[This book is a translated account of Nchunak's travels among the various colonies of the Dwemer explaining the theories of Kagrenac.]
I made inquiry as to the state of enlightenment among the people he spoke for. He answered that with respect to the theories of Kagrenac, there was but one scholar near who could guide the people through the maze that leads to true misunderstanding.
He informed me, however, that in Kherakah the precepts of Kagrenac were taught. He said that nothing pleased him more than to see the Dwemer of Kherakah, the most learned people in the world, studying Kagrenac's words and giving consideration to their place in the life to come, and where neither planar division nor the numeration of amnesia nor any other thing of utility was more valued than the understanding of the self and its relationship to the Heart.
I was gracious enough to receive this as a high compliment, and, removing my helm, I thanked him and departed with an infinity of bows.
12th of First Seed, 4E 204
“Mathi...want...fish,” the Riekling said slowly and Grulmar rolled his eyes in frustration.
“Mahti ‘wants’ fish. Wantsss! Get it?” the Orc growled and leaned back in the chair, sighing. “Though if ya’d at least tried to say ‘I’ instead of ‘Mahti’, it would be very nice of ya for a change.”
“Mahti poo kawa kar!” the Riekling snapped at him, in that moment very much sounding like Grulmar when he was cursing.
“What did ya just say to me?” the Orc narrowed his eyes. “Kawa kar… Somethin’ about me bein’ silent until I die? Is that it?” He then launched from his chair, jumping at the Riekling, but missing as Mahti quickly dodged under a table and crawled out the other side. “Come back here, ya shrimp!” Grulmar barked.
The Orc was starting to lose his mind. They had spent the past several days basically locked in the tower because of the raging ash storm outside, and both he and Mahti had quickly run out of things to do, so, just to keep himself busy, Grulmar began teaching Mahti again. And his patience was certainly running thin.
“Would you two idiots stop that?!” Neloth shouted from the room with the staff enchanter and both Grulmar and Mahti looked at him, stopping everything they were doing. “I have no idea what is going on in those little brains of yours and I don’t even want to know, but this is very disturbing! How can I focus on researching Khalenar’s fifth law of elements when you two-”
Mahti then threw book into Grulmar’s face and the chase began anew, Neloth’s words getting lost in the ruckus of overturned chairs and tables, the Riekling’s squeals of delight making him shake his shoulders too.
“Enough!” Neloth shouted and the whole tower shook under their feet, reminding Grulmar exactly what Neloth could do. And so the Orc got back on his feet from under a table and slightly bowed his head.
“I’m sorry, Master Neloth,” he said out loud. I hope ya catch crabs or somethin’. Or maybe ya get stricken with another malignant growth, this time in yer skull. “I will go out and get some fresh air then, to not disturb ya,” he added, his face still flushed from chasing Mahti.
“Fresh air?” the Magister wondered, raising an eyebrow. “Ash is falling outside. What is fresh about it? If by ‘fresh air’ you mean ‘poisoning your lungs with fresh poison carried by the ash’, then be my guest,” Neloth shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not like I can’t just simply reanimate you. At least you would be less... disturbing.”
Grulmar took a deep breath and walked to the membrane that was a door leading to the balcony, Mahti following, but now quiet, shuffling his feet as he walked. The Orc touched the membrane and it opened in front of him, letting cold air into the tower. Just breathe, matey, just breathe. He’s just a Telvanni Magister, so full of himself he doesn’t even know where his balls are.
It was dark outside, the heavy clouds of ash blocking out the sun so completely it seemed as if it was close to dusk, yet it was only an hour after lunch. The storm that had been raging outside for days seemed to finally subside, no more wind lifting all the ash from the ground and throwing it into their eyes like violent waves. No, now it was only ash falling from the sky, which was bearable, if only it wasn’t so cold. Grulmar shivered. I regret not grabbin’ my cloak, Grulmar thought as he rubbed his shoulders and then breathed into his hands.
