Mod: Morthal Barrow
Chapter 43:
Tolen and Durak went south to Whiterun. Tariq gave them written permission to rest a while at Breezehome and and a note for Argis to negotiate a price with Grey-Mane to forge a dragonbone crossbow and dragonscale armor plates for Durak. The rest of them went to Morthal to rest and restock.
The vampire princess was not impressed with Morthal. She was wary of Falion. When he hinted that he knew of a way to revert to mortality, she coldly rejected it, saying she'd sacrificed too much to go back.
That was a surprise to Tariq. He didn't think such a reversal was possible. But more troubling was that princess's assertion that she'd "sacrificed too much." It indicated to him she was a willing Molag Bal worshiper. If she'd been unwilling, would she not welcome the chance to be rid of her undead state?
He should kill her and take the Elder Scroll. It was always Daedra worshipers like her who brought calamity upon the world. But Jarl Idgrod's words, conveyed by Mage Falion days ago, held back his hand. He needed to consult with her and hear if she had further visions to guide him. But Jarl Idgrod wasn't in town. She and her husband and their guards were out patrolling the borders of her Hold because of reports of bandits and abnormal creatures causing trouble in outlying settlements.
It was Iddy's little brother who came to him.
"Having trouble with the vampire girl?" the boy innocently asked. "It's not her you should worry about; it's her father. He read something that made him madder than people think I am. At least my visions are true. Not everything that's written is true. Her mother has the other one. Another madman told you about the third one. That's the one you really need if you want to fight dragons. You should also know there are people in the west looking for you. They're mad at you for neglecting your son. He's healthy, by the way. I want to cry because I have to wait so long for him to get older so he can be my best friend."
"Who are these people? What son?" Tariq demanded, but the boy only shook his head, his eyes losing that long-distance focus. He suddenly turned and ran off.
"Is your brother always so erratic?" he demanded from Idgrod, who had been watching nearby. She shrugged, pushing herself away from the deck post she'd been leaning against.
"He's always on the run from ghosts," she said sadly. "I've told you before, he and my mother, their powers are so much stronger than mine. Mine came on in my 12th year and only now is taming down after my 21st year. He came into his powers almost as soon as he was born. It made him a difficult, fretful babe, crying out from visions and sounds he couldn't understand. And once he could run, he's been running ever since. He runs from the moment he wakes 'til exhaustion takes him at night. My parents and I — we can only pray that he survives with his spirit and mind intact through the changes. We take him to Whiterun every other month or so for Priestess Danica to examine him and to exert her powers to give him two or three nights of dreamless sleep."
"A hardship," Tariq said, patting her back to show his support. "Does he always spew out prophecies so casually?"
"No. He knows enough not to speak so freely of what he sees and hears. He knows how much people distrust and fear him. He doesn't want to know their secrets, and he knows they don't want him knowing their secrets. He may let things slip if he's tired, or if it's something he feels must be said.
"So, you have a son?" she asked, changing the subject. "Was there someone you were seeing before you came to Skyrim?"
"If by 'seeing' you mean 'courting' then, no. Momentary pleasures, that is all. I am not celibate. I have considered… But, no. There was a difficulty with her that I could not overlook."
"That warrior woman of the Companions," said Idgrod, startling Tariq. Her mouth twitched with humor as she noted his small reaction. "Yes, I saw her in Shor's Stone watching you with eyes full of anger and regret."
"You were seeing things," Tariq insisted, dismissing her probing.
"Perhaps. The men with her also had regret in their gazes," said Idgrod with good humor. "But unlike the woman, they did not look like a hungry wolf whose juicy steak had successfully run off."
Tariq squashed the impulse to scowl at her. He wouldn't be surprised if she knew there were werewolves in the Companions. But it was an unfortunate choice of words.
She patted his shoulder. "Ah, don't worry. I know a prime buck like you easily attracts bedmates. And I know you — you would not carelessly leave behind children. I've seen the baby-prevention potions you keep in your medical bag."
"Those aren't absolute guarantees," Tariq said. "Those potions only cause mild nausea and encourage a woman's body to be less hospitable for a babe to grow. And I don't force a woman to drink these before I lay with her. I can only ask."
"Ah. So if she gets a child, it's her own fault?"
Tariq shrugged, uneasy at the turn this conversation was taking. "I didn't say that. I said my potions cannot be guaranteed to be absolutely effective. Timing and the strength of a woman's fertility can overcome a potion's effects. Such is life. If the birth timing is right, and there is a reasonable resemblance, I will make a gift to the mother for its support for at least a year. But I may not accept lifelong responsibility."
