Loredas, 9th of Sun's Dusk 4E201 Midday
Esbern
I am Esbern. Last archivist of the Blades. Fugitive. And, quite possibly, the only man who knows that the end is upon us.
The irony is not lost upon me; an old homeless man claiming the end of the world is upon us. Although, I guess I could call this corner of Riften a home, such as it is. I've certainly paid off the Thieves' Guild well enough. Though I don't care much for my neighbours.
BANG BANG BANG
Blasted… "Go away!" If Knakjr offers to serve me again, I'll put a lightning bolt between his eyes, mad or no.
"Esbern?" My blood goes cold. "Open the door, there's no time."
Who could possibly… I should be a ghost, never even gave my name to the Guild. "What?! No, that's not me, I'm not Esbern. I don't know what you're talking about!" Which contingency plan… how much time do I have, how much can I bring?
The voice speaks again, male, aristocratic. Touch of High Rock. "There isn't time for the false insanity act, Esbern. The Thalmor know you're here. They could be here any moment, you need to get out."
"Oh, how reassuring!" I should have known. Those damn elves have come to finish the job they started all those years ago. Contingency 42 Ekem it is, only the necessities, and a violent exit. "Most likely you're with the Thalmor and this is just a trick to get me to open the door!"
"For the love of… Remember the 30th of Frostfall!"
The words break my concentration - a book falling out of my telekinesis from across the room. The 30th of Frostfall. It can't be… Delphine? I thought… "Indeed… Indeed, I do remember. Delphine is alive, then?"
"Was there anyone else at Cloud Ruler with you that day?" The voice is still hurried.
"No. No, I… You'd better come in, then, and tell me how you found me, and what you want. Just a moment." I can sense his impatience - whoever he is - but there's no rushing this door. When a world-spanning fascist ethnocracy is intent on your death, there's no such thing as too safe. A dozen locks and three runes later, and I finally get my first look at my visitor. Or two visitors, rather.
Two Bretons, one I vaguely recognize from the Ragged Flagon all those months ago, and the other being the source of the voice. Dressed rather nicely for a trip to the sewers, but he doesn't look too terribly out of place otherwise. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home." I shut the door behind them - though I leave all but one of the locks undone, considering we might need to beat a hasty retreat. The impatient one continues standing, despite some obvious discomfort. None of that for me, I gladly take a seat next to his companion. "So. Delphine keeps up the fight, even after all these years. I'm not surprised, resourceful as she is."
"Esbern, forgive me, but…"
"Yes yes, I know what you're about to say. The Thalmor have finally caught my trail." The adrenaline is already wearing off, leaving a deep stiffness in my muscles. Running on instinct and years of honed drills that I fell into without thinking, but now… "So what? The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else. I'm tired of running."
"Alright." He shares a look with his fellow - exasperated, perhaps - rubbing his temples. "I can see we're not getting out of here without a bit of talking so… 'The end is upon us.' You wouldn't be referring to Alduin, would you?"
"Yes! Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said!" The words all come rushing out, like a broken dam, tired of being stuck within only my mind. "The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him. I tried to tell them. They wouldn't listen. Fools. It's all come true... all I could do was watch our doom approach..."
The quiet Breton - Etienne, I suddenly remember - pipes up. "Wait… you lot are talking about the actual bleeding end of the world?! Listen, I know these dragons are bad news, but they ain't seem big enough to destroy the whole world."
"Oh yes, it's all been foretold. The end has begun. Alduin has returned." Years of research. The words passed down from Loremaster to Loremaster of the Blades, with only vague hints found throughout disparate texts. The story of a Nordic mother to her child, the last revelation of a Moth Priest, a dream of fire and darkness.
And through it all, only one way out, the true reason for the Blades' existence. "Only a Dragonborn can stop him. But no Dragonborn has been known for centuries. It seems the gods have grown tired of us. They've left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alduin the World-Eater."
Only the rustle of clothing follows this revelation. Until the impatient one's voice breaks the silence again. "Esbern. You obviously know Delphine much more than I. Why do you think she would send me with the code of the date Cloud Ruler Temple fell?"
Why indeed. Delphine had never paid heed to my tidings of the inevitable end. And yet she and I had ridden together that winter, found the ruins together, and escaped to opposite ends of the continent. To keep the Blades alive, not just to spite the Thalmor. Waiting for…
"You're... can it really be true? Dragonborn?" He simply nods. "Then... then there is hope! The gods have not abandoned us! We must... we must... We must go, quickly now. Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss."
"That's more like it. Delphine suggested contingency 42 Koht, by the by."
"Hmph. She would. Of course she'd know I'd dally too long." The true essentials were always packed - dried fruits, hardtack, wine, and water, alongside a bedroll - but the books rankle me. The more I take, the longer our travel will last, but what I leave behind ran the risk of falling into the hands of the Thalmor. And by Oblivion, where is that annotated Anuad? "Well, I guess that's good enough… Let's be off." The other Breton stands by the door, eyes closed, as though listening. "Forgive me, but I realize I never caught your name, Dragonborn."
"Talao. Hush a moment." His lips flutter, and I read the sounds 'drun sil het mindok' pass them. If I were to disbelieve Delphine's suspicions - which I were not - the words he whispers are certainly dovahzul, though their meaning escapes me. "We have company, and not the mad ones. Four of them. Three Altmer, and one Khajiit."
Thalmor, almost certainly. "How are they arranged?"
"Two of the Altmer are athwart ahead of the third, advancing together. The Khajiit is definitely with them, but separate, keeping to corners and walls."
