Jon was not happy as the current Party leader. Tolfdir was stranded alone at the College with a madman, and it took four days of hard riding to cut though the back mountain passes to get to Labyrinthian at best time, clearing Snowpoint Beacon of the few bandits it had along the way. J'zargo knew them, as road clan individuals always took back was to get from place to place, usually to scout the main road head for trouble. While it was certainly faster than looping all the way around, getting near to Whiterun before cutting north, it was still four days Ancano had to advance his schemes, then another four days he had on the way back, all from just getting from place to place.
His unit did take to horses when they had too, there was almost always faster transportation to a mission point. Most likely a stolen van or truck. Spending eight days in the field is nothing. Just on one operation getting from place to place in a AO, while his current target was plotting, was a slower pace than what he was used to. He after all didn't just target Augments, but their auxiliaries as well, which was their real muscle. Could he ride a dragon, and just as important, can he get Lydia one too?
The ancient complex down the hill below him was another wonder. It was actually a connection of two different tombs, one a full settlement. The settlement target, and the tomb he didn't have the time to consider. There was also a word wall sitting in plain view, behind a maze which gives the tomb its name. It wasn't actually a very big maze, but just large enough to be impressive. It wouldn't matter when he actually got to it. The walls were well claimable, and wide enough he could run and leap across with a billowing cloak. There was a problem, however, as he rode at a slower place into the complex. He pulled out his problem solver.
The Attendant was called forth from Sanguine's Rose, "Hail Thane. I detect two challengers, shall I engage them? I see them now, they are charging, frost trolls Thane. Orders Thane? Thane, Your orders. How may I serve, my Thane!"
"Broadsword green, Broadsword green, you are clear to engage. Till Valhalla." Jon fought his chuckles.
"Till Valhalla!" And the Attendant charged. The Frost trolls didn't stand a chance against his newly enchanted broadsword.
As the Party road past, he stood proudly and said, "Are you pleased with this blood offering, my Thane?"
Jon gave a dismissive eye roll and a wave. Then he thought about it, the Attendant was beginning to laugh. He said, "Wait, shit. Don't go yet. We're about to infiltrate Labyrinthian."
The Attendant jogged up to the riding Party leader and said, "Of course, Thane. My apologizes for assuming. What did you think of the improved broadsword."
Jon nodded, "Not necessary. I didn't think that one through. I'm pleased you upgraded your equipment, however. Straight up set them on fire. Sam enchant it?"
The Attendant gave a shark smile, "He did. His own prize for serving you so well. He is pleased you are pleased. Thane, if I may, our exploits together have stirred something in me. I've had masters who are understanding, and dare I say amicable, but it was always a normal Dremora-master relationship. You however have inducted me into the Party in a way none have. Treated me as none have, save Sam. I wish to become a lord. Have my own small realm. We don't control them as a Prince can, but we can either stake a claim in an existing Plane, take or deal or it, or find our own smaller realm. Sam has already offered me one of his as he's the Prince of pocket realms, free estates he calls it. I know this is long winded, but I want to know your thoughts on the matter."
Jon gave a moment of thought, "You have my blessing."
The Attendant gave another rarely warm smile. The matter was settled then, with the blessing of a Prince and a Divine. He would be a lord.
Jon asked, "So what does that entail? Pleasure for all, and invading other realms to liberate them from Pain, or some mammoth shit?"
The Attendant laughed heavily, "Perhaps! I truly don't know yet, but I expect much of the same. After all, serving mortals inst the only thing I do. And partying Isn't the only thing Sam does. Why let all the others have fun plotting and scheming. A Great Game, we call it."
Jon smiled, "I understand. Perpetual Cold War that oftentimes goes hot. We had our own Great Game. The name for such a war between Russia and Britain, both empires vying for the same area I grew up in. The Middle-East. They never fought directly, however. Their proxies did, and they did invade smaller nations to conquer them. There was also the Cold War, between my nation, the United States, and the Soviet Union."
The Attendant gave his usual shark smile, "Sounds like a marvelous time, my Thane. I expect it to 'go hot,' I love your terms, as soon as I declare, and word gets out. You do have to earn your title of lord, as a Dremora. I expect even Princes to invade, given who I am, and my oftentimes hostile-to-them history. Sam does not like many of his brothers and sisters, and neither did many of the masters I have served."
Jon nodded, that was fair if they literally derive pleasure from servitude and pain. If you want to give that up, make your own way, well that's true, dangerous, freedom. Cosmic anarchy. Might makes right, and its completely ethical given their long culture and history, their very physiology. The Princes are right, because they have might. As a Dremora, you have to prove that might, your rightness, and he was sure Princes were always willing to put down upstarts. Even if they die, that's basically ultimate Pleasure, something that perhaps many even strive towards given that they're functionally immortal. The Princes even seemingly allow a healthy amount of this, given that you can deal for a realm, probably figuring they can make lords their proxies anyway, or giving truly rebellious Dremora an out. Cast them out from their Planes, and make it that much harder for them to usurp any kind of real power. A Great Game, indeed it was. One Jon realistically was already playing.