The tower’s balcony was luckily covered by the roof, so there wasn’t ash falling right on his head, yet he pushed the collar of his robe over his nose, keeping in mind Neloth’s snarky remark about ash being poisonous.
“Mahti… want… fish.” Mahti repeated and Grulmar felt the Riekling sigh.
“Wants.”
“Waaantssss.”
Grulmar felt the smile creep to his face. “That’s right, Shrimp. Alright, we’ll head to the kitch--”
He then narrowed his eyes as he noticed movement, barely recognizing what it was through the falling ash. He quickly cast a spell on himself which allowed him to detect the life forces and magicka of creatures and he noticed two glowing shapes walking towards Tel Mithryn. The larger one was using a walking stick, while the other one, smaller, was walking right in front of him, as if leading the way. Strange was that the smaller figure was somewhat lacking a drop of life.
Grulmar rubbed his neck as he got this indescribable feeling, creeping along his spine. Almost like an itch. He then snorted, recognizing those two figures and he headed back into the tower, grabbing his cloak. He then felt a tug on his robe and saw Mahti.
“Fish?” Mahti asked. Tusk, he was right. He levitated down with Mahti, put the Riekling down, and pulled the cloak’s hood over his head. He was going to meet them halfway.
“Y’are down now. Go to the kitchen, Mahti.”
“Fish?”
“Yes, fish, kitchen, now go.” The Orc snapped, groaning. Tusk, y’are startin’ to sound like the shrimp. He heard the quick steps of Mahti through the ash, heading towards the kitchen as he kept going.
And as he drew closer, Grulmar was able to discern more details through the ash.
He was wearing an old brigandine of dark leather, worn, yet well kept, with a heavy woolen shirt underneath it. Always simple, no frills, no more shiny metal. Those frills had died with Castle Volkihar, Grulmar believed. There was, of course, that black bearskin cloak he kept dragging with him everywhere, which probably had more fleas in it than a whore in Riften, the hood of the cloak pulled low over his eyes, hiding most of his face, saving the beard, the longer beard. Damn, it had grown. He seemed even leaner than Grulmar remembered, thinner than he was even after the Forge. Haven’t had any sweets in some time, eh? But the insult stopped as the figure neared. This wasn’t just no sweets. The thinness now bordered on unhealthy, the slight stoop to the broad shoulders suggested one that was worn from travel. The gait was still steady though and Grulmar noticed the big golden bow with and the ebony bastard sword.
Grulmar’s attention turned to the smaller figure. She was wearing clothes of soft leather with a fur collar and it reminded Grulmar of a Colovian fashion Decimus once had described to him. She was wearing a lighter cloak made of dark fabric lined with fox fur, which didn’t surprise Grulmar, knowing very well that she didn’t have to worry about the cold. She carried herself slightly better, less worn in Grulmar’s opinion, and as they drew closer, he could see the familiar playful smirk on her face.
“I was wonderin’ when ya’d drop by,” Grulmar waved his hand, greeting them. “I mean, this place is famous for its canis root tea and eccentric individuals.”
“Did I just hear ‘canis root tea’? Been weeks. Hello lad, I know that voice from anywhere. Only one in Skyrim that sounds like me when I’m as blazed as dragon’s fire,” the Altmer chuckled, his voice sounding strangely muffled. He lifted his head a little and Grulmar noticed now that his eyes were completely hidden under a bandage damp with tears, streaks of ash on what Grulmar could see of his pale cheeks. Actually most of the face was obscured by cloth, including his mouth and nose. Did he just tuskin’ walk blind to Tel Mithryn? He must have used Serana as a guide, following her sound or something, or maybe detection magicks. Grulmar frowned, looking at Serana with confusion, pointing at his own eyes.
She shook her head. “The ash isn’t doing him any good.” Then she looked over her shoulder. “You should have at least taken the goggles,” Serana reprimanded the Altmer.
