A.D.w.D. Chapter 6: Shouts in the Wind

• Posted by Exuro August 10, 2015 - Filed in TSC: CB Story - 1,231 views

  She drifted, unable to breath. With the poison coursing through her veins, Amari doubted she would have been able to take in breath even if she wasn’t underwater. Beneath the water, she gazed at clouds distorted by the river's refraction. A roaring filled her ears and soon white breakers filled her vision. She could do nothing to avoid the approaching rapids before a waterfall, all she could do was make what peace she could and hope for the best.

   

  She reached the waterfall’s edge and for a brief moment she was weightless, then like a bear catching salmon, a hand found the collar of her dress and swept her towards land. She flopped onto the bank as animated as a sack of potatoes.

   

  “Not bad, not a bad attempt at all my boro.* Good ol’ Gnarly Nan had made it much further though. Ah, now that was a good hunt, but she had been nowhere near as… destructive.” The Elf leapt from a rock by the waterfall’s edge to nimbly land near her. He folded his arms behind his back and loomed over her, displaying his full set of incisors with a wide grin. Amari felt a pit of despair well inside her; she had given it her all and still fell short. As if on cue, a light rain began to fall, moistening her cheeks. The Elf pulled out some rope and started cheerfully chatting away as he hogtied her her paralyzed form. 

   

  “I thought I was going to have to return completely empty handed; now that would’ve been embarrassing! I have a reputation to uphold among these Nedes!** The Toad never left the camp now did he? I’ve hunted with him many times; I know the tracks he leaves.”

   

  He looked at her then laughed. “Why am I asking you? You can barely control your breathing muscles, lest talk right now!”

   

  Diaphragm, Amari thought pedantically, I can barely control my diaphragm.

   

  “I’m quite proud on how this batch of poison turned out.” The Bosmer poked the arrow sticking from her leg, even Amari had to admit she was impressed; she still couldn’t move and barely felt his poke. “I used Canis Root, Imp Stool—oh, you recognize that one? What do you think I used for the third ingredient? Skeever tail?”

   

   He laughed outright when he saw her eyes widen reflexively. Impstool and Skeever tail reacted violently and created a poison when mixed. “So you did do it! You poisoned that fat toad and hid the body somewhere! Consider me impressed, never liked that Sload myself. So, tell me; do you think you could feel your insides turning to jelly with the paralysis in effect?”

   

  Amari honestly didn’t know, she could be dying right now and not know it. The Elf finished his knots, then began searching her.

   

  “A steak knife, really? He found the empty bottle of Skooma she had kept the frenzy poison in and the two still full ale bottles of poison. "Didn’t take you for a Skooma addict.”

   

  He sniffed them then weighed them in his hands. “Did you use every skeever we killed yesterday? I should just kill you now, but I would rather watch the Nedes tear you apart. Let’s see, what’s your death toll at? The two your frenzied bandit killed, yes I was watching from up there,” He pointed to the peak of the hill he had shot her from, “then the rest took him down. There was the Toad, who else died? The sentry eaten by skeevers, an odd coincidence, I‘ll give you that one too. So, that adds up to a total of five deaths, one hand stabbed, and one pair of pants shitted in thanks to you.”

   

  He found the gems and rings Silver gave her. “And let’s add stealing from our booty to the list, this should be entertaining.”

   

  With that he hefted her onto his shoulders like a slain deer. “By the way, the third ingredient was Blisterwort, so you might feel tired but your insides are safe, for now. Also, why do you keep those bones around your neck? So creepy.” He shuddered, then set off towards the camp.

   

  By time they reached the camp the black clouds had reached them and the rain had turned to a steady pour. The Elf paraded her through the camp boasting he’d found the culprit.  She was met with anger or disbelief from most, and Silver, she was too ashamed to even look at him; she had rushed, and failed. Now it was only a matter of whether the bandits or Daedra finished her first.

   

   The Elf dropped her on a cot in the camp’s medical tent. The bandit who was shot in the lung was next to her still struggling for life. Two bandits were hovering over him, they had removed the arrow and given him a healing potion, but he still gurgled with each inhale and coughed blood on each exhale. The potion they used must have been only strong enough to seal the skin, but not stop the internal bleeding, so the potion actually worsened matters by trapping the blood within the lung. It wouldn’t be long before he drowned now.