"And if you're wrong and it's another's babe?"
"It's not the child's fault. A one-time gift is no great sacrifice on my part. Besides, the women I am attracted to are not weak creatures that necessarily need a man to support them."
"Well, that's encouraging." Idgrod suddenly laughed and patted him again. "I'll talk to Joric later for you. He may have further clues about these angry mystery people that he didn't think to mention or that came to him after he spoke to you," she offered. She waived at the swamp water gently lapping against the buildings and raised walkways. "It's not unusual for visions to break apart like badly built rafts in the tides of eternity. Mother and Joric are like the clumps of mussels on the docks — their minds bloom when the tide comes in to lick in whatever floats by."
"Are you not also a mussel?"
"Not quite. Mussels can sit in one place and gather. After a certain point, I changed. I can still gather little things that drift by. But if I want more knowledge, I have to hunt. Relatively speaking, I'd say I'm more like a mudcrab."
"Haha, yes. Being chased by a mudcrab is a fearful thought."
He left Idgrod chasing after her brother while he went to the stables near the lumber mill where Valdimar was grooming and doctoring the horses. Nimat and another horse had the misfortune to get their feet entangled in tree roots hidden in swamp mud. Nothing broken but sore. He inspected the feet of the other horses. He agreed with Valdimar that they could go another month before hoof trimming and re-shoeing would be needed. Tariq was grateful that Valdimar had learned basic farrier skills while in the Legion. And he was sensitive enough to horses that even Cairo tolerated him just enough to allow light grooming.
As he left the stables and headed back to the Moorside Inn, he saw the flick of a familiar tail and the robes of an apprentice Destruction mage of Winterhold College entering the inn ahead of him.
He entered the inn and saw J'zargo had seated himself at a table occupied by Rodina and mage apprentice Onmund. Onmund was wearing the black bow taken from the Sigdis Gaulderson draugr in the Geirmund's Hall tomb in Ivarstead. Tariq had let Aela take Sigdis's bow, and Rodina had taken his amulet. Aela later sold the bow to Jarl Balgruuf as she had no use for the bow's magicka-draining enchantment. The bow she preferred to use was one she'd used for years and was maintained by Grey-Mane to perfectly suit her strength and style of shooting.
Rodina waved at him. The two apprentices stood and bowed slightly in greeting. "Well met, Sir Dragonborn," they chorused. It was then that Tariq noticed J'zargo wearing a longsword at his hip. A clumsy arrangement with the sheath tip dragging on the ground. Tariq also sensed dark power emanating from the weapon.
"A pleasure to see both of you again," said Tariq, clapping their shoulders. "What business brings you two to Morthal?"
"The third Gaulderson. Or, rather, the eldest son," said Onmund. "Mikrul Gaulderson buried in Folgunthur Crypt. Thank you, by the way, for gifting me with Sigdis Gaulderson's bow. Replenishing my majicka by shooting enemies with it is incredibly useful. The enchantment was once an art of the defunct School of Mysticism."
"I thought you'd appreciate it," said Tariq. "'Tis a pity the Imperial School of Battlemages was destroyed in the last era. I think you have the steady nerves and skills to be one."
"Ah, thank you, sir," said Onmund, flushing slightly. "But despite my heritage, I do not seek glory in war. Not that I wouldn't fight if it ever came to that. If the Dominion declared a second war… Yes, I would fight with everything I have."
"I have no doubt you would," said Tariq. "And against a Dominion mage, a bow that drains majicka — even if you did not immediately need the replenishment — might it also break shields and weaken attack spells?"
"Interesting theory. That might work," said Onmund, suddenly looking interested. "I've only thought of shooting people. But to shoot the spells? J'zargo, you need to help me test this."
"Only fair. Friend Onmund has helped J'zargo test spell scrolls many times. Very brave. Very much the battlemage."
"Ah, I meant no slight to you, J'zargo," said Tariq. "You have fine instincts in battle, but you are more, hm, erratic. Again, no slight, but I have found that you inventive types are better used at weapons development because your curious minds are easily bored and distracted during mundane guard and patrol duties." J'zargo purred in agreement and preened a bit. Onmund's lips twitched slightly in amusement.
"I am curious why the lovely Brelyna is not here? As a holder of a Gaulderson weapon and amulet, is she not curious about this son of Gaulder?"
