26th of Rain’s Hand, 4E208. A @Dervish & @DearTrickster CollabIt had been quiet days spent roaming up and down the aisles of books at the Arcane University. Among peers, and friends that had decided to visit. As of that morning, Daro’Vasora had joined Judena among the University’s archives. They poured over tomes collecting shreds of information, anything they could find relating to the phenomenon that had turned Jerell Mountain into a beacon.
Judena stopped peering at the shelf, an arm already stacked with a couple books. She shrugged pulling the small journal free of the shelf, plopping it on top. Dressed in modest apprentice robes, old and the only robe she had that wasn’t eaten by moths. She rounded the corner of a long shelf, coming up to the work table. Scrolls with notes sat in a neat pile, Judena’s logbook was alongside them open with her notes.
“I believe I have collected a few other good sources, however I do apologize - I lost the page we wrote down all the titles I was meant to go looking for. I managed about three.” Judena gently placed them on the desk. “I do hope whomever penned in this journal wrote a little bigger than the last one.”
Daro’Vasora was garbed in simple, albeit fine trousers and a jerkin, her boots set nicely off to the side with a daypack that contained a number of her own notes and supplies for passing the day in a number of tomes that hopefully would illuminate what exactly they had encountered in the Jerall Mountains. A bag of honey tree nuts and another of smoked jerky sat beside her; her mind focused much more efficiently if she were keeping her mouth busy. On the other side, a pile of books and manuscripts she’d dug up with Judena were stacked neatly in order of importance, at least at first glance. The Khajiit glanced up as her companion returned, setting her own findings down on the table.
Vasora enjoyed Judena’s company, and the two of them had a bit of a history built on mutual respect and appropriating one another’s expertise when the need arose. While the Argonian’s mental deterioration had been an oftentimes annoying obstacle to overcome, at this point it was no different than dealing with a relative’s health complications. She barely noticed the lapses in memory most of the time these days.
“Paper is at a premium if you aren’t rich,” Vasora replied, slipping a strip of meat between her lips and working through it with small, measured bites. “I’m more of the mind that those who practice overly flourished calligraphy that sacrifices practicality for stroking their ego is much more tiresome.” She rolled her jaw, massaging her temple with a pair of clawed fingers. “You know what the frustrating part of the Dwemer is? They left behind a virtually untouched wonderland of infrastructure and engineering, but there’s barely any
history. It’s like they were allergic to writing their thoughts and observations down, or stored it some way we don’t know. What we know is what historians pieced together centuries after the fact. War with the Chimer, enslaving the Falmer, a serious loathing of Nords, the splinter group that settled in Hammerfell… all of that is child’s knowledge. Why are there no mention of any settlement or interest in the Jerall Mountains? There aren’t even strange names for places I don’t recognize.”
“If the Dwemer were to practice calligraphy we may know a bit more about them. What we
do have is a hundred different perspectives of interpretation. One of them must be close. For that I am thankful to pour through. A hundred minds have already done the work we can simply read. Do not grow discouraged my young friend.” Judena replied flipping the journal open with a shortened talon. “We have quite the unprecedented discovery on our hands, I feel as though had we returned to the mountain to see the source of the light - the beacon we may have had some better understanding.”
Jude pulled a chair to sit in, folding her tail to the side. “I have mulled it over to some length the past few days what the purpose of this light is. If you want the in depth thoughts they are in my logbook. However I came to a conclusion with the way it brightly shines directly into the sky
and can be seen for miles and miles it must be a signal. Perhaps one they used eras ago built for an emergency. I am unsure why they would build something that could blow off the top of a mountain but, perhaps they had no chance to test it or calibrate it.”
Judena shrugged licking the tip of her thumb to pull apart some pages of the journal.
Vasora leaned back, arms crossed, chewing in a decidedly unconvinced manner. “If it were a beacon of sorts, why would it require that much power to unleash such devastation? They had a number of incredible and far more efficient inventions, I doubt that the light was the intention, but rather a byproduct of… something.” she said, trailing off. “They built the Numedium, for Alkosh’s sake. If they could build a giant steam golem that Tiber Septim used to conquer all of Tamriel due to it being an unstoppable abomination, something as simple as setting off a beacon seems trivial. But I’ll entertain the thought; to what purpose would they need a beacon that powerful?”