Jon asked, "Can you raise forces? How does that work, a Dremora leaving a Prince, to serve a lord."
The Attendant smiled, "The Princes do not control the Dremora as tightly as they believe they do. They did, at first, but then we aged as a people along with them. That's why there is a whole unwritten system around lordship. It developed over time. The Lord, his title but a Lord like me as well, was the first to truly rebel. He stole the secrets to travel the Planes from his Prince, Dagon, and led an exodus to his own Plane. Not as vast, but particularly defensible. He died after a near eon of resistance, finally being felled by Dagon himself, but his idea never died. Dremora may serve, we may derive Pleasure and fulfillment from from what you see as pain, but we are no ones petty slaves."
Jon snicked, "Man, Dagon keeps getting fucked every time I hear more about him."
J'zargo said, "Fuck him in particular."
Lydia snickered herself, "Don't be a hundred foot tall walking weapon of mass destruction, and you wont have Akatosh, and others, spanking you constantly."
The Party Laughed as they got off their horses. The Attendant said, "Sam, and other Princes, lords as well, saw a sharp increase in new servants after the Oblivion Crisis. Refugees, as you would call them. Word is his wrath is ongoing, now that he's sealed permanently. Any one still there are fanatics even worse than I."
Jon said, "Completely not surprised, given my own experience. Wars usually cause refugees for both sides. So what does it take to truly kill a Dremora, a Prince or Divine?"
The Attendant nodded, "Basically, yes. You have to smite us. Either though power as you described, or some other Great Power. Even if you fell us in our own realms, our energy, our souls, will reform over time. We get to the Point Of Choosing. Where you once again take to flesh, at a place of your or your masters choosing, naturally."
Jon asked, "What about soul trapping, in your own realm. I know this is essentially a copy you use, and I just supply energy for you to form and control it."
The Attendant smiled, "Now that, is Pleasure. To be burst, then sucked and squeezed, all while your soul is ripped in two. It doesn't kill us, Thane. When we burst, there is also a burst of magika latent in our destroyed forms. It will form a copy of our soul in response to a soul trap, connected to ours. The Princes needed sturdy servants, ones only they could truly fell."
Jon nodded slowly, having answers he didn't want. Shouldn't have asked, rookie mistake, classic blunder.
Jon decided to end the conversation with a long bust of Sparks, a reward for the provided information, and an excuse to recast the Attendant. As Farengar said, more power can always be put into the most basic spells, and Jon's Study of destruction Magics gave him more power. The Attendant didn't dare scream, lest he give his Divine Thane's postilion away, but he kneeled in Pleasure all the same. This Divine would give the Pleasure! Real Pleasure! Praise Heracles! The lighting burn and charred his exposed face. After a few seconds, and a soul trap spell, the Attendant burst back to his realm in death. With a normal Lesser, ingredients could be harvested, but not a Lord from a Daedric staff, apparently.
His soul entered one of Jon's empty Greater gems. Any gem of a decent size could hold any sized soul, but normal gems could only hold one of the Attendant. He thought himself wrong on his assumption that only sapient souls could be trapped with black soul gems. Perhaps it was simply mortal souls. Smaller souls could be stacked in a normal gem, but to truly stack souls, and get full power out of enchantment, you needed larger gems could could stack many Atronach sized souls, or a few Lord sized souls. He would farm his Attendant when necessary, seeing as how the man actually enjoyed it, and other Lessers as a whole that can only be smited by Great Power, not some mortal with a bag of tricks.
Jon said, "So, uh, you guys want in on this?"
"J'zargo was hoping to get more souls for enchantment. The game along the way did not even begin to fill the gems we hauled from the keep. He definitely liked it, from the smell."
Lydia snorted, "Sure, why not. You can go after that wall while we do. I haven't studied enchantment yet, but I bet filling the gems I have is worthwhile at least."
Jon jogged over and made his way to the top of the maze. He identified the path near immediately, and spied no threats lurking within, but several traps which would no doubt call them forth. A couple minutes of careful hopping, and he learned a word of Terror, Maar. It wasn't particularly useful to him, and he saved his soul inside him, waiting for release upon a word. He would prefer to understand a full shout, or at least the first word to a particularly useful one. The same routine over top the maze, something the designers didn't account for, brought him back to the Party, and a once again warmly smiling Attendant.
They rounded up and made for the ceremonial door that lead to the inside of the crypt. It was missing something, the 'circlet' that the Arch-Mage gave him. He placed the Torc in its spot, and the ancient magic locking the door responded by dispelling to pieces, waiting to be called forth again at the removal of its key.
