Chasing Aetherius: Chapter 5 - Breath of Fire, Winds of Change

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    “To the dwarves, of course, such problems were merely a challenge. In the years following King Harald's reign, the Dwemer discovered a considerable source of Aetherium in their deepest delvings. An alliance of four cities, led by Arkngthamz, the great research center in the southern Reach, was formed to oversee its extraction, processing, and study, and a new 'Aetherium Forge' constructed to smelt it under precisely controlled conditions.”

     

    1st of Morning Star 4E, 203

     

    The morning of the New Year was almost as bad as the first morning after they arrived at Windhelm. He woke up earlier than usual; his bloodshot red eyes scanning his surroundings and his head hurting like Oblivion itself. He learned he was sleeping under the stairs of the Cornerclub and his throbbing, stiff neck reminded him how bad of an idea that was. He slowly sat up and fought against the whole world as it spun all around him.

     

    After a short while, Grulmar managed to slowly rise to his feet and whimpered when another wave of pain passed through his head. He stood there, leaning against the wall and waited for it to pass. And it passed, slowly, but it did. No, this one wasn’t so bad, he felt much better than he did the first morning after they arrived at Windhelm.

     

    He went around the corner and looked at the bar. No one, except Decimus sitting on a stool, eating bread and cheese. And he looked way too alright for Grulmar's liking. Decimus noted his arrival and laughed.

     

    “Good morning, sunshine!” he shouted, a wicked grin appearing on his idiotic Imperial face when he saw what effect his yelling had on Grulmar. “Sleep well?”

     

    Grulmar growled and sat next to him, resting his head on the table. “I tuskin' hate ya. I won't ever drink with ya again.”

     

    “Well, that’s a load of horseshit if I’ve ever heard any.” Decimus took a bite of cheese and grinned again. “You’ll be back drinking with me by the end of the day. I’m irresistible that way.”

     

    “Tusk ya.”

     

    Grulmar’s memories of the previous night were blurry, just a series of flashing images. Though he remembered that Ginger left with that Elven wench right after Shiny and Fangs disappeared. Elven wench? What was her name, damn it? I named her, didn't I? Red? Nah, too common. Even she had said that it was a very clever name. Come on, think, ya stupid Orc! F-something. Fuck. He rolled his head on the table, lying on his temple and cheek now, looking at the target, at Decimus' mother. Nah, that's not it either. Clever, clever. It had something to do with her hair.

     

    “You alright in there?” Decimus asked with a grin, smacking his lips, very loudly.

     

    “Where?” he moaned.

     

    “In your head. You look like your head is going to explode from all that thinking,” laughed the Old Blade, again, very loudly. Grulmar was considering stabbing him in the eye or something. Nah, that would make him scream. Screaming is bad. Loud. Stab him in the throat. Yes, that would be much better.

     

    “Any chance ya remember what I named that Elven wench?” he mumbled, his mouth not working properly because he was lying on it with all the weight of his head.

     

    “Ah, she's really something, isn’t she? Lucky bastard. I think it was something clever. Fury? Furry? F—“

     

    “Fiery!” Grulmar exclaimed, rising from his chair. His head spun for a moment, but nothing serious. He was actually getting used to it. Though it sounded kind of weird in an empty room, in that silence. Speakin' of silence, I just heard Uncle's stomach rumble. “How can ya be still hungry when ya are eating already?”

     

    Decimus released a burp and frowned, looking at him. “What?”

     

    “Yer stomach just rumbled. I heard it,” Grulmar snorted. Of course he'll deny it, he denies everythin'. The Imperial's stomach rumbled again and the Greenskin pointed at him. “Ha! Heard it again. Definitely yer stomach.”

     

    But Decimus' head was tilted to one side, his healthy ear aimed at the door, while he sipped a tankard of mead. “That wasn't my stomach,” he mumbled.

     

    “Then what was it?”

     

    Decimus set the tankard down upon the counter, wiped his mouth, and locked eyes with Grulmar's. “That, my lad...was a dragon.”

     

    Ah shit!

     

     

     

     

    Grulmar had just barely collected his gear when Decimus began to drag him towards the door. Towards outside and the dragon. He felt a cold sweat spread all over his body as the poison from the previous night was looking for a way to escape his system. Just as they were opening the door, Galar appeared from below, asking what was going on and Decimus told him. The Dunmer descended down the steps leading to his basement again. Grulmar didn't blame him. He wanted to find some shelter too, but Decimus was very strong and the tusker opened the door. Grulmar’s eyes became as large as septims and he saw Decimus clench his jaw.

     

    The streets were filled with a heavy black smoke, cries and screams echoed between the walls and above all of this, there was a roar, and a sound like sizzling to Grulmar, like when water boils. He heard the wind hiss and something flew above him so fast that it was away in the blink of an eye. He just caught a flash of violet, and then it was gone. Grulmar wiped his hand on his trousers to get rid of some of that sweat. The action made his hand slip on his bow. Bow? Malacath's armpit, ya can't even hit a target with a bow. How do ya expect to hit a dragon? You don’t want to hit a dragon!

     

    “Hey!” Decimus yelled, looking up and Grulmar’s followed where the Imperial was staring. There was a guard on the wall, bow in hand, squinting at the skies. “Hey! You milk-drinking Stormcloak!” Decimus kept shouting and the guard noticed him, looking down furtively, trying to keep one eye on the sky. “Where are you evacuating all these people?”

     

    “Palace! Temple of Talos, Hall of the Dead!” the man shouted back, and then he crouched rapidly. “Talos protect us! He's coming back!” The guard nocked an arrow, looking at something in the distance and then it was over the wall with a swoosh that left a gust of wind in its wake. The guard released his arrow and Grulmar traced the path of its flight. He saw that it struck something, something black-violet. But the arrow just ricocheted off it, falling down and Grulmar had to jump back or it would have landed on his head. In his head, not on it. Now the arrow was buried in the snow in front of the Cornerclub.

     

    “Shit! Shitshitshitshit! We need to get out of here!” he yelled at the Old Blade. “Where's the Dragonborn when ya tuskin' need him?!”

     

    “Pull your shit together, lad,”Decimus growled and Grulmar's eyes grew even wider.

     

    “Ya want me to be calm? With a dragon over our heads? Ya are crazy! Ya want to fight that? I'm tuskin' not!” he yelled back. Suddenly there was a crash of thunder, somewhere outside the city. Not lighting, just thunder. What the fuck? Sky is clear!

     

    Decimus's eyes blazed with ferocity, with pent-up anger that had to be released. He was a warrior, and this was a feeling most warriors had when the battle was raging on around them. And this certainly was battle, but not one they could win. Grulmar didn't believe that. What can we do? We're nothin', just flies that would be swatted by one beat of those huge wings. Decimus grabbed Grulmar's shoulders and shook him hard.

     

    “Pull your shit together, I said! We need to get to Candlehearth, we need to reach Erik. We have—“

     

    “Screw him!” Grulmar spat out. “I won't die for that—“

     

    Before he could finish his thought, an open palm smacked his cheek, sending him backwards, stumbling and finally falling on his arse. He held his cheek, and looked at Decimus with tears in the eye above the place that got hit by the Imperial’s big hand.

     

    “Fine! Go hide with everyone else, you piece of shit!” the Old Blade roared with a red fury all over his face, waving his hands. “I don't give a shit anymore. I'll do the right thing, you do whatever is right for you.” With those words he turned around and walked down the alley towards Candlehearth.

     

    Grulmar watched his back and when he disappeared, the Orc rose to his feet, lifted Zephyr from the ground and ran down the alley towards the Palace of Kings.

     

     

    Erik woke up to screams and strange roaring, some of it almost sounding like laughter and words. Words? Nah, you’re still drunk. His mind was not working properly yet, blinded by sleep, alcohol and sex. He felt Lareyne sleeping next to him and looked at her, still confused at how all of that could have happened. She's so beautiful.

     

    He felt his eyes stinging and realized there was something in the air, something irritating. He coughed and with that he realized it was smoke. And then someone screamed again. “Fire!”

     

    “Shit,” he cursed, rolling off the bed to search for his pants, before he came to his senses and shook Lareyne awake. Pants later. Get her up, then pants. “Wake up! The inn’s on fire!”

     

    She sat up with those green eyes wide open, her red hair a mess, and her...gifts not covered by a blanket. Erik forgot about the pants for a second, just staring, remember the fun he had with those last night. After a few seconds, she finally looked at him, covering her gifts with her crossed arms. “Auri-El’s bow! Stop staring! The inn's on fire!”

     

    They rushed through dressing like—well, like the inn was on fire—and headed out of their room. Shor’s Bones! He could barely breathe! The corridor outside the room was even worse, filled with a thick black smoke and a thinner white smoke, limiting their vision to almost none, like a dense fog along the Hjaalmarch. They were coughing, wiping away their tears as they were running towards the exit, bumping into left-open doors and overturned furniture. He grabbed Lareyne’s hand and she took it, holding his tightly. He didn’t want her to get lost, she didn’t know her way around yet.

     

    They emerged from the burning inn only to see an immense beast flying over their heads, only to head out south to the stables. A dragon, but nothing like the beast from the Watchtower that Gru and him saw almost a year ago. It was beyond, beyond anything he had ever seen before. Black, grey, purple. Enormous. Blasts of lighting struck its side and it roared in pain and fury. He heard the faint blast of a horn in the distance. And then…

     

    “Zu'u fen fahraal hin sahlovik jur, lir!”

     

    Words, in a deep rumble of a voice, coming from the dragon.

     

    “Dragon,” Erik gulped, looking at Lareyne. “It's a fucking dragon!” Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Not afraid, just staring.

     

    “Yeah, no shit, lad,” growled a booming voice that made Erik jump and turn to find Galmar Stone-Fist standing right next to him. The Bear of a Nord had a bucket full of water in his beefy hands and his proud face and bearskin armor was covered with streaks of soot. Stone-Fist, I am standing next to Galmar Stone-Fist, fuck. Erik blinked and looked back at the inn, with its roof on fire and then back at Galmar.

     

    “Why is it flying to the south?”

     

    “Dragonborn,” Stone-Fist shrugged with a spit to the ground that made Erik furrow his brow. Galmar ignored Erik and turned to the people gathered outside. “Alright, pretty ladies! The fires need to be put out! Grab buckets, find ladders. If you ever want to drink here again after this ends, you better get your fingers out of your arses and start moving! Those of you too scared to save our mead, flee to the Palace!” Save the mead? You’re Galmar Stone-Fist, and you’re not helping the Dragonborn? Galmar then noticed an old Nord in black robes walking towards the gate and shouted: “Wuunferth! Where in Ysmir's Beard do you think you’re going? Ulfric orderded you to st—“

     

    Wuunferth, dubbed “the Unliving” by the more superstitious, whirled around and frowned at Stone-Fist, stopping the giant of a Nord’s words with an icy glace. “I'm not going to stand idle while the Dragonborn is fighting that dragon. He needs all the help he can get.” The mage waved his hands in the air, gesturing at the destruction. “This, this mess is what happens when the Jarl cannot be arsed to follow basic advice. When he is too arrogant to follow a plan! A plan made by a sound, sound mind. The watchtowers he recommended, the ballistas fixed, basic spell training for guar—“

     

    “Advice? From that Highborn priss?” Galmar shot back, his eyes blazing, looking like he was going to toss the bucket at the mage. “He can shove those letters of his into his pointed ears. No Elf tells a Nord how to defend his city.” Galmar puffed up. “Now get back to the palace.” He threatened. “And remember your place, mage.”