   

  “Damn it! Where’s that ol’ wench, we need her in here!”

   

  “We searched the camp, no one can find her.”

   

  Well at least something good happened, Amari thought bleakly. Hjorta must have used the chaos to escape, and there was no hunter looking for her this time. Bandits were circled around Amari's cot and talking about her, but she didn’t care what they had to say, it was all over anyway. Her muscle control was slowly returning and with it a deep throbbing pain in her thigh.

   

  Her dwelling in self-loathing was interrupted by Silver handing her a thick strap of leather. “Bite down on this, they’re going to remove the arrow.”

   

  The same inept ‘healers’ that drowned the patient beside her? For once she actually wished Hjorta was there, she had years of experience with treating the bandits’ wounds. Amari could probably heal the wound herself, but that would require revealing she was a practitioner and while she knew she was doomed, she still clung to life, even if only for a few minutes more.

   

  Rumbles of thunder rolled across the camp and the wind was picking up to a gale, violently beating against the tent canvas. The ‘healers’ approached, their shadows swaying in time to the lantern above. Periodically the bandits’ faces would be highlighted by strikes of lighting.  The first healer moved to cut her bonds, but the Elf stopped him.

   

  “Leave them, she’s a tricky one.”

   

  The healer shrugged and inspected the arrow a moment before grabbing the shaft.

   

  “Remember not to pull the shaft—“ the Elf started, then did a face palm when the ‘healer’ did just that. Amari screamed into the leather strap. The bandit stared at the shaft at the bloody shaft in his hand.

   

  “Where’s the arrow head?”

   

  “Inside her still you s’wit!”

   

  The replacement sentries at the two platforms called out from across the camp, “Hoy! A Mark approaches!”

   

  Everyone turned at the call. A mark in the middle of this storm? Amari froze, they were all about to find out who the Daedra sent for her. The Elf recovered first.

   

  “Whatever, just bandage her leg and call it good. Let’s go form a welcome party for our guest.”

   

  Silver objected, “It’ll get infected if you leave it in!”

   

  “So? You act like you think the Captain will let her live anyway; and besides, it’s not like she’ll need two legs to cook or lie on her back. Wait, on second thought, no cooking for her anymore.”

   

  Silver was fuming and about to act rashly, but the Captain intervened. “Enough! We decide her fate after the mark. Assemble by the main gate.”

   

  The bandits filed out the tent, leaving Amari still hogtied on a cot. Silver lingered a second longer apologetically before joining the rest.    

   

  Amari strained her ears, but she couldn’t hear anything above the howl of the gale. She took a deep breath, stilling her mind and cast her sight. The world lit up in vibrant hues of violet and indigo, the sky crackled with barely contained force, the bandits became vaporous clouds of purple, and the mark, the mark was on an entirely different level. It appeared as a pillar of flame stretching to the sky like it was fueling the storm; no it was the storm. Within the pillar she saw the souls of scores of monsters beating against their confines. Great maws, claws, and wings restrained only by the will of the one at the epicenter.

   

  By all the Planes in Oblivion, sending the bandits against that was like trying to stop a forest fire with kindling; and it was coming for her, she just knew it. She had to leave, now! Amari struggled against the bonds, but they only tightened with each movement. She cringed at what she knew she needed to do. Her hand was still raw from her last fire spell, but what was some more burnt flesh to being trapped here?  Then a better, obvious idea came to her; she would have slapped herself if she wasn’t bound. She didn’t need to burn the bonds and her hands with them; she was always linked to Scuttles, even while he was asleep.

   

  She channeled her energy along the link to the squirrel, imbuing it with her power and awakening it. She felt the loose bones assemble in the pouch around her neck, then burst free. Those two glowing orbs had never brought her such joy.

   

  “Quick the bonds,” she said while also giving mental instructions. The squirrel’s sharp teeth made short work of ties around her wrists and ankles, and all burn free! She rubbed the life back into her fingers and slid off the cot. The arrowhead ground against her muscles the moment her foot touched the ground and she collapsed to the floor with a sharp gasp. She pulled herself to the tent opening and peered out through eyes bleared by the pain just in time to see lightning strike down the two sentries posted on the platforms.

