“We can only speculate that none were successful. Decades of conflict merely weakened them all, allowing for King Gellir's subsequent conquests. And though the Dwemer reclaimed most of their lands a century later, there is no evidence that they ever resumed their research on Aetherium. Perhaps the costs had just been too great.”
2nd of Morning Star, 4E 203
The night was unbelievably cold, the sky clear, allowing the stars to shine brightly. They barely felt their limbs in that cold, however, despite being wrapped in their fur cloaks. It was very bad, life-threatening, Decimus knew it, feeling the ice crystalizing on his armor. But they couldn't stop, not with Dreth being so close. He was tempted to stop at Kynesgrove, but he knew they had to throw that Dunmer off the trail. Stopping at the inn to warm themselves up would leave one, so he led his companions south. Towards the natural springs of Eastmarch. He didn’t want to think on Äelberon’s party in the Pale. If it was brutal here....
He glanced uneasily at Grulmar, who was constantly looking over his shoulder, as if he was expecting someone to jump him from behind. He seemed nervous, and Decimus could only wonder why. Most likely because of Dreth. I wouldn't like him following us either. Or maybe he's worried about Ronnie and Erik. Decimus then shook his head. Stop fooling yourself, that’s how you feel, Old Blade. He's not concerned about them in the slightest.
Lareyne was trudging through the snow right next to him, her face hidden under a fur hood and Decimus admired her smooth chin for a second. He certainly didn't mind her around. She was, at least, someone he could look at. Not like those two ugly fuckers. Orc and Dunmer. What a beautiful duo.
Speaking of Galar… Decimus was very close to hating that Dunmer, because he was walking next to him, clad only in his robes and loaded with a backpack. No fur cloak, no gloves, nothing. He was completely oblivious to the cold around them, and it was one of the strongest winters Decimus had ever felt in his life in Skyrim. Last year was mild by comparison. Damn enchantments. Damn Telvanni could share some, he thought, glowering at the bastard.
He pushed forward, as fast as he could, because the temperature at night was far lower than during the day. Traveling by night in this cold could kill them. He was tempted to take the easier path, traveling east along the springs, using the road heading straight to Riften, but that would kill them. So they traveled south, right into the Eastmarch springs, where the temperature was much warmer.
It was their only chance to survive the night. Stop thinking about surviving the night. You’re going to survive the night.
Decimus pulled his cloak closer to his body, shivering while he placed one foot in front of the other, and again and again, taking comfort that his gait was still pretty steady. His thoughts wandered back to Erik and the moment they parted ways.
He felt sad for the lad, not wishing what happened to him on anyone. What Erik did was brave and nigh heroic, but he paid a terrible price for it. He would’ve paid a higher price if the Old Mer wasn’t there to heal him, but still...seeing his hand, his fingers forever frozen in the form of a falcon's claw prepared to snatch its prey, the wrist as stiff as stone… It pained him to see Erik like that, maimed.
Why do the young suffer while we old farts still carry on? He couldn't imagine living like that. In his near fifty years, he had seen his share of crippled men with missing limbs. Maimed and broken men. But having a hand without the ability to move it...That's almost like something alien was attached to your body. It is there, you see it, you want to use it, but you can't because it's not yours to command, not anymore. You don't feel it.
He heard how men who lost their hands could sometimes still feel them, feel the dirt under their fingernails, even when they didn't have any. Phantom pain, that was the name for it. But he could only imagine what Erik was feeling. Or rather, what he wasn’t. But Decimus saw how broken the boy was, the look on his face while they decided his fate. He understood why Grulmar said he should remain behind, but he understood why Ronnie took him with him. If we left the lad behind...he might remain broken for the rest of his life. We just have to trust that Ronnie will make sure nothing happens to him. That there is a reason for the Old Mer’s stubbornness.
Grulmar looked behind him again and Decimus snapped. “Damn it! What's eating you?”
“Nothin',” Grulmar mumbled, setting his eyes on the ground in front of him. The path wasn't really even, so they had to move carefully. Thankfully, the moons and stars were bright enough to provide them with enough light to see by. “Really, nothin'!” Grulmar repeated when Decimus kept staring at him.
The Old Blade snorted and turned away. “Whatever.”
“We need to find shelter,” Lareyne gasped through chattering teeth and trembling chin. “I can't feel my fingers.”
“We can't stop. Not now,” Decimus shook his head, slapping his cheeks hard to get some warmth into them. “It's not too far from here. You see those reflections in the distance? Hot springs. We need to get there as fast as possible.”
“But not too fast,” Grulmar warned. “We start sweatin', could kill us.”
The Imperial nodded. Grulmar knew how to survive. In that sense, he was a tough son of a bitch, always was. Decimus scowled. Yes, survivor. In every possible way. He would leave people behind just to survive. Maybe even eat them. That's his fucking uncle Lorbulg’s influence.
“I think I'm already sweating,” Lareyne said with a quavering voice. “Can't we slow down a little bit?”
Decimus shook his head. “I'm sorry, lass, but no. We stop, we freeze.”
“Yeah,” Grulmar murmured. “Hey, Grim,” he pointed his voice towards Galar. “Ya are a powerful Telvanni Magister, right? Can't ya conjure shelter or some bubble of warmth?” Galar wasn't answering and that only encouraged Grulmar to keep talking. “Ya know what I'm talkin' about, right? I mean, ya Telvanni grow tuskin' mushroom houses. I bet ya can conjure some shelter—“
“It talks too much,” Galar growled, his eyes throwing daggers at Decimus. “Tell it to stop talking, Imperial.”
It. What a way to piss off Grulmar, Decimus sighed in his mind. Galar was like that, beast races were nothing more than things to him. Back in Vvardenfell, they used them as slaves. So for Galar...Grulmar wasn't anything more than just an it. “Why don't you tell it yourself?”
“If I addressed it directly, I would elevate it to the same status as a servant. And it isn't a servant.”
“I'll shove that ‘it’ up yer arse, ye tuskin' greysk—“ Grulmar growled but was cut short when Lareyne dropped to her knees. Decimus stopped and kneeled beside her, his eyes widening. Shit. Her face was almost blue, bloodless and he could only imagine what her fingers looked like. “Come on, lass. You have to get up,” he said softly, beginning to rub her hands.
“I'm so tired,” she whispered so quietly that Decimus almost didn't hear her. “I just need to lie down, close my eyes for a few minutes. Please.” She practically begged the last word and her people were certainly not the begging type.
“Yeah, that's a good idea,” Grulmar muttered, shifting his weight from one leg to another to keep himself warm. “Let's leave her here; she's bloody useless to us anyway.”
Decimus shot him a look that made the Orc flinch a little. Heartless bastard. Survivor… Decimus remembered that Grulmar didn't want her with them in the first place, saying she should go with Erik and those two lovebirds, that it would work well for all four of them. And Decimus had no objections to it, but it was decided she would come with them anyway. That being said, considering her state now, Ronnie had been fucking right, damn Old Mary. Girl would’ve been dead if she had gone with his group. Decimus shook his head; he didn’t want to think on the Pale now. If it’s cold here, don’t think about that, Old Blade.
And he just couldn't let her freeze to death. He unbuckled his bandolier and tossed it to the ground. Then he grabbed her left arm and pulled her over his shoulder so that she was laying on the shoulders. His left hand was holding her right arm and his right hand was holding her right leg. This distributed her weight evenly, though he was surprised by how light she was compared to her height. Well, you don’t know many Old Marys, now do you, Old Blade, and the one you do know is like a fucking ox. “Just hang in there, lass. We'll get you warm soon.”
“And now ya will freeze with her,” Grulmar snorted. “Way to go, Uncle.”
“Oh, shut up for fuck's sake! Just take the bandolier and keep the pace,” he snapped at the Orc.
Grulmar retrieved the bandolier, swung it over his shoulder and mumbled: “I just hope yer tuskin' knee won't give.”
“We both,” Decimus muttered under his breath. It certainly hurts like Oblivion. The cold doesn't really help it. “Hey, lass. You still awake? You must remain awake!” he growled at Lareyne.
“Mhm,” she murmured and Decimus shook her a little. She groaned. “I wake…” she managed.
“Just don't fall asleep, damn it. Listen to my voice, alright?”
“Voice…”
“Yeah, that will certainly help,” griped Grulmar from behind, but Decimus ignored him.
“Just listen, all right,” Decimus continued, carefully picking where he would place his feet. The ground was slowly changing from frozen and rocky into dry and cracked, and Decimus could feel the temperature rising. The springs were close. “Did you know that I was meant to be a mason? My old man was a mason, and I was learning the trade from him. There was a lot of work down in Anvil, plenty of rock that needed to be shaped. I spent whole days chiseling stones, and that isn't as easy as it sounds, especially the dust. Damn, I really hated the dust.” He nearly fell when he misstepped, but he quickly regained his balance. “You still listening?” Another groan. “Good. If the Thalmor hadn’t invaded, I think I’d be shaping those stones to this day, most likely with plenty of little kids running around me. Ha, maybe I’d even be a grandfather, just imagine that. When they hit Anvil, all the civilians evacuated. My father was trampled down by people running for their lives. It didn't take long before I enlisted. I fought in the Battle of Red Ring...can you imagine that?” She moaned softly. You’re telling an Old Mary about your experience in the Great War. You are fucked up in the head, Decimus Merotim, but if she’s still awake... “Fresh recruit,” he continued through chattering teeth, “green as spring grass, I was just another piece of meat into the grinder that are gods and kings clashing over absolute nonsense. And to everyone's surprise—damn, even mine—I survived. And I have to tell you, that one battle was more than enough for me—“
“Uncle? I think she fell asleep,” Grulmar said and Decimus shifted his left hand to look at her face. Her eyes were closed and the color of her skin was nearly the color of the frozen lake.