     

    “Galmar! The fire is spreading!” Called a guard guiding some of the residents towards the safety of a wall. “Hurry!”

     

    The mage squared his thin shoulders. “Go, save your precious mead. And tell the Jarl to sod off. I do as I please.”

     

    Erik watched all of that in silence, frowning. Why would Ulfric want his court mage to stay behind? Did the Harbinger write Jarl Ulfric? “I need to find Decimus,” he murmured.

     

    “And Grulmar,” Lareyne reminded, which made him look at her. Do I? He chose his own path. If he no longer cares about me, why should I care about him? Let's not forget it was you who sent him away, you idiot. He shook his head, because that sounded way too much like Decimus.

     

    “I'll head to the Cornerclub,” he said, avoiding the answer, but he knew she understood. Everyone in their group understood now how things stood between Erik and Grulmar. “You're coming?”

     

    She shook her head and looked at the burning roof. “I'll help save the mead.” That made Erik almost laugh. “It’s not as good as Alto wine,” she continued, “but… I will not begrudge a Nord his drink. We'll see each other after this ends.” She leaned closer and kissed him. “Just don't die,” she whispered, pushing him away, while he saw an ice spell charging in her hand. He smiled and ran towards the Grey Quarter.

     

     

    Decimus checked the arms of his crossbow, making sure the pull was still strong enough. But it was just a routine action; he knew it was strong enough. For the past few days he wasn't doing much but oiling, sharpening and fixing his equipment, feeling restless. You're a funny guy, you know that, Decimus? Nearly fifty years old, you should already be settled down, but you can't. You feel restless. This whole week he was just waiting for something to happen, because he never was a guy that could sit on his arse, doing nothing.

     

    And now you have a dragon, you idiot. Dragon or not, it was battle. Battle, and his mind suddenly felt alive again. Men were usually either scared, angry, or anxious in battle, but these feelings never really reached him. He was calm, focused.

     

    He knew he was overly harsh on Grulmar. The Orc wasn't a warrior accustomed to war, battle, and death. All those sounds; the screams and the clash of steel. Men dying in their own shit, vomit, and blood. Not many were really born for it. There will be a lot of fixing to do after this is over. Yeah, speaking of which...how do you intend to fight a dragon, you moron? And where the fuck is Ronnie?!

     

    There was a dense thunderhead of smoke blowing over the city, coming from the docks. Decimus guessed that the dragon had already burned down the ships and most likely any building dockside. Hopefully, everyone safely got out of there. He heard in the distance someone blowing a horn; a mournful, drawn out sound first followed by an unusual ascent in pitch then a quick turn down and two guttural stops. Quite late for a warning, but then Decimus stopped when it blasted again. The same. For a split second, Decimus was struck by how alien the blast was. Nothing like the more traditional Nordic or Imperial blasts. Thalmor? Fuck no, he shook his head, you know that bloody sound, Old Blade. Dunmer? Another crack of thunder brought him out of his thoughts. Rain would be good for the fires, he squinted towards the sky, but can’t see the clouds in all this smoke…

     

    He reached the gate to the docks—his eyes skimming over a bloodied basket with crushed flowers on the stone and burn marks on the walls—and the screams became louder. The gate was trembling, quaking, as if something was constantly hitting it; the screams and cries were coming right from the other side, along with the smoke. Two guards were standing in front of that gate, looking at the shaking latch. The one on the left noticed him and pointed at Decimus with his long sword.

     

    “Are you mad? The dragon is attacking the city! Find shelter!”

     

    Decimus scowled at the guard as he approached and pointed at the gate. “You're keeping the Argonians outside? The docks are on fire for fuck's sake! They'll burn or choke to death!”

     

    “Lizards are not allowed in the city. Orders—“explained the other one, a bow in his hand.

     

    “A dragon is attacking the city! Fuck orders, you'll just let them die because some dickhead said they are not allowed in the city! Open the fucking gate!” he yelled at them, now trembling with anger. He knew he should have stayed out of it, he was just a stupid mercenary, not some hero. He was a Goldpact Knight, he never should meddle with politics. And this is fucking politics, Stormcloak politics! But fuck them all, I just won't let those Argonians die! And the Old Mary would hate it too, wherever the fuck he was. Another blast of that infernal horn. Dragonborn’s Balls! Shut up you fucker! We already know there’s a dragon!! He lowered his gaze to the stone floor and waited.

     

    “Step aside, Imperial!” shouted the guard with the sword, but before he could do anything else, Decimus’ left hand moved to his shoulder, pulling out his Goldpact sword, aiming it at the guard's throat so quickly that the Nord wasn't even able to lift his own weapon. Decimus was aware of the other guard and that was why his crossbow was now aimed at that guard’s chest. Setting his eyes upon the ground between them allowed Decimus to see every fast movement with his peripheral.

     

    “I normally use this sword to kill monsters, lad, but I can make an exception with you.” he warned, gritting his teeth. “And I'm telling you, that gate will be opened one way or another. It all depends on if you two want to end up in your own pool of blood or not. I think I could lift that bloody latch on my own—though it would need some effort from my old knees. So,” he grinned, “what's it gonna be?”

     

    “We'll have to report this to Jarl Ulfric,” said the one with the sword.

     

    Decimus spat on the ground after hearing that and sneered. “Whatever. Just lift that latch, lads. Now!”

     

    They dropped their weapons and moved quickly to the gate. They each took one end of the latch—bloody heavy thing made of oak wood, thick as Decimus's chest and three times taller than him. They were panting, but they managed to lift it from its lock and move it to the side.

     

    The gate burst open and dozens of Argonians pushed through, nearly trampling Decimus to the ground while they escaped the fire and smoke. They were all coughing, their scales black with coal or burned. Men, women… and Decimus gulped, hatchlings too. Ah, shit.

     

    “Head to the Palace of Kings!” Decimus shouted, pointing towards the avenue leading to the Grey Quarter. “Hurry, before that dragon comes back!”

     

    Another blast of that horn, making several of the Argonians flinch in terror. A roar and powerful wingbeats that seemed to grow louder, only to then grow softer. Changing direction?

     

    “Dragonborn,” suddenly coughed one Argonian next to him, her pale green lizard eyes blinking away tears. “He's drawing it away from the city.”

     

    Fuck me. You're out there, Ronnie? Decimus froze. He’s the one blowing the fucking horn, you moron. He remembered then. Ronnie’s birthday party, way back in First Seed. The gift from Jarl Balgruuf. A war horn. Always slung around his waist. Ready…for dragons. Then we might have a chance after all!

     

    “Decimus! Decimus!” shouted someone with a heavy Nordic accent and the Old Blade whirled around to see Erik coming from the stairs leading to the Grey Quarter. “He's out there!” Erik kept yelling, his hand pointing somewhere towards the south. “He's ordering the guards to evacuate everyone and fights that beast only with Serana and the court mage! He’s calling to the Dragon!”

     

    “Shit!” spat Decimus. “What's his plan?” Erik just shrugged and Decimus cursed again. “Stupid Mer, Dragonborn or not!”

     

    “Move away, disgusting lizards!” yelled someone and Decimus noticed Galar pushing his way through the Argonian refugees. “Gah! Why are they in the city? Preposterous!” He was wielding his ebony staff and a leather satchel stuffed full of scrolls. Fuck, even that old Dunmer is ready to take a few potshots at that dragon. Why the hell not? Let's bring the fight to that fucker!

     

    He looked at Erik and the greatsword drawn in his hands and Decimus didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Is this how Ronnie feels sometimes? Aye, I’m pretty sure this is how the Old Fart feels sometimes around those meatheads. “What are you going to do, lad?” The boy grunted. “Spit at that dragon?” Those red brows furrowed while the boy processed what Decimus was saying. It was taking too long. “Find yourself a bow for fuck's sake!” He bellowed and Erik snapped to attention. Decimus’ focus then shifted to Galar, grabbing the Telvanni by the arm, which apparently displeased the Magister. Galar frowned at him but, Decimus didn't give a shit. I’m not taking you to the Temple of Mara, you shit, so get off your high horse. “I hope you have some serious stopping power in there. We'll need everything we can get.”

     

    “Worry about your knees, Old Blade.” The Telvanni replied, shrugging off Decimus’ hand. “I've been waiting for a dragon to show up for some time. I have some nasty spells I wanted to test on something.”

     

    Decimus grinned after hearing that, his eyebrow shooting upwards. “Now I feel sorry for that dragon.”

     

     

    Getting to the palace was even more difficult than he imagined. Too many crazy and frightened people were pushing their way towards it, and being a skinny Orc wasn't really helping him get through the sea of escaping bodies. He took several hits to his ribs, shoulders, and head by people who just wanted to get to safety and didn't give a crap about others.

     

    And that is the truth of this world, right? When shit happens, it's every man for himself. Or elf or beast, it doesn't matter. Only thing that matters is gettin' through that gate and screw everyone else, let them burn!

     

    “Grulmar!” someone yelled, grabbing his shoulder. He turned around, finding Sadri's ugly face. “Palace is full! They're sending everyone away!”

     

    Already? Grulmar looked at the gate just several feet away from him and cursed. “So what now? And where are all the Dunmer? I don't see any.”

     

    “In their basements,” Sadri explained, looking at the smoke-darkened sky. Speaking of the sky, Grulmar hadn’t seen the dragon for a while, and of course, Sadri had an answer. “The Dragonborn is leading the dragon away. The city is safe for now. But these people don't know that yet.”

     

    The Orc eyed the Dunmer, seeing that familiar wicked grin spread across his grey-skinned face, the sly narrowing of those slanted red eyes. “Are ya serious? I hope ya aren't thinkin' what I think y'are thinkin’.”

     

    “I don't know what you think I’m thinking, but aye. All those posh Nords are at the Palace! Trying to save themselves… leaving their houses so empty, so…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Alone. Needing two dutiful citizens to check up on them… take inventory, aye, that’s it, inventory.”

     

    Grulmar gazed at the sky again, thinking about the dragon. If Shiny is out there, that means he's doing his job. We should survive this, the city will survive this. But other people don't know that yet. He grinned back at Sadri and shook hands with him. “Ya mad grey tusker! If ya don't take the risks, there's no gain, right? Let's go before this madness ends.”

     

    They started pushing their way through the crowd towards the Valunstrad, towards the empty houses of rich Nords. Houses full of unprotected valuables.

     

    Every Orc for himself.

     

     

     

    They returned to the Stone Quarter and Erik's eyes scanned Candlehearth Inn for Lareyne. The fire on the roof was extinguished, but there was no sign of her. He hoped she went to seek shelter. If it was up to him, he wouldn't be outside either.