   

  A few moments later the wind inside the camp died down, but when she looked to the outskirts of the camp, she saw that the storm’s fury was still at full bore. In the newfound silence three polite knocks resounded from the main gate. The remaining bandits had gathered before the gate: the Captain donned in full Imperial Officer’s regalia and an Alik’r scimitar; Silver in the back with full leathers and a silver rapier; the Crusher in full steel plate and a Dwarven Warhammer; the Elf was in leathers and perched on top of the Captain’s quarters with an Bosmerian bow of his own make and another archer; there were two more archers positioned on the wall covering the gate; and the remaining four bandits wore a mix of Imperial and Stormcloak armor and melee weapons, joined the Captain at the old gate.

   

  No one moved to answer the knock, nonetheless the gate held their full attention. Save for Amari, who used the distraction to crawl towards the new gate to the east through gritted teeth.

   

  FUS RO DAH!!!

   

  Amari whipped her head towards the main gate at the shout. Only three syllables, but they were more than just words, they were the embodiment of the raw fury of Nature.The gate exploded, unable to contend with the force of the Voice and showered the bandits in a cascade of splinters. Most managed to take cover or raise a shield, but one took the blast full on, dying instantly. Amari had never heard a Shout before; it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It felt ancient, primal, powerful; like the bones of the world, of Nirn were speaking. The dust and shattered wood settled, revealing a lone cloaked figure. The Dragonborn.

   

  This close his aura was so intense Amari had to close her sight to avoid being blinded. He wore a simple brown hooded cloak, the hilt of the great sword strapped to his back was of dragon bone wrapped in leather, and eyes of molten metal glowed from beneath the hood.

   

  No! Amari thought, the Dragonborn is our hero! He can’t be the one the Daedra sent! All the songs sung of his great deeds; saving our world from Alduin, the World Eater, and Miraak, the First Dragonborn; that he was the Champion of the divine Akatosh; that he turned down a proposal to become the High King, saying his duty was to ensure there was a world in which we could rule ourselves, not to rule it for us. A mortal blessed with a divine soul. But the beast she saw before her gave her no comfort, no hope; were the songs all lies? Was everything in her life a lie?

   

  The Elf fired the first shot, hoping to catch the legend off guard. The Dragonborn gave a short bark:

   

  “Feim!”

   

  He seemed to briefly flicker and the arrow passed right through him! The Elf stared in disbelief, the futility of their fight sinking in. A sphere of flames launched from the Dragonborn’s hands towards the rooftop. The Elf dove off the building, but the archer with him was too slow and was consumed along with the roof in the fiery explosion.

   

   The Elf landed into a roll and came up running. He took one look over his shoulder at the Dragonborn, then kept running to the opposite gate. The two other archers joined him, hoping to escape before death claimed them all. One cast Amari a surprised glance as he ran by were she hid. Together the archers threw open the gate only to reveal the maw of a great red dragon on the other side.

   

  Yol Tor Shuuuuul!! the dragon roared in an ancient tongue.

   

  The three only had a moment to register the shock that a dragon had managed to sneak up and flank them before they were blown away to nothing but ash and bone in the torrent of fire. Amari dove behind a stack of barrels, barely dodging the outer cone of the flames and immediately regretted the move as the pain from the arrowhead sent an explosion of stars across her vision. Already the camp looked like a scene from Oblivion. Fires were spreading from both ends and lit the sky with a red glow; the gale encircling the camp only fanned the flames further. Sparks and ash rained from a thunderous sky and lighting hunted the tallest trees one by one. Amari curled up with her back to the stack of barrels, shaking as her world shattered around her. One the charred skulls of the archers rolled to rest by her and stared at her with an empty grin. Why was this happening? Why did they want her so badly?

   

  “My thanks, Dii kogaan Odahviing, ensure none run,” the Dragonborn called out across the battlefield to the great dragon. His voice was rough and gravely, more like a Dunmer than the Nord that the songs claimed he was. Were they wrong about such an obvious fact too? She still couldn’t see under the cloak.