Judena reached for her logbook. “One moment.”
Patiently she read through her own thoughts, refreshing herself. “If we had time to travel as far as we could before losing sight of green light I would argue that it is meant to signal the far away reaches where other Dwemer ruins have been discovered. Warn them of enemies, signal others of ceremonial death or passing of a leader.” She gestured up. “I do not think they would build it originally to destroy the immediate surroundings, that may have been a result of our tamperings…” She paused, “Many variables to examine.”
She scritched a new thought down on the page. “I imagine a device to be used as a signal would be brought about if they were in need of it. Their disappearance gives us no clues as to
why they disappeared as opposed to being wiped out by war or self destruction. There was no clear decline. If that is one thing we can all agree on is how strange their absence or leaving of this world is.”
“Tampering?” Daro’Vasora repeated incredulously “All Rhea did was shove the cube we found on site in the slot, Judena. Might as well have been a sword to its scabbard. And yes, we know that they mysteriously vanished. That’s why it’s bloody strange that we actually found the remains of one, the ruins should have had traces, remains, anything. Instead we’re left with more questions than answers. Take this for example,” she opened one of the books to her side, quickly skimming through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Turning the book around for the Argonian to see, Daro’Vasora pointed at an image of a ship. “They left images and models of things behind that we never found evidence of existing. They never had a navy, and this ship looks like it’s flying through clouds. There’s a bunch of things, including what I think was our creepy light monster in the ruins,” she turned another couple of pages. A large machine with spider-like legs was pictured, complete with anchoring claws at the feet. “There’s like two dozen things in here that look like ideas they had or concepts, and we’ve never found proof of it. There’s a lot of documentation for ‘what-ifs’ and yet nothing to do with whatever that contraption we activated was.” She sighed, chewing for a bit longer, until a light came on in her eyes. “Unless… they never had a chance to record it.” The realization dawned on her, tying into what Judena was saying. Was there a connection between the mountain and the Dwemer vanishing? It seemed unlikely, but if there were no mentions of the ruins like it were some kind of secret fortress, and there were still entire levels that weren’t fully explored in that place…
“By the Eight, what is that?” A voice called out, breaking the general quiet of the archives. Daro’Vasora looked up to see a bearded Imperial man in robes that denoted him as one of the senior members of the University’s faculty, who was staring dumbfounded out of one of the large windows to the sky above. Daro’Vasora headed over curiously, and followed the man’s gaze. Her eyes widened as her mind struggled to come to terms with what she was seeing, a portrait come to life. She rushed back to the tome, opening it to the page she had shown Judena moments earlier and glanced at the picture of the ship and back at the sky. The design was different, but there was no doubt what she was seeing was certainly real, as if it were pulled from her imagination and brought into being.
It took several moments for her to pry herself from the glass and with a creeping sense of dread, fueled by the sudden shift in atmosphere of those at the university, she hurried back to begin packing her things. “Judena, we need to go.” she stated quickly.
Judena stood, confusion sweeping over her expression. Seeing strange lights sweep past the windows, alarm spreading through the archives.
“I need to go to my chambers first.”
Judena gathered her logbook and their scraps of paper into her arms then took off in a run toward the exit. “This way!”
Running down the hallway dodging past terrified mages and students alike. Heading to the northern towers, running past windows had they stayed to watch they would have surely had clear sight of the sudden and terrifying onslaught of death. Judena raced on not sparring a look behind her, having no doubts Daro’Vasora could keep up. They climbed a wide set of spiral stone stairs arriving to the third level, other mages were rummaging through their own belongings. Judena stepped up to her own door, unlocking it with a key.