     

    “I don't blame that Orc for not coming with us,” Decimus murmured, patting Erik on his shoulder while they walked. The Nord frowned after hearing Grulmar’s name, once again proving how big of a coward he was.

     

    “He's a coward,” he said, voicing his thoughts aloud, and Decimus rubbed his eye with the back of a gauntleted hand when the wind blew the smoke in their direction.

     

    “He's not a warrior,” sighed the Old Blade. “Would you like to see gentlefolk fight a dragon? Children?”

     

    “He's not either,” replied Erik angrily. “He can handle himself in combat.”

     

    Decimus nodded. “True, he can. But his mind, Erik. Is his mind that of a warrior? Of a fighter?”

     

    “Less talking,” growled Galar from the front. “The both of you are like fat Hlaalu Matrons. Talking all the time.”

     

    Decimus spat and grinned at Erik. “Yeah, we love you too, Galar.”

     

    Erik looked at the Magister's broad back, how confidently he walked towards the gate, the bridge and ultimately the dragon outside. Yes, walked. He wasn't in a hurry and he ordered them to do the same. Ordered! Who does he thinks he is? Our new Jarl? But at least he was out here, unlike the real Jarl. Erik didn't understand why Ulfric Stormcloak remained in the Palace of Kings, when he should be leading his men into battle. But right now, it seemed as if he was just letting the Dragonborn handle it. His Harbinger.

     

    Speaking of the Dragonborn...the sounds outside the city weren't stopping. Roaring, thunders, the sound of fire melting snow, something heavy hitting the ground, indistinct rumblings. The sounds weren’t stopping, however, and Erik knew it wouldn’t anytime soon if he knew the Harbinger.

     

    They made it out the gate and finally saw what was waiting for them outside. And even the Telvanni stopped.

     

    They knew the Dragonborn used the thu’um. Both he and Decimus knew. They saw it with their own eyes at Castle Volkihar. An uncontrollable, wild fire spewing from his mouth like dragon’s breath, the screams of the blood-suckers when that blaze struck them. And then… he called a dragon, speaking his name into the churning skies that had just rained sun fire. A great horned beast that smelled of death and decay. And the beast came to him, greeting his Harbinger as a friend, an ally, calling him Qahnaarin.

     

    Vanquisher.

     

    His Harbinger did all these things and yet there was still awe when all three of them surveyed the scene before them. The bridge was nearly black, scorched in many places. There were cracked stones and some were, Gods, melted. Bodies were burned beyond recognition, the stench of charred flesh blending with the acid sulfur of smoke. There were even several spots where it looked like the dragon had tried to lift the bridge, but only ripped it up instead. Erik looked to the left only to see the docks still engulfed in flames; a big black cloud of smoke rising like a thunderhead from there and smothering the whole city, beginning to rain a grey ash. The ships were mostly gone, already sank down to the bottom of the delta.

     

    And towards the south, at the rocky hills between Windhelm and Kynesgrove, a dragon was circling the sky, searching. After a few seconds, it stopped circling and rapidly descended towards something on the ground, uttering a terrible speech that resulted in a fiery magic escaping its maw. Not a jet of flame like the Watchtower dragon, more like a rounded pulse of flame, traveling at high speed to the ground. A fireball, think, dammit, that’s what they’re called. The fireball was greeted by a pale blue shimmer of light, like rippling water, and suddenly the ball broke its shape upon striking something hard, flattening and spreading over an invisible barrier, absorbed. The dragon roared in anger while it swooshed past the trees and then something else came from the forest. Like a clap of thunder and his Harbinger’s voice? His voice? Speaking words? He was a big Mer, but he wasn’t a dragon, no mortal could carry his voice such a distance! But there were words, though Erik couldn’t make them out. Vilkas said dragons battled with words and his Harbinger was now answering the dragon. It was said Ysgramor and the Five Hundred were dragons…

     

    While the dragon passed, trees were torn from the earth, broken in half by a tremendous force. The Thu'um! This is the true power of Thu'um! He was using the Thu’um! He had used it at Volkihar Castle, but it was restrained, because he was worried. “It is something I cannot control well,” said Harbinger back then.

     

    But now he was alone, save Serana and the court mage. Alone and unrestrained. The dragon shifted position, its body twisting, and descended again, only for that same thunder to emerge from the ground in response. One of the trees on the hill then split into several pieces, all of which were propelled into the air by the power of the Thu'um toward the dragon. The beast dodged most of the pieces of—fuck—tree, but one struck its leg. It roared again and folded its wings, landing upon the ground with a heavy thud that seemed to shake the very ground they were standing on. The same thunder then let loose from its mouth, accompanied by a booming voice. This one was far stronger. All the trees in front of its path were turned into sharp splinters that sprayed the top of the hill, like a rainstorm of arrows. Erik opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Choked. No cry, no scream, nothing and he was paralyzed. But another rippling shimmer of blue-white light appeared and he heard what sounded like many pieces of wood splintering against a stone wall.

     

    Lightning struck the dragon from the side and it roared in pain and surprise, rising into the air again. Another bellow from the beast and this time, its breath became a pulse of purple energy, heading for something at the bottom of the hill. Out of nowhere, the pale light appeared. Impossible, impossible, it was on the other side before! The other side! Nothing can run that fast! Nothing! The pale light faltered though when the purple burst struck it and Erik heard a noise like shattering glass. The dragon screamed in what Erik could only interpret as unbridled rage.

     

    “Zu'u, Vulalbah, fen drun hin klov wah dii In, dovahkiin!”

     

    Dovahkiin, he knew that word. Every Nord knew that word. And then something screamed back—rage for rage—piercing like an eagle, from the ground and Erik’s hairs stood on the back of his neck. It was impossible to hear a voice from such a distance, but it was there. The voice so familiar, though the words were not and he found himself wishing Vilkas was around to tell him what was being said.

     

    “Hin zeymah lor rinis. Ahrk rok funt. Hi fen funt ahk!”

     

    He dared answered back to a dragon? Erik caught himself staring with an open mouth and he reminded himself that he shouldn't look like such a fool. But when he glanced at Decimus, he saw that the Imperial’s expression was more or less the same as his. Sure, they had seen the Altmer wield such magicks at the battle for Castle Volkihar, but this was… different. The Volkihar were vampires. This was a dragon.

     

    “Was that Äelberon?” Decimus asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Erik only nodded, his mouth still open. What are we—common men—supposed to do in presence of this raw power? We can't do anything but run, we can't fight this. No, this wasn’t vampires.

     

    Galar snorted, almost as if he was reading Erik's mind and turned to them. He extended his hand with an open palm, bearing two rings. “Take them. I can't use these, but you can. And you'll need them. There is an Ebony Flesh spell in each of them and they should have at least two or three charges. Just touch the stone with your thumb to activate the spell.”

     

    Decimus looked at the ring and put it on his forefinger. “Very generous of you, Galar.”

     

    The Telvanni frowned and shook his head. “Generous?” He pointed at the hill. “What we are seeing is one of the elder dragon varieties. That violet color? The same type of dragon attacked near Winterhold Sun’s Dawn of last year…” Erik froze, the Winterhold beast. “Perhaps only the World-Eater himself stands above them. We are but flies to that creature and we'll need every advantage we can get to bring it down. How that Elf managed to bring one down then is beyond me, but my sources say that the College was heavily involved, including the Arch-mage, and the city itself was spared. Fortunately, I am here, so we will require significantly less involvement.”

     

    “Ah, look, he needs us. I feel special.” Decimus grinned, giving Erik a sly wink. “That means you can't kill it yourself? I'm surprised.”

     

    Galar raised his eyebrows at that and turned around, heading towards the hill. “Humans,” he muttered, shaking his head.

     

     

    Galar now quickened his pace and Decimus frowned, feeling the sting in his knee as he struggled to catch up. Hopefully it will hold. Damn, if it holds fighting a dragon, then it should withstand pretty much anything this world can throw at it. Looking at the battle on the hill though… It might be that my knee will be the only thing holding together after that shifts its attention to me…

     

    “What's the plan?” asked Erik and Decimus waited for Galar to respond. Only to realize that Erik was asking him. Fuck! How would I know? I’ve fought on the same side as a fucking dragon before, a fucked up decaying dragon that summoned an army of undead bone warriors, but no, I’ve never fought an actual dragon before. We're way over our heads here, lad.

     

    But he tried to remain calm and confident, even though he wasn't. “As Galar said. We're but flies to that fucker. We'll stay low, let the big shots bring it down, get its attention. Then we'll go for its tail and legs, from behind. You don't want that mouth being opened in your direction.”

     

    Erik frowned. “Well, better than nothing.” He checked his newly acquisitioned quiver and bow and sighed. “I'll pray to Kyne to make my aim true—“

     

    “Fuck Kyne,” snorted Decimus. “Just fucking aim at that thing and shoot.”

     

    Another one of those thunder shouts coming from dragon's mouth started an avalanche of rocks and snow, the debris rolling down the hill towards the stables at blinding speed. One exceptionally large boulder plowed straight through the stables, only stopping inside the home of the stable hand Ronnie was friends with. Decimus heard the frantic screams and whinnies of the poor beasts, bones crunching, and blood splattering. Fuck, those are our horses! Fuck, there are people living in that building! Fuck! The raw destruction was almost, Decimus had no real words for it. It was like the dragon, in its quest to destroy Ronnie, had no boundaries. It would do anything. Decimus scowled and spit. It’s nothing that Old Bastard doesn’t know already from the Thalmor, you Son of a Bitch dragon.

     

    Galar started climbing the hill and Erik followed him, but Decimus grabbed his arm, shaking his head in warning. “You deaf? I said we'll lay low. We'll go that way,” he said, pointing towards the road leading to Kynesgrove. “We'll climb on one of those rocks and shoot from there.”

     

    It took them a few minutes to get there, the battle continuing to rage above their heads. Decimus now saw Äelberon perched at the top, that golden bow in his left hand and a spell charged in his right. A quiver of ebony arrows at his side, along with that ebony bastard. No cloak, his white hair blowing, now heavily streaked with soot. The armor also blackened in places. Alone on the hilltop. Alone, but ready, calm and collected, watching the dragon, positioned as bait, getting the dragon to focus all of its attention on him, and so far it was working. The land all around him was destroyed, charred or frozen; the trees mostly gone from all the godly force abusing the hill. He had no cover, nowhere to hide, and that dragon wasn’t showing any signs of stopping.

     

    It circled the hill again, stopping midair to draw in a great breath and release a stream of fire upon the Dragonborn. The others had been fireballs, but this was a stream. Decimus expected Äelberon to duck under his ward, but instead, he opened his mouth.

     

    “FUS RO!” Thunder escaped his lips, pushing the air in front of it, directly against the dragon's stream of fire. The force of the wind swept the fire, turning it back against the dragon who roared in surprise and anger and Äelberon spoke again, his eyes blazing. “Nunon daar mal yolos? Hi gesahlo, Dovah!”

     

    “Hi fen kos nahlot, Wuth Tu!” It bellowed, preparing to circle again, the remnant flames still smouldering its scales.