“Fuck!”
Her eyes snapped open and she frantically scanned her surroundings. It was night, though the orange light of a nearby fire made it brighter, bright enough to see by. She was lying near that fire, feeling warm all over and then she remembered the biting cold that snuck into her whole body and into her mind too. She remembered the Goldpact Knight talking to her and she was trying to listen, but then she no longer could.
“She's up,” spoke the Orc sitting on the other side of the fire. She heard steps and then from around the tents came Decimus with a pile of dry wood in his arms. Lareyne shifted her position and realized she was only in her robes, without a fur cloak or gloves and her mind started panicking. The cold! I will freeze to death! She began looking for her fur cloak and Decimus chuckled while adding dry wood to fire.
“Easy, lass. It's alright. Already warm here,” he said, pointing at something behind her. Her eyes followed his finger and found a hotspring, the steam billowing from its bubbling surface. It was then that she realized that the ground under her was warm against her back. “We're deep enough in the Eastmarch springs that the ground here is always warm. Water is, too.” He smiled, which made his laugh lines wrinkle. “Which means you won't feel cold here. But stay near the fire, just in case. You nearly froze to death after all.”
Lareyne looked quickly at her fingers, expecting to see frostbite, but they were red under their typical golden hue, not black or blue. She let out a sigh of relief. “I...thank you. I never thought it could be so dangerous to travel at night.”
Grulmar snorted. “That's because it's winter. And this is one is really tough. Haven't seen one like this in several years.”
“Aye,” Decimus nodded. “We were spoiled last year.”
“Aye.” The Orc agreed.
You're so silly, Lareyne. A liability to these seasoned travelers. Why didn't you take warmer clothes? You nearly died. Everyone will be laughing at you one day. She noticed a dim purple light a short distance away and pointed in that direction. “What’s that?”
Grulmar looked in that direction and snorted. “That’s Galar. When I was askin' him if he can conjure a shelter, he was all about it speaks too much and shit like that. But guess what? He can conjure a shelter. He pulled a scroll out of that grey arse of his, mumbled some weird mojo stuff and bam!” Grulmar gestured with his arms, “A whole tuskin' living room appeared. Bed, closet, enchanting table, alchemy station, fireplace, and a table with two chairs, two, like he’s expectin’ company...I tuskin' hate that bastard. Everythin's covered in a purple bubble keeping everythin' outside. And then he told us to find our own place to camp and that we should bring him some food. Tusker!”
Lareyne’s eyes again wandered towards the purple light. “Hmm. He's a Telvanni Magister,” she explained quietly. “We are nothing but servants to him.”
“Well, speak for yerself. I'm just an it,” Grulmar growled, pulling a few pieces of leather from his sack.
She felt a sad smile creep to her face. “Yes. In their culture all beast races are just ‘its’ to the Dunmer. Beasts. But still, isn't it interesting what they have accomplished? The Telvanni were the biggest rivals to the old Crystal Tower Magisters. You won't see many mages who can do what Galar can anymore. Not in Morrowind and not in Alin—sorry, Summerset Isles.” It's so hard to remember what your homeland is called when so many Mer are telling you it has a different name.
“Yeah, whatever,” Grulmar shrugged- He began cutting the leather and then piercing it with a nail.
She looked at him with interest. What was he going to do with that leather? If Lareyne had to be honest with herself, she was fascinated by the Orc sitting in front of her. She certainly heard and read enough about Orcs and their lives, about Strongholds and the Code of Malacath, but this Orc...he was very different. Resourceful and clever. So out of picture for his own race. They were gobliken. “What are you doing with that leather?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
His red eyes rose to meet hers. “Listen, Fiery. Ya might have charmed that oaf that was my friend once, but I'm not an idiot like him. I don't like ya and I would leave ya behind, freezin' to death, if it was up to me. I don't give a tusk about ya and I expect the same from ya. If that wasn't clear enough...Mind yer own business!”
“Grulmar!” Decimus growled and Lareyne shrank at the sound. It was very intimidating, but the Orc seemed like he wasn't paying any attention to it, looking at her with hatred in his eyes. I haven't done anything to you. What terrible events can make a person like this?
She gulped before speaking again “I was just trying to be nice. I haven't done anything to you.” Her voice as gentle as she could muster. Maybe if I remain nice I might be able to crack that tough shell. He seems so bitter...such sadness buried under all that anger. He needs a friend.
Grulmar beat his thigh with his fist in anger and rose to his feet. “For tusk's sake! Y'are too nice, alright? This world is a shitty place to live in, so if ya don't want to die, stop being nice.” She blinked a few times after his outburst and he then waved his hands in frustration. “Ah, why I'm even tryin'? Ya are all the same. Just leave me alone, Fiery!” With that, he walked away into the darkness and she faced Decimus.
“What did I do wrong?” she asked, confused.
The Imperial shook his head and let out a tired and sad sigh. “Nothing. He's just being Grulmar.” He gazed in the direction that Grulmar stormed out and released another sigh. “I’ll be right back. You can take the tent on the left, because I doubt you'd like to sleep in the same one as Grulmar.“ His eyes then met hers. They were a very attractive shade of grey and she remembered another pair of arresting grey eyes, eyeing them once in a while as she studied in her youth. You always marvel at the things your people don’t typically have, Lareyne. She felt herself suddenly blush under the Imperial’s intense gaze and the eyes narrowed. “Unless you'd want to share a tent with me,” he looked away and she saw the tip of his good ear redden with blood, “but I don't think Erik would be happy about that.”
Was that a proposition? It sounded like one to me. The heat on her face intensified and now she looked away when those grey eyes drifted back to her. She swallowed. He was attractive, exotic, like the Nord had been, like Auri-El’s bow, even the priest was. She was almost jealous of the vampire. She knew that they were together and she had heard many tales about the Mer from Dusk, but she had never been with one. Perhaps that was why she was with the Nord. She let out a gust of air, and now probably this Imperial. “Erik and I...aren't exactly together,” she murmured and she saw Decimus raise his eyebrows. It brought lines to his forehead and it wasn’t ugly.
“Hold that thought,” he coughed, rising to his feet to go after Grulmar. “I’ll be right back.”
She nodded slowly, watching him disappear into the night, watching his arse. She knew now, it was the size she was liking and the Imperial was built well. Mer were typically so slender, tall but fine-boned. That was why She-Elves sometimes dallied; she chuckled to herself, remembering their words for such things in Alinor. To dally with a Dusken. Frowned upon, unacceptable for Mer of her standing, but it was part of what was done with the “Help”. They were, after all, there to serve and she smirked again at the notion. You are being silly, here Lareyne. You never dallied in Alinor. But you’re not in Alinor. She hoped he would return. She still felt the cold in her bones and it was going to take a lot more than fire to help with that.
Decimus followed the gruff cursing, dull thuds, and small sparks of flame flying into the air. He's trying to make a fire. He didn't understand why Grulmar snapped at Lareyne, but he learned not to try understanding such things when it came to Grulmar. The Orc had his own head. His only hope was that the Orc would learn that being this way wouldn’t have him survive long in that shitty world he was describing. Without people watching his back, he was just another fool who had a dagger to the back coming.
As for Lareyne...damn! If I understood her correctly...I hope Grulmar will stay away from the camp at least for an hour. Well...half an hour, don't think too highly of yourself, Old Blade, he grinned to himself.
Grulmar finally managed to start a fire, blowing on it to add more air and in a few seconds he had one large enough to add more dry wood to feed it. He looked up to see Decimus approach. He scowled or sneered, and then resumed his blowing, nursing the infant fire.
Decimus sat on the opposite side in an attempt to avoid the smoke coming from the wood. His mouth opened to speak, but Grulmar cut him off with a growl. “Don't say it. Not interested in lectures right now.”
The Imperial shook his head, knowing Grulmar too well to lecture him. That's not why he followed him into night. “It's your business why you don't like her, not mine.”
“Ya are only sayin' that because ya are goin' to tusk her,” Grulmar snorted.
“Is that why you went here? To give us space?” Decimus chuckled. Clever Orc.
“Please. She's so predictable,” the Orc muttered, looking into Decimus's eyes. “And so are ya, Uncle.” The fire finally had enough fuel to sustain itself and Decimus got a good look at Grulmar’s face. It was covered in black tatoos, giving him an almost demonic appearance. It's a mark of shame. Of exile. So all Orcs know by looking at him that he's not welcomed among his kind. “Why did ya come then?” Grulmar asked and Decimus tore his eyes from the young Orc’s probing stare, choosing instead to face the flames. Hard to look into eyes like that.
“I wanted to speak about that weird shit over at the prison,” he murmured, again lifting his eyes to face Greenskin, finding the strength to look at those red eyes. “What was that about?”
“It was nothing’.” It was now Gru’s turn to avoid Decimus’ intense probe. “I just snapped.”
Decimus’ eyebrows shot up. “Nothing? Nothing? You spoke in the dragon language for fuck's sake! And I know for a fact that you haven’t been sitting in on the lessons the Old Fart gives to his pack. Spit it out, lad.”
Grulmar snorted. “As if ya could tell the difference between Dovahzuul and...I don't know...Dunmeris.”
“Grulmar,” Decimus growled, not willing to back down. I'll get the truth out of you even if I have to beat it out of you, lad. He had enough of the secrets. What happened in that prison was serious, far beyond what he could comprehend, but he understood enough that he knew it was very important. Important and dangerous.