The Party cast their support spells, drank their potions, and breached into the ruin to clear it properly. Jon said, "Okay, spread out a bit, we have some room here. Attendant, with J'zargo on the left. Lydia with me on the right. Stack on that gate. Mark."
The Party spread out with purpose thought the entrance hall, stepping carefully though the rubble and bones. With their muffle spells, and their now practiced battle-order, they were smooth and efficient making their way up to the gate. On either side was two levers that obviously opened both gates. Behind those gates was a couple dozen skeletons, humanoid, and one dragon-bone victim to the necromancy.
Jon said, so low only those of his Party could hear him, "Lydia, J'zargo, quiet cast those bows and get some practice though the gates. Watch your strength Lydia, no gunshots. Let them come to us. When that dragon is about to shout, get in cover, and we'll open the gate for a shout."
They took to their task, and Jon pealed off to pick up a spell tome. It was Lighting Cloak. Appropriate, Jon thought. The small host of the next room was well on their way to the gate, but Jon suspected they had no way to open it on the other-side. All of the traps he's seen in tombs like this were seemingly meant to keep the undead in, not intruders out. Jon wondered if they relied on their undead guard, so future generations could still enter and take the treasures in service to their returned gods. Well, now god-slayer.
J'zargo and Lydia had taken a toll on the skeleton force. They got their before the dragon, lumbering as even dead dragons do, and the pair were simply lobbing arrows though the gates. The environment was target rich, and half the skeletons were felled when the dragon neared the gate. J'zargo and Lydia took cover before it could shout.
"Fo Krah Diin" The Frost Breath was nowhere near as powerful as one with the spark of a dragon soul behind it. It was still powerful enough to kill the last of the skeletons though.
Jon pulled the lever just as the shout was about to end. The Attendant followed a fraction of a second later. The gates opened as the shout was over. Jon peaked the corner, "FUS RO DAH"
The skull of the undead dragon shattered at the force of his Thu'um. This wasn't a debate. Simply a mercy to whatever was left in the bones of that dragon. Nothing came forth, and Jon took a moment to ponder. About what he would potentially have to do, again.
It was a short moment, just enough to consider. And he breached first through the gates as the dragon died. No other enemies were in the continuation of the entrance hall. The Party was behind him, and they all cleared the room with spell and sword always at the ready.
Jon needed no words this time, the Party spaced out for a room of the size they were in. They slowly advanced around and over the rumination of the room. They weren't bothering with loot. This was a mission, not one they had time to say and gather for. Along the way was a corpse of a mage in robes, no doubt one of the reasons the Arch-Mage reacted as he did.
At the back of the hall there was a door that closed the room to a choke, and took it down a stairway to a more narrow passage. As they descended a decrepit voice called to them in the dragon tongue, "Who comes to my dark kingdom?
Jon felt a saw the power rumble though the hall in front of him. He could here his Party struggling with the effect. He felt it, but not as strongly. They were acting as if most of their magika had been drained at once. He had only lost a quarter. He didn't hesitate to reply in dragon tongue with Dragon's-Breath, "Heracles Storm's-Lord, your Doom That Approaches, lich"
"I command the power of gods, fool"
"FUS RO DAH" And the Ice Atronach that burst forth from the ice blocked passage in front of them was broken asunder, and cast down in pieces.
There was no further reply as the Party advanced. Jon said, "Sound off."
"We will make it, Thane. Its only attacking our magika. Not our heath or stamina." The Attendant said to the nods of the rest of the party. Jon was still getting used to the Synesthesia that was a normal part of life now, a quantifiable metric for overall vitality, obviously induced by magika and the biological-neurological changes it causes to those evolved to harness it. Color was an important sense in magic and alchemy. Magic was navy-blue, usually, health was red, and stamina green.
Jon replied, "Good, take a moment before I melt the ice off this door. Recast our party favors and bows while we can."
The Party took their moment, and Jon melted the Ice on the door. They crept though, and were on a bridge over a chasm. In and on the various levels of this chasm Draugr were milling about. The Attendant keep a keen eye out for any unexpected threats while the party silently pulling and losing their bows. While the party was not as versed in Illusion magic, they did use its tenets to achieve the silent destruction of the enemy force. The city block rivaling Saarthal was filled with the undead, and after about a hundred or so pulls, most of them were felled. Any more could be dealt with other means.
Jon felt were the power was coming from. There was a natural stream at the bottom of the chasm that lead into a cave, and toward the primordial power. Jon decided to avoid the needed passages down to the bottom, assuming them still filled with Draugr. Jon had picked up sturdy rope in Winterhold, along with various spells, before leaving as quickly as the Party could manage. The fisher-monger also had plenty more pemmican to stock up on as well. His his in particular, being smoke-dried meat and snow berries, was particularly liked by the Party.
Tying the rope off, the Party climbed down one by one. Jon was first, then Lydia, then J'zargo last. The Attendant still kept his keen eye out for the unexpected while they did. He untied the rope, dropping it, and was recast down with the rest of the Party, much to his Pleasure. The adventure never stops with this Party!