     

    “Hin rut lost seik, aar do Alduin. Aar do nizah rah! Grutiik do Bormah!” The words were practically roared from Ronnie. Defiant.

     

    Fuck me! Is he bloody talking with that dragon?

     

    The dragon looked as if it was going to speak again when a spear of ice suddenly sliced through the air, leaving a big hole in one of the dragon's wings, but not big enough to send it to the ground. One beat of those massive wings and it was already rising again.

     

    Decimus then saw Galar shout something and his ebony staff struck the rock under his feet, its tip burying deep into it. Upon hitting the ground, lightning came out of it towards the dragon, coiling around its leg like a rope. And suddenly, it couldn't fly higher. The dragon was beating its wings with all its mighty strength, pulling, but the lightning, staff, and Galar were holding still.

     

    “Fos mindolaar los daar?” It growled from the air. Decimus didn’t know what it was saying, but he could have sworn he saw that Altmer flash a dark smile while he readied his bow, nodding at the Dunmer. The smile you smile when a hunter closes in on prey.

     

    “Now!” shouted Decimus. “Give the bastard everything you have!” He took aim and pulled the trigger of his crossbow, sending the bolt into the air, right under one of the wings. He saw that the bolt buried somewhere between the dragon’s ribs and then he was loading another one. And fired again. Ronnie’s arrows were flying faster than a Bosmer on the Wild Hunt.

     

    Erik released his arrow and several shock spells struck the dragon's wings. Decimus saw that Serana and Wuunferth were now standing near Äelberon, giving the dragon every drop of magic they had. Decimus gave that old mage credit, his robes were torn up in places and both he and Serana were covered in the same black shit Ronnie was covered in, but he was fighting just as hard as they were. Not bad for an Old Fart. Ronnie relaxed his hold on his bow, still holding two extra arrows in his draw hand, cracked his neck and gazed at the dragon still fighting against Galar’s spell, before taking a deep breath.

     

    “FO KRAH… DIIN!”

     

    Well, fuck, it’s not every day you see someone vomit up an ice storm. The surge of snow and ice shards barreled through the air towards the struggling dragon. It recoiled its head and blinked, the eyes widening. And then the dragon shouted back.

     

    “FEIM ZII… GRON!”

     

    The dragon suddenly became all blurry, almost ethereal like Katria. The ice storm passed right through it, but more importantly, Galar's lightning noose passed right through the dragon's leg and it was free again.

     

    “Nikriin!” shouted Äelberon in that strange language. “Krif med saad dovah!” The dragon's wings now beat more furiously and it was gaining altitude, getting out of range of their spells and arrows and Äelberon nearly threw down his bow in frustration, growling, calling again to the dragon. “Ruth! Firok! Nikriin! Nikriin! Bo! Iliis neben hin inro viing! Hi los ni BAL dii brax ahrk tuz! YOL TOOR!” The spout of flame that came from Äelberon’s mouth was nearly as large as the dragon’s most powerful fireball and he could see in the distance that Serana’s face had changed, her brows furrowing.

     

    Decimus glanced at the Elf's posture, how tight the limbs were, how rigid the back. This wasn't a calm and collected warrior doing a job, doing a task, but an Elf teetering on his sword's edge. The edge of anger, of rage. He was enraged, as if something in him was desperate to be released, desperate to challenge.

     

    “Fod Zu'u, Vulalbah, los geblaan voth hi, Wuth Tu, hi fen mindok faas. Zu'u fen faan rinik lok wah dreh braag! Enmindok suleyk do gein wo los ziist nunon wah Alduin!” And then it roared again.

     

    “STRUN BAH… QO!”

     

    It was the Altmer’s turn to widen his eyes.

     

    “FIND COVER! NOW!” Ordered the Elf, charging his ward spell and scanning the hill for anyone who was unprotected, speeding towards Wuunferth.

     

    “No, no! The woman, the woman!” The mage shouted, bringing his hand upwards, cast in the same pale blue light as Ronnie’s, “I’ve a ward!” Ronnie shifted direction mid-stride and ran towards Serana, who was still firing icy spears at the beast. Running like all of Oblivion was at his heels. He was too far and Decimus could hear the dragon’s laughter. Did it know?

     

    The crack of real thunder brought Decimus out of his thoughts, his hand loading another bolt. The skies suddenly blackened, churning as if a hurricane was forming, and Decimus growled: “What now?” After the crack of thunder came the first lightning strikes slamming into the hill. Sprays of rocks flew into the air and Decimus ducked, making himself as tiny as possible. “Fuck!” he shouted. “Fuckfuckfuck!” he kept yelling as more lightning bolts streaked toward the earth, tearing the hill apart.

     

    “WULD NAH…KEST!” Ronnie quickly closed the distance between himself and Serana, only instead of stopping next to her, he flew past her too far, sliding hard into the soot to stop himself. He cursed and spun around to the sound of the dragon’s laughter, only barely extending his ward to cover Serana before lightning would have struck her. They ran towards Wuunferth, his ward still cast above them, absorbing the jolts of lightning. Another bolt closed in on Äelberon’s now faltering ward and he shoved Serana hard towards Wuunferth’s still-extended ward before the bolt struck. A sound like glass shattering assailed Decimus’ ears and the Altmer convulsed briefly from the remnants of the bolt coming into direct contact with him. Another strike separated them further and Äelberon was forced to retreat in the other direction, his gait unsteady at first.

     

    “Hin thu'um los sahlag, Wuth Tu. Hi fen neh qahnaar dii In. Hi los vobalaan qarah!” The Dragon boomed, laughing.

     

    “You rat bastard!” Decimus yelled, grabbing Erik's arm. “We need to find cover!” Erik, as pale as fresh snow, nodded and pointed towards a niche under a large rock near the road. Another lightning bolt struck the hill and let loose several boulders, which now rolled towards both of them. “Shit!” Decimus cursed again. “Move, you idiotic Nord! And use that ring!”

     

    Running down a rocky hill was never a good idea and it certainly wasn't right now. But what other option did they have? Decimus touched the ring with his thumb and felt a strange itching on his skin, as if an entire anthill was crawling all over him. Another lighting bolt hit, this time much closer to them, sending another spray of sharp rocks into air. They slammed into them, but bounced off, not harming them. Still fucking hurts though!

     

    And then they were on the road with an avalanche hurtling right towards them.

     

     

    Galar wasn't really expecting the dragon to escape his spell, but if his long life taught him anything, it was that nothing ever goes as planned. Dragons turning into spectres and summoning immense lightning storms were certainly not part of the plan.

     

    He wondered how much more the dragon could take and more importantly, how much longer it would be able to “shout”. It was language, yes, but it had to be powered by something, most likely magicka. And not even the dragons could have an infinite pool of that energy. The Dragonborn seem to require a resting period, and his skill was lesser than that of the dragon’s. Well, not lesser because his fireball with only two words had nearly the same magnitude as the dragon’s that used three words. What held the Dragonborn back was that his language seemed less practiced, his failure to reach the vampire clear evidence. Silly mistakes, a sloppiness. He lacked the synergy that the dragon possessed.

     

    A lightning bolt struck very close to Galar and he felt his hair stand on end as the charge crackled in the air. He looked at the churning, black vortex in the sky and wondered if those bolts of lightning were actually magickal substances or merely being forced by magicks to fall down. If it was the first, then he was safe. No magic could harm him. If it was the second...well, natural phenomena like lighting could fry him just like any other living being.

     

    But he reminded himself of an old saying. Lightning never strikes the same place twice. And there were too many lightning strikes here, often hitting the same place. This storm was made of magic. I have no reason to be afraid of you, dragon, he smiled smugly.

     

    He touched the ring on his left forefinger, stroking the amethyst set in it. This will consume all the magic in that beast. He shrugged and then pointed his left hand towards the dragon circling high in the sky. Who's laughing now, wizards? He felt energy slowly charging in the ring, his arm shaking as pure magicka became more concentrated around it. And then he released the energy. Beams of lightning interwoven with each other shot out of the ring, vaporizing it in the process, and began to cut through the sky towards the dragon.

     

    But the dragon was too high, and the beam too slow, so the beast had plenty of time to dodge it with one mighty beat of its wings. It noticed the assault, however, turning its attention towards Galar. Good, dragon. Now you know who the dangerous one here is.

     

    The dragon's head turned downwards and its body followed very soon. With folded wings it was falling down out of the sky, diving, heading straight towards Galar. He heard that Altmer Dragonborn shouting something—it may have been his name—but he wasn't paying attention. He wasn't afraid. The dragon demonstrated that it preferred to attack with magic, and Galar wasn't afraid of magic. The dragon couldn't hurt him.

     

    He followed the dragon's flight with a tilted head, curious as to what it would do. Another shout? Or something new?

     

    His expression changed from curiosity to surprise when the dragon didn’t slow down, still heading straight for him. At the last moment, when he thought the beast would crash into him, it opened its wings, giving them a sound beat, propelling it upwards again, a powerful gust of wind in its wake. A powerful gust that swept Galar off his feet and sent him flying down the hill.

     

     

    Stupid Telvanni! Cried Serana in her mind when she saw that foolish Dunmer just stand there, with a dragon diving right at him. He thinks he's invincible or something! Idiot! He'll end up as a grey flat cake on the ground and we'll have to scrape him off the rocks!

     

    Lighting struck near her, hitting a tree stump, making it explode into a shower of splinters.

     

    “WULD… NAH!” He tried. She heard Beron’s growl of frustration and she raised her hand, covering her face, feeling the pain as several splinters hit her side and arm, though the pain was something distant, almost as if someone else was hurt. The tree was now on fire and she rose to see the dragon stopping midair, creating powerful a gust of wind that swept Galar off the hill. He was falling and then his fall stopped, his body hovering above the ground.

     

    “The Telvanni can levitate,” she murmured. “Well, I'll be damned.”

     

    “Serana!” Beron’s voice, concerned, and she looked at her arm. Almost four splinters as long as her finger were sticking out of the flesh, the blood oozing, but she didn't feel much. Well, she did and she didn’t. The frenzy of battle was getting to her, and when it got to her she didn’t feel a damn thing. Later on, however, was a different story. She saw that his hand already glowed with the distinctive purple of Necromatic Healing. Why couldn’t you ever learn that spell?

     

    She raised her hand and hollered. “I'm alright! Just use that bow of yours, damn it! The dragon is begging for it!” He was still coming, shit. Beron reached out to cast, only for her to grab his wrist roughly. Her fingers barely closed around it, but the strength was there and she squeezed, applying a steady pressure.

     

    “No.” She growled, pulling him closer, meeting his angering glare. No, you are not healing me. He fought her grasp on his wrist, the purple glow intensifying.

     

    “Let me.” He snapped softly, those eyes blazing and she could feel the heat on his face.

     

    “No. Remember what I am, Beron. Remember…” he fought her a bit more, but her disapproving frown spoke more than any words could. “You know better. Save it for the living. No.” She hissed, bringing him closer to her. Their faces mere inches apart, their breathing heavy. He was covered in soot and sweat, with bruises, cuts, and she knew what the beast was saying was getting to him. She could see it behind his eyes, the burden of something darker, and if her blood could boil at that moment it would have. She blew air from her nostrils and narrowed her eyes. “Just make it feel pain… for me. Do it for me, Star-Knight.” She snarled, finally letting go of his wrist.