“What? How about ya spill out the truth first, eh?” Grulmar countered and the Imperial felt his face wrinkle in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, please. Ya think I'm stupid or somethin'? I've noticed how ya are tryin' to push me and Shiny together. Ya want us to be best friends or somethin’, right? So what's yer game?” Grulmar tossed a last bit of wood into the fire and watched the sparks shoot up. “Everybody’s got a game,” he added with a sneer.
Oh, fuck. You're so stupid, Decimus. How could you pretend he wouldn't notice? He's not blind. Decimus coughed. “Well...I just wanted someone to inspire you. Just look at you. You're acting like a dick all the time. Is it so wrong for a father to want his child to be better, to have a better life?”
The Orc turned towards him and then was motionless, the red eyes narrowing. “But ya aren't my father,” he muttered, the eyes finding the fire again.
Sometimes I really hate Elven eyes. They look like they can fucking see out your arse. Damn Elves.
It was now one of those moments when both tried to avoid eye contact, looking everywhere else but at each other. Grulmar was right, Decimus wasn't his father. But Gru was the closest thing to a son Decimus ever had. Or maybe he had, but never found out about. “Aye,” Decimus nodded solemnly. I won't let the words gurgle in my throat, not this time, not anymore. “But you're like my son, lad. Yeah, you maybe don't want to hear that, but I care about you.” It was almost a whisper and Decimus had never spoken to anyone like that before. Fuck, you almost sound like the Old Mary.
“Ya aren't going to propose, right?” Grulmar tried to lighten the mood, but his words were missing their usual sharpness. It was as if he too was choking on words that just didn't want to come out.
“Good try, lad,” the Imperial shook his head. “But time to cut the bullshit. What happened in the prison?”
“I said—“ Grulmar started and Decimus frowned. The Orc suddenly stopped and sighed heavily. “Alright. Alright! For tusk's sake,” he snapped. “Just don't interrupt me, alright? It's quite a difficult topic.”
“Alright. I’m listening.” The Goldpact Knight nodded, shifting his position, feeling his back ache. Hope you don’t throw it later. Focus, Old Blade, leave your cock out of this for now.
“I said no interruptions!” Grulmar exclaimed, shooting him a look before another heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Shit. Where to begin? Listen, this isn't the first time it’s happened. It happened before, when I was just a kid back in Largashbur.”
Not the first time? Fuck! How is it possible I didn’t know that?
“Sometimes I...see things. Strange images, people,” Grulmar continued and Decimus saw how he struggled with his words, his brow furrowing in concentration. He was just a stronghold Orc. Not a fancy mage at a college. He read books, but Decimus knew this was beyond books. The shit Old Farts in robes talked about over tea. “I never understood it, not at first, but in time...those things I saw happened. Get it? I see things that haven't happened yet. Usually.” He mumbled the last few words and gazed at Decimus who was feeling his eyes go as wide as septims. Blink, you stupid fuck. Decimus managed to blink. Seeing the future? What the fuck? “But how, right? How is that possible?” The Orc scratched his head nervously. Why is he nervous? “Well, all those visions...are usually associated with something takin' over.”
“Taking over?” Decimus repeated, not quite believing what he had heard. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to hear more. Taking over...something? What something? This was possession, the jobs Ronnie took. Shit Goldpact doesn't touch.
“Yeah, somethin'. Someone…” Grulmar sighed and shook his head, pulling some leather strips out of his bag again. “And what happened in the prison had to do with what happened when that dragon died. When it died, I had a vision. A silver eagle captured by dragons, by Alduin, I think, big black tusker. Made the dragon that died look like a piece of shit. Well, the eagle was getting’ his heart ripped from his chest.”
“Eagle? Dragons?” Decimus repeated, trying to understand where Grulmar was heading. Eagle, he thought. The Eagle of Auri-El, something Lareyne had mumbled when she saw— "Fuck! Eagle! Äelberon, eagle… Äelberon!” he raised his voice. “You mean you saw Äelberon die?” Ah, shit. That's what Ronnie meant when he said that Alduin would be the death of him. But that's bullshit. He's meant to kill all those fuckers.
“I only saw that eagle die. I can only guess what it means.”
“So it doesn't have to be Äelberon.” You are doing a shitty job masking the worry in your voice. If Ronnie dies… where the fuck are we?
Grulmar shook his head. “No, it doesn't have to be Shiny. But it can be him.”
Silence then fell between them, with Decimus staring into the fire and Grulmar cutting a leather strip, measuring it and making holes in it with a nail. What should I think about all this, Decimus pondered into the fire. Fuck, this is way above your head, Old Blade. This is a world of Dragonborns and fucking future-seeing Orcs. What can you do about it?
“I need to fuck,” he suddenly growled, getting up. Grulmar looked at him with raised eyebrows, making the Imperial shift uncomfortably for a second. “Uh… just don't come back too soon,” he cautioned with his hand, “but don't stay up the whole night.“
The Orc shrugged plainly. “Someone has to keep the watch.”
Decimus took a deep breath and was about to leave, but his gaze turned again to the leather the young Orc was working on. It looks like wristguards. But it isn't boiled leather... “What are you working on anyway?”
“You'll see in a few days,” Grulmar replied.
Right. I fucking hate secrets.
Decimus sniffed deeply and opened his eyes, adjusting to the light in the tent. Whatever it was, it smelled damn good. He felt Lareyne's body next to his, tightly wrapped in furs, but it wasn't her. It smelled of cooking meat. He sat up, rubbing his knee and saw Grulmar sitting next to the fire, with meat sizzling above the flames, fat dripping down, feeding the hungry fire. Not as hungry as me. It was already morning, maybe an hour after dawn, so the light was blinding Decimus a little, making him blink a few times. It was a clear day, with only bits of morning fog clinging to the ground.
He looked at Lareyne and grunted, letting out a gust of air with a tired yawn. She sapped all the strength from me, damn it. You're not a young stag anymore, Dec. But you got to admit, she was wild. You know what they say about Altmeri females, right? Well, it's fucking true. But if he had to be completely honest, she was beyond wild. What he experienced yesterday...well, there was a flavour of desperation behind it. Desperate need, hunger. And he loved it. I feel kinda sorry for you, Erik. You got yourself in a pretty mess. This one's a dragon in an elf's body. But only in bed…
He cracked his neck and moved his hand from his knee to his shoulder, kneading the morning knots and hissed when he felt the sting against his skin. Nails. Yeah, she's a scratching one. I doubt I'll lean against something with my back for few days. He looked at his armor lying outside of his tent and frowned. That will fucking hurt to wear.
He crawled out of the tent, not paying attention to Lareyne's half-sleeping moans. Time to wake up, princess, he grinned to himself. We’ve been sleeping too much. He stood up and stretched his arms and then spun at the waist several times, getting the kinks out of his muscles. He heard a few cracks—still less than the Old Fart’s—and then his eyes met Grulmar’s. “I’m starved. What's for breakfast?”
Grulmar was trying to not look at him, focusing on something in the distance instead. “Rabbit,” he mumbled. Decimus continued his stretching, enjoying the cold-hot air mixture coming from the springs. People said that the springs had healing properties and if he had to be honest with himself, his knee didn't hurt as much as the previous night. Well, it's either because of the springs or...they say sex has healing properties too. Ha! Much better to get that good fuck feeling from an actual fuck, Ronnie. Hope Serana is treating you right—“For tusk's sake, Uncle!” Grulmar shouted, making Decimus pause his stretching to face the Orc. “Are ya finished? Put yer pants on already! I have enough nightmares already.”
Decimus chuckled, even lifting his tunic just that little bit higher, moving his hips to make a certain slapping sound. Grulmar groaned and covered his ears. “Lalalalalala! I hate ya!”
“You're just jealous, lad. Really, you should try it sometime,” Decimus laughed while he reached into his tent for his trousers, sticking his naked arse in Grulmar's direction. On purpose. He gave it a shimmy for good measure and heard the Orc whine. He enjoyed every single moment when he was the one pissing off Gru. Or making him squirm. Lareyne woke up when he was pulling his trousers from under her and he winked at her. She smiled shyly and began stretching her body. He watched her move with the flexibility of a Khajiit under the furs and was rewarded by a nice view of those big golden tits again. He spoke to Grulmar as he dressed, doing his best to ignore the cat-like green Elf eyes sneak another peek at his arse. Aye, lass, you just had yourself some fine Colovian stock, he chuckled to himself. “We'll have to find you some proper Orc lady one day.” Decimus continued. “You know, there were a few Orc nobles in Cyrodiil. Some Drad family or something. I think you'd like those Orcs in Cyrodiil.”
“Yeah, sure. Why not,” Grulmar shrugged. “Skyrim is gettin' borin' anyway, with all the dragons and Dragonbums running around.”
Decimus eyed him in surprise. “You're serious?” he asked aloud. What the Oblivion is going on? “I asked you before to go with me to Cyrodiil and you always resolutely said ‘no’. Something changed?” Stupid question, Dec. You don't even need to hear his answer. Something has definitely changed. He's running. He does that, and this time he wants to be as far from Skyrim as possible. Why?
The Orc shrugged again, his eyes on the cooking meat. “Things could get nasty here. Not a place for common folk like us.”
“What do you mean?” Decimus asked, crouching in front of the fire and touching the meat on the stick, hissing when it slightly burned his fingers. He sucked them, tasting the warm juices dripping from the meat. His stomach roared in response, practically begging for food.
“What we were talkin' about last night. If things go south...might be better to just leave instead of to hang around here,” Grulmar said cryptically. “Just ya and me, travellin' down south, to Cyrodiil. I always wanted to see the White-Gold Tower.”