They proceeded though a tighter cavern, with Jon ending whatever Draugr and skeletons. Each pull filled more and more of his gems, waiting for him to attempt a truly powerful enchantment. As they passed along the stream, there was a locked door to Jon's left, and it beckoned with the power of the Lich. Jon unlocked it, and led his Party to the next room.
"Do you think your magics superior to mine, Dovahkiin?"
He halted his party, to let them recuperate from the attack. He made no reply to the Lich. He would only reply in the language it understood from now on. Tolfdir's-Party was superior, and by ancient right of might he would prove it with Unrelenting and overwhelming Force.
After a moment of rest and recast, Jon continued down the rest of the passage, and into a room. It was inhabited by another Frost Troll, but it didn't last long to the party spreading out and casting their fire at it.
The next room was another large chasm, with passages leading down its side and to the bottom. Creeping up to the edge, he could see and feel the path to the next part of the dungeon. It was too quiet however. He could predict what would happen when he did what the Lich knew he would do. This was his dark kingdom, and nothing happened in it without his knowledge. The question was, did the Lich know what would happen when Jon responded to his inevitable attack.
Jon said, "Stay on top with your bows. He's going to rush when I rope down."
Jon tied his rope off, and repelled free hand down to the bottom of the chasm. He looked around for a second at the various doorways leading in and out of the ground floor. He just began to see the hateful blue glow coming from them. It began to light the cavern in earnests with the number of of them. They were so far slowly shuffling.
"I am a god." The Draugr began their rush.
"FUS RO DAH" And those Draugr kneeled in response.
"Drem, Fahdons" They no longer cared about the false-god. He was not their friend, and he did not offer them peace. Each Draugr took their peace, each one hoping they would go to Sovngarde.
There was no reply from the Lich.
The ritual was the same. Lydia, then J'zargo, then the Attendant untying the rope to be recast with the rest. The flow of power lead to another cave. Along the way was a wider cavern with a couple ghostly Draugr, and their hound. They all fell to the efficient work of the Party, with Jon leading the way this time. No Attendant of his would do what he was not willing to do himself. That's just being a good officer. Lydia was behind him on the stack, and the Attendant the rear. J'zargo was still where he liked to be in any clan, right in the middle, towards the back.
There was a ward tome there, that J'zargo took. He was not as versed in restoration as Lydia, nor had a named ward like Jon. The ward was a powerful one right off the bat, he had the magika to cast with his natural reserve, potions, and various enchanted bits he acquired before and during Party travels. When he learned more of restoration for wards, and practiced, the ward would only become more powerful. J'zargo was a happy Khajiit indeed. They did take the time to loot the room for its various bits, since all the coin and gems were lying right in front of them.
Further down the passage there were rune traps that Jon disabled well out side of effective range with Ice Spikes. At the end of it all, it opened to a torture room, with skeletons shackled all along the wall. There was also a gate with a chest behind it, no doubt the confiscated good from the victims of these crimes. Waste not, want not. Jon went first for the dagger in the chest of the one victim. It was a standard dagger pattern, but the metal was black as night, the same Ebony of his sword hilt and the post. It had deep, blood red Daedric runes carved into it. They were almost glowing.
The Attendant said, "Ah yes, a Deadric dagger. They are forged of Ebony, induced with the heart of a Dremora. A powerful weapon, especially when enchanted, as their amplified. It would be better as a sword, but you al-"
"Attendant," Jon spit out with a lazy smile, the Attendant returned it, "You will not finish that sentence."
Lydia and J'zargo snickered as the Attendant said, "By your will, my Thane."
Jon asked, giving his Party another rest, "How does one get a Dremora heart? I can harvest Atronachs, but not you."
The Attendant gave a shark smile. He wished he could be harvested by his Thane. He said, "Our burst is more powerful. We are simply higher beings compared to Atronachs. It destroys our forms, but only disintegrates theirs into salts. Normal Dremora conjurations cannot be harvested. By ritual, yes, Prince, yes, as you summon the actual Dremora, not a projection. You could also go to a Plane, and either give Pleasure for it, or take it by conquest."
"Which is still Pleasure to you, my friend, hehe" And the Attendant turned his shark smile on J'zargo.
Jon swapped out his current holdout dagger for a superior one. He also thought about getting a rig for a boot knife. Then he would have two holdout daggers. One fore Lydia as well, so she can have two too. Picking the lock to the gate, he pulled out the meager loot of some coin and gems, but the not so meager loot of the helmet contained within. The helmet was ancient matte and grayed Atmoran steel, which took after the ancient Greek hoplite style without the top frill, or embellishments except Atmoran runes covering every inch of it. He also felt a powerful fire resistance enchantment on it. Lydia would love this.
