only lets him talk to the dead. And if she's trapped in Sovngarde, there's no hope he'll never see her even after his own death. One could suggest he change religion, but Revyn can't do that. Too damn spiritually cosmopolitan to confine himself to one god."
Revyn had broken the staff that the dragonpriests had used to keep open the gate, and all the Winterhold research teams in Skuldafn kept a wary eye on the closed gate. So far, nothing. Curtis would sometimes find himself listening to the sky, waiting to hear the roar of dragons proclaiming the death of Alduin and, maybe, the Dragonborn's return to this world.
He fervently hoped so. He had a feeling in his guts that if Helsette didn't, what was a promising new age would falter. Without her, the Felix family would lose one of their most effective weapons against the Dominion. And without her, a heartbroken Revyn would likely flee with his daughter into obscurity. The shadow empire he'd been building would dissipate. Even if he came back, it would never regain its momentum. Curtis knew most of his projects would tank without Revyn's active financial and political patronage. The renewed Old Kingdom, the Stormcloak Alliance, would collapse under the current flood of anti-Empire/anti-Dominion refugees without Revyn's information network and schemes underpinning Stormcloak throne.
"So, what are you and Vivec up to?"
"I'm heading into the Rift to check out the Dwemer ruin of Avanchnzel. It has a knowledge cube I want. Vivec decided on his own to tag along."
"And you don't like it." Ambarys filled a bowl with saltrice chips and a smaller bowl with a salsa-like dip. Curtis tasted the dip. Tomato base, and that's where the similarity ended. The flavors and looks were definitely made for Dunmer tastes. He scooped up tomatoes and smoke-dried Morrowind mealworms that added extra crunch and had flavors of banana leaf, onion, and green pepper. Instead of parsley or cilantro, the green leaf bits were hackle-lo, adding sharp and bitter flavors much like bitter melon. "Well, he may no longer be a god, but he does have all those centuries of experience," commented Ambarys. "I'd say if he felt he needs to go with you, even if he knows not the reason himself, heed it."
"Oh, so it be like that. Great." Curtis scooped up a hefty portion of the mealworm salsa. He liked the flavor, but he preferred his salsa volcanic hot. "Hope we figure it out why when we get there."
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
Curtis's Game memory of Avanchnzel was hazy. Two Argonians had hired two Nord mercenaries to accompany them into Avanchnzel. The player learned of this ill-fated exploration by watching a ghost replay. Ultimately, only the Argonian woman survived and could be found wandering Riften's dock, raving, "I won't go back! I could've left it behind… The memories… " The player can pick up the quest to return the lexicon.
The game reward was learning the smithing ability faster and armor perks when wearing Dwemer armor.
Curtis was pinning his hopes that the lexicon had more than that in its circuits.
The Dragonborn hadn't gotten this quest. Instead, her brother, Taliesin, completed it. Afterward, he sealed the doors. It took both Drevis and Arniel took down his security wards.
Such security was usually unnecessary. There were good reasons why Dwemer cities were uncolonized by the Nords. One, they were a lot bigger than the Game, which should be no surprise.
Despite automated lighting, there were plenty of dark passages with plenty of robot guards and Falmer. And it was a city, not a military base. Dwemer citizens could have private security systems guarding their homes and businesses. And, of course, city governments had plenty of secure places not open to the general public. Probably most were inoperable due to age, and the ones remaining would still be troublesome.
Think ant colonies. All those dark tunnels. Not all of the city were towering halls and chambers.
Curtis hoped they could find a city map or public info kiosk. And barring that, they had Master Illusionist Drevis along. His clairvoyance spellshould keep them more-or-less on track.
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
"Guess the ghost play is only for those returning the lexicon," said Curtis as they traveled through the crude, dirt-walled entry tunnel into Avanchnzel. Curtis had mentioned the possibility of ghosts of the last failed adventurers' party replaying their death march into the ruins, but that didn't happen.