“I have to retrieve my memories. Some of my oldest ones are stored at home in Argonia but I keep a few recent ones here.” She said largely to herself, trying to justify their reasons for not leaving the more time spent in the city would surely mean being caught directly in the chaos unfolding in the streets below. Would it be worth it to bunker into the university itself with scores of mages to protect the walls and themselves? The city had survived being sacked, surely they
could survive. She snatched her travellers pack and filled it with a decade worth of logbooks. The leaflet journals were all in various stages of age, restoration being performed on them in various degrees. On Judena’s desk was a few more books stacked but an old artefact was in several pieces waiting to be restored and put back together.
Throughout her small room, various things were locked away in small trunks. Stacked against the wall. A hammock was strung up in the corner, below it was a pile of clothing.
“Daro’Vasora! Gather any other valuables you see, break the locks I do not care. Gold, jewellery, anything. I have kept various things for sentiment.”
Judena pulled her desk drawer open lifting a small letterbox stuffed full of unopened letters. Gently placing it on her desk. Her face screwed up. Gently she unlocked the box the letters sprung up over the sides. Judena’s breathing grew shallow, she clutched at the ring hiding underneath her shirt. Her beard slowly expanded.
Normally Daro’Vasora would have protested at anyone else wanting to grab such trivial items. She herself tossed the book of Dwemer creations in her pack given the present situation, but if Judena lost what she’d written down, she’d lose a huge period of her life and memories that she tried harder than anyone to remember because she couldn’t afford to forget. It made the Argonian more sympathetic than most, because Judena was a good person who suffered in a way that she decidedly didn’t deserve. There were a list of assholes that Daro’Vasora had met along the way that could do with some brain-damage, but Judena wasn’t one of them.
“Alright, fine. Just try to hurry. I suspect time isn’t our friend.” she replied, pulling a lockpick out and getting to work on whatever needed unlocking. She wouldn’t touch anything unless Judena asked, spare the money and jewellry. It wasn’t greed or malicious intent that guided the Khajiit’s hands in this situation, but rather they would likely need anything valuable they could afford to get away with and carry to pay for supplies, barter, or even bribe. This was one of those moments where Daro’Vasora knew that history was being made, and history wasn’t often kind to most of the people it declined to write about.
Were the Dwemer back? It seemed impossible, and by Oblivion, it
was impossible, but the proof was up there in the sky and the distant screams of those who found out that whoever these invaders were, they weren’t benevolent and as great as Imperial City’s walls and ramparts were, they were damn useless against something that could pass over them with ease. It must have been what the people of Skyrim felt when the dragons came back, another impossible scenario that had very real, world-shaking events. The Khajiit had opened three containers when she turned to look at Judena. “Are you nearly done?” she asked.
Judena shook her head then decidedly stuffed all the letters into the traveler’s pack. She grabbed a few dirty clothes and stuffed them on top of the letters. “Yes I am done, let us make our way to the exit. I suggest we take the exit out to the gardens and scale the walls. Where should we go once we leave the University?”
Judena took one last look about the room then stepped out. The panic was clearly settling as mages fled their chambers and voices carried up the stairs.
Thinking more than five seconds into the future made it sink in for Daro’Vasora. “Zegol. I… need to get home.” she stated suddenly, her teeth grinding together in anxious dread. “You know the grounds better than I do, just lead the way.”
Curious Curios....The city hadn’t been this chaotic and terrified since the Great War. Zegol looked out of the checkered glass windows at the crowds rushing by, and wincing when some were knocked over and trampled. Ships had descended from the skies and brief glimpses of armoured figures, as well as damned Dwemer contraptions rolling by and striking at people with grim clockwork efficiency. He’d been an accomplished adventurer in his time, and he’d survived a number of scraps with Dwemer toys to know their lethality. A pair of local boys who had come by his shop often, usually just to marvel at his curios, were trapped in the shop with him. All the better; they would be safe with him. They dutifully listened to his orders to help barricade the door and windows, and he gave them a couple of daggers for defense. It would be next to useless in untrained hands, but youth often felt courage if they were shown even a bit of trust.