     

    Their eyes locked for a few seconds, but with a throaty growl, he broke from her and tossed Okriim into the air, catching it by the grip with his bow hand as he walked to where there was no cover, no protection. The storm had subsided and the dragon circled the hill again, preparing himself for another air-strike. Äelberon slowly pulled several ebony arrows from his quiver and drew a deep breath, nocking one while he still held the others. “Winds guide my blood,” he murmured and Serana looked sharply at him. Your blood? What the Oblivion is wrong with you?

     

    The dragon was closing in, this time choosing a fast frontal assault, where he would release his breath while passing over their location. It was a devastating attack, the timing of shots had to be perfect, but there was no trace of worry or fear on Beron’s face. He drew the bow and released the arrow. The next two came in rapid succession. Did he aim correctly? That dragon is closing in too fast. Suddenly there was an explosion of cracking ice as the first arrow hit its target.

     

    The explosion sent shards of ice into the air, tearing one of the beast’s leathery wings to shreds. The other two arrows struck the second wing, shards flying everywhere and the dragon roared in agony. But it was still flying, heading straight towards them. It passed so close she could see all the arrows and injuries they inflicted, red blood covering its scales. She could see its mouth and saw the beginnings of flame forming, like the first sparks of a campfire. She had nowhere to go. But he did not run and neither would she.

     

    “YOL TOOR… SHUL!” A powerful burst of flame sprayed the ground and the dragon barreled towards them, laughing.

     

    “FO KRAH… DIIN!”

     

    An ice storm bigger and more powerful than she ever could cast escaped Beron’s lips, colliding with the dragon’s fire. The storm swept away the flames in a hiss of steam, as well as tearing apart the landscape and trees in front of it to shreds. The dragon tried to slow its approach, its laughter turning into a roar. Blood covered the snow around them as hundreds of shards ripped through the dragon's flesh and froze his muscles. Beron’s jaw clenched when it passed them, still able to fly. “Das.” He said softly. “Das, wuh Vulalbah, das…” Was that a name? Vulalbah?

     

    Someone else shouting took her attention away from Beron and she saw Galar with a scroll in his grey hand, his lips moving. When he shouted the last syllable, the scroll disintegrated into ash but lightning crackled in his hand. He released it in the direction of the flying dragon. As the lightning drew closer to the beast, it began to expand in size, growing and her eyes went wide when she saw that it was a net. Damn it! For someone who's not a wizard, he has a more powerful arsenal than any wizard I know! She glanced at Beron to see if he was seeing this as well. He had, nodding at the Telvanni again before bending his head to count the arrows in his quiver, unphased by the fact that there was a magical net hurling towards a raging dragon. Let me guess, Old Mer, Tower pulled shit like this too, eh? The net wrapped around the dragon's body, pressing its wings tight to its ribs, which made it lose its ability to fly. The dragon screamed, now understanding its situation.

     

    “Dii viing! Dii viing! Zu'u nis bo dii viing! Faal Vul Gein ahrk ok munax mindolaar! Nizah Lahzey! Nizah! Nid trun! Zu'u fen krif nau! Bo wah zey, Bormahro Tu!” Äelberon suddenly stopped his counting and looked up. His face different. Like he recognized something that was said, and was no longer calm. The dragon chuckled as it continued to fall. “Geh, hi mindok tol faan.” It mocked. Silence from Beron and Serana struggled to make out what was behind her lover’s eyes, the sudden cloud of confusion, like he was searching for something. What have you been saying to him, you fucking bastard! She wanted to tear the beast’s tongue from its mouth with her bare hands and she felt the familiar twinge in her chest. The urge to shift, but suppressed it. It’s not what he needs now. “Pruzah, vos mii koraav waan hin nos los ol mul ol nii lost fod mii dovah lost tul kiir ko Kiindah.” The beast challenged.

     

    “It's going down! Towards that farm over there.” shouted Wuunferth the Unliving abruptly, suddenly appearing at the hill top. His lined eyes narrowed when they caught sight of Serana’s injuries. She was actually surprised the old Nord was still alive. Several lightning bolts struck the area where he took cover and for a brief moment Serana thought that the old bastard was a vampire too, Unliving, until she remembered that he used wards. Another spell you don’t know.

     

    “It is not finished yet.” Rumbled Äelberon, his eyes following the dragon’s descent towards a cluster of damaged farmhouses. “It is not finished yet.” Beron repeated, louder this time, the cloud of confusion in his eyes replaced by anger. He channeled his emotions and started to sprint towards the farm, his bow ready, legs pumping, damp hair streaming. On the hunt. Aye, it's on the ground now, but far from finished. It never stops. She moved to join him…

     

     

    It was so easy to rob all those snobbish Nords when they were hiding in the Palace of Kings, leaving their estates unguarded. A Dragon attacks and ya all leave yer treasures, runnin' for yer lives. But ya know what? I don't judge ya. I would do the same, because what can ya do against somethin' that can be considered a force of nature?

     

    The sounds of battle had been loud, menacing, but then it stopped. The silence was getting longer with every second and Grulmar looked at Sadri.

     

    “It might be over,” Sadri shrugged and the way he said it made Grulmar think about Decimus and Erik. Are they dead? Is the dragon now headin' towards the city? He shook his head to get those thoughts out of his mind. Of course they were alright, they had tuskin’ Sir Shiny the White Knight on their side. The dragon was mostly likely being hacked to pieces.

     

    “Which means Nords might start pokin' their heads out of the Palace. We should get out,” he mumbled, finishing his thought aloud, stuffing a final necklace into one of his many pouches. The sudden silence was getting on his nerves and a nervous thief made mistakes. “Like right now!” He barked.

     

    Sadri jumped, scooping several pieces of jewelry from a smashed display case into his own bag. “Alright, alright! Just calm down!”

     

    They headed towards the door and left the house of Clan Cruel-Sea. It was a bright day outside, except for the smoke that was lying oppressively over the city. They ran through the graveyard and when they arrived at the Stone Quarter, they saw that the fire at Candlehearth was already extinguished. People were sitting on the ground just outside the inn, black from soot and smoke. They look really resigned. If the dragon attacked right now, I bet they wouldn't give a damn. As long as the mead is safe, eh?

     

    They passed the inn, heading towards the Grey Quarter, passing the gate, nearly free to share their spoils. Grulmar suddenly stopped moving. He saw Sadri looking back at him, a puzzled look on his face and the Orc just stared at his feet. He wasn't able to move them and his heart began to race.

     

    “No,” he whispered, shaking his head, feeling his eyes sting with tears. Tears he used to shed when he was just a runt. “Not again. Not tuskin' again!” he almost yelled in terror.

     

    “Watch,” whispered something through his lips and he felt his body turning towards the gate, taking that first step and he did all that he could to fight it.

     

    “Not again, ya tusker! Get out!” He screamed.

     

    “You have to see to understand,” the voice replied through him again and Grulmar felt someone grab him by the shoulder, trying to turn him around, but his body didn't give in to that pull. It was walking forward and he knew nothing could stop it. It was happening again.

     

    “Grulmar?” Sadri gasped, shaking the Orc’s shoulders, trying to force him to stop. It never stops. “What the Oblivion are you doing? What are you talking about? What should I see?”

     

    “Everything,” something growled through Grulmar's throat, forcing the Orc to open the gate.

     

     

    “Don’t move.”

     

    Wuunferth? The court mage? Did he just talk to her?

     

    She was about to move. To join Beron. Where was Beron? Her mind was quickly processing her surroundings. The rubble, the scorched earth. On top of a hill. She was on top of the hill still. She could hear his fast footfalls growing distant. Ah, we finally brought the winged bastard down. Beron is going after him. She could still hear the dragon’s roars. Towards a farm. She started to move, her legs tense like springs. She needed to get there. That dragon. There was something different about that dragon that she didn’t like. It spoke far more than the others did. It spoke like it knew how to aggravate Beron and she had heard the name “Alduin” too. I need to get to him.

     

    The firebolt struck inches from her feet, making her recoil backwards to dodge the flames. A practiced hand had cast that spell. Very practiced. Instinct. Her hand twitched, forming a shock counter spell and while it twitched, she felt her tissue and muscle fibers tug against the wooden splinter still sticking from her left hand. The pain distant, but present. You idiot. At least half a dozen such splinters are sticking out of your body and you’re still running around like an undead idiot. That was why Beron looked at you. That is why he wanted to heal you.

     

    This was bad and she let out a gust of air, growling in frustration. You stupid fool.

     

    “Please…” She started, raising her hands slowly in a gesture of submission, suppressing the desire to charge a spell, the desire to draw her blade and end this her way. “I can explain.”

     

    “I know what you are.” Wuunferth said quietly, but Serana could still smell the sulfur charge of his firebolt. Serana cleared her throat and cracked her neck.

     

    “And what—before you figured out what I was—was I doing?”

     

    “Dragons are a threat to your kind. It stands to reason that you would help defeat it.” Retorted the Nord mage, not budging. “It’s what you would do afterwards that disturbs me to no end. You may have fooled them, but you don’t fool me.”

     

    “I don’t fool him. He knows.”

     

    “That’s impossible! He’s a Priest of Auri-El, the only reason he’d let you live is if you were using Illusion to disguise your appearance.”

     

    “And I’m telling you, he’s not fooled. He’s immune to my magicks, Court mage.” Always, she thought with a tiny sting of sadness. Sometimes I wish that you could see what the mortals see, Beron. They speak of my pretty green eyes. Her back straightened. But then I would not be Ebonnayne of the fire-eyes, now would I? And that is who that Old Star-Knight loves, not an Illusion. “He lets me live in adherence to his Greater Tenet. Mercy… and believe me, he does penance for it as dictated by his Holy Order.”

     

    “Lies! He would never!” Hissed Wuunferth. She heard the flames travel upwards as he lifted his hand to cast.

     

    “Look, we’re running out of time,” she gestured with her head towards the farm. “And he needs both of us.” She shuddered when the bolt fully-charged in Wuunferth’s hand. She didn’t dare turn around. “Think. Please, think. You know I am traveling with him. He’s going to know.”

     

    “A Knight-Paladin of Auri-El would understand. Right now, I am not seeing any reason to spare you, vampire.”

     

    “Alduin.” She blurted out. “He is going to face Alduin. If he survives. He won’t survive if he dies. That dragon wants him dead, mage, and it won’t stop until he’s dead. If he dies, where are we?”

     

    “That still doesn’t buy your life.”

     

    Tears of frustration began to well and she heard the dragon’s roars. She saw a flash of light, light blue, his ward. She needed to be there! He needed her frost! What if he didn’t see her? Gods! What if he stopped to look for her? Caught off-guard? Searching? The dragon would seize an opportunity. Beron’s great weakness.