He walked to her in deference, with the helmet held out, and to a cajoling Attendant and J'zargo, "I make this offering to you, my demi-goddess. A helmet befitting a proud Nord battle-mage."
She wasn't wearing her steel, instead her circlet, but the helmet was just so loose that it slid right over the simple silver band, fit better perhaps, allowing her to wear both of her offerings. Before putting it on, she kissed Jon and said, "Thank you, my sword. You know I love offerings robbed from graves."
Jon snickered, "That is a powerful fire resistance enchantment. One of the most powerful J'zargo has seen so far. A good find. Intimidating as well, especially with the dragon eyes."
The Attendant, "Absolutely marvelous. It is not facetious to say I do not want to be on the other end of a warrior wearing that, and confident enough to face me as you would be. Even Lords can be intimidated by things. We are not exactly fearless. Fear is Pleasure, after all. That style of helm frames the death in ones eyes and face perfectly. Like a window to your approaching doom you can only just make out. Old heavy legion helmets used to look similar. I assure you, it left a scar."
Lydia smiled at the flattery with a cocky grin, and a final wink to Jon. Perhaps that would stay on during their gallops together as well.
Jon approached the door to exit, and another wave of the Lich's power hit the Party. It came without words, but it was a longer and more thorough argument. Even Jon felt the concentration eat at his brow from a lack of magika. The rest of the Party was their heads in near pain, which was Pleasure for the Attendant. He simply laughed.
When the power subsided, Jon said, "Attendant with me. Lydia and J'zargo hold here, or in the next room depending what it is, there's definitely a word wall. Keep my line of retreat open."
They both trusted Jon, and weren't going to fuss over lost glory. If that was indicative of the battle ahead, they wouldn't last in any functional state. Jon peaked the door, and there was a throne with his back to it, and the word wall in front of it was beginning its beckoning chants. It unfortunately was the last word of the Slow Time shout, and wasn't useful for the upcoming battle.
Jon stepped in with Dragon's-Bane drawn, spying only a single Draugr in the room. This was not the Lich's place of power for sure. The one on the throne took notice, and rose from his slumber. He accepted the duel with a Nord salute, and charged for at the intruder to his lair.
The Draugr didn't stand a chance. Not only was Jon superior, his training was as well. He had been drilling with Lydia every time they set camp, and she could match him in speed and strength now. So she was not just showing him form, but truly sparing at his level. He bisected the fully armored Draugr Death-Lord at the waist with a swing to the left. Then an upward swing though his other side, and out his shoulder. A final chop bisected the undead down the middle, and dug the tip of the dragon-bone sword into the stone floor. The pieces of the thing fell asunder, the glow fading before pieces of his head fell to the ground.
Lydia said, "Perfect form. We'll make a warrior out of you yet, wizard."
Jon scoffed hard, with Dragon's-Breath, along with the rest of his Party. He said, "This is actually a better spot than that torture room. Keep this path clear. He might call up whatever Draugr he has left to rear charge us."
Lydia said, "Can't have that. We'll be ready with steel. I don't trust my magic right now."
J'zargo said, "Neither does J'zargo, with the effect that Priest has. Thankfully, he is skilled in sword work, and that Overseer looks like he has a nice blade. Ebony. You have yours, and Lydia carries her mother with her. J'zargo will take this blade, and make a fiery one of it."
Jon and the Attendant chucked evilly as they continued on the passage. A powerful sword that would be, they both thought. They continued thought the passage to the final chamber, and another wave of the Lich's power hit them. The Attendant had a Moment, and Jon steeled himself against the assault. He would not be able to use magika in any reliable manner in this fight. That was fine. He had other tools. The crevices of the passage came alive with a final few skeletons and ghost Draugr. The pass was narrow, and the distance short.
"FUS RO DAH" He replied, sending the final few tomb guards asunder.
Jon crept to the corner, and looked into the large hall around it. He scoffed, and then threw back his head in laughter, letting the Attendant peak so he could join in on the Pain as well.
At the end of the hall was a waterfall feeding a pool at the bottom of it. There were two raised platforms against either wall, some guard posts on the one, manned by apparitions of the Arch-Mage's party, but on the other was the Lich, trapped in a field created and sustained by the brave explorers that sacrificed themselves and their souls to trap the supposed god. Jon couldn't believe it. He was expecting a fight, and here the Lich was gift wrapped for him. When he was done laughing he payed a moments silence of respect to the two ghosts still manning their posts.
Jon said, "Attendant, give those souls some peace with your broadsword. I will be delivering my argument face to face. A quick-draw competition."
The Attendant said, "Ah, like with the Overseer in Saarthal. I noticed he hung on that first word longer than he should."
Jon nodded, "I Think they have to, even dragons I've noticed myself. Its like charging a spell for cast, if they're using a full shout. I'm a Living Divine, so the Thu'um comes as naturally as breathing."