And what wasn’t trustworthy about the big, strong Orsimer in glass armour and a battleaxe as tall as he was? Zegol hadn’t worn his adventuring gear in nearly a decade as Daro’Vasora began to take over for most of his fieldwork, as he thought fondly on the young Khajiit who came to him as a favour called in. He smiled at the thought of the mischievous and far too clever young protege he’d acquired and grown to love like a niece, or even a daughter. He was too old to start a family, the call to adventure had been too strong to think of doing something as trivial as settling down, but it had always been a gap in his heart, his soul; it was one that Daro’Vasora had filled. She wasn’t of his blood and she kept in correspondence with her family down in Leyawiin, but he knew that he was as much of family to her as she was to him. He spoke softly, barely a breath leaving his throat. “Stendar, keep her safe.” Zegol wasn’t much of a praying man, so he hoped it would suffice. Hopefully she’d met up with her adventuring friends and were keeping one another safe. He’d have to believe that, but for now, it was the matter of two frightened boys that looked up to him with as much awe and wonder as people used to look at the Hero of Kvatch’s statue in Bruma. He’d prove their devotion well-placed, although he hoped it wouldn’t come to it.
The streets quieted down somewhat, and soon there was a hammering against the door, frantic cries to be let in that were cut short with the distinct sound of bolt cracking against the emerald coloured oak. Zegol’s grip tightened on the axe, its blade sharp enough to shave with. Voices of a language he could not recognize were heard next, and soon a flurry of blades and blunt weaponry were smashing against the door, it valiantly but futility resisting the mechanical onslaught of the Dwemer spheres. Soon it gave way and entry was granted. Five navy-blue cloaked figures in splendidly crafted dwemer armour atop their colourful garments poured in, strange cannons in hand and poleaxes. The Dwemer spheres waited outside as a rearguard, crossbows and cannons roaring as they shot at any who came into sight.
Two innocent lives depended on what Zegol did here now, his breath was heavy, a surge of battle rage he had not felt in so many years, making him feel alive in a way he’d long forgotten. Words abandoned him, and instead a fierce cry escaped his throat and he charged, swinging his weapon around as if he were 20 years younger.
The Dwemer calmly raised their weapons.
Hours later…The streets had grown to be deathly quiet, often in the literal sense of the word. The Market District was filled with the dead, and any resistance of the local Legionnaires had been snuffed out. Daro’Vasora and Judena had made their way across the city as carefully and quietly as they could, and for all of their efforts to avoid being spotted, they had still been shot at, and in one particularly tense moment concealed themselves amongst bodies to evade the interest of passing Dwemer patrols. It was them, alright; they fit the profile, their weapons and armour were like something out of the books and ruins, only with arguably centuries more refinement, and their skin was pale, almost Imperial by the way of Dunmer in tone with elaborately knotted and trimmed beards that give them a much more ancient and ordered appearance than the Nords and their braids. By the time the duo had reached the homestretch, the sounds of fighting had reduced to clean-up work, and the attackers didn’t seem as hyper vigilant, instead beginning to establish chokepoints and defenses. At this point, they were rounding survivors up as prisoners, marching them in long columns to who-knows-where.
They had managed to make it to the street, which was empty, but a lot of doors were bashed in. They moved carefully, their hearts pounding intensely as they worried about peering into the windows and seeing something peer back at them. Daro’Vasora momentarily forgot her own personal safety when the came in sight of
Curious Curios; the door was destroyed. She sprinted, entering the door without a care for her safety.
“Wait! Daro’Vasora!” Judena called after her picking up her pace. Entering the shop shortly after her.
There had been a fight here, shelves were toppled and priceless artifacts were smashed across the floor. Blood stained the wood beneath their feet, and the evidence of the attackers’ brutality was quickly evident. A young Imperial boy, no older than 12, had been impaled on the wall and now slumped against the floor, a trail of his blood marking his slide down to his final resting place. Another had been shot twice and lay feet from the one that was presumably his brother who had tried to guard his younger sibling. A lump formed in the Khajiit’s throat. She knew those kids; they had always been a pest to her, but now…
Her mouth was covered by her hands in shock and horror as a sight of green glass caught her eye. Near the base of the stairs lay a prone figure, his wonderful and beautiful glass armour crumpled uselessly and chunks of it had been ripped apart. “Zegol!” Daro’Vasora cried, rushing over to her mentor, her friend… she struggled to turn him over to face upright, his eyes were as glassy as the suit he wore as he stared lifelessly to the roof, a round hole bored into his forehead. His arm was missing, as was his axe, and across his torso were puncture wounds that his armour had been powerless to stop. She cradled him in her lap, her sobs coming freely and unrestrained as she placed her forehead against his, her tears washing away blood.