   

  “Zin los dii, The honor is mine, Pah Dinok! None will escape Dovahkiin!” the dragon answered.

   

  The Captain surveyed the scene of Oblivion; he needed to act before the fear holding his men still turned to flight. He stepped towards the cloaked figure.

   

  “Dragonborn! State the reason for this madness! This is in clear violation of your sworn oath before Elder Council to remain neutral in matters of mortal affairs. I expect full compensation for damages done unto said property, loss of life, and aggrievement as notarized and signed by the acting Queen Regent, Elisif the Fair!” 

   

  He may have been dishonorably discharged from the Imperial Legion years ago, but he still remembered how the Empire’s bureaucracy worked. It would be futile to fight or run, the irony that the leader of a bandit clan would even attempt to use the law for protection did not escape him.

   

  “That is where you are wrong, your clan has stolen something from me, something powerful, something that could pose a terrible threat in the wrong hands, something from the Daedric Planes. Therefore, this encounter is within my rights and your band will serve as an example to all who cross me.”

   

  All hope drained from the Captain's face and he turned his frozen glare to Silver. “You stole from the Dragonborn? You have doomed us all! Face your fate with your comrades! I will have no one else run... Tonight we die sword in hand, tonight we die warriors! As one!”

   

  In unison the seven remaining in the band charged the Dovahkiin with the war cries only the damned can release. The Dragonborn threw back his cloak and drew his great sword of dragon bone. Underneath the cloak he wore only a pair of loose fitting pants and an Amulet of Talos, not even shoes or a shirt.

   

  Between the fires consuming the bandit camp and strikes of lightning splitting the sky, Amari saw the toil a Divine spirit had wrought upon life of the Dragonborn. Deep, long scars crossed nearly every inch of his broad chest and face, and he actually was a Nord with a mane of graying hair, just with an oddly roughened voice. Thick cords of muscle bulged as he tightened his grip around the hilt and he grinned savagely, revealing a set of age lines about his eyes.

   

  “Sovngarde awaits you.”

   

  He steadily strode towards the bandits as they charged, his molten eyes angled slightly down, not focusing on any particular point, but taking in the scene as a whole. He began chanting in the dragons’ tongue:

   

  “Strun SU  Aak”

   

   The wind seemed to pick around him, flustering his cloak.

   

  “Bo Do Grah Voth Dun:”

   

  He began wielding the great blade through a series of patterns. Each movement increased in speed until the blade appeared as a continuous helix blur before him. Such speed was impressive with any weapon, but should have been impossible with a blade nearly the same height as him.

   

  “Wuld, Do Gral…”

   

  With the last line he burst forward closing the last few steps between them faster than the eye could follow with a sweeping strike across the front row of bandits. Only the Captain managed to raise his blade in time, the other two with in the arc were cleaved in half. Even so, the Captain’s blade shattered on the impact and the tip of the great sword still managed to leave a gouge across his chest plate and throw him in a spiral backwards. The three bandits landed in tangle of limbs and blood to the side.

   

  The Dragonborn’s charge positioned him on a collision course with the Crusher’s war hammer. The immense bandit’s grin of anticipation turned to shock as the Dragonborn simply passed through him like a ghost with the words:

   

  “Feim Nix Rax:”

   

  Meeting only air, The Crusher was thrown off balance and his swing went wide obliterating the face of one of the flanking bandits. The Dragonborn returned to his corporal state with a hand gripped on the steel collar of the Crusher’s plate and plunged the dragonbone sword into the earth as a pivot point.  Using the combined momentum of the wind sprint and the raid leader’s swing, the Dragonborn chanted:

   

  “Raaz Grut Ro, Mal Dah”

   

  He lifted the steel encased bandit completely off the ground and spinning around the embedded sword, hurled the raid leader like a missile at the bandit trying to flank from the opposite side.

   

  “Viik Angaar!”

   

  The two collided and were thrown against the outer fence with a bone crushing impact. They both sagged to the earth in a bloody, lifeless heap. As the Dragonborn finished the throw, his blade broke free from the ground and he dropped low, ducking an axe swing to his head. He then used the last of his momentum to carry the blade across low, parting the assailant from his ankles, then decapitating him as he fell. In barely ten seconds five bandits lain slain, only Silver and the Captain remained of the clan.