"A typical Thalmor kill squad." Enough for a withered old man. Not enough for a withered old Blade, even if I didn't have some help. "They'll expect me, and likely a number of traps. But we should be able to get the drop on them, render their numbers useless. Can you distract them, Dragonborn?"
"I do indeed believe I have such a trick up my sleeve, Esbern. One distraction, on your mark."
The well-oiled hinges of the door glide open silently - yet another habit that has paid off today - and we three spread out among the winding sprawl of the madhouse, what little noises we make covered by the muttering and moaning of the insane. From my perch, I see the Thalmor agents in their night-dark armor cautiously advancing, oblivious, though nearly as quiet. I gesture to Talao and suddenly... pandaemonium. "WAHL ZULLE ZAAN!" The sounds of the insane amplifies a hundred fold. The Thalmor, to their credit, do not panic, do not break and run, but their heads swivel all about, searching for the sourceless sounds. A shuffling and a shout of "KOS MEY NAAL DII ZUL" draw their attention behind them, Talao's taunt dragging the one robed wizard out of formation, and Etienne swoops in, dagger plunging into his neck before the mage even knows he is dead. Quick and clean.
One down.
Their leader dead, the two armored elves turn to face Etienne, who dances between the two, keeping them off balance, constantly getting in each others' way. Talao is clearly doing... something, as their movements seem laborious, and he is Shouting something towards the melee. In my hands, lightning crackles, and yet I pause. The khajiit has yet to show themself, and if they weren't waiting to save the agent, then... Sudden movement across the room, and my hands move faster than my mind, electricity crossing the distance in an instant, the thunderclap only a split second behind, the smell of burning fur, as the assassin collapses behind Talao, daggers falling from overloaded fingers, rather than digging into the spine of the Dragonborn. Too close. Two down. Actually, three down, as the rogue finds an opening, driving his blade under the armpit of a stumbling Thalmor, blood spurting over the sewer stones, and he falls as his heart is severed. And three-on-one, the last agent stands no chance, though he fights to the bitter end. Which in his case is an unfortunate combination of electric shocks, dagger cuts, and ancient magic.
"Well fought!" I would give a great sigh of relief, except for the fact that the air here is still the most disgusting stench I have ever smelt. Etienne gives a brief smile to my proclamation, though I notice he is more winded than I would expect someone in his profession to be - I've never met a thief that couldn't run for their life until their quarry gave up - and his hands tremble. Something to ask on the road, perhaps, since he seems to be accompanying the Dragonborn for some reason. Speaking of whom, he thanks me - a curt, but not unfriendly 'my thanks for keeping me from becoming a Khajiit-kebab' - and even stops to close the eyes of the dead with a whispered prayer to Auri-El. Accustomed to death, but not inured to it. And more respectful of their beliefs than I would have been. Or am. I don't follow The Old Ways that my parents did, having spent too much time among the Blades in Cyrodiil for that. But after the White-Gold Concordat... well, let's just say that I have as much respect for the Thalmor's beliefs as they do of ours. Even if they hadn't murdered almost everyone I knew and cared for.
Etienne, thankfully, knows the Ratways like the back of his hand, and we soon leave the terrible sounds and smells behind. Twisting around and around until at last... fresh air upon my face. Sweet breath of Kynareth, some part of me thought I would die without ever breathing anything but mold and sewage. The late afternoon sun hot upon skin that hadn't seen it in who knows how long anymore. It fills me with hope, as though Akatosh himself looks upon me in this moment. 'All is not lost,' he says. 'Believe, believe, the Dragonborn's come.' This is why I was spared on the 30th of Frostfall. And now I must fulfill that duty.
Our emergency exit looks out upon the lake. I would call it dockside, but for the fact that the treacherous path we followed around the outside of the town's walls was actually UNDER the water level, to 'avoid detection', as Etienne claims. Too bad the water cannot avoid my shoes, though the urge to jump in and wash the filth from my body in the lake is tempered by the fact that I imagine I'd simply sink like a stone in these conditions. Instead, I simply follow, the sound of footsteps tromping along the actual docks and walkways above us, slogging eventually through shallow waters and reeds toward the stables. "We, uh, requisitioned these horses back in Solitude," Etienne says. "They're sure to be flagging, so we can't drive them particularly hard this trip. But it's still the fastest way to... where did you say, Talao?"
"Riverwood. Delphine said to meet there when we parted ways after the party in Solitude. I think she was more surprised to hear Esbern was still alive and at large than anyone."
"More likely, she thought I died of old age in these bitter winters. But I'm still a Nord at heart; it would take more than a few snowfalls to send me off to Sovngarde." I saddle up in front of Etienne, once he pays off the guards standing out front. Cold might not be the end of me, but a nasty tumble would; how embarrassing that would be. A chill wind blows down from the mountains as we take off through the usually vibrant forest of the Rift. I was expecting the beautiful colors of late autumn, but the expected reds and yellows were replaced by browns and grays, of leaves killed off too quickly, their energy gone to waste. I shudder, knowing the cause, just over the horizon.
That night on the road I dream of him, the dragon with a mouth so wide to swallow the world entirely.
Drun sil het mindok - Cause life here (to be) known [slightly altered Aura Whisper shout]
Wahl zulle zaan - raise voices (in) shout [zulle is the plural of zul, for a mortal voice, and zaan is likewise the word for 'mortal' shouts, rather than the Thu'um]
Kos mey naal dii zul - be fooled by my voice [altered Throw Voice shout]
"Ekem" and "Koht" are the daedric words for the letters "E" and "K" respectively.
There will be more in-depth discussion of the Blades next chapter; sadly, our heroes were too much in a hurry to talk about the Dragonguard.