Lareyne gave a yawn and poked her head from the tent, squinting against the sunlight. Red hair, that is some red hair, thought Decimus. “I heard it's a magnificent building.” She chimed in. “And the Imperial City… I have always wanted to see it.”
“It is magnificent,” Decimus murmured, deep in thought. Sorry lass, I know Grulmar. It’s just us boys. Just you and me, Gru. He's not counting with anyone else. Why? He's definitely running, leaving Erik behind—but I don't blame him. I doubt they can ever fix what was broken. And others...he felt a sad smile crawling up on his face. Just face it, Dec, there are no others but you. He would leave even Lorbulg behind and I don't blame him. Survivor… "And when would you like to leave?”
The Orc sliced a piece of the rabbit, blowing on it to cool it down a little before tasting it. “I don't know. Maybe after this job? After we get the treasure, ya know. Take it to Cyrodiil. I bet it would get us a nice sum there.” He then offered the stick with the rabbit to Decimus, who pulled out his own knife and sliced a piece from it. He took a bite and closed his eyes in pleasure.
“You could have been a new Gourmet, you know,” Decimus said with his mouth full. “Damn best rabbit on fire I ever had.” He then sliced another piece and offered it to Lareyne, who had just emerged from the tent. It was good that she had dressed, otherwise Decimus would have probably dropped the meat and just stared. He was still getting a mental picture and it was really nice. She looked at the meat and he saw that nose wrinkle a tad.
“Just like that? No plate or forks?” she asked. Decimus and Grulmar looked at each other and chuckled.
Forks, only fucking Old Mary’s eat with more than one fork. Ronnie would tell him stories about the dinners he had to endure in Cloudrest. Five forks. Real Altmeri nobles ate with five fucking forks. “You’ve never eaten with your hands?” The Imperial asked, amused, and offered her the meat again. She carefully took it between her thumb and forefinger, looking at her companions, her expression unsure. Grulmar gestured with his hand, putting his fingers into his mouth and then he pretended he was chewing. Decimus laughed and Lareyne blushed. She put the piece of meat into her mouth.
Her eyes nearly popped out as she was chewing. “That is so fucking good!”
Decimus raised his eyebrows. “Did you just said ‘fucking good’, lass?”
She covered her mouth. “My apologies. It must be your manners rubbing off on me.”
“It's alright,” chuckled Decimus, slicing another piece of meat. He was slowly chewing, savouring the flavour, thinking. Right after this business, Grulmar? That's really fast. To be honest, I didn't really expect this. I'll have to talk with Ronnie, take back—
“So what's next?” Lareyne asked suddenly. “Where are we heading now?”
Decimus turned around, to the south and pointed at a mountain sticking out of the relatively flat land of the Eastmarch Springs. “Right there,” he pointed at it. “It's called...Hmm. I can't remember right now.”
“Bonestrewn Crest,” Grulmar answered.
“Yeah, Bonestrewn Crest,” the Imperial nodded. “We'll head there and then we turn east. This means we'll avoid the road and stay warm for most of the journey. And out of sight. I think it shouldn't be hard to find that Dwarven ruin once we reach the road leading to the Rift.”
“Speaking of the Rift,” Grulmar said, deep in thought, “it will be quite difficult to climb the plateau this time of year. Especially with this bitch of a winter breathin' down our necks.”
“I think we can manage the hike, if we're careful enough,” Decimus shook his head. He then noticed Lareyne staring at them, blushing. “What?”
She shook her head and sighed, her eyes downcast. “It's just...I feel so useless with you two around. I know something about the Dwemer, but this travelling through the wilds...I feel like I shouldn't even be here.”
Damn, what a difference in comparison to the night we shared together. Then, she was in control, almost furious to get what she needed and now we have our little shy bird back. Hmm, fuck it. I was always wondering why Grulmar named her Fiery. I thought it was so out of her character, but with what I know now...fuck, the Orc was right. Again. The fucking Orc nailed it again. He smiled at her. “Just follow our lead and you'll be good. I just hope you have some spells in your repertoire, because we might need them once we reach the storage.”
“I have a few spells, yes,” she nodded. “And...where is Galar?” she asked. Decimus frowned. He completely forgot about the Dunmer and he rose to his feet, looking for him.
“You're right. Where the fuck is he?”
Grulmar chuckled, the high-pitched one and Decimus groaned inside. What did you do now, you little green tusker? “He's looking for something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled an amulet out of it. “But he won't find it.”
Decimus groaned aloud and put his face to his palm. “Oh, fuck me. He'll be so pissed. Just make sure he really won't find it, or you'll end up in pieces.” He looked at the tents. “I think we should pack, so that we are ready when he gets back.”
“We?” Grulmar asked. “Hey, I fetched us a breakfast. That means I'm not packing or carrying anything today.”
“I'll do it,” volunteered Lareyne, getting up.
Decimus looked at Grulmar. “New rules again?”
“Yup,” the Orc smiled, bending his head to enjoy his meal.
Galar woke, rested as always, which is what silken sheets do for you. They make you sleep well. Almost like lying on a cloud, smooth and so...pliable. It was almost like taking a piece of home along for a journey, and as far as he was aware, his companions slept in...tents. On the ground. Repulsive.
He had everything in his shelter, everything he needed and more importantly, he was well protected. The protection magic was impenetrable by anything thrown at it. Magic, wild animals, fire, projectiles, cold, snow, dust. Everything. It took him some time to perfect it, studying the deepest principles of Wards, perfecting it, making it a permanent spell. Of course, there was a downside to it—each hit it took sapped the strength of the barrier. Enough hits and it would eventually crumble, but the point was that it would give him ample time to rouse himself and prepare several of his many battle spells.
How many non-mages would be able to do that? Spit on you all, you s'wits. I dare you all to say if there was ever a greater wizard without an affinity for magic than me? Your answer is, of course, silence.
He noticed that it was already morning when he rose from his bed. Galar shifted position to sit at the edge of the noble bed, his feet resting on the warmed planks of wood. A wooden floor in the middle of hot springs. It felt pleasant against his feet. He stretched and his hand traveled to his neck to rub out a sudden kink. Wait, you never get kinks in your neck, Galar Rothan. Something is different. His neck, it felt…lighter. That is why you have the kink in your neck, something has disrupted. An eyebrow shot up when he studied the many amulets around his neck. One was missing. After years of bearing their weight, he had grown so accustomed to them that both he and his body knew when one was missing. That was what caused the stiffness in his neck this morning, his entire sleep now ruined. But how? Maybe it slipped? He began looking for it in his bed, tossing the silken sheets aside. Nothing. Which one was it? He inspected all of his amulets, counting them and scanning their stones. Each stone was unique, with different colors, different sizes and even different flaws. All that helped him to recognize which one served what purpose. He had twenty-one, only one was now missing.
It took him a few moments to realize that there was no longer a magic glow around his amulets, at least he didn't see them like he usually did, and he knew. Ah, the one with Detect Enchantment. It was an old spell, rarely practiced anymore, but it enabled him to see if an item had magical properties and what type they were. Granted, there were those who could already see such things, but they had magicka. No matter, there were always workarounds.
He looked everywhere, but couldn't find it. No, I could not have lost it. Someone must have snatched it. But how? And who?
“Who?” he murmured and his eyes turned to the camp housing his foul-smelling companions. “That foul beast.” That was growled. Galar quickly grabbed all his things and strode out of his shelter. As soon as he was out of the barrier, he touched a ring on his little finger, the one closest to his knuckle, and the shelter vanished.
They were finishing packing their camp and Galar saw the Orc sitting on the ground, slacking his arse off while it should be him packing the camp. The Altmer should understand that, Orcs were nothing but beasts, worthy of only the most mundane tasks. The Orc noticed Galar striding towards him and jumped to his feet. Get ready to run, beast.
“Return it, you stupid animal!” he raged at the Orc, feeling the veins on his temple throb in anger. Galar dropped his staff to the ground, his hands reaching toward the creature, to break him with his bare hands, but the Orc ducked under them, spun around like the little greasy pig he was and ended up behind Galar's back. The Telvanni Magister turned, nearly at his boiling point, but then he stopped himself. You are superior to that beast in every way. It does not even deserve you placing your hand on its filthy green skin.
“Help?” The pig pleaded in Decimus’ direction, but the Imperial just shrugged.
“Why? It's your mess, get out of it yourself.”
Galar stared at the Imperial. Inferior, but at least worthy of a name. “Merotim, tell the beast to return the amulet. And then…beat it.”
Decimus’ eyebrows shot up and Galar could see the smirk form. Damn it. “Hey, Grulmar.” Reclamations, he called it by name. “Galar says you should return the amulet and then I have to beat you.”
“It tuskin' hears alright,” growled the Orc, but then it changed its voice to imitate Galar’s accent. “So, do be so kind and tell Grim here, that he can go tusk himself.”
Galar's eyes narrowed and he stopped Decimus before he could answer by raising his hand. “Tell it to return my amulet or I'll tear it limb by limb with my bare hands, and you know very well I am more than capable of that, both physically and literally.”
“Uncle, tell that ugly piece of grey, withered shit that as far as I'm aware, when someone steals from Telvanni, they are allowed to keep it if they are resourceful enough to get away with it.” Decimus opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. “And furthermore, tell him, he’s welcome to try to get it back.” The pig flashed its tusks. “But he’ll have to catch me first.”