"A pity. I was looking forward to watching it," said Drevis. "Although it did sound illogical, considering there was one survivor. Even if she's not mentally recovered yet, there's no reason for her ghost to be, um, place imprinted."
"Well, if it's a place imprint, it's a mechanical recording that doesn't necessarily need a soul to power it."
"Oh? How does that work?"
Curtis sighed and said reluctantly, "Back where I came from, there were people claiming to be ghost hunters or paranormal researchers. Mind you, they studied the dead, not other dimensional or Oblivion existences. According to the garb-, the theories they put out—"
Vivec chuckled. Curtis scowled. "I'm sure you have better insight. Pray enlighten me."
"No need. Your kind has always preferred to make your own discoveries rather than have faith in any god's word. Although I will admit that you have a surprising flexibility."
"Dwemer ghost hunters?" asked Arniel.
Vivec laughed as Curtis feigned a coughing fit to give himself time to think of a plausible explanation.
"Um, well, ghosts are theoretically energy beings. Souls, notably, have power. Soul gems are a way of quantifying and classifying energy levels. Physical bodies also have energy, the most obvious being able to generate heat as an operational byproduct, like most machines. The spirit energy, well, that's more ephemeral. Depending on who you listen to or what theory you favor, 'spirit' can mean a lot of things. My current definition is that it's a construct created from the soul, which may be loosely termed an eternal or infinite existence, and the physical body, which is most definitely finite. To go a bit further, the energy manifestation of the soul is a weak force that extends beyond this existence, and the physical is a strong force because it is confined to this timeframe. Between the two, spiritual energy is manifested. Its nature is befitting the combination by being erratic and often unpredictable. Its nature, its strength, is to bind the eternal and finite together. It ties the soul to this world and turns a meat machine into a person. A trinity of power. Or quaternity, if you extend the theory that the spirit is split between the mind and body to reflect the infinite and finite. Soul gems trap spirit energy and throw the souls away. I'm sure you wizards have heard of the 'soul cairn' from the Dragonborn's record of missions. Mage Falion in Morthal reconnects or, um, re-synchronizes a vampire's soul and physical energies back to this reality and mortality by using the spirit energy trapped in black soul gems. A spirit transplant, as it were.
"Anyways, before my explanations get too messy with theories, an intelligent ghost is spirit and soul deprived of a physical body. It substitutes its physical environment as a type of body. Another type of ghost is a manifestation of a life form that has somehow been recorded by its environment. That type of ghost is mindless.
"The ghosts—"
"Wait, wait," said Arniel. "Why would the environment record a life form?"
"Theoretically, certain environments, the physical makeup, can become a naturally occurring energy trap. For example, running water is a natural energy generator. And water is something Dwemer cities have plenty of because of the steam engine-based machines. Certain mineral deposits can create a residual haunt due to their crystalline structure naturally harmonizing and/or reflecting energy vibrations. Maybe the combination of such becomes a crude soul gem. Who knows? Takes a lot of energy to imprint on the environment. A lotta strong emotions."
"Or becoming the focal of power energies," supplied Vivec.
"You talking the Ghost Fence?"
"Yes. And then there are the soul shriven, the spirit and body sustained by condensed power to mimic a soul. I must say, you surprised me. You've gained insight during your otherworld travels."
Curtis scowled at him.
"That was a fairly competent introduction to necromancy," Vivec further commented.
Damn, the sneaky snake had him. "Necromancy, artificial intelligence, whatever," Curtis muttered resentfully. "I had Kagrenac; you had Sotha Sil."
They cleared the entry tunnel, stepping into a steel, marble, and granite corridor. The sentry spiders were quickly disposed of. At the end of the long tunnel, Curtis saw the gentle white shimmering of a spectre.
"Looks like we're gonna be meeting our first Dwemer ghost," Curtis said, pointing. "Drilira, go get 'em, babe."
She nodded and stepped forward. She drew a deep breath then began singing.