Äelberon stiffened at that remark, shaking his head resolutely. “I do not accept gifts tainted with the blood of innocents. The Councilor needed to see that. That I do not bow to the king of shit. The hardship was worth it. My pride was worth it.” Serana frowned at that, worry flickering briefly in her eyes, but she was silent and then nodded in agreement. Typical Shiny if ‘blood of innocents’ was mentioned and the “king of shit” could only be Mogrul. Still there was something funny about the way he said it, so there was probably more to it, but Grulmar wasn’t one to really pry. They both seemed to have traveled a rough road and perhaps an even rougher path for them still lay ahead, and Grulmar - to his own surprise - could relate to that. Nothing has been easy since the last time he saw them and he had no doubt that they had it even worse.
Grulmar sighed, chuckling to himself. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to ask about, yet he kept his mouth closed. He really had no idea where to begin. It was a strange reunion, each of them carrying with them a heavy baggage, dragging their emotions down into the ash under their feet, leaving only shells showing exhaustion.
The Orc shook his head, smirking. “Have ya eaten? Don’t know why y’are here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get ya sorted out first. Come on, let’s get out of this ash and head somewhere warm,” he pointed with his chin towards the house next to the tower, turning on his heels.
He heard a surprised chuckle from Serana as he walked, and he glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were following him. “Who are you and what have you done to Grulmar?” Serana shook her head with a smile on her face.
“I have heard that the Telvanni tend to ‘discipline’ their subjects so that even the more resilient ones are rendered docile,” Äelberon murmured through the cloth over his mouth, with a completely serious voice so that Grulmar had no idea if he was joking or not. But the Orc was imagining a sly smile on the Altmer’s face, and replaying that sentence with that hidden smile convinced Grulmar it had to be a joke.
“If by ‘discipline’ ya mean drive them completely crazy, then y’are ‘bout right,” the Orc quipped, reaching the door leading to the kitchen. He opened it and motioned the visitors to come in. As soon as they were inside, he closed the door behind them and pulled his hood down. “Drovas!” he raised his voice, looking for the Dunmer.
Drovas Relvi’s head appeared from behind the counter with a confused look on his face. “Yes, ser-”
“Froo fi far!” Grulmar heard Mahti shriek and he turned only to see the Riekling quickly disappear under the table. Shit.
The Altmer tilted his head to the side, clearly hearing it. “Goblik, no, wait. Was that...a Riekling?”
“Yeah,” Grulmar murmured. “Long story.”
“Here’s hoping more don’t pop out of any barrels here,” Serana quipped, beginning to remove her cloak, and Grulmar noticed she wore her hair different now, just a simple ponytail in the back and her eyes were green from her Illusion magic. She chuckled, her eyes falling on the Altmer, who was also working on removing his cloak. “Though I have never seen you run so fast.”
“Well, they can be overwhelming, in large numbers,” the Altmer protested, though Grulmar could feel the humor in his voice. “And you, if I recall, were running away from them just as quickly.”
Grulmar crouched near the table, seeing only Mahti’s wide golden eyes in the shadows under it. “It’s alright, shrimp. Nobody’s here to kill ya.”
“Beeeg… froo,” Mahti said with a trembling voice.
“Aww. Well, damn, Gru. He is scared of me. Froo? Hmm, so my suspicions are correct, Serana, they have language.”
Drovas took the Altmer’s cloak. His face still confused from the sudden activity. “Sera? What did you need?”
“In a minute, Drovas. Froo? What the tusk is froo? Froo, hmm. Nord? You do look like one.” He shook his head and motioned Mahti to come from under the table. “He’s not a Nord, Mahti. He’s an Altmer, and he’s a friend. His name is Shiny.”
“Bloody Oblvion, that name, Motagiik…” Äelberon groaned, but Grulmar could feel the smile behind it.