“I'm not a fucking courier, you idiots!” Decimus blustered, his eyes widening in frustration, but Galar ignored the noisy Imperial and focused his attention on the pig’s red eyes. He would never show it, but he was shocked. The pig actually knew the laws of his Great House Telvanni, or more importantly, the lack of such laws. Of course, he had heard rumors about certain slaves being more literate than others; some even became the personal scribes of certain Magisters, but it was never an Orc. It was actually very interesting to him that an Orc could read and even more, remember what it had read. Retaining knowledge, possessing knowledge. I should write that down very soon. Perhaps I could even dissect a few Orcs to find out if it's even possible? Hmm. Maybe the Imperial will allow me to dissect this Orc slave, so that I can learn why he's so different?
“So it can read,” he finally said aloud, this time directly addressing the beast. “How did you steal the amulet? Speak, slave. I demand it.”
“A thief never reveals his tricks,” the Orc chortled and Galar frowned in annoyance. It isn't as smart as it thinks it is. But it got through the barrier. Hmm. Progress requires experimentation.
Galar sighed and looked at the Altmer She-Elf looking at them with wide eyes. Silly girl, the wide eyes of younglings. Gah! I bet if I levitated, you would faint. Stupid young creature, you have no idea how much the world has regressed since the loss of House Telvanni—and well, maybe that stupid Crystal Tower. They fed off each other, trying to top each other, rising to heights of magicka in the process. He would bless these servants with his words, so they understand the grandeur that is Telvanni. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “There was a Telvanni Magister once who specialized mostly in protection spells and traps. That Magister built an allegedly unbreakable vault, full of clever traps copied from the Dwemer and improved upon and dozens of protection spells of his own making. But how could he be sure it was really unbreakable? Only if someone tried to steal from it. So, he invited all sorts of thieves and burglars, making them an offer. Whatever they managed to steal from the vault was theirs. And they tried, many died, but some managed to steal several items from it. And that Magister let them go, with what they stole—though none of them knew that all the items in there were cursed, not at first and then, of course, it was too late. But I digress. The point is that with each thief that succeeded, it was getting more difficult for the others, because the traps and protection improved. Progress requires experimentation.”
They all stared at him and Galar rolled his eyes. That’s right, bask in the glory that is me.
“So ya want me to tell ya so ya could improve yer wards?” the Orc asked —and if Galar could read anything from that beastly face—it would have been disbelief.
“Isn't that obvious?” he replied, annoyed that it did not understand what he wanted right away.
“Nah, it isn't obvious. Why should I tell ya that, especially when there's nothing in it for me?”
“I think you're pushing it, Grulmar,” the Altmer said, while packing the bedroll.
“Yup,” the Imperial nodded. “You already have that amulet.”
If it was up to Galar, he would have taken his staff and beat the Orc with it, but the pig wasn't his property, he was the Imperial's. It was the Imperial’s job to teach him respect and to obey orders from his master and other superiors.
The pig reached into its pocket and pulled out a piece of cloth, red and yellow. “With this. That's a piece of yer robe. Only ya can enter, so I tried this and it let me in. Evidently, all ya need is somethin' that is yers, or carries yer scent or whatever. Maybe next time try yer blood or something—“
“Yes, thank you,” Galar waved, cutting off the pig. I have the information I need. His eyes met Decimus and he gestured with his head towards the gear. “Are you packed? We should get moving.”
With that, he strode forward, towards the mountain in the south. He suspected they were heading there, and would take a turn to the east. It would make sense for these lowly creatures, the springs keeping them warm and all that. Perhaps prying eyes they wanted to avoid. He didn’t need such things. He was Telvanni and no pig would enter a barrier of his again.
Progress requires experimentation.
He remembered how his father would constantly say that while he worked on his new vault. And Galar watched from a balcony with other Telvanni Magisters while thieves tried to reach the treasures, ending up in pieces, burned to ash, or frozen forever. The vault was his father's second experiment. His second. When he tired of that, he switched back to his first, his experiments on his own son. His experiments on you, Galar. “I'll create an infinite pool of magicka out of you, son. You just have to hold.” That's what he was telling me. And he managed to create an infinite pool out of Galar, that he did. But not as he wanted. All magicka just passed through Galar, disappearing nowhere or everywhere. So his father had to find other toys, because this one was broken. He wasn't able to draw magicka from his own son. What a disappointment.
Progress requires experimentation.
4th of Morning Star, 4E 203
It took them two days to reach the base of Bonestrewn Crest, mostly because the weather was on their side. The sky was clear almost the entire time and with the heat coming from hot springs, Decimus was forced to drop his cuirass, or he would boil in his own armor. It was hanging over his right shoulder during the journey, wrapped in his fur cloak. Others dropped their fur cloaks and any warm clothes too, with sweat glistening on their foreheads as they trudged through the cracked land of southern Eastmarch.
Grulmar was running around them, pulling some shenanigans with crossbow bolts. Throwing them every time something wooden presented itself. Decimus only shook his head when he saw that. Throwing bolts. What's next? Throwing crossbows? But he couldn't deny that Grulmar was slowly impressing him with those bloody bolts. He made them much shorter, trying to find the right balance and by the time they reached Bonestrewn Crest, he had even managed to hit something with them a few times.
I just wish I won't be anywhere near him when he starts throwing those elemental bolts. There is a reason why they are shot from crossbows, you little shit. Anywhere close to the explosion can create nasty burns, or cut you to pieces if it's an ice bolt.
They made camp near the base of Bonestrewn Crest, on its northern side, though they actually spent a few hours lying on the ground some distance away from it, just watching it before they actually made the camp. Watching for a dragon. There used to be a dragon there, until Äelberon slayed it on a bounty, but Decimus remembered the old Mer saying something about how it was instinct for dragons to “hold a lair” as he put it. “The Nature of the Dovah”. Fucker would know, wouldn’t he? Got one of those souls in him and if that ‘stead ain’t a lair, Decimus didn’t know what was. Somewhere high, where he could watch the roads. Like a fucking dragon, watching the roads while smoking his bloody pipe. Ronnie knew they laired up, so they watched for a spell, waiting to see if a dragon would show. It didn’t, so Decimus reluctantly agreed to make camp near it. He certainly didn't want to sleep literally next to a dragon.
While they were setting up their camp, Galar strode off, towards the mountain, most likely curious about the Dragon Wall at its summit. Äelberon said there was one of these walls there, a word for ice on top of a mountain surrounded by hot springs and Sulphur—Dragons certainly did like their irony, Ronnie had grinned when he told him that—and Decimus encountered a few of those walls during his travels around Skyrim, but that was before all that bullshit with Dragons.
They were curious places, always making the hair on his neck stand on end when he was near them and he couldn’t deny there was some primal, hidden power there. If there weren’t dragons, than those places were usually full of undead. Usually. Or worse, fucking wisp mothers. He hated those.
Grulmar was just lighting a fire, Decimus sitting next to him, and to shorten the wait, he began taking care of his weapons. Sharpening his swords, knives, oiling his armor and crossbow...Yeah, that will take a good while.
Lareyne yawned and Decimus noticed her perfectly white teeth. Damn Altmer and their white teeth. I think I never had mine as white as hers. “I’m so tired,” she spoke through yet another yawn. “Oh, excuse me! How rude to yawn and talk, my Lenya would kill me, but this travelling by foot is certainly very exhausting. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to bed.” She looked at the tent and chuckled. “Well, there is no bed. So I’ll just drop on the ground and pass out.”
Decimus smiled. “You’re doing great, lass. Rest, you certainly deserve it.”
She looked at him, her eyes sparkling with a mischief that he didn’t mind seeing again. “But wake me up for my watch, alright? I can’t let the two of you be awake the entire night.” She eyed Decimus and no, he was not misinterpreting that look. “You’ll wake me up, yes?”
Wake you up for your watch? Ha! You bet I’ll do that, lass. “Alright,” he nodded. “Sleep well.”
Grulmar, with a groan, finally managed to light the fire, feeding it with a few dry twigs, before rising to his feet to go find more while there was still light. Decimus finished sharpening his baskethilt sword and pulled out the silver one.
He looked at it, scanning the crossguard in the form of eagles’ heads, with a golden septim in the middle, and then his eyes fell on the pommel in the shape of coin. Old Mary added that in, for shits and giggles. “See, no gods” he had said with a toothy grin.
That weapon, made of an alloy of steel and silver, was his whole life. Each notch, score and cut carried a story with it, just as the many scars on his body. The sword was an embodiment of his creed, of the Goldpact creed.
There are no gods and if they are, we are nothing to them. They are not so different from Daedra, but they are crueler than their meddling counterparts. Why more cruel? Because they don’t give a shit. All the atrocities committed in their names or even in the names of something completely different? They do nothing to stop it, because we are like ants to them. Worthy only of their ignorance or to be crushed under their heels. If there are gods up in the heavens, they are old, senile and demented grandpas just looking down at us and having a great laugh while we are killing each other.
“Y'are in bad mood,” Grulmar spoke, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up, narrowing his eyes at the Orc bearing an armful of firewood.
“Why do you think that?” Decimus mumbled, greasing a whetstone with oil and then moving it across the edge of his silver sword.
“Ya are grindin’ yer teeth. And ye were starin’ at that sword as if it was a nest of vipers,” Grulmar chuckled while he fed the hungry flames with more firewood. “Ya are brooding.”
“That obvious, eh?” Decimus didn’t even look up from his blade.
“Yep,”Grulmar nodded. “So what’s on yer mind?”
Decimus sighed. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Going to Cyrodiil. About all the shit that’s going on here.”
“And?” The Orc took a seat at the campfire and reached for his pack. None of them, he, Gru, Ronnie, Serana, could ever just do one thing. There was rarely a “just sit and talk” moment. All of them would be doing something else at the same time. You can’t do two things at once in this world we live in, you’re a dead fucker. Not enough hours in the day to waste that much time.