     

    “Gods Dammit!” She bellowed, stomping her foot in rising anger. “Vampires don’t want the world to end either, you fool! Why the Oblivion do you think I’m traveling with him? I am Serana of the Volkihar. Of the Dawnguard… Dawnguard. I helped them prevent the Tyranny of the Sun as foretold in the Elderscrolls.” She heard the bolt crackle in the mage’s hand, ready to be cast and she trembled, feeling her tears. Not like this. Not only a day after you had mustered the courage to tell him. “I helped, mage. I turned against my own kind. I killed my own father for you stupid, stupid people. The battle for Castle Volkihar! DAMMIT!” Her mind was racing, frantic, her body wanting to run, to burst. “We’re not helping him by standing here! He will be looking for me and the dragon will kill him because he will be looking for me!” The last words were nearly sobbed.

     

    “It would be the death of me…” In seconds, her mind traveled back to Castle Volkihar; the dimly-lit Cathedral, in front of the shrine of Molag Bal, the ash remains of her father at her feet. Dropping her sword in her grief, naked and ashamed, grabbing a stray arrow. An arrow blessed by the sun, by his God. She had screamed when she grabbed it, the sun fire burning her hands and she tried to plunge it into her chest only to be stopped by his embrace, the sting of his silver armor against her skin while he held her. “If you die, Ana, it would be the death of me…”

     

    He wouldn’t go on. He’d stop, the breaking point finally reached. Fuck Alduin, fuck Tamriel. All the years of running; all the years of Thalmor and Fists and grief didn’t break him, but this, aye, this would. Beron was strong, but frail sometimes too, like a blade balancing on its pommel, relying on its perfect construction to keep it balanced. It would be the death of who he was. He would turn into something else and Serana knew the world wouldn’t want to see what he would become.

     

    “Please, we’re not helping him, Master Wuunferth. Alduin is counting on him dying today... the bastard has sent his best.”

     

    The dragon roared again and Serana let out a sigh of relief when the crackling of flames subsided and Wuunferth ran past her, charging frost magicks. “When we finish with the dragon, you and he both have some explaining to do.” Serana nodded and ran after the mage, wincing as she began to pull the stupid, stupid splinters from her body. Bleed now, live later.

     

     

    Decimus pushed against the large boulder in front of him and snarled when it didn't move. The niche saved their lives, but the rocks were now blocking their way out. That enchantment—Ebony Flesh, Galar called it—pretty much saved them. Several rocks hit them and it hurt like Oblivion, but it was as if their skin changed into something much harder. Though Decimus believed that if some of those larger boulders rolled over them, even that spell wouldn't have saved them from broken bones. Even now I slowly feel the bruises.

     

    “A hand if you wouldn't mind,” he growled in Erik's direction. The lad was holding his head and Decimus saw a big bruise on his forehead slowly forming. So he took a hit to the head. Get used to it, lad. “Erik!” he yelled and that made the Nord snap out of his dizziness. He leaned against the boulder with his shoulder and pushed. With their combined strength, they were able to roll the boulder aside and finally draw a breath of fresh air.

     

    Decimus searched the sky for any signs of the beast and his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. “Fuck me…” he murmured with his mouth wide open. He saw the dragon falling from the sky, wrapped in some kind of magic net. He heard a loud thud as the dragon crashed into the ground. “Fuck me,” he repeated. “He went down near the farms. Fuck.”

     

    “You think it's dead?” Erik asked, his fingers pressing on his forehead for the umpteenth time. Every few seconds, he was checking to see if there was blood on it.

     

    “It's just a bruise, lad. No blood,” Decimus assured him, spitting on the ground. Erik put his hand down immediately and the Old Blade let out a tiny chuckle. “And I highly doubt the fucker's dead. We'll have to finish it, the old fashioned way.”

     

    “We?” murmured Erik and Decimus shot him a look.

     

    “Yeah. Do you see anyone else around? Ronnie is probably all over the fucker right now and I'll be damned if I won't draw some of that dragon's blood myself. He fucking dropped a mountain on me after all!”

     

    “Hill. It was just few rocks from a hill—“

     

    “Shut up. Let’s just kill the fucker.” He patted Erik on the shoulder. “And it was a mountain, tell the story like a damn Nord, lad.” growled Decimus, increasing his pace, running towards where the dragon fell. More like hobbling, damn it! Don't fuck up your knee, Old Blade. How would that look? You dropping on the ground before you even make it to that dragon?

     

    He saw Galar levitating in the air, slowly heading towards the dragon as well. Damn Telvanni. He can fly. Just don't look up, Decimus. Just don't look up. You don't want to see what he's hiding under those robes…

     

    Lighting crackled through the air, heading from the hill towards one of the farm houses, which was basically reduced to rubble. Decimus saw a deep furrow carved into the land, with rocks, dirt and snow being tossed aside as if something massive and heavy hit the ground and slid through it, only to be stopped by a farm house, destroying it in the process.

     

    The dragon, its grey, black and purples scales now crimson with blood, was roaring in pain, gouts of fire escaping its jaws and spraying everything around the beast, including the farm house. Trying to make a barrier of flame around it. The net was gone but so was the dragon's ability to fly, because Decimus saw even from the distance that one of the wings was broken, the leathery wings torn apart by the rocks on the ground.

     

    Yet it still stood, crying its fury into the world and the sound was so powerful Decimus had to fight the urge to cover his ears. It stood, leaning on the healthy wing and partially on the broken one.

     

    “Nu, mu geblaan daar! “ Cried Äelberon in his strange language, releasing an arrow from his bow as he barreled down the hill. It struck the dragon's side, setting off an explosion of lightning that snapped the dragon’s head to the side. The beast turned to face his assailant, opening its maw.

     

    “GAAN LAH… HAAS!”

     

    A purple-violet cloud of energy emerged from the dragon’s mouth. Äelberon continued to run, raising his ward. That made the dragon bring its neck up in surprise. Aye, you fucker, that Old Fart’s not afraid of you. He’s stupid, but he’s not afraid. The shout tore through the land around him, killing everything in its path, trees, grass, any animal caught. Everything, but not him. He stood his ground firmly. But he had wards and Decimus glanced briefly at Erik, worry crossing through his features as they passed a dead deer.

     

    Fuckfuckfuck, cursed Decimus in his mind. How are we supposed to fight something so powerful on the ground? He looked at Erik, who was still little bit dizzy and frowned, shaking off his fears. You do what you said to the lad. Lay low, go for the tail and legs. Fuck up the dragon from behind. Well, you didn’t say precisely that, but this is your mind talking, you stupid babbling idiot. You can say anything you want in your mind, especially if you're going to end up as a greasy stain on the ground, or shitted from that dragon’s fat asshole… He sighed and increased his pace. “You think too much, moron.”

     

     

    Is he losing it? Erik wondered when he heard Decimus mumble. Erik was running beside him, but not really fast, because of Decimus' hobbling—easing off his knee—was slowing him down and Erik certainly didn't want to rush into the dragon's jaws on his own. He was brave, but not stupid. He knew that their best chance was to surround the dragon, with Äelberon taking the brunt of the dragon's attacks. It was terrible to think that, to put his Harbinger in a position like that, but Äelberon wouldn’t accept it any other way. Erik wondered sometimes if he even cared about the forge, if his only reason for going was to ensure their safety.

     

    He watched Äelberon speed down the hill, releasing another arrow at the dragon. The bow was then dropped, the Harbinger quickly turning his head to memorize the location where it fell before he resumed his run. Okriim, a bow that put Zephyr to shame, forged from the bloodied armor of slaughtered Thalmor. He was going to switch weapons now and Erik saw the Altmer while he ran, draw his blade, a bastard sword of the darkest ebony. Sos Kiin. Blood born. He remembered the curses from Skyforge when the Elf forged that weapon, the curses and the use of the thu’um to cool and heat the metal. Erik was only a whelp then.

     

    And now you’re going to help him kill a dragon. Erik felt himself swell with pride. Another explosion, this time on the neck, made the dragon reel, and Erik would swear that the dragon screeched. Galar was doing some brutal damage. It opened its mouth to shout and Erik hoped that the Harbinger had his ward charged, because he was right in the path of it.

     

    “YOL TOOR… SHUL!”

     

    Erik blinked, and both he and Decimus glanced at each other in surprise. Nothing happened. No flames, nothing. The dragon’s head tilted to the side and it shook its head several times. It wasn’t expecting that, thought Erik.

     

    “Ruth!” It seemed to curse. “Diist dii viing, nu dii zul. dreh ni hi krilon vodein zey, In.”

     

    “It can’t shout!” he thought aloud, yelling.

     

    “I know, I know! C’mon, lad, move faster.” Urged Decimus, gritting his teeth to counter the obvious pain in his knee.

     

    Äelberon was slowly increasing his pace as well, running down the hill, gaining momentum. “Go for the tail!” he ordered, as loud as possible while he moved. “The tail!”

     

    “Don't tell me how to do my job!” Decimus bellowed back. “Old FART!” The Altmer couldn’t help it and guffawed, his silly laugh when something odd struck him as funny, making the dragon suddenly scream in rage.

     

    “Hi krilon nep ko dii nuvah, lir?”

     

    “Zu'u dreh ni nep ahst qahnaar, Dovah.”

     

    The dragon screamed again. Now who’s getting to who, eh Dragon?

     

    “Old fart, old fart, old fart…” Decimus kept muttering under his breath. “Don’t get cocky, Old Fart. Bastard still has teeth.” Erik was actually quite surprised Decimus was able to keep pace, with him being so old and such.

     

    But if Decimus was old, Äelberon was even older. For those few seconds, Äelberon seemed to run as fleet as a deer. In response, the dragon straightened its neck, lifting its head higher, preparing to clamp its jaws over Äelberon. The Elf didn’t care, he kept running, faster and faster. Just before the Altmer closed in, a blast of lightning struck the dragon, making him recoil that massive head to the side, grunting.

     

    His Harbinger then released a powerful battle cry, using it to propel his legs that much harder, casting his ward seconds before he rammed right into the dragon’s chest. Erick swore that he could hear bones crack. The dragon took several steps back, his chest right under the neck now somewhat saggy, but Äelberon didn't give it time to regain its balance. His sword swung brutally, leaving a deep gash on the dragon's chest and a second strike, from below, was aimed at the dragon's throat. The dragon’s head snapped forward, like an attacking snake, with jaws wide open. Spinning quickly on his heel, Äelberon followed with a leading vertical strike over his shoulder right behind dragon's skull. Blood splattered from the wound, covering Äelberon’s face and he took a few steps back to quickly wipe it off his eyes, tendrils of his hair dripping with sweat, with dragon blood. His lips parted in a near snarl, the hooded eyes like a bird of prey’s. The dragon was now thrashing its head, but Erik saw that the wound wasn't really deep. The scales protected its body well; blades were barely able to scratch them, but if the blade slid between the scales...There was blood.

     

    “FUS RO!”

     

    The shout was devastating at close range and the dragon fell back from the force of Äelberon’s uncontrollable thu’um, falling backwards to sit squarely on its haunches, shaking its head to ward off the daze of the impact.