Grulmar chuckled and Mahti peeked out from under the table, looking up at the tall, blind Altmer as he was removing his gauntlets - tuskin’ blind and he still can undress - and frowned. “Not...shiineee.” Mahti shook his head emphatically. He pulled a glassy stone from his pocket, showing Grulmar how it sparkled. “Theees… shiiineeee.”
“Yeah, sure, shrimp. It’s a shiny stone. But this Altmer here, ya can call him ‘Shiny’. Just as I call ya ‘Mahti’ or ‘shrimp’. Get it?”
“Shiineee…” The Riekling repeated.
“Ashy is more like it,” quipped Serana. That made the Mer chuckle.
“Sera?” Drovas repeated.
“We have guests, in case y’are blind as bat,” Grulmar continued, seeing that Mahti had now planted himself in a corner of the kitchen, watching Äelberon and Serana carefully. He turned to Drovas. “So how about ya get them somethin’ warm to eat? Maybe…” he paused for a second, his head turning back to Äelberon and Serana. By now, the Atlmer had removed his hood, the cloth around his face, finally freeing the braided hair and Grulmar felt the air subconsciously escape his lips. He still had the long hair. Afterwards, came the bandage from his swollen eyes and he watched the Altmer’s hand glow golden as he moved his hand over them. They slowly opened, badly bloodshot and still watering, but now seeing. “Ya haven’t answered actually.” Grulmar continued, facing Äelberon. “Have ya eaten? No matter,” he waved his hand dismissively before the Atlmer could answer. “Ash hopper legs maybe? Yes. Ya heard, Drovas. Get them ash hopper legs, canis root tea for the Altmer and the lady would like a bottle of sujamma.”
Serana groaned, rolling her eyes. “Gods, not that again.”
Grulmar pointed towards the big table, motioning them to sit. “Come on, sit down, warm up.”
“Grulmar,” Äelberon stopped him with a calm voice and the Orc looked at him. There was a new scar cut vertically across the left eye, but there was a warm smile on that long, gaunt, weathered face. Grulmar’s eyes narrowed at the strange, dark runes that seemed imprinted upon the Altmer’s left cheek and extended downwards, disappearing into the silver-white of his beard, but the old Mer interrupted his scrutiny. “Just slow down. I will make my tea, this old mer is not as useless as he seems. And thank you for offering us a place at your table, we happily accept. We are already familiar with sera Relvi’s delicious roasted hopper legs.”
He had somehow changed, but at the same time, he had not changed to Grulmar.
Serana looked at the Altmer with raised eyebrows. “Really? You don’t find this creepy at all? I almost miss that sarcastic Orc.”
“Give it time, love, he will pop up, always does,” the Altmer chuckled like he knew secrets, heading towards the fireplace, to make his precious tea. At least he makes it himself, Grulmar smirked.
Grulmar sighed and sat down at the table, leaning against his hand. Yeah, Grulmar. What was that about? Sometimes too much is too much. Just take a deep breath, yeah? Serana took a seat next to him, giving him an intense probe, which made Grulmar twitch. “What?” he asked.
“Come on, spit it out. What did you bungle this time?” she asked, clearly having a tone.
“Boooongle,” Mahti mouthed.
“Hey!” the Orc raised his eyebrows, grimacing. “Nothin’! Why would I always bungle somethin’?”
“Serana, stop torturing him,” Äelberon again chuckled from behind Grulmar. “He is just being nice.”
“Niiiiiiice,” Mahti repeated, now getting up from his place and cautiously approaching the Altmer, curiosity taking over.
“Yeah, Fangs. I’m just bein’ nice, so stop torturin’ me,” Grulmar repeated it and then paused, frowning. The young Orc turned around, looking at the Altmer bent over the cooking pot now full of boiling water. Mahti was watching the water.
“Careful, little one,” the Altmer warned gently. “Hot.”
“Feeesh?”
“Tea.”