From the doorway, Judena checked over her shoulder then slowly came up behind her young friend crouching down beside her. “Oh...Oh no.” She whispered, her eyes casted away to the bodies of the young boys. “Such violence…”
The shop was destroyed, the Dwemer slaughtered them all. She allowed Daro’Vasora her moment of grief. She pushed up from where she crouched, picking up the body of the boy and laying him across the counter. She closed his eyes, Judena did the same for the other boy laying them side by side. Her heart twisted, the very real results happening all over the city as they took a few moments.
“We cannot linger.” She said quietly, “We need to find our way out of the city or there will be no one alive to remember them.”
“Daro’Vasora.” She crouched down beside her again, a hand on her shaking shoulder, “I am so sorry, I truly wish we had more time to grieve.”
It was hard to break from the agony she felt, but Judena’s touch helped bring Daro’Vasora back. She ran her fingers across Zegol’s brow, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” she whispered to him, kissing him on the brow and setting him down. “He deserves a burial, not to be left out like this.”
“He deserves the best, burial is not. . . realistic.” Judena said gently, “We can wrap him in a cloth and lay him to rest on his bed.” She suggested.
Daro’Vasora nodded, wiped her eyes, and got to work. Heading upstairs to her bedchamber, she stripped it up the sheets and brought it downstairs, quickly and deliberately forming Zegol’s makeshift burial shroud. There wasn’t time to strip him of his armour, and he wouldn’t have wanted to, she was certain. There was still that stubborn Orcish pride that he did so well to keep buried but she knew was always there, beneath his pleasant and friendly disposition. She took pride in him dying like a warrior, not being slaughtered like so many had been this day. She faltered at times, grief still consuming her, but she had to carry on. She couldn’t be caught and suffer the same fate, and Judena needed her. Her family needed her.
The morbid task completed, thankfully with her Argonian companion’s steadfast hands and gentle disposition, Daro’Vasora disappeared upstairs and began to grab her gear that she’d always had laid out in anticipation of the next big adventure. She just hadn’t expected it being so soon. Soon, she was heading downstairs with a full pack in her leather armour and pouches filled with gear. “Take anything you need from the shop. Better we use it than those bastards.” she said, noticing something immediately; all of the soul gems were gone.
It was something that was going to bother her for some time, but she couldn’t figure out why. Heading to Zegol’s room, she found some coin, a copy of his memoirs and an assortment of personal belongings, and perhaps most pressingly, a handful of invisibility potions. They’d at least help them get out of the city before it became totally locked down. Within seven minutes, Daro’Vasora was ready.
“Let’s go.” she said, leaving a medallion in Zegol’s hand that she momentarily uncovered. It was the one she had worn the day she arrived, trying her best to look like wealthy city-folk as well as the relatively run-down and boorish Leyawiin court could manage. “We’ll meet again, in the Sands Beyond the Stars. I promise.” she said as a farewell before rejoining Judena. She offered her one of the potions.
“Thank you, for being here.” she said softly, pulling the cork free.
“I believe I have you to thank, my friend.” Judena had found herself among the rubble some glass jars, unbroken. She trekked into the pantry to fill them with salt. “I am always quite terrified to be alone for long periods of time. I trust you would not lead me astray, as you imagine that is a very small handful of people.”
Stowing away the jar into her pack, nestling it among her letters. She popped the cork off of her potion as well, “Let us depart.”
Member
AlteredTundra,
tobiax,
Spoopy Scary,
Dervish,
ButtsnBalls