     

    Erik and Decimus were finally close enough and the moment of truth had arrived. He licked his lips and rubbed the pommel of his greatsword. Give me strength, Talos. Decimus didn’t pray, he said the gods were cruel, but the Harbinger prayed. He said his Tenets still, every day, morning and night. He prayed.

     

    “Go left, lad!” shouted Decimus, who ran to the right. They were approaching the dragon from the front and they needed to get behind it. The dragon's right wing was broken, but it was using the collapsed farmhouse to protect itself, covering its right side. If Erik wanted to reach the dragon's back, he'd have to run around the house.

     

    He saw Decimus running in a large circle around the dragon, waving his swords in the air, cursing and taunting it, distracting it. Now the dragon would have to either turn towards him or continue fighting Äelberon.

     

    Which meant the dragon wasn't paying much attention to Erik. He took a breath. That broken wing is still of some use to it as a support for its big body. If you take out that support... He wasn't really sure what he was thinking, if he was even sane, but as he was running around the burning farm house, he suddenly turned right, heading directly towards it.

     

    Erik used the pommel of his sword to shatter the paned window, covering his mouth with his other hand to guard against the heavy smoke. After he cleared the frame of all its shards, he took a few steps back, drew a deep breath, and sprinted towards the window.

     

    His sword flew inside the house first, followed by his arms, his head, and then the rest of his body. He rolled on the floor, the shards of glass cracking under his weight, but the thick leather of his armor did its job, sparing him from cuts. He was in something that could have been a bedroom, but it was hard to see any details in all the black smoke. He saw a faint light and a moving shadow on the other side of the house, but the broken and burning part of the roof blocked his way. He put aside anything thoughts, any doubts, any fears and ran straight for it. There was a narrow slit in that burning roof, right above the ground and he jumped with his legs in front of him. He hit the ground hard, but he had enough momentum to slide under the rubble, the flames barely licking his body and when he landed on the other side...

     

    He was right under the dragon’s wing.

     

    The dragon wasn't aware of him, too busy trying to retreat from Äelberon’s furious attacks. Erik could only hear his growls of effort, only see the Altmer's legs under the wing, but, so fast, so fast. Two hundred and forty-four and so fast still. Blood splattered where the old Mer struck and the ground was beginning to become soft, furrows of mud gathering whenever he stepped. Heavy, yet light at the same time and Erik just crouched there for a few seconds, staring in awe, until he realized what was actually going on around him.

     

    The right wing seemed broken at several places and Erik was amazed that the dragon was still able to support his body with it. If a man had a break like that, he’d be dead or in such agony that there would be no way he could fight anymore. If he had a break like that he couldn’t fight anymore. He picked one of those spots and swung his sword, as much as the space allowed him to. He hit the damaged spot directly, cutting through the muscles and sinew with ease, only to strike the bone with a strange clang, making his sword rebound and his hand vibrate from the force of the recoil. Fuck! How could Äelberon break any of these bones?

     

    Ebony, you idiot.

     

    The dragon roared in pain and Erik saw the beast suddenly swing its head like a club, hitting Äelberon from the side and vaulting him into the air. A woman’s cry of terror mixed with rage. Serana. Decimus’ yell. Erik’s heart leapt to his throat and time seemed to just stop. The Altmer twisted a bit in the air, barely missing the powerful snap of the dragon’s maw, and broke his fall with his left side, mostly the arm, landing with a hard thud and a groan. And for a second Erik couldn’t move, paralyzed, feeling panic taking over. He fell, he fell, he fell his mind kept repeating. The Dragonborn fell, what if he doesn’t get up? What if? But the Harbinger quickly rolled and was on his feet, wobbly, but on his feet, his eyes blinking hard several times and Erik let out a gust of air.

     

    “No!” The Harbinger cried when the head turned towards Erik, the wing lifting a little bit, exposing him. “Nid, krif zey, hi firok. KRIF ZEY!” He roared at the dragon, trying to get its attention. A frantic sword swing, but those eyes did not leave Erik’s. Strange eyes, four eyes in one, a pallid yellow fire in each of them. Another swing, but the dragon was now ignoring the Harbinger. An awful-sounding growl and yet another swing. “RUTH! KRIF ZEY! MAGICKS! Dammit, somebody with magicks! I will crush the boy if I use the thu’um!” The dragon opened his mouth and Erik saw the beginnings of fire…

     

    “YOL—“ but at that moment a powerful jolt of lighting struck its neck, shocking the muscles of its throat into silence and the head rose to pinpoint where the lighting came from. The wing now thrashed down at Erik instead. He rolled under it, right behind one of the dragon's legs and swung his sword at the beast’s thigh. And it rebounded again, this time from the dragon's scales.

     

    “Stab it! Fucking stab it!” screamed Decimus, trying to hit the tail. It was swinging from side to side, almost as fast as a happy dog wagging its tail and suddenly Erik randomly thought about Koor. Where was Koor? Erik reversed the grip on his weapon, raising it above his head and brought it down with all his strength. He was aiming for the dragon's flank, right where the leg connects with the body—where the groin would be in a man or mer.

     

    His blade went in deep, deeper than he expected, deep into the bowels of the dragon and with all his strength, he then twisted the blade. The dragon bellowed in pain, his wing swinging backwards and the leg kicking back. Erik managed to dodge the wing, but the dragon's leg struck him. He instinctively pressed against it with his left arm, to shield his body, letting go of his sword. Claws cut through the flesh like a hot knife cuts through butter and he screamed, his mind flooding with agony. He heard bones break and then he was in the air, being tossed aside like a doll no one wants to play with anymore.

     

    He noticed how close the ground suddenly got and then everything went dark.

     

     

    Grulmar’s legs were carrying him towards the roars, screams, and heavy thuds. Pumping fast, pumping hard. His pounding heart matching their rhythm. Towards the farm house. He was fighting it, with all his willpower and strength and after a short while, he was so exhausted, he wasn't able to fight it anymore.

     

    “What the tusk do ya want?” he sobbed as he ran, feeling tears of helplessness rolling down his cheeks. He was so close that he could see the beast, smell the stench of flesh and blood, sweat, fear, anger. The purple and black now mostly red. The hill nothing but a bare patch of scorched earth, farms destroyed. Oblivion on earth, like the stories of the Ashen Forge he heard as a runt. He saw them, those who fought the dragon, covered in soot, in blackness and blood. The mages showering it with magicks, its body trembling violently from the effects of their spells. He saw the vampire dance around the beast, her blade fast, dodging its rapid strikes. Decimus pulled a weapon embedded deep in the beast’s right flank. Erik’s? Grulmar blinked, Decimus was behind the wing, he shouldn’t be able to even see this.

     

    Watch.

     

    It was as if the wing didn’t exist. He saw through it and he saw Decimus, as if he was right in front of him, pull Erik’s sword from the beast, blood showering from the deep wound, covering the Imperial’s body. He then took the sword, and in a blow that made Grulmar cringe from its strength, he severed the tail. More blood and his eyes searched for Erik, but couldn’t find him. Dead?

     

    And he saw how it fought to the bitter end; cursing, roaring, blood splattering from its mouth whenever it spoke. Speaking terrible, thundering words, directed at one creature. The creature that now stood before it, blood-stained ebony bastard poised for the final blow, barely able to stand himself, broken too. But at the same time, not broken, the face grim, but not broken.

     

    Watch.

     

    The Dragonborn raised his weapon and with an anguished, angry cry that made Grulmar feel a sudden pain in his heart, the Dragonborn plunged his blade deep into the beast’s alien eye. Eyes within eyes. The beast shuddered violently a final time, rumbling softly, soft words to the Dragonborn, and died.

     

    The mighty dragon… slain by the Dragonborn.

     

    And the Dragonborn fell hard to his knees, overcome with grief. Unable to move. Unable to even withdraw his blade from the beast’s eye. They were so close to each other, Dovah and Dovahkiin, touching, the Elf leaning heavily against the beast’s maw.

     

    Watch, whispered something in his mind.

     

    Grulmar watched the scales peel off the beast’s body, like shining golden leaves falling from a tree in sunset’s autumn, only these were flying upwards. Diminishing in size, turning into nothingness. The flesh suddenly caught on fire, the air being filled with the scent of burning flesh vaporizing into dust faster than anything he had ever seen, leaving only bones. Consumed by the air. And then came the wind and golden streams of light. Rushing, swirling.

     

    The streams surged towards Äelberon, surrounding him, embracing him, bathing him in their light. He was the one who consumed and he was…weeping, the great shoulders heaving, a fist pounding the earth. Alone, while the others stood dumb.

     

    Watch!

     

    His vision suddenly shifted, the snow, the fire, the landscape disappearing, only to be replaced by…

     

    There rose a garden of slender trees, and wound around the trunks were vines festooned with lily-like flowers. A multitude of spheres moved, deep in the sky, as distant and pale as the moons. There was the sound of chirping birds, but it was a doleful sound, as if something with a vague memory of having been a bird was trying to reproduce sounds it no longer felt.

     

    The sky was filled with emotions; a sun of sadness, clouds of despair, rage filling the sky with thunder, fear colouring it with lightning, and raindrops of shame.

     

    And the flowers...the flowers. Anguish rose from their leaves, whirling and twisting into blossoms of humiliation.

     

    What was this garden?

     

    There was a garden…

     

    There is a garden…

     

    There will be a garden…

     

    As long as you will remember. As long as they will remember…

     

    This echo…

     

    Everything was covered with a warm red light and he looked up towards the source of it, towards the sun. But it wasn't a sun. It was a heart. A pumping heart and blood dripped from it onto the ground. Blood drops as big as houses falling down, only to end up as small as tears, rolling down the leaves of sad flowers.

     

    There was a man standing next to him, as tall as possibilities, as strong as sadness, with hair black as anguish and eyes with the colour of echo. And he looked at him with those eyes that almost made Grulmar drop to his knees. So much sadness…

     

    Watch, said the man and pointed to the sky.

     

    Grulmar saw before him eyes, a multitude of large, scaly eyes blinking at him, as big as a horse, reflecting his image back at him. Strange eyes, not like anything he had seen before from any animal. Each eye had four more eyes inside it, colored a lizard’s yellow. He looked away and closed his own.

     

    Watch.

     

    The voice pulled him back, forcing him to open his eyes again. They zoomed all about him, these disembodied eyes coming from the sky, heading towards him. Surrounding him. He took a deep breath and faced the eyes, expecting to see his image reflected back upon each again, but instead, in each eye—through each eye—he saw a rocky, broken land with a churning sky above and a lava lake below. A desolate wasteland. No snow, no green, no nothing. No life. The blackened sky showered meteors of fire and rock, breaking the land further. He could feel the heat of the land upon his face, he felt sweat trickle down his neck, leaving a cold trail. And in the distance he heard the beating of a hammer upon an anvil. Metal striking metal, repeating over and over again. Steady.

     

    They then appeared from the distant horizon, winged and dark. The first, a giant black form. A dragon, with cruel, twisting horns. He was followed by a flock of—fuck—more eyes? What the fuck was this? But yes, fucking eyes, and he didn’t know how but being borne by the eyes was a great feathered eagle of brightest silver. When it drew nearer, Grulmar noticed that the wings had been broken, horrible compound fractures, bone sticking out, the blood from its many wounds staining its feathers. The black dragon then, with a hard swat from its tail, flung the eagle from the flying eyes, sending it crashing to the stone shore of the lava lake. To Grulmar’s amazement, it survived the fall, bringing up its great taloned feet to protect itself, opening its beak, the eyes blazing, ready to fight.