"She is. But ever since the Psijics acknowledged her as the future Arch-mage and hope of the College, the teachers have loaded her studies with subjects they feel she needs. She would have run away to join us. But her worst fears happened — her family heard about the kerfuffle with the Eye of Magnus and being recognized by the Psijic Monks. She's terrified that when the head of her house calls her to Solstheim, he'll judge her training inadequate and order her to take temporary leave of the College to train in his tower. So she's studying hard for battle. Well, not battle, really. Does that make sense?"
"Unfortunately, yes," said Tariq. "She has my heartfelt sympathies. If the head of her house is anything like my father… Well, running away was my reaction. Not to escape training but rather a stubbornness to find my way to train, then going back and challenging."
"Maybe not challenging," said Onmund, waiving his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Telvanni Masters dual to the death. In Brelyna's circumstance, she is a thousand years too early to even think about challenging him."
"Ho, so formidable, is he?"
"Incredibly so. Most of the great masters of Telvanni didn't survive the Oblivion battles in Morrowind. The Telvanni towers were priority targets of the Dremora armies, like the Battlespire of the Empire. According to Brelyna, her family was originally under Mistress Therana of Tel Branora. But when she died as her tower and city were destroyed, the Maryons fled to Sadrith Mora under Master Neloth of Tel Naga. Surviving elders of her family, like her father, remarried into Neloth's family lines. And so she was born into his House."
"Sadrith Mora? Did you not say 'Solstheim' earlier?"
"He's been on the Solstheim since the end of the Oblivion Crisis doing research, but Sadrith Mora is still very much his city."
"Those names still mean nothing to me."
"Oh. Well, Solstheim is an island between Winterhold and the Isle of Vvardenfell. Originally, it was part of Skyrim. In the fifth year of the Fourth Era, Skyrim officially gave the isle to Morrowind. I would guess Winterhold and Eastmarch hoped all the refugees flooding their cities would go there. Sadrith Mora is a major city located on the eastern coast of the Isle of Vvardenfell."
"Ah," said Tariq, still unenlightened. He would have to look it up on a map later. "Interesting. And speaking of interesting, J'zargo, I couldn't help but notice that sword you now wear, it has the same energy as the Gaulder Black Bow."
"Dragonborn is correct," purred J'zargo. "The Gauldersons — Nords may have stricken the name from the records, but not so outside the Nord empire."
"Arch-Mage Gaulder was known throughout High Rock and Summerset," said Onmund. "Master Faralda found references to Gaulder in her personal collection of magicka history books she brought from Summerset, which proved how great a mage he was that he was an acknowledged contributor to the Aldmeri magicka arts. High King Harald's decree meant nothing to the nations and races outside the early Nord Empire. So we were able to learn more about him." He held up Sigdis's amulet that Rodina had given him. "Jyrik Gaulderson's amulet boosts health; this one, magicka; and Mikrul's…" J'zargo extracted his amulet from beneath his robe's neckline to show Tariq, "... boosts stamina. His sword transfers the opponent's stamina to the wielder."
"Folgunthur Crypt," said J'zargo. "Hjaalmarch has so many ancient, ancient tombs. It is only by Alkosh's notion that we stop here in Morthal rather than rest in Solitude. The Dragonborn is here."
"'Alkosh?'" Tariq said, puzzled.
"The Khajiiti name of Akatosh," whispered Rodina.
"Indeed," purred J'zargo. "There is a word wall in Folgunthur. Possibly a word related to the one in Saarthal."
"I see. An ice dragon shout," said Tariq.
"It would be our honor to guide you through the tomb," said Onmund.
Serana and Lydia walked in. Lydia wore that stone-faced mask after having done or witnessed something unpleasant. Serana looked sleepy. They had just come back from taking a bounty to hunt death-sentenced escapees from Solitude's dungeon.
J'zargo hissed at seeing Serana. She stared back at him. "Easy, kitty. I've already had a full meal."
"Four murderers whose remains are now a feast for mudcrabs," added Lydia flatly.
Onmund looked nonplussed until J'zargo whispered to him. He cautiously eyed Serana. She eyed him back. "Oh, well, personally, I think that insane jester we met on the road was more dangerous," Onmund said to no one in particular.
"I heard mention of touring a tomb," said Serana, still looking at Onmund.
"They found a word wall for me," explained Tariq. "I was thinking a quick trip would be in order."
"When would you be leaving?" asked Lydia.
"I do not think I will need your protection, Lydia. These two will suffice. They've already killed everything in that tomb." Lydia nodded and sighed.