“Teeeeeeeee. Niiiice.”
“Nice?” the Orc then grimaced. “When ya put it like that, it makes me very uncomfortable. Just so ya know, it is my duty as a steward of Tel Mithryn to take care of the guests-”
“Ha! There he is!” Serana interrupted him with a laugh. “Bragging. That’s the Grulmar we know.”
“And love,” the Altmer finished.
“Loooooove. Teeeee,” Mahti chirped.
“I like this little one already,” the Altmer joked slyly, giving Mahti a pat to his head.
Drovas then put a bottle of sujamma in front the woman, along with a glass he quickly filled with the liquid. She grimaced and it was time for Grulmar to smirk. “We’ll talk about that after ya end up under the table like the last time, Fangs.”
“I didn’t end up under a table! It was you, a short while after you threw up into a river.”
“Don’t remember it,” Grulmar scratched the back of his head and then pointed at Serana. “And what I don’t remember...didn’t happen.” He then shook his head, sighing. This was more difficult than he expected. For some reason, he couldn’t relax, his foot constantly tapping on the floor, as if the presence of those two made him nervous, and he just couldn’t point his finger on the reason. Like something was going to happen.
Maybe it was the way they parted ways last time, which was back at the College, when Grulmar was dealing with the beginnings of his addiction to magicka potions. It didn’t go well, he had said a few things - which wasn’t exactly new when it came to him, but he knew he had crossed the line that time. So what, Grulmar? Are ya goin’ to dwell on the past, try turnin’ around stones that have already been firmly set in the ground? No. It was good to see them both - even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud - despite the past. Just be yerself, Grulmar. Just be the same idiot ya have always been and y’are set.
“Alright,” he murmured and turned around so that he could look at Äelberon again, his gaze honing in on the runes on the Altmer’s cheek. “I’m goin’ to adress the Bull Netch in the room,” he pointed at the swirls of dark runes on Äelberon’s pale skin, noticing that it was more translucent now, grey to the white, no longer having the slight pink in the tips of the ears and features that came with his coloring. “What the tusk is that? ‘Cause I’m sorry, but I never guessed ya as the type who gets inked. I see Daedric letters, maybe some Dwemeris, bits of Shalidor’s magic script, even some Akaviri in there, so that tells me that whatever ya got there isn’t somethin’ ya get at local outlaws’ refuge.”
The High Elf exchanged looks with Serana and then focused on his tea again. “It is a...riddle. Mostly. It is everything and nothing. Knowledge and folly. It is seeking and yet still not finding.”
“It looks like a tuskin’ tentacle strokin’ yer cheek,” Grulmar pointed out, baring his tusks. “And that smells of Oghma - I mean Mora.”
“Oghma?” Äelberon raised his eyebrows. “Been flirting with old Xarxes’ wife now, eh? Though I bet she slept with Mora too, everybody sleeps with everybody in that bunch...”
“It’s complicated,” the Orc grimaced. “But the point is that whatever ya got goin’ on that side, it probably has to do somethin’ with… what’s his name? Allegiance Guide. Yeah, that one.” That certainly got the Altmer’s attention and he walked towards the table with the cup of tea steeping in his hand, sitting opposite Grulmar. Mahti followed the Altmer like a puppy and was about to sit on the floor next to the Altmer’s chair when Äelberon slid a chair next to him, picked up the Riekling by the back of the neck like he weighed nothing and rested him on the chair.
“Sit as we do. Dogs sit on the floor. Are you a dog, little one?”
“Maahtiii? Riekling bu dog?” he scratched his head, not understanding.
Grulmar snorted at that. “Nah, shrimp, Rieklings ain’t dogs.”
The Altmer smiled. “No, they definitely are not. So sit as we do, Mahti.” The High Elf’s eyes then focused again on Grulmar. “You know something.” Not a question, a simple statement.