   

  The Dragonborn leveled his great sword at Silver and commanded:

   

  “Gol Hah!”

   

  Silver went rigid and Amari could see him shaking as he tried to resist some pervasive force. Something about the accent on that shout seemed familiar to her, like a foreboding oil seeping into the soul. Those words did not come from this Plane.

   

  “Drop it.” Silver’s hand sprung open, releasing his sword at the Dragonborn’s command. “Retrieve the book.”

   

  Silver set off in stilted steps towards the ruins of the captain’s quarters. In that time, the Captain had freed himself of the tangle of corpses and silently charged the Dragonborn’s back with a new long sword in one hand and short sword held in a reverse defensive position in the other. Almost bored, the Dragonborn shouted out:

   

  “Feim”

   

  Except instead of swinging through the ethereal body, the Captain stopped, holding his blade inside the Dragonborn. The Dragonborn looked down at the blade protruding from his chest with renewed interest.

   

  “Zii Gron!”

   

   The Dragonborn shouted to prolong his ethereal state, then ducked and weaved trying to lose the Captain, even rushing through the captain’s body, but the clan leader tracked his every movement, keeping at least one blade within the Dragonborn at all times. About the camp they danced a game of death, lit by the glow of the burning camp and strikes of lightning through out the raining ash. The Captain needed to maintain the pressure until the Dragonborn's Shout wore off. Becoming corporeal with a blade inside would probably rend the internals of the Dragonborn, but should the blades lose their mark for even a split second, the Dragonborn could retaliate.  The Dragonborn leapt across the burning debris to the roof of the kitchens. Unrelenting the Captain followed, his cold gaze never wavering even as the flames licked across his flesh. Across the roof they sprinted, burning rafters crumbling in the Captain’s wake.

   

  At the roof’s edge the Dragonborn dove off with a streak of fire in hot pursuit. He had aimed for the burnt husk a tree struck by lightning. His ethereal form melded around the trunk, but the longsword of the Captian sunk deep into the tree. The Captain let go, hit the ground in a roll, then came up with the short sword drawn, but it was too late, contact had been broken. He looked down to see the Dragonborn, once more corporeal, had already plunged the greatsword through his torso.

   

  The Dragonborn was braced with a two handed grip and a deep stance, but he offered his respects before finishing the Capatain, “You have earned a place at Sovngarde.”

   

  He torqued his body and split the Captain in half vertically. The Dragonborn turned to face Silver as the Captain’s blood showered upon them from the sky. Silver held the smoldering satchel containg the Black Book before him, nothing more than an obedient puppet under the thrall of the legend’s voice.  

   

  Satisfied with the contents within, the Dragon strapped the satchel tight across his back and sheathed his greatsword. He then retrieved a fallen steel axe from the ground and ran his hand across the blade, imbuing it with fire until it was glowing white hot. He then handed the axe to Silver and pointed at his still outstretched hand, “Remove it.”

   

  In horror, Silver watched as his body betrayed his every wish and swung the superheated weapon down on his own wrist. His face contorted in agony, but still he couldn’t move.

   

  “Consider this a warning. Gaar.” Silver felt control return to his limbs and collapsed to the ground, clutching the stump of his hand.  The Dragonborn stepped over him and continued to the red dragon that had been patiently guarding the opposite exit. His path took him by the barrels Amari was hiding behind. This was no “hero” she wanted; he terrified her, she wanted to disappear. She curled tighter into herself, her breathing slowed to almost a stop, her awareness contracted to single point before her, and her mind stilled.

   

  The Dragonborn paused by the barrels and stroked his beard with a grunt,

   

  “Laas Yah Nir”

   

   His eyes scanned the camp for life and came to rest on the stack of barrels with a curious gaze. He was about to step towards them when the red dragon bellowed:

   

  “Rut! Nol lok! Attack from above Dovakiin!”  