"We still have that other tomb Falion told us about to explore," said Serana to Lydia as if consoling her. Lydia sighed again.
"What tomb is this?" asked Rodina. "Anything interesting for me to tag along?"
"Falion says a couple of wizards came some days ago looking for a tomb they think holds some great power. Falion didn't think they meant any future harm, so he directed them to a tomb that he believes to be a hidden, but forgotten, temple to the Rune God Jhunal. Hidden because, after all, this was the territory of the dragon temple city of Bromjunaar. And the dragon cult did everything it could to wipe out their Atmoran rivals. I thought that might be worth exploring. My family once respected Jhunal until… Well, the Owl God was a bit taxing, being the lord of language and mathematics. I wasn't a very good student. And him also being the patron of hermetic orders, I wasn't ready for any cloister." She dropped a book in front of Rodina. Morthal Barrow, it said on the cover. "Falion wrote that about the tomb. If you want to come along after reading that, fine by me. In two days. I think Lydia needs to rest up a bit."
… … …
Tariq had collected the word "DIIN" from Folgunthur, and now he was having dinner with Falion and Jonna. J'zargo and Onmund had elected to go to Solitude, where they could get passage on one of the crab and lobster boats from Winterhold.
The Redguards were sharing their memories of Hammerfell — Tariq, as a noble son riding along the coast hunting daedra and Dominion spies, and Falion and Jonna of the lower class, living on the outskirts of Belkarth in the Craglorn province, their childhood memories of exploring various ruins outside the city. They shared experiences and exchanged tips on dealing with the undead, daedra, and dark sorcerers.
Eventually, the past led to Winterhold. Falion hadn't had any conversations with the two apprentices, only a business exchange of soul gems and books. But Jonna told him she'd observed Tariq and his party were friendly with the junior mages. So, while Tariq and the two apprentices had been delving into Folgunthur, Falion talked with Rodina. She told him of the apprentices' mission into the Bromjunaar Sanctuary, which had been sealed decades ago by the late Arch-Mage Savos Aren. She praised the courage and competencies of the three apprentices in battling draugr, an undead dragon, a dragon priest, and Dominion soldiers in their quest for the Staff of Magnus. He'd also asked Lady Idgrod about her impressions and opinions of the three apprentices.
Tariq related his first impressions and opinions of the three after he'd met them at Fellglow Keep and the dragon word wall at Shearpoint Hill. He was rewarded with a pleased smile on Falion's dour face.
"Good, that's good," Falion said. "Savos was intelligent and gifted when it came to warding magic and alchemy, but he was damn timid in politics. Always second-guessing his actions. After what Rodina told me about his party's tragedy in Bromjunaar, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised his confidence took such scarring. But he was obsessed with safety to the point of cowardice. A pity. Now I know why. Still, his lack of leadership allowed the College to slide into timidity and mediocrity, and that I cannot overlook or forgive. For a Telvanni, he was too sensitive to make it as a great wizard in Morrowind. At least, in House Telvanni, if what I've heard of those masters is true. Only in Skyrim could he have risen to the arch-mage rank.
"After Red Mountain and the Great Collapse of Winterhold, most Dunmer masters and seniors left to return to Morrowind to rebuild their homeland. He stayed behind, saying his loyalties were at Winterhold. Then the Great War started, and all the Nord masters and seniors joined the armies of The Pale, Winterhold, and Eastmarch. They had to. If nothing else but to offset the base accusations that the College was the cause of Winterhold's destruction. By default, the College leadership was left to him. Only Tolfdir and three others lived to return to the College after the War. But Tolfdir had no ambitions to become Arch-Mage."
"He would not have been an ideal choice," said Tariq. "His heart is in research, not administration and politics."
"Agreed," said Falion. "Though I know he would have dealt better with Jarl Korir because he's a Nord and a Great War veteran. Only with Nords and Orcs is it not bad politics to get into a screaming knock-down brawl with your opponents. Aren was too much Telvanni that when he thinks of fighting, it's purely with magic, so he avoided confrontations with Korir, who didn't hesitate to physically push him around. Tolfdir, on the other hand… Korir would have had to back down because it would insult his warrior's honor to get into a scrap with a skinny elder with hair like snow from age and eyes cloudy from reading too many books. I have no doubt he could knock Tolfdir out, but…"
"He'd know he'd only won because the old war dog of a wizard was holding back," finished Tariq. "How embarrassing for Korir." Tariq grinned. "Brelyna wouldn't hold back on using spells. And so would Onmund step forward to preserve the School's and Ach-Mage's reputations. That one won't back down in a physical confrontation, and he's level-headed enough to keep his majicka in check. He's no veteran worn out from too many hard battles on the front line against Dominion forces, just a younger, stronger buck from a family of hunters and soldiers of The Pale, and who pays his college tuition by taking on dangerous collections jobs for the College and bandit-hunting bounties from Korir's court." Falion chuckled at this and grinned ferally.