“It led me back to Goldpact.” Decimus answered. “To Gods and all those similar fuckers. Like dragons. They were worshipped as Gods long time ago, right? So what is the difference then?
Grulmar seemed to be thinking about what he was saying while his hands worked on the leather strips again. “They can bleed. They can die.” He observed thoughtfully.
“But not really die, right? Unless you’re a Dragonborn.”
Grulmar narrowed his eyes. “Where are ya headin’ with this?”
The Imperial let out another sigh. “Nowhere. Everywhere. I don’t know. I took Goldpact as my own, traded faith for coin. Gods aren’t going to help us so we have to help ourselves. Äelberon might talk with his Auri-El or he might not, I couldn’t care less. But look where it got him, Gru? So much suffering. Yet do I suffer any less? Or you? Or anyone else who doesn’t give a shit about Gods?”
“Y'are doubtin’ yer creed,” the Orc proclaimed and Decimus immediately snorted.
“My whole creed is based on doubt, trying to fill that empty dark place with coin. A man is only as good as his honor, and by that I don’t mean all that chivalrous shit. No, I mean that when you agree to accept a contract, you fucking do it or die trying. That when you give your word, others can rely on you keeping up to that word.”
“Please,” Grulmar scoffed quietly. “Your Goldpact is full of holes.”
“It is and I’m not denying that. But I’ve lived by it for more than half my life. It says I shouldn’t get involved unless there is coin at the end of the road. But I just can’t stand aside. I couldn’t stand aside when that dragon swooped in on Windhelm.”
The Orc eyed him carefully, his eyes scanning every inch of Decimus’ face. “Tell me honestly. Would you have done it if Shiny wasn’t there to fight that dragon?”
“Would I have?” Decimus repeated and chuckled. “If it wasn't for that big Altmer, I would have gotten the fuck out of Windhelm as fast as possible. I'm good, but who am I against a dragon? Nothing. You weren't there and be glad for that. The Dragonborn, a vampire, the court wizard and Galar...it was all their work. Before they brought the dragon down, me and Erik were just flies buzzing around that dragon's ears.” He looked into the fire, replaying the scene before him. The hill destroyed by devastating magic. The thu’um echoing. The dragon falling down. That infernal horn blast… “I was lucky there, you know.” He continued, shaking his head to remove the images. “The dragon didn't have me in his sight. But Erik and Äelberon? Old Fart was the son of a bitch’s punching bag and Erik? Well, you saw the results. So yeah, if it wasn't for that Old Mary of a Dragonborn, I would have run. I still would’ve let those Argonians in, because it's better to die with the enemy in front of you rather than burn in the docks like fish trapped in a barrel. But otherwise? I would’ve run and let them all burn to save my hide and it would haunt me for the rest of my life.” Decimus let out a gust of air. A lot of words came out that time.
“Why?” Grulmar asked. “We don't owe these brainless Nords anythin'. I would let them burn and never look back. They deserve it.”
“And it would never haunt you?” Decimus shook his head in disapproval. “How many people have you killed? Ten? Twenty?”
“Fourteen,” muttered Grulmar, averting his gaze suddenly. “And their faces still haunt me.”
“And how is that different from letting another fourteen die by doing nothing? That blood is on your hands too, you know,” Decimus countered.
“No, it isn't,”the Orc growled, his eyes burning with anger and frustration. “Everyone for tuskin' himself. Ya know that very well. How many times ya took a contract, nearly died, and those who hired ya then left you in a ditch to bleed out? How can ya tell me that people in general are worth savin'?”
The Imperial weathered that outburst with calm, only his eyebrows lowered. “It isn't about saving them. It's about saving yourself from becoming a piece of shit.”
“Maybe it's too late for that,” the Orc mumbled under his breath.
Decimus narrowed his eyes and felt a twitch of concern under one of them. “What is that supposed to mean?”
The Orc just shook his head. “Leave it be. Just know that after all this is done, I'm goin' to Cyrodiil. There's nothin' keepin' me here, especially with these dragons roaming the skies. It's a business best left to others. And if tuskin' Shiny does die….better to be someplace else other than here.”
“Where is all this coming from?” Decimus asked. He wanted to understand why Grulmar was so desperate to run. But was it really that difficult to guess? He was born in Skyrim, an outcast of every society he was part of, whether Orcish or Nordic. Could it be that he just needed to get out of Skyrim?
Grulmar seemed to sulk after that question and Decimus saw how uncomfortable it was for the Orc to reply. For a moment, Decimus thought he would never answer or try to cover it up with a smartass joke, but then the Orc sighed. “I saw Shiny die, alright? It doesn't matter how, but he dies. He and the others can be dead even right now. And without him, we, mere mortals, can't do shit to spot what's comin', especially not me. I'm a tuskin' liability. I just want to grab that prize, make a run for Cyrodiil, and sell it there. I'll be rather chasin' Aetherius in Cyrodiil than in this frozen dump hole.”
You are scared, Grulmar. And I don't blame you, to be honest, Decimus thought, staring at the Orc. “But he's not dead yet, Grulmar. Old Fucker has been fucking with death longer than all of us have been alive. But that’s not what’s important. I want you to decide what kind of person you want to be. The one who stands his ground or the one who runs from his friends when they need him?”
“I'd rather be the one who's alive,” Grulmar murmured and just now Decimus saw that he finished his work with the leather. It looked something like wristguards and when he slipped them on, Decimus finally understood their purpose. Each one had a sheath on the lower side of the forearm, made to hold one of Grulmar's light throwing knives. And on top of the forearm were sheaths for three bolts. This way he literally has all of those close to his hands.
Decimus let out a sigh. “I get it, lad. No one wants to die, and trust me, especially me. But if you don't stand behind what you believe—“
“I don't believe in anythin',” the Orc snapped. “Only the fact that this world is full of shit, bad things happen every day, and I don't want to be on the receivin' end of it. Tusk everyone else. They don't give a shit about this shitty Orc, so why should I give a shit about them?”
“I give a shit!” Decimus snarled through gritted teeth.
“I know! That's why I want ya to come with me, Uncle. Ya are the closest thing to family I got. Not Erik, not Lorbulg, but ya. So would ya at least consider it?”
Decimus drew in a heavy breath. I certainly wasn't expecting this. “I...yes, I will consider it, alright? You're like a son to me, lad, you know that.”
Grulmar snorted. “I bet ya have plenty more sons runnin' around. We might even bump into few in Cyrodiil. Just look for fat arses and ugly faces, like mama...”
“Aye,” Decimus laughed heartily, letting the image of “mama” pass through his eyes. “You might be right.” Then he became serious again. “But we have to get through this shit first, and so do others. We'll need Äelberon and Erik before this business ends.”
Grulmar frowned and looked into the dark. “I sincerely hope ya are wrong.”
7th of Morning Star, 4E 203
“What's taking you so damn long?” Decimus asked, looking at the Orc kneeling before the gate made of dwemer metal. If he counted right, Grulmar had been fiddling with that lock for nearly an hour.
Grulmar didn't reply, his brow was furrowed in concentration, his lockpick was clicking in the lock, but the lock was also making some strange, resonating sounds that Decimus didn’t understand. Decimus then heard a sharp crack and Grulmar rose to his feet, kicking the door, only to grab his foot in pain. Dwemer doors are hard as fuck, you pouting princess, Decimus chuckled to himself.
“Fuck!” The Orc shouted in frustration, still massaging his foot.
“Shouldn't that be tusk?” Decimus dared to ask, a playful twinkle in his eye, knowing full well that Grulmar was growing deranged because of that lock.
“Fuck you!” The Orc bellowed.
The Imperial chuckled. Grulmar leaned against the door and slid down to sit with his head between his knees, his hands on his face. Decimus sighed and sat down next to him. “What's the problem, lad? You usually crack these fuckers in seconds.”
“That's because those were regular locks,” The Orc mumbled into his hands. He was getting pissed off and Decimus understood why. If every lock for you normally gives quickly, one that doesn't can test someone's patience. Same goes for swordplay. I’ve seen swordsmen that were so good they easily beat almost everyone, but when they met someone who was able to hold their ground, to keep his mind calm, they would slowly but steadily crack. Too much pressure. “Why isn't he going down? Why won’t my tricks work?” He saw it many times, especially when he was the one who held his ground against those swordsmen.
His eyes found the stairs where Lareyne and Galar were. The Altmer was sitting with her face to the sun, warming herself up like some snake on a stone. Decimus winked and she smiled and winked back. Couldn’t see those sweet tits now, she was wrapped in so much fur, but it didn’t matter, he could still picture them. Ha! He said snake, but really she looked like a damn bear and he didn’t blame her. It was cold again. When they left the Eastmarch springs, the temperature dipped. Mzulft was also very close to the Velothi Mountains, more reasons to be cold. They were lucky, however, the weather was on their side. For now…
His eyes left Lareyne and noticed that Galar was scribbling something on one of his scrolls, not to be bothered with something so trivial as the opening of a door. Fucker. I think he could probably open it in a few seconds with some clever spells. I bet he did a fair share of raiding Dwemer ruins back in Morrowind.
Decimus sighed and looked at Grulmar. “Alright. Walk me through it.”
Grulmar raised his head and looked at him, surprised that he even cared. Yeah, I care, you dummy, remember? And also Ronnie pulls this shit too. You two need to sort shit out in your heads and you need somebody to listen to. Well, I sometimes listen for that Old Fart, just by his balls, don’t be as boring as he usually is… Then the Orc shrugged. “Alright. Locks here in Skyrim, yeah They're circular, ya know. There's only one deadbolt that can be pushed up only at one place. Ya have to spin the lock to find the right place. Get it? Now ya may encounter some locks with Cyrodiilic design here. Those are circular too, but they have multiple deadbolts that have to be pushed up and tweaked, so they stay in place. Once ya make them all stick, the lock gives up. Ya follow?”