     

    The black dragon and the flock of eyes descended, surrounding the eagle. It fought back, slashing at the eyes with its talons. Feathers flew everywhere and he heard screams of pain from the eyes, but the roar of the black dragon silenced everything, except the noise of the hammer. That was still there. Pounding faster and faster. Where was it coming from? It finally landed, crushing the eagle’s talons beneath its black-scaled feet, pinning the helpless bird to the ground. The black dragon then lowered its opened maw towards the eagle’s rapidly heaving chest. The eyes of the two beasts locked and Grulmar felt the overwhelming sadness again and he suddenly wanted to run from the eyes, to hide. No, no, no, no, don’t make me look anymore, he kept mouthing, ignoring the steady streams of tears and snot. Grulmar screamed and the black beast suddenly turned, its two red eyes boring into Grulmar’s very soul. So many of those eyes! Thousands of them.

     

    “You have taught me well…” It snarled, before plunging its jaws into the eagle’s chest, tearing through the feathered flesh, searching. Blood spewed, so much blood, red and flowing. Blood mixed with tears. Falling upon the sad flowers. Like sad rain, covering the bright sun. A sad, grey rain. The hammer strikes accelerated, the sound driving Grulmar mad with agony and he covered his ears but it wouldn’t go away. It wouldn’t stop. The hammer striking, striking, striking, pumping, pulsing, becoming a heartbeat. Faster and faster. Then an abrupt silence when the eagle’s heart was torn from its chest and Grulmar screamed again, unable to bear it any longer.

     

     

    Author’s Notes – Dovahzul translations (legacy translator) and dragons.

     

    Chasing Aetherius features characters that were alive during the events of Morrowind and Oblivion and are therefore still practicing some of the spells from the older schools of the third Era that no longer exist. Galar’s use of levitation, for example.

     

    In the lore of Straag Rod, not all dragons possess the same shout knowledge. Mirmulnir, for example, only knew the most potent form of fire breath, whereas Alduin’s shout repertoire is vast. The Dragon featured is our take on a legendary dragon, known collectively as the Vulal in Straag Rod. Vul – dark. Al – destroyer and to serve as a brand that these dragons are closely allied to Alduin, his captains, and then a final syllable to distinguish themselves from each other. These dragons possess a greater knowledge of the thu’um, utilizing shouts that the Dragonborn can also possess. This is not Äelberon’s first encounter with a Vulal.

     

    V: “Zu'u fen fahraal hin sahlovik jur, lir!”
    I will answer your feeble challenge, worm.

     

    V: “Zu'u, Vulalbah, fen drun hin klov wah dii in, dovahkiin!”
    I, Dark Destroyer Wrath, will bring your head to my master, dovahkiin.

     

    Ä: “Hin zeymah lor rinis. Ahrk rok funt. Hi fen funt ahk.”
    Your brother thought the same. And he failed. You will fail too.

     

    Ä: “Nunon daar mal yolos? Hi gesahlo, dovah.”
    Only this little flame? You are weakening, dragon.

     

    V: “Hi fen kos nahlot, Wuth Tu!”
    You will be silenced, old hammer!

     

    Ä: “Hin rut lost seik, aar do Alduin. Aar do nizah rah! Grutiik do Bormah!”
    Your threats have no meaning, servant of Alduin. Servant of the false god! Betrayer of Father!

     

    V: “Fos mindolaar los daar?”
    What trickery is this?

     

    A: Krif med saad dovah!
    Fight like a real dovah.

     

    A: “Ruth! Firok! Nikriin! Nikriin! Bo! Iliis neben hin inro viing! Hi los ni BAL dii brax ahrk tuz! YOL TOOR!”
    Damn! Bastard! Coward! Coward! Go! Hide under your master's wings! You are not WORTH my bow and blade!

     

    V: “Fod Zu'u, Vulalbah, los geblaan voth hi, Wuth Tu, hi fen mindok faas. Zu'u fen faan rinik lok wah dreh braag! Enmindok suleyk do gein wo los ziist nunon wah Alduin!”
    When I, Vulalbah, am finished with you, Old Hammer, you will know fear. I will call the very skies to do my bidding! Behold the power of one who is second only to Alduin!

     

    V: Hin thu'um los sahlag, Wuth Tu. Hi fen neh qahnaar dii In. Hi los vobalaan qarah.
    Your thu’um is pathetic, Old Hammer. You will never vanquish my master. You are an unworthy shell.

     

    V: Dii viing! Dii viing! Zu'u nis bo dii viing! Faal Vul Gein ahrk ok munax mindolaar! Nizah Lahzey! Nizah! Nid trun! Zu'u fen krif nau! Bo wah zey, Bormahro Tu! Geh, hi mindok tol faan. Pruzah, vos mii koraav waan hin nos los ol mul ol nii lost fod mii dovah lost tul kiir ko kiindah.

    My wings! My wings! I cannot move my wings! The Dark One and his cruel trickery! False Wizard! False! No matter! I will fight on! Come to me, Father's Hammer! Yes, you know that name. Well, let us see if your strike is as strong as it was when us dragons were still children in creation.

     

    A: “Nu, mu geblaan daar!“
    Now, we finish this.

     

    V: “Ruth! “Diist dii viing, nu dii zul. dreh ni hi krilon vodein zey, In.”
    Damn. First my wings, now my voice. Don’t you dare forsake me, Master.

     

    V: Hi krilon nep ko dii nuvah, lir?”
    You dare laugh in my presence, worm?

     

    A: “Zu'u dreh ni nep ahst qahnaar, dovah.”
    I do not laugh at the vanquished, dovah.

     

     

    Table of Contents

    Chapter 4 --- Chapter 6

Comments

19 Comments   |   Karver the Lorc and 5 others like this.
  • Ebonslayer
    Ebonslayer   ·  March 23, 2018
    So, wait. Galar can't cast and that's why he doesn't like to be called a "wizard"?
    • Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Ebonslayer
      Ebonslayer
      Ebonslayer
      So, wait. Galar can't cast and that's why he doesn't like to be called a "wizard"?
        ·  March 23, 2018
      More or less. There should be few bits about that later. 
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  August 15, 2017
    This took some serious focus to read and swallow everything that kept coming! Most astounding battle scene I've read for a while. :)
  • The Sunflower Manual
    The Sunflower Manual   ·  January 5, 2017
    Fight. Epic. More.
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Fight. Epic. More.
        ·  January 5, 2017
      Really, I don't think anything more needs to be said.
      • Karver the Lorc
        Karver the Lorc
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        Really, I don't think anything more needs to be said.
          ·  January 5, 2017
        Heh, thank you. Yeah, this one was really epic. "Just don't look up..." :D
  • Paws
    Paws   ·  November 26, 2016
    Holy fuck. I do not even. One of the most perfectly set up intros to perhaps the most epic fight I have ever read. It seems that no stone was left unturned in this battle, each participant got their turn to shine while at the same time appearing as vulner...  more
    • Paws
      Paws
      Paws
      Paws
      Paws
      Holy fuck. I do not even. One of the most perfectly set up intros to perhaps the most epic fight I have ever read. It seems that no stone was left unturned in this battle, each participant got their turn to shine while at the same time appearing as vulner...  more
        ·  November 26, 2016
       his spurs for sure, never once wavering or
      giving into the fear he felt.

      Grulmar, the dark contrast to his
      friend's light, provided the most unexpected an poetic endings I could
      possibly have hoped for:
      • Paws
        Paws
        Paws
        Paws
        Paws
         his spurs for sure, never once wavering or
        giving into the fear he felt.

        Grulmar, the dark contrast to his...  more
          ·  November 26, 2016
        "There rose a garden of slender trees, and wound around the trunks
        were vines festooned with lily-like flowers. A multitude of spheres
        moved, deep in the sky, as distant and pale as the moons. There was the
        sound of chirping birds, bu...  more
        • Paws
          Paws
          Paws
          Paws
          Paws
          "There rose a garden of slender trees, and wound around the trunks
          were vines festooned with lily-like flowers. A multitude of spheres
          moved, deep in the sky, as distant and pale as the moons. There was the
          sound of chirping birds, but it was a doleful...  more
            ·  November 26, 2016
          Jesus.
          This was incredible. A pawn of two forces as old as time, each a song
          whose myriad rhythms and beats are played out upon the mythic landscape
          of Tamriel, Grulmar watches the final moments unfurl in spectacular
          fashion. T...  more
          • The Long-Chapper
            The Long-Chapper
            Paws
            Paws
            Paws
            Jesus.
            This was incredible. A pawn of two forces as old as time, each a song
            whose myriad rhythms and beats are played out upon the mythic landscape
            of Tamriel, Grulmar watches the final moments unfurl in spectacular ...  more
              ·  November 26, 2016
            Thanks Phil. I think it really irked both me and Karver that mudcrabs could bloody gang up on them and win in the game. To me, there has to be this hopelessness around dragons. Otherwise, why bother with a Dragonborn? 
          • Karver the Lorc
            Karver the Lorc
            Paws
            Paws
            Paws
            Jesus.
            This was incredible. A pawn of two forces as old as time, each a song
            whose myriad rhythms and beats are played out upon the mythic landscape
            of Tamriel, Grulmar watches the final moments unfurl in spectacular ...  more
              ·  November 26, 2016
            Phil...this is a tusking essay! :D

            But I´m so glad you finally got to this chapter and enjoyed it. I think that this is my masterpiece.

            Everyone was kicking arse here, all in their own way, but I think we still managed to captur...  more
            • The Long-Chapper
              The Long-Chapper
              Karver the Lorc
              Karver the Lorc
              Karver the Lorc
              Phil...this is a tusking essay! :D

              But I´m so glad you finally got to this chapter and enjoyed it. I think that this is my masterpiece.

              ...  more
                ·  November 26, 2016
              Hehehe. But you have the word choice in the beginning of that image. It is simply stunning. But the Dragonfight is Karver's choreography. Incredible stuff. Dragon battles will never be the same and I don't want to imagine Alduin. We are happy you are happ...  more
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 28, 2016
    Lol, yep. We like touches of humor.
  • Justiciar Thorien
    Justiciar Thorien   ·  June 28, 2016
    “That wasn't my stomach,”...“That, my lad...was a dragon.”

    ROFL... By the gods... Damn, now I can't stop the tears flowing from my eyes... I think I haven't laughed like this in years...
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 28, 2016
    Double YAY!!
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  June 28, 2016
    Yay! 
  • Teineeva
    Teineeva   ·  June 28, 2016
    Shivers of awesomeness ran accros my spine as I delighted myself in this fantastic scenery.
    Chaos, Heroes, Thieves, Combat, Magic, and Visions of the past! This chapter has it all!
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 28, 2016
    Sorry for the delay, friends.  Karves and I hope it was worth the wait.