"This Brelyna sounds like a spirited female," he said. "She can herd a cat, and she's already got a steady Nord for a housecarl. I hope she doesn't take too long to accept the leadership of the College. Faralda's smart and competent in Destruction theory but not one to lead an attack. Should a second Great War occur, having an Altmer as Arch-mage would finally end Winterhold College. She's no Dominion agent. But the Dominion won't hesitate to spread lies about her loyalties. They would laugh with glee if their lies led the ignorant Nords to destroy their only institute of magicka arts. The fools who would throw away their best weapons before battle deserve everything the Dominion will do to them.
"In the past wars, all the battlemages came from the Empire, from Battlespire. The Nords could afford to disregard the Arts because the Empire always supplied this. Winterhold has trained many fine mages. Of course, in recent centuries, they were mostly non-Telvanni Dunmer. Skyrim would find it easier to accept another Dark Elf Arch-Mage — especially if there were discrete whispers and stories of the Ebonheart Pact, with the Dominion taking the place of the Akaviri demons." He rubbed his mouth while looking away as he thought more about it. "I should suggest this to Faralda. Rodina might also have an idea of how to present this to her college of bards," he mused aloud.
"You sound like you're thinking of helping the college, brother," said Jonna. "Are you thinking you might go back?"
"Mm, no," Falion answered promptly. "It would be unfair to Phinis; he's earned his place as the head of the Conjurations school. And you know I can't leave my research here in Morthal. As for helping the College, I don't see why not now that Savos is gone. Of course, we'll see how the College fares when this Brelyna girl takes over. But I'm still not going to send Agni there."
Serana, Rodina, and Lydia entered the inn and immediately rushed to Falion. "Those two mages are dead," stated Serana as she slapped down a journal in front of him. "And I could feel a lot of vampires and dark majicka deeper inside the barrow."
"We came to a dead end," added Rodina, "but we know there has to be more we're not seeing. We can hear it, though; this irritating chiming when we get near it — proof there's magic involved."
"Illusion magic," said Falion.
"Vampires?" asked Tariq.
"Mm, yes. Good you came back in time," said Serana, finally acknowledging him. "You, me, Lydia, and Valdimar; we should be able to handle this. Falion should stay outside to take out any escaping vampires, especially if any are my father's boot-licking minions. We wouldn't want them running to daddy to tell him another pet project died." She smiled wryly at Tariq. "Idgrod and Rodina told me about that Redwater bar in The Rift. I hope you're watching for any assassins he might send after you." Her smile faded, and she added, "Although, I haven't a clue what he's hoping to do here in Morthal."
"What's one more group?" said Tariq, shrugging and focusing on her comment about assassins. "The Dominion shadowblades that used to follow me around in Hammerfell have yet to catch up to me in Skyrim. I have no doubt Skyrim's Dominion ambassador will issue a 'terminate with extreme prejudice' order on me any day, and then I can expect unprovoked attacks from every Thalmor patrol I come across. My skills against surprise attacks haven't yet dulled from lack of practice."
"Oh, how fun," said Serana sarcastically. "I expect traveling with you would mean I'll be well-fed."
Falion taught them a spell to dispel most Illusion magic. Jonna and Rodina would stay outside the Barrow with Falion. Serana was not pleased upon re-entering the Barrow that wights and shades had appeared in the outer chambers. Still, it was not enough to stop the four of them.
They came to the illusory dead end. Falion's spell cleared the fake wall, revealing an oak and iron door that showed chipping from the earlier efforts to break through. Once they opened that up, Tariq used a dragon shout to probe for enemies. Serana had her own spells that allowed her to differentiate between regular draugr, skeletons, and ectoplasmic wights. But her spell was only good for ten meters, and at that distance, their group was visible, and the things were attacking. So, Tariq would use a shout for long-range detection. And since his shout couldn't tell the difference between living and undead, she would solo ahead to gather better information on enemy composition. Her presence didn't alert the waiting undead who fastened onto the involuntarily noisy, smelly, heat-radiating emissions of the living.