Grulmar shrugged. “All I know is that she -” he started and then slapped the side of his head, as if reminding himself to stop bungling that concept up. “He, damn it, He or whatever gender Mora is - is playin’ ya. Pittin’ ya against the other Dragonborn, lettin’ ya two sort it out between yerselves. And Mora wants somethin’ from the winner.”
“Hmph, I am sure he does. They always want something. There is always a price,” Äelberon muttered, nodding. The spark of a challenge appeared in his keen eyes. “But no matter what their game is, you cannot let them win. You have to stop playing by their rules, change up their own game, and then turn it against them.” He then looked directly into Grulmar’s eyes. “You cannot keep running forever.”
The Orc was glad he was sitting because otherwise his knees would have given up. He clenched his jaws, averting his gaze from the stare of those two burning orbs that were Äelberon’s eyes. “Just be careful if they want to chat about free will,” the Orc murmured and then shook his head. “So should I take it as a definitive ‘no’ that you won’t be telling me what that ink job means?”
Äelberon reached over the table to give him a pat on the shoulder, reclined back into his chair and smiled, resting his ankle on the opposite leg. “Well, you cannot blame me for not giving you a complete answer. I wasn’t the one who blew up the College, after all.”
Grulmar rolled his eyes at that, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t blow up the College! I just-”
“Unleashed a big, slimy necromancer Sload upon it,” Äelberon erupted in laughter, his shoulders shaking with it, before taking a sip of his tea. “Old Urag told me everything in his rather nasty letters. I think there were more swear words in them than actual words. They are probably still cleaning up whatever shit oozes from those things from the Midden and the grounds. That stuff is persistent. Really, Gru, if you hated school that much, all you had to do was burn a textbook or two or just leave.”
“Ha-ha,” the Orc slapped his forehead, taking a deep breath. “I’m glad ya find it funny, Shiny. Certainly better than a lecture - which I really don’t need, trust me. I ‘verily’ know I screwed that up.” Another laugh from the Altmer, which made Mahti giggle.
“Which makes it my turn to address the - how did you say it? - the big Bull Netch in the room,” Serana started and Grulmar’s attention turned to her. She took a sip from the glass, mulling the liquid on her tongue before swallowing it. She tilted her head to the side and looked him right in the eye. “How is your addiction?” Damn, blunt as tusk.
Äelberon gave her a quick look but otherwise said nothing, not stepping in.
“Add... diiiic,” Mahti tried to mouth. “Diic?”
“Under control,” Grulmar clenched his jaws, giving Serana a hard stare. He then sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I know, alright? I wish I could say that the person back at College wasn’t me, that it was all just the addiction talkin’, but it wasn’t.”
“You hurt him.” She didn’t pull that punch.
“Serana,” the Altmer interjected.
“It just brought up what was already in me. I tusked up, alright?” He then looked at Äelberon, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not good at apologies, ya know that. I just have to live with what I said and what I did, that’s punishment enough in my opinion. Just...I’m sorry, Shiny. Words won’t change that, but I am sorry.”
“Good.”
“You are such a bull sometimes, woman.”
“You like it.”
“Hmph, that I do.” Äelberon chewed the inside of his lip in thought as he sipped his tea. “Funny, how you have done less to me than others, Gru, and yet an apology comes so quickly from you.”
“Quickly? Ya call months quickly?”
“Well, yes, I do. There are those who are dead, who put me through Oblivion because of what they wanted and then never really apologized for their use of me, what it did to me. They got what they wanted, leaving me to pick up the pieces of what their mistakes cost.” Another sip of tea and then a casual smile that put away the previous words. “From you, there is really nothing for me to forgive, lad.” The eyes found the flames of the cooking fire and the Altmer was lost in thought for a few moments before he continued. “Hmm, I guess it is my turn to bring in the bull netch.” He took another sip of tea. “You have a son, Grulmar.”
A dagger pierced his heart at those words. “I thought it was just a dream,” he murmured after some time had passed..