“Trying,” Decimus murmured, pretending to be sleepy, and knocked on the door they were leaning against. “So how are these different?”
“They're...spiral. There is a helix inside, with multiple deadbolts and only a few are actually the right ones. And how do ya know which is the right one? By sound, but not by the clickin' one in regular locks. The Dwemer were all about echoes and resonators. It's almost like tunin' a lute. And all that I could handle, but this lock is...graded.”
“Graded?” frowned Decimus. “What do you mean by that?”
“Imagine a key with three sizes. Ya put it in, turn it, and it opens another spiral, with even more deadbolts. Ya then stick the key deeper, spin it and it opens yet another spiral. And I bet it could go on and on, knowin' what I know of the Dwemer. The smartest of us are stupid comparin' to the most stupid Dwemer.”
“So you can't get it open?”
Grulmar's eyes narrowed and he growled: “I didn't say that. I managed to unlock the first two spirals, but with every mistake, the lock falls back to its original place. And it's...frustratin'. I'm usin' lockpicks made of Dwemer metal and ya have any idea how expensive these are? Not even Shiny makes those for free.”
“So are you frustrated because your toys are getting broken or because you can't get through the lock?” Decimus raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer—hoping for the right answer.
“Both.”
The Imperial nodded and smiled. Just the answer I was hoping for. “Alright. Here's the deal, lad—“
“Swordplay lecture?” Grulmar interrupted with a moan.
“Swordplay lecture. If you lose a finger in a fight, you have to keep going, don't show your opponent you're hurt, in pain. When you show a weakness, he'll exploit it. So you have to wait for him to show you his weakness, or lure him in on your weakness, get it? It's all about patience, about staying calm no matter what.”
The Orc was staring at him and then blinked several times. “How does that help me for tusk's sake?”
Decimus rose to his feet—his knee making it a little bit harder—and shrugged. “I have no clue. Just figure it out.” He headed towards Lareyne and Galar, testing his knee as he walked. It's actually a little bit better, those potions and balms Grulmar keeps forcing on me are helping a little bit. But it was only a temporary fix, as Grulmar kept reminding him of that as well. If he wanted that knee to really get better, he would need to take some time off, maybe with Äelberon at his ‘stead where he could look at that knee properly every day with his healing magicks. The treatments he’s always wanted you to do, Old Blade. He didn’t need a bloody wife; he had Ronnie and Grulmar acting like one. But for that, he would need to go later. Maybe after this ends, before we head to Cyrodiil. He stopped himself and looked back at Grulmar. Did you just agreed in your mind, old fart? Yeah, you did. Just admit it, you want it as badly as Grulmar does. Just to run away, with him, from Skyrim and all the shit that's happening here.
But would he really do it? Leave everyone behind? What was the point of all that talk about honor and sticking out for your friends then? Just the talk of an old, senile grandpa?
“Ha!” Grulmar suddenly exclaimed and Decimus spun around, his hand close to the sword at his belt. He felt a sting in his knee and almost lost balance. Fuck! “I got it! I cracked it open!” Grulmar kept shouting and jumping up and down in front of the door.
“It is about time,” Galar growled, rising to his feet. The Imperial released a sigh, not sure why he was suddenly so jumpy. Yeah, it was about time we got a peek inside. He walked back to the door and Grulmar continued jumping around.
“I'm the tuskin' best!” he exclaimed with a wide grin on his face. Almost like a small child. But he's just bragging, nothing more. “Just admit it, Uncle. The best!”
Decimus just smirked, not being able to help himself. “I’ve seen Äelberon unlock a Dwemer lock in a few minutes.”
The Orc stopped cheering and bared his tusks at Decimus. “Ya had to spoil it, didn’t you?”
The Old Blade shrugged. “Can't help myself.” He went to the doors and pushed against them.
The moment he opened them, Dwemer lights spontaneously lit, flooding the corridor in a mint green light. The walls were covered with still-moving and hissing machines. The floor was regular light grey-white stone the Dwemer used for all their buildings in every ruin Decimus had ever seen. In front of them, down the corridor, were strange crystals surrounded by metal grilling that created a web of light rays throughout the corridor. And behind those lights were doors. The ceiling was covered with chandeliers burning with green flames, casting an unnatural light in the hall.
Decimus shivered. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“No shit,” Grulmar murmured. Decimus noticed the Orc’s eyes frantically scanning the room, looking for anything out of place. You always have a good gut for this, lad. Just do your magic. Decimus didn't see anything out of place besides the floor in front of him being covered with strange runes. No tubes that would spew out Dwemer spiders or spheres, or fire spouts, or blades...
“I haven't seen anything like this in a long time,” Galar muttered and Decimus noticed Lareyne frowning. She caught his look and frowned even more.
“I never read about anything like this,” she explained. “So what is it, Magister?”
Decimus was about to step forward but Grulmar stopped him, pointing at the ground. “Pressure plates. Very well hidden, but call me an orc princess if I'm wrong.” He pushed Decimus back and gingerly stepped on the rune in front of him and then immediately jumped backwards.
Streams of steam hissed through the walls and ceiling, covering every inch of air above the runes and Decimus put his hand in front of his face, the heat was so unbearable. Then it suddenly ended, the condensation from the cooling water now dripping from the ceiling onto the runes like a light rain. “Alright,” Decimus mumbled. “So that's why I had that bad feeling. How are we getting across this? I may stink, but I don't need a bath that badly.”
“You need a password,” Galar growled like he was addressing a five year old. “There is a word here, which if you follow, will safely lead you to the other side. But I have no patience for Dwemer puzzles today.” With that, he touched a ring on his middle finger and suddenly his feet flew above the ground, heading towards the other side. But steam hissed from the walls again, blocking his path.
“It reacts to magic!” Lareyne shouted over the noise. Galar touched his ring again and his feet found the ground once more, his perpetual frown becoming even more prominent.
“The Three take those heretics!” the Telvanni hissed, almost like one of those streams of steam. “Why do it simply when it can be done complicated? This is just a stupid storage room, not some precious treasury!”
Decimus and Grulmar exchanged looks and the Orc spun his forefinger near his temple like a wheel and shook his head. You think Galar’s lost it? I doubt it. He’s just run out of patience, exactly like you did a few moments ago with that lock.
“So what are we going to do?” Decimus asked.
Galar shot him a look and pulled out an inkwell, quill and parchment from his scroll case. “We'll figure out the password.” His attention then turned to Grulmar. “Beast, fetch me a stool and table so I may write as comfortably as one possibly can in this place. I'd disappear too if I had to sit on stone all day long…” He waited and nothing happened. “Well? Beast, I gave an order.”
Grulmar raised his eyebrows and looked at Decimus who shrugged in return. “Do I look like I have a stool and table shoved up my arse?”
“I wouldn't be surprised,” coughed Decimus, letting a grin claw onto his face. “I think your arse could be a plane of Oblivion for all the shit you keep hidden.”
“Ha-ha,” grimaced Grulmar. “Idiot. I still remember that lockpick. That one hurt.”
“Dragonborn’s balls, you just had to put that image in my head again, didn't you?” Groaned Decimus.
“Surrounded by imbeciles,” Galar murmured, pulling out a scroll from his sleeve. He broke the seal, murmured some words and with a flash there suddenly was a table and stool. With an annoyed gesture, he sat on the stool and started scribbling on the parchment. “Each tile is long precisely one step. Thirteen tiles wide, six tiles long.” His eyes went to the plates on the ground, to the runes and then he started scribbling again. “If I use a measure of one to fifty…”
Both Lareyne and Grulmar were looking over his shoulder and Grulmar scratched the back of his neck. “It doesn't make any sense.” He mused. “There are no words there.”
“Dwemeris is read backwards. Which means in this case, you'll have the end of the word down and the beginning up,” Lareyne explained.
“Oh,” the Orc murmured, nodding in understanding. “Hmm, I see a few words now. Numidium. Kagrenac.”
“You can speak and read Dwemeris?” asked Decimus in surprise, his eyes widening. It's true he likes his books. Never passes an opportunity to just sit with his books and read all kinds of shit. Just like Ronnie. Though I had no idea someone can learn Dwemeris from books.
Grulmar looked at him. “No, not really. I mean, I know the runes, the alphabet, but I don't understand the shit most of the time. But some words are the same like—“he suddenly went silent and Decimus saw a frown on his face. “Dumalacath.”
“Dumalacath? What the fuck does that mean? Is that some sweariing to that piece of shi—“
“Less talking!” Galar growled loudly from his table. “I need to… focus!”
Decimus shut up and sighed. I'm damn useless here. If there was some fighting to do, I think I wouldn't complain for once, but these things are way over my head. What do I know about the Dwemer alphabet and shit? I just know that when something jumps out of a tube and tries to kill me, I have to destroy it. He suddenly silently chuckled and sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. I think I can be grateful that most Dwemer ruins aren't full of these fucking puzzles. I wouldn't be here otherwise.
“Hmm,” Lareyne suddenly. “Resonator, resonance, resonation. These words start the same but end differently. A clue?”
“Resonation isn't a word,” objected Grulmar.
“It is in Dwemeris,” murmured Galar. “So is resonance. This might really be a clue. Dwemer were all about logic and sounds, their tonal architecture is just a proof of that.”