The initial progress was easy with only draugr and skeletons opposing them. The ecto wights were troublesome, oozing up from the ground behind them. Following the faint chiming, they found hidden rooms and from within those rooms pieced together a tale of a pair of wandering heroes, a wizard and warrior, who hunted the undead. A story ending in tragedy as the warrior eventually falls. The wizard survived long enough to hide the pieces of his partner's enchanted armor and weapon and then drag himself into a cramped, dank end of a dirt tunnel to take poison and die before vampirism overtook him. They collected the armor, weapons, and the wizard's journal to give to Falion later. Maybe he would include their tale when he updated his book on this barrow.
This group of vampires was most troublesome. Many had invisibility spells and ambushed from the darkness, forcing Tariq to constantly shout to find them. The tomb dust wasn't doing any favors for his throat. He loosened the tail end of his keffiyeh and wrapped it over his nose and mouth. That was much better.
What were the vampires cultivating in this ruined temple of Jhunal? Every living member in his party could feel an uncomfortable pulsing that tried to weaken them. It reminded him of Bromjunaar with that roaring dragon priest that drained majicka each time it spoke, except here, they were drained of stamina and strength. Serana wasn't affected, of course.
So, what was it the vampires were doing? When a vampire drained one's life, one could feel their hunger. This draining felt indifferent. It lacked the gloating and malice — a personality.
No, he was wrong. His mind skittered and cast like a hound. Much as he hated to admit it, the smell and taste of Oblivion was not the same as the smell and taste of death and the grave. Oblivion had its own life. Alien life, but life. And this "life" was hungry. It was eating to fill a need. No malice, no satisfaction or enjoyment.
It was a plant.
A strange tree that was a twist of many thick roots like some trees he'd seen in tropical swamps, and the vampires were cultivating its ability to suck in life energies from its surrounding and then bleed its collection like sap into enchanted urns to store power. "Witch pike," they called it.
"Serana, destroy that tree. The three of us will keep the vampires and hounds off you."
"I'm not sure how," said Serana uneasily. "I don't know if I have enough power."
"Weaken the shields around it. Let me know when you've done that, and we can switch places. Valdimar, give me your wood ax. All right, let's go!"
"FUS RO DAH!" Again and again, scattering the vampires and death hounds, smashing them against the outer walls whether they were visible or not, keeping the area around the Witch Pike clear for Serana to work. Valdimar and Lydia darted forward to hack and stab at stunned bodies and back to his side, clearing out of his way for another shout.
"The shielding is down!" Serana yelled, running to him.
"Protect the Witch Pike!" screamed a vampire. Serana clawed its throat open.
"SU GRAH!" With an unenchanted wood ax of iron in hand, he chopped at the Oblivion tree with speed as fast as the wind and implacable as fire. Roots split away from the trunk. The limbs writhed under the force of his blows, clawing desperately for the life force of the three mortals in the cavern. Valdimar and Lydia sucked down stamina potions, never faltering in their attacks, ignoring with a warrior's battle concentration the exhaustion trying to bring them down.
The vampires called in their final defense ― a gargoyle capable of using a vampire's life-drain magic. The two mortals were sluggish. Their weapons did little against its stone flesh. Serana couldn't add much. It ignored her spells and she didn't have much martial skills except with a small knife.
The tree finally exploded into fragments that faded quickly back to its original Oblivion realm. Tariq refocused. "FUS RO DAH!" and the gargoyle hit the far wall. Its wings broke off from the impact. SU GRAH! He sped past Lydia, snatching Serpent's Fang from her hands. She fell forward with a startled cry, saving her face with her hands. Tariq aimed and the Fang went past the gargoyle's teeth and pinned its head to the stone behind it.
He brought out his flyssa and charged it with his spirit energy — FEIM — an artificial shehai blade reinforced with a mage armor spell he'd been learning from his Alterations Arts studies. He stabbed the flyssa into every crack in the gargoyle's skin he could see. The blade slid past the outer stone flesh it could not cut but still bleeding the construct of the majicka that powered it. Valdimar pushed in beside him and caught and held onto the creature's right arm. He was using the life-drain spell he'd recently learned from raiding a necromancer's den in Winterhold. It wasn't as strong as a vampire's, but it was enough to further weaken the gargoyle.
Serana joined in to drain its energy. The gargoyle eventually stopped moving.
No reward for this job unless they wanted to grave rob, which they declined to do. But Serana, much to her delight, found a spellbook among the vampires' tools. It was knowledge of how to summon a gargoyle like the one they'd defeated.