The Attendant said, "If I may, Thane. If and when you face Alduin, he may not have that disadvantage. He is exceedingly powerful. Tread cautiously."
Jon nodded again, "Aye, Attendant. Thank you for your wise counsel."
The Attendant's warm smiles were becoming less rare. His Thane didn't even spit his name. Just humble gratitude for making him think about things that should be thought of. He said, "I will wait for you to get in position."
They both walked to their platforms. Jon took up center stage in front of the Lich. The thing was mummified, and in the tatters of his Priest robes, and wore a navy blue carved mask, with slits for eyes and a mouth. There was little ornamentation to the sharp angles that outlined the dull facsimile of a face, with recessed eyes, flaring cheek bones, and a runic arrow facing down on its forehead. Its eyes stared into Jon's, and Jon's his. The Lich's head cocked to the side, and then was brought around to the other, as if making an inspection from every angel he could see.
In his hand was the Staff of Magnus. Like the staff that brought down the barrier, it was made from gnarled and twisted driftwood, three thin branches making the braid. Each branch was carved with intricate patterns, similar to the Graybeard livery. At the bottom was a pointed gem of sky-blue with a dull glow, and at the top the three branches set in, and came on top of, an imperfectly shaped orb, also of sky-blue, carved on every inch with the same runes as on the eye.
Jon said nothing, waiting for the moment to make his rebukes to the so far unanswered attacks. Who was faster, him, or an undead jackass that's been in a force field for decades.
The Lich waved a hand, and another attack was sent forth. We would smite this fool who would stand in front of him, arrogant, without a care. He would show the young and cocky Dovahkiin a meaning of power that not even his former masters could understand. He held the Staff, and though it he could feel the uncovering of the Eye. He would smite this fool, his slave, his other playthings, and he would take the Eye for himself. He alone was the heir to the Architect.
The Attendant laughed at the Pleasure, and at the Approaching Doom of the Lich, as his Thane called it. He swung his broadsword down on the first ghost, giving it peace as commanded. It didn't stand a chance against a Prince-blessed weapon. He walked over to the next on at a violent pace. The assault was still going, and his Thane was still holding firm. He gave just a moment to meet his Thane's eye, seeing an almost imperceptible twitch, the signal. He began his swing.
"FUS RO DAH"
Just as the Attendant's broadsword came down, Jon started his shout. Just as the broadsword connected, the barrier wavered. Just as he finished the shout the barrier popped. He could see the Lich attempt to bring the Staff of Magnus to bear, but it was to late for him. Heracles Storm's-Lord was faster than a literally decrepit old fool, with a mask he would be taking.
He aimed a little low, and to the left. He didn't fiddle with the settings, simply blasted full power into the lower midsection of the Lich. The blue force tore his body asunder at point blank range. The debate was over.
It's sill mostly in tact left arm and upper torso were will mostly still in place when they fell, the staff and mask clattering to the floor. The Attendant was laughing so hard he dispelled himself on accident. Jon quickly recast him.
He said, "Attendant, please go get my love and my friend."
He smiled evilly and took off to his task. Jon picked up the mask, disinfecting the inside with Dragon's-breath, and tried it on. Surprisingly, even with no strap, the thing fit sung on his face. It even fit around his Stormcrown, seemingly hanging on it's horns. It wasn't really surprising. This was the mask of a Dragon Priest. It was probably 'blessed' by a dragon, maybe the Worm, son of Akatosh, so was near-Divine power in it's enchantment. His magika would now regenerate nearly as fast as he could cast it while wearing it, and give him a mask for his true identity.
The rest of the Party made their way into the hall. Lydia jogged up to kiss her thane as he took of his new mask. You always got the demi-goddess after slaying the Lich, right? Especially when one make an appropriate offering before hand. She near slammed her steel into his chest, and he was proud enough to admit it hurt, and would cause a bruise.
When she pulled away from his taste, she said, "Sorry. The Attendant told us what you did. Efficient as always."
Jon smiled, "And the mask?"
Lydia said, "Almost as intimidating as my new offering."
Jon scoffed, "Alright, now I need pick up this staff, and hope I doesn't destroy me."
Jon slowly kneeled with and outstretched hand to pick up the staff. To his surprise, it felt like a normal staff. There was no surge of energy or explosive effect. He got up and tested the staff against a rocky wall nearby. A torrent of sky-blue lighting came forth and slammed into the damp wall, sending more charge against it as the waterfall did to its pond. This would take from you your magika, then your life when it has done its task. Its was a powerful staff, indeed probably an artifact of Great Power, but its only one part to a whole, a key. He hopped Ancano didn't find a workaround. He assumed he was doing so right now.
Jon said, "Good job people. Hail Tolfdir's-Party."
"Hail Tolfdir's-Party."
Jon continued, "Aright, no rest for the wicked. He have to get back on the road, and get as far as we can what what daylight we have left out there. Push though the night too. We rode hard here, were riding hard back. We have stop Ancano, all of Mundus is at risk from his schemes. Failure is not an option. Move out."