“Wait, I though tonal architecture was what they called their magic for creatin' automato—“
Galar suddenly got up and stood before one tile. “Each word ends differently, so we will have to figure out the first letter.” He knocked a tile with his staff and steam hissed from the walls. He tried it with another one and the steam repeated its assault on nothing. The third attempt produced no steam and all looked at each other. They had their starting point! “Resonance it is. Go first, beast,” he said, his eyes on Grulmar.
Decimus got up from his position, his concern growing. “Why him? He doesn't speak Dwemeris.”
“He's an Orc. He's expendable,” Galar shrugged.
“So ya aren't sure it's that word?” Grulmar growled. “And I have to test it? Tuskin' lovely!”
Lareyne took the paper from the table and showed it to Grulmar. “Here, this is where the word begins.” She then took the quill and drew a line on the paper. “Just follow this path.”
“And why don't ya follow it?” he asked in frustration, but then with a huff, he grabbed the paper and stepped on the first tile. “Tuskin' Orc,” he grumbled while he moved. “Let's just let him die a horrible death of bein' overcooked by some tuskin' Dwemer steam, his meat fallin' off his bones, eye balls explodin' off their sockets like rotten pumpkin thrown on the ground…” He suddenly stopped and realized he was on the other side. He looked back. “I'm alive.” He grinned.
“Of course you are,” Galar sighed wearily while he followed him. “Shame.”
“I doubted ya there for a second, Grim, but now I absolutely don't doubt ya. Ya don't give a shit about other people's lives,” Grulmar growled, spitting. Galar just shrugged his shoulders and Decimus shook his head as he followed Lareyne carefully across the plates.
When they were through the first puzzle, they paused, another puzzle. Because what else can three mirrors on pedestals and weird crystals on the walls be?
“I see runes on the pedestals,” Lareyne pointed out. “One rune for each pedestal. E, N, O. And I see the same runes under crystals on the walls. Maybe we have to connect them?”
Galar stroked his beard for a few seconds. “It is possible.”
“Isn't that a little too obvious?” Grulmar asked “I mean, this is a storage room. Getting here wasn't supposed to be hard, but it was also meant for people who knew this place to have an easy time gettin' inside, not for everybody else. It can't be as obvious as reflectin' the light on the crystals with same runes.”
“So what is it then, beast?” barked Galar. “What do you know about the Dwemer that I don't? Don't presume to lecture me.” Well, not much I guess, but Grulmar's gut is never wrong. He has a sixth sense for this shit. Galar grabbed the mirror on middle pedestal and began spinning it so that the light coming from the ceiling would reflect on it.
Decimus saw Grulmar's face clench up in a cramp, almost as if he had a giant fart just around the corner, but it didn't want to come out yet. “Wait!” he suddenly growled at Galar, who looked at him in surprise. “Just wait a second. Let's think it through, alright? Weigh all options and other shit.” When Galar’s hands left the mirror, Decimus looked at the Orc again. “What are you thinking?”
Grulmar shook his head. “Not sure.” Galar rolled his eyes, but Grulmar continued. “Dwemer were all about logic and shit like that, right?” He started pacing from one wall to another. “What if those aren't runes? What if those are...curves?”
“What?” murmured Decimus.
Grulmar stopped pacing and a wide grin appeared on his face. “I read about this, ya know. Somewhere, I don't know where. There was a ruin like this in Hammerfell.” Decimus noticed how Galar frowned after hearing that, most likely being pissed because the beast knew something he didn't. Ronnie would have eaten this shit up. “There was a light password required, and its description fits this one. The book said that those weren't runes on the pedestals. But geometric patterns.”
Decimus looked at the pedestals, at the runes on them and then he saw what Grulmar was talking about. The light could be bent into those shapes like that, with those crystals. “It does make sense to me. You?” he turned to Galar, who was tapping on his lower lip with his finger.
“It is possible,” he conceded, but the voice dripped with acid.
The Imperial nodded. “Then open the door, lad.”
I just hope you don’t kill us. But it certainly was worth it, supporting you. He never did that often, but right then, right there, it felt right. Because Grulmar seemed really sure and Decimus had learned to trust him on these things. He has a knack for these things. Not like me. Just a dumbarse merc with a dirty mouth.
Grulmar started playing with the mirrors, the light rays moving across the room, reflecting off those strange blue crystals, aligning themselves into patterns just like the ones on the pedestals. It didn't take long to align them all and they were rewarded when they heard a loud click and the tall, heavy doors swung open with a booming groan. “Easy peasy,” beamed Grulmar. It was good to see Gru smile. Decimus’ eyes then found the door.
Aye, those two doors opened right up and from them walked out a big-ass Centurion. Decimus heard Grulmar gulp. “You were saying?” Decimus gritted through his teeth.
“It makes sense,” Galar said calmly and Decimus eyed him while drawing his sword. “Last line of defense. The Centurion would recognize only those authorized to enter.” He made a broad gesture towards the huffing and puffing automaton. “So please, destroy the thing so we may continue.”
Lareyne's head snapped in his direction. “You won't help?” she nearly squeaked, the shock in her voice matching her expression.
“Why should I? It is beneath me. You lowly helpers will manage on your own. But please, do try not to destroy the Dynamo Core. I certainly have some uses for it.”
Steam hissed out of the Centurion's arms and then it leaned forward. “Oh, fuck me,” Decimus groaned, jumping aside just as a stream of steam escaped the Centurion's helmet, heading towards their group. He saw Grulmar jump to the other side and Lareyne raised a Ward around herself and Galar.
He felt the heat on his face, felt his armor warming up and for a second he was thinking about throwing it off or he would end up getting cooked in it. But then the heat faded and he raised his head, seeing the Centurion walking towards Lareyne, who threw two balls of fire right into its face. It snapped to its side, but otherwise the metal was holding—Dwemer metal was known to withstand high temperatures.
Grulmar shot an arrow, striking its chest. The arrow ricocheted from it, hitting the ceiling first and then falling to the ground.
“Aim for the joints, for fuck's sake!”
“And what do ya think I'm tryin' to do?!” The Orc shouted back. “Tuskin' bows!” He let another arrow loose, this time hitting an arm plate, sending the arrow in Decimus' direction.
He ducked. “Fuck! You're not helping!” The Centurion was now getting really close to Lareyne who was throwing one fireball after another at it. “Shock, lass! Use shock on it!”
He saw Galar yawn and mumble something about it being so typically fourth era that no one knew some shit called “Dispel” anymore.
Decimus finally got to his feet and charged the Centurion. It noticed him running towards it, tilted its head and swung its left arm—the axe arm—horizontally. He slid on the ground, going between the Centurion's legs and getting up behind it. Decimus stabbed with his sword right under the Centurion's knee, wedging the blade between the joints there and then levering it. He heard the creaking of metal and he added more strength, snarling with effort. The joint finally gave and the Centurion fell on its knees. Look who’s got a bad knee now, you fucker.
Its torso suddenly spun around, facing Decimus and he saw the big hammer-arm aimed at his head. He rolled backwards, his armor pressing uncomfortably against his body. He got out of harm's way, but his sword was still in the Centurion’s leg. Fuck.
Currents of lightning blasted the Centurion. It started shaking, the core not being able to handle that much magicka. But these Centurions weren't famous for going down easy. Its head spun around, targeting Lareyne and it let out another gust of steam. Decimus saw Lareyne raise her Ward again in time.
Galar was still just standing in the corner, casually leaning against his staff and calmly watching. Fucking bastard.
Grulmar then vaulted towards the Centurion's head, plunging his dagger into its eye and metal creaked and steam hissed as the dagger hit something important. Decimus then charged it, leaping into air—making sure he pushed from his healthy leg—and rammed the Centurion's back with his shoulder.
It overbalanced and fell right on its face. Grulmar thankfully managed to dodge out of the way in time and then he jumped back on the Centurion's chest. It tried to hit him with its hammer, but he surged away and it hit its own chest, splitting it open.
“Lareyne!” Decimus shouted, pointing to the hole in the Centurion’s chest. “Fry it!” She leapt there, surprising Decimus a bit with her quickness, and released a stream of shock magic right into the hole. He heard how something made of glass shattered and then steam hissed from the Centurion before it stopped moving. He pulled his sword out of its leg and inspected it for any damage. Thankfully, the steel was holding.
He spat and looked at Galar. “Thanks for your help.”
“You destroyed the core,” Galar grumbled, heading towards the open doors. “Shame. Now, let's go collect our prize.”
“What is locked can be open. What is hidden, can be found,” Decimus heard Grulmar murmuring as he was staring at Galar's back. “What is yours...can be mine.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 6 Chapter 8
Comments
“So what's next?” Lareyne [said] suddenly.
A few apostrophes ended up being exclamation marks.
Oh, man. Erik's gonna be piiiiiiiiiiiissed.
“So what's next?” Lareyne [said] suddenly.
A few apostrophes ended up being exclamation marks.
Oh, m... more
Probably was ob... more
Probably was obvious but just tho... more
That was a fucked up back story for Galar with his father's experiments, but he's still a dick.
Great read
As for Decimus and Grulmar...I have to say I absolutely enjoyed writing their chats in this chapter. They have very strange relationship. ... more
As for Decimus and Grulmar...I have to say I absolutely enjoyed writing their chats in this chapter. They have very strange relationship. I always envision ... more
And yeah, screw everyone. I´m wondering that there aren´t more people like Grulmar in Skyrim, you know. I mean, there are always runners, and you might have noticed that Decimus doesn´t really disagree with ... more
And yeah, screw everyone. I´m wondering that there aren´t more people like Grulmar in Skyrim, you know. I mean, there are always runners, and you might have noticed that Decimus doesn´t really disagree with him. What can norm... more