   

  Without hesitation the Dragonborn leapt back with the aid of a shout and buried his great sword deep into the earth upon landing.  Not a second later a blur diving faster than sound collided into the spot the Dragonborn had just occupied. A nova of freezing air swept across the camp and what few structures that still stood were flattened. Debris, barrels, Amari, Silver, were all lifted and sent tumbling away from the impact. In a rush, all the fires were extinguished, leaving the camp in pure darkness.

   

  Amari lay on her back amidst the spilled contents of the barrels. Shock threatened her consciousness, but she drew in shuddering breaths and fought off the warm blanket lulling her to sleep. From the crater she saw two immense eyes of molten silver rise from the darkness.

   

  "Meyzvolaan nau dii himdah! Iidah dii vukamiin! Bo Nah… GUT!"

   

  Each word was punctuated by lighting, briefly casting silhouettes of monsters across the courtyard. With the last word, a blast of force was released, sweeping the clutter from the camp. Luckily Amari has outside the cone of attack this time.

   

  Kriist gol tiidnu! The Dragonborn and Odahviing countered with a defiant shout in unison, and neither set of burning eyes wavered against the force. Then Odahviing spoke addressing the silver eyed Wyrm, the light of his burning eyes and the flames licking around his maw revealed the beast's head in the darkness.

   

  Stinfelniirspaan! That sounded like a name, did it mean Angry Wind Rat? She remembered one of the bandits listing that name. That was an odd name for an elder dragon, judging by the massive spikes jutting from its scales. Odahviing continued reprimanding the elder:

   

  "Hin vukahmiin vankar ventovitaan. Mu yah wah reclaim fos lost gahrot!"

   

  "Mu! aar dok do joor tinvaak. Vir gut hi lost mahlaan Odahviing wah raavut tol ahvakaar ol rinid!" The tone of the Elder Dragon was filled with disdain and beat down the younger with each word.

   

  The younger gnashed its teeth and retorted: "Rax wah hin ruus! Daar gein los nid aar! Lost hi vodahmin vir rok lost gevahzen ok vur kolos mu vust ni? Bormah’s mah. Druv dreh hi vogahvon un uth?"

   

  "Bormah yah wah kren stin nol yoke do dez, ok mah lost daniik un eylok! Hi zent ont kreh wah thur do Paarthurnax, wah lahney ol nunal vokun do un moro! Wah lahney ol nunal draat do faal Eyra! Daar!"

   

  Stinfelniirspaan spread his wings out as if to encompass their world: "Los nid laas!

   

  Amari was clueless to what the dragons were saying, but listening to the silver eyed dragon, the same one the roosted in the mountains nearby, brought her to tears. Its thu’um held such rage and a sense of grief, the grief of one who has seen the fates crush their dream. As the words hit her, she felt as if the feelings were her own.  

   

  Ganog!

   

  The Dragonborn interrupted the fight and stalked towards the maw of the beast, chanting as he went:

   

  Grah verkiir Mul:
  Slen ahrk Zii gein Qah
  Joor Diiv Gegein!

   

  Pure energy flowed from his voice, wrapping around and formed an ethereal armor of spikes and bone. At the same time he emitted purple light from his hands. As the light traveled up his arms and across his body, his skin rose and molded to fit the outline of the wraithlike armor. The skin hardened into thick scales and spikes of bone, the hands and feet elongated into claws, and his face was masked with the visage of a snarling dragon. No wonder he didn’t need armor! Amari had once seen a demonstration of one of her uncles casting full Ebony Flesh as child, but this was on a whole other level, combining something as ancient as the voice with the more modern schools of magic to unprecedented results. Man and dova merged, the result speaking in a tone of finality:

   

  "Fen hi fahbo wah kriz un drun?"

   

  Stinfelniirspaan snarled down upon the Dragonborn: "Daar gein fen neh qiilaak wah firok kiin do Bormah!"

   

  With that the real battle began. The Dragonborn lunged forward and the great ice dragon took wing. The Dragonborn shouted, following the beast into the sky, but the arc of his leap fell short. Then Odahviing shouted from below:

   

  Fus Ro Dah!

   

  The force caught the Dragonborn and hurled him like a spear into Stinfelniirspaan. The dragon roared in rage as the Dragonborn’s great sword plunged deep into its belly. The mortal climbed up the shaft of the weapon, then dug into the hide with sharp claws that sent scales shedding down to the earth below.