The red-orange eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment and Grulmar could have sworn the Altmer was about to say something completely different before he resumed. “His name is, for the love of irony, Yamarz. Named that to prove that a child is not bound to repeat its father's mistakes, to prove that everyone has a choice who they want to be. Her words. Borgahk. A strong woman indeed. Very much like steel,” he nodded.
The blade twisted in the wound.
“It is never too late-” The mer started. “She is well, survived. Baby is strong, though, ugly as Obliv--”
Grulmar suddenly rose from his chair, interrupting whatever else Äelberon wanted to say. The Orc raised his hand, stopping the Altmer before he could try to continue. “I…” he started but realised he was struggling just to catch a breath, as if there was something on his chest, pushing him down, while pushing all the air from his lungs. “I don’t want to hear anymore. Please,” he muttered, clenching his hand into a fist. There was a pressure inside his head, pushing against his skull, making it feel like it was about to explode. “Let’s not talk about it. Ever.”
Let’s not talk about my mistakes, not about those that I’m tryin’ to forget. Because they hurt, they hurt so much… I have a son. Yamarz. I should never have left. I keep runnin’ and all the things I leave behind keep hauntin’ me. Ghosts of the past. Why does it hurt so much? Why does it make me angry? ‘Cause I had no other choice - or maybe that’s what I’m tellin’ myself to sleep soundly at night. But is it workin’? Far from it. Ya can’t outrun the past ‘cause ya carry it everywhere with ya.
“I am sorry, Grulmar-” Äelberon started, losing the focus in his voice and blinking a few times, as if trying to clear his head, but Grulmar raised his hand again, stopping him.
He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No, don’t be. Not yer fault. Just…” He didn’t know what to say, how to explain. And so he decided to say nothing, changing subject instead. He was avoiding that question since they showed up on Tel Mithryn’s doorstep, and this was probably as good time to ask it as any. “Just… Why have ya come here, Shiny? I doubt ya missed me so much ya just had to visit me. Ya need somethin’, right?”
The Orc suddenly shuddered, feeling as if someone just opened the door leading to a mighty forge, the heat surging through the room with a mind of its own. It was instant and violent, full of a captive energy that was about to be released.
“I will tell it to you tahvir, straight,” The old Mer started, something in his snapping eyes looking as if he was remembering something from very long ago. His voice was of a different character too, lower and slower, with an angry bitterness mixed with something else, a wisdom. The body language also dramatically changed and Grulmar felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. The Mer raised his hand and shook a finger in a negating gesture. “For, I do not bend the truth and speak in trickery-riddles like the Corpse-shell does. I like Allegiance Guide.” He rumbled darkly, nodding in approval. “That is clever. You call him by his very name, translated to your inferior tongue.” A chuckle. “Motagiik,” he said with emphasis, the eyes narrowing, the lips twisting to form a smile that wasn’t Shiny’s typical smile and Grulmar had the sudden image of a maw full of sharp teeth and a nose ring of ebony and carved bone, which made him blink.
Grulmar caught Serana’s expression out of the corner of his eye. She shifted position as if bracing herself for something, and then the Altmer abruptly pushed aside his tankard of tea. “This is, so, gah!” He leaned forward, grabbed the bottle of sujamma and proceeded to drain it dry, which made Grulmar’s eyes pop out of his head and Mahti laugh hard, holding his belly.
“Driiiink all dizzy dreeenk!” the Riekling cried. “Ahhiiiii!”
What the tuskin’ shit of Oblivion just happened? Did he...I mean...the bottle…Shiny. Whaaaat?
“Pruzah!” The Altmer cried, finishing the bottle with a hearty smack of his lips.
Mahti’s eyes widened. “Pruuuuuzaaaah!” and nearly fell forward from his chair when the Altmer slapped his back and laughed.
“Pruzah! Yes!” The Mer replied, straightening the