"Hail Tolfdir's-Party!"
"Hail Tolfdir's-Party!"
The Party kept their tempo thought the side door at the end of the hall. It was barred shut from their side, so a lift and a pull took them into the passage thought. At the end of that there was a gate to the next room, with a pull chain again on their side. Jon could smell a presence, now that he wasn't distracted by trickery.
The Thalmor in his robes stepped from behind cover just before Jon advanced, and keeping the party from advancing and spreading out, keeping their firepower constrained with his own spells ready. The man was good, Jon thought.
He said, "Ancano was right, you are dangerous, if you made it through alive. Ill be taking that staff. He wants it kept safe, and you and your miserable party dead. Tolfdir's-Party, what a stu-"
"FUS RO DAH" And the Thalmor was turned to mist; Red, black, with gold trim.
With Dragon's-Breath, Jon said, "Attendant, you may dispel now. Have your Pleasure."
"Praise Heracles!" And he burst away to his realm, to the snickers of the Party.
J'zargo said, "It seems Ancano didn't even tell him what you were."
Lydia said, "Because then he wouldn't have even tried. He had the drop on us there. If we were a normal party, a powerful Thalmor mage with lighting magic stood a good chance with us locked in a line like that. Especially if he took potions as soon as he detected us coming down the hall."
Jon said, "Fucker's dead now. Lets keep moving, I smell easily acquired treasure.
In the Room was the treasure one got when they cleared a crypt. The Party left most of it be, save a split on the coin, gems, and jewelry. Up some steps was a barred door that the Thalmor obviously used telekinesis on, and then reset to prevent entrance from that direction down the ladder behind it. A jaunt up it took the Party up to a ruined guard post. Jon gave his hand to Lydia and J'zargo to pull them up the final steps. A quick whistle called forth their steeds, and they began their hard ride back to Winterhold.
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Tolfdir woke with a start. He was in Sovngarde, there was no doubt. He was an honorable man in life, and in death he sacrificed himself to give the students of his College as much time as he could to escape. He knew he didn't stand a chance. Ancano was channeling the power of the Eye thought himself, but if his distraction saved even one life then it was well worth it. Even if he didn't, he was the proud leader of the proud Tolfdir's-Party. He knew none of the others would hesitate to charge against the storm of primordial magika, and thus he would not either, not matter how hopeless it was. He just hopped his friend, the Living Tenth Divine, Jon, and his sweetheart and friend were close enough to stop the crescendo of Ancano's plot. Something about becoming a god or some mammoth shit. He would meet a real god, Tolfdir knew. A wrathful one, he also knew.
His old bones didn't feel so old now he was in the honored afterlife, but he only felt the warmth of it for a second before the chill of the mist set around his bones, making them feel old yet again. He knew something was wrong, that this was not how things are supposed to be. Just from his study, if nothing else. People have passed though to the other side, before being brought back though effort, and saw for a moment the afterlife of honor. They would have said something about the mist if it was there.
He could see a few trees, a hill ahead, a mountain dominating though due to its sheer size, but no other people, or the Hall of Valor. Every time he would try to focus on the distance, the foul mist would thicken and eat at his body, sapping his energy further. The roar off in the distance snapped his head towards it. Alduin, he thought. The Worm as Jon called him, refusing any other moniker. The Worm was perfect, with just the right amount of disdain and contempt.
He knew if he lollygagged the Worm would find and eat him, as the vile beast is probably doing to others right now. With no other option, he took towards the mountain at a brisk walk. It was the only thing he could see, and maybe it had a cave under it with cover. Mountains always had caves aplenty, and they also usually had forests at the base of them that would provide cover from the Worm. This place didn't seem to dissimilar from home.
Tolfdir walked for what felt like hours. He was happy to hear the roars getting quieter, and to see the trees thicken into forests. He couldn't walk another step, except to the tree with a comfortable patch of dirt underneath it. He didn't feel hungry, but he needed to eat. The only problem was he had no weapons to hunt any of the game he saw. He didn't even have his spells, despite his best effort to call them forth.
He thought it something of the mist. It didn't feel like his magika was drained, more his stamina with strain on his health. There must be something in the mist interfering with his casts. Or, it could be he doesn't actually know any spells anymore. New form, new knowledge needed. He would have to either find, or craft, new ones. That was a line he could actually experiment down. But how with no supplies?
A guardswoman in dull yellow broke his train of thought, "Psst, hail friend."
Tolfdir was slightly startled, "Oh, hail Guardswoman. Whiterun it looks like. And you have a bow! Marvelous."
The guardswoman chuckled, "Aye, came here from a dragon attack. The Dragonborn was riding on our tower when I did. Trying to get more arrows for the living, from the dead. Like the thunder of the Storm, it was. What of your name, friend?"
Tolfdir gave a shit eating grin, that turned to a full shark smile. He banged a fist to his chest in boat, he was in Sovngarde after all, no matter its state, "I am Tolfdir of Winterhold! Leader of Tolfdir's-Party! And when I am not, my friend the Dragonborn is."
The guard put her hand to her helmet and laughed as hard and as quietly as she could, let she give away her position. She said, "Oh I know you'll be popular. High-King Torygg will want to hear your boasts personally. If you can move, lets go. There's a cave with shelter, and the warmth of Sovngarde."
Tolfdir was taken aback. With a shocked look he said, "Well I figured there was a cave, its what I was going to look for. But Torygg the High-King of it? Incredible. It is certainly more than base shelter then. Alright lets go."
Just as he was about to get up, he felt a pain run though him. It was as if he was dying again, but in reverse. He was no fool, much to that Thalmor's words otherwise, and knew what has happening. Jon was near. And he killed that bastard.
Clutching his chest he said, "Guardswoman, I'm being pulled though the barrier between the living and dead once again. I think it's something Jon is doing. He's bringing me back."
The guardswoman didn't hesitate. As Tolfdir was fading, she said, "Tell the Dragonborn Shor's-Cave holds firm!"
Tolfdir give a final, committed nod before his form became nothing.
The guardswoman took off running at at a full sprint immediately. She had gotten word to the Dragonborn, and the High-King would want to know that as soon as he could be told. She sprinted for what felt like hours back to the Cave, Shor's-Mountain never leaving her sight. That was the trick to navigating in Sovngarde, and the trick of the mist. You cant walk in a straight line, you'll end up back where you were. You needed landmarks to focus on so you could instinctively straighten your path.
Her hard charge weakened her, but not as much as it would have when she first arrived, now that there was regular sustenance in the Cave. She never wanted enter this mist again ever, but the High-King found her personally, reassured her personally that not all hope was lost, that they could fight, and all they had to do was wait for the Dragonborn to come for them. She would be Divines-dammed if she wouldn't patrol this mist in his name, to find more lost souls and build his host. They Dragonborn would come for them, she knew, especially now that she had gotten word to him. He and Shor stood with them. Talos, Akatosh, and all Divines stood with them, she knew.
She gave a wave to the Guardian of Shor's-Cave, standing just out in the mist. He was the guardsman that found Torygg, and first told tale of the Dragonborn. She said, "I got word to the Dragonborn, I'm going to Torygg immediately!"
He nearly jumped in shock while getting the Oblivion out of her way, "Go!"
She ran though the now lively and dry halls, several dozen now making the cave their home. There always seemed to be just enough room and bench space. Just enough food and mead. On a simple throne, sat a few steps up so he could survey all of his growing court at once, the Near-Mad High-King eyed the running guardswoman with curiosity. Surly this will be important.
She halted in her tracks, panting from the run. She gave a small bow and salute, the High-King demanding not too much deference be shown as this was Shor's-Cave, not Torygg's-Cave. She said, "My King! I got word to the Dragonborn!"
The Cave came to a dead silence. Word of the Dragonborn, however small, was always the top boast of the court. Getting word to him? That deserves full and sober attention.
The Near-Mad almost went Mad, the strands held back from becoming a lake of blood in his eyes. He said, "Okay. Okay, okay. Word to, the Dragonborn. Not word of, the Dragonborn. Now that is new. What word, if I may ask?"
The court gave a hearty chuckle. She said sarcastically said, "Of course my King, I will grace his grace with my boasts."
The chuckle became laughter, with the High-King joining in. She continued, "There was a man, Tolfdir, looked like wizard. We only just started talking. He said he was the leader of Tolfdir's-Party. That the Dragonborn was his friend, and the second in charge! He started fading away, saying the Dragonborn, Jon is his name, was doing something to bring him back. I told him to tell the Dragonborn that Shor's-Cave holds firm. That was the word."
There was more dead silence from the hall of dead. After a moment of slow nodding, Torygg Near-Mad went Mad, jumping from his throne, "We got word to the fucking Dragonborn! HAHA!"
The cheers went though the Cave, the toasts and tearing of cooked game as well. It was almost about to not stop when the guardswoman said, "High-King, if I may. There was one other thing."
The cheering settled down. The Near-Mad again High-King king slowly sat down. He said, "Okay, hit me with it."
She said, "This will be a little difficult. Tolfdir knows you're the High-King. If he was half as honorable as he looked, or the Dragonborn half as honorable as we he-"
The king put his hand up. The hall was still silent. He whispered, "I got word to my Fair Lady Elisif."
They gave more than a few moments of silence, out of respect for the hole in their Near-Mad High-King's heart, then the party began in earnest that they had gotten word to the Dragonborn. Now it was not only a matter of faith that he would come for them, but a fact as well. The Dragonborn stood with them, they all now knew.