   

  The dragon did a barrel roll and managed to shake the parasite latched to him. As the Dragonborn fell, Odahviing swept underneath and caught him. Together they attacked Stinfelniirspaan, hurling the forces of nature as they locked into an aerial combat that lit the skies. The storm grew in intensity to match the fury of the battle. The clouds spiraled in time to the circling combatants and began to funnel towards the ground.

   

  Imminent death spurred Amari into motion, she cast frost around the arrow wound in her leg to numb it, then limped towards where Silver was laying, staring vacantly  at the pretty colors in the sky while he clutched the stump of his hand. Amari grimaced, knowing that despite the numbness, the arrowhead was still tearing her flesh with each movement.

   

  “Silver!” He didn’t respond. She didn’t have time for this. She slapped him as hard as she could, “Silver! Get up, we’re about to die!”

   

  “So…?” She turned his head so could see the funnel of clouds descending upon them.

   

  “So!? Do you see that! Just help me get to the cove, please!” He shook himself as if waking from a fog.

   

  “Right, let’s go!” They three legged sprinted to the cove trap door, barely able to stay upright against the growing gale. Frantically they cleared the debris away and practically fell down the ladder in their haste to escape. The twister touched down moments later and collapsed the shaft behind them in a cloud of dust. They staggered to the safety of the meat locker room, hiding from the madness decimating the landscape above. 

   

   

   

  *Boro: Handmaiden in Bosmeris

   

  **Nede: A genetic ancestor to many of the races of man.

   

  Dovazhul Translations:

   

  Strun SU  Aak   // Storm Air Guide(s)
  Bo Do Grah Voth Dun: //Flow of Battle with Grace:
  Wuld Do Gral… // (A) Whirlwind of Destruction…

   

  Feim Nix Rax: // Fade between (the) teeth:
  Raaz Grut Ro, Mal Dah // Size betrays balance, (a) small push
  Viik Angaar! // defeats towers!

   

  Meyzvolaan nau dii himdah! Iidah dii vukamiin! Bo Nah… GUT! [You trespass on this one’s land! You attack this one’s subjects! Be gone… Leave!]

   

  Kriist gol tiidnu! [stand earth steadfast!]

   

  Stinfelniirspaan! [Free/Winters/Shield]! Hin vukahmiin vankar ventovitaan. Mu yah wah reclaim fos lost gahrot. [Your subjects lack disciple. We seek to reclaim what was stolen]

   

  Mu! aar dok do joor tinvaak. Vir gut hi lost mahlaan Odahviing wah raavut tol ahvakaar ol rinid! [WE! The slave dog of mortals speaks. How far you have fallen Odahviing to include that abomination as equal!]

   

  Rax wah hin ruus! Daar gein los nid aar! Lost hi vodahmin vir rok lost gevahzen ok vur kolos mu vust ni? Bormah’s mah. Druv dreh hi vogahvon un uth? [Teeth to your neck! This one is no slave! Have you forgotten how he has proven his valor where we could not? Alduin’s fall. Why do you resist our order?]

   

  Bormah yah wah kren stin nol yoke do dez, ok mah lost daniik un eylok! Hi zent ont kreh wah thur do Paarthurnax, wah lahney ol nunal vokun do un moro! Wah lahney ol nunal draat do faal Eyra! Daar! [Alduin sought to break free from the yoke of destiny, his fall has doomed our kind! You expect us to bend to the tyranny of Paarthurnax, to live as mere shadows of our glory! To live as mere tools of the Aedra! This!]

   

  Stinfelniirspaan spread his wings out as if to encompass their world, los nid laas!  [is no life!] 

   

  Ganog! [Enough!]

   

  Grah verkiir Mul: // Battle breeds strength:
   Slen ahrk Zii gein Qah // Flesh and spirit one Armor
  Joor Diiv Gegein // mortal wyrm unified

   

  Fen hi fahbo wah kriz un drun? // [Will you continue to oppose our cause?]

   

  Daar gein fen neh qiilaak wah firok kiin do Bormah! [This one will never submit to the bastard born of Akatosh]

   

   

   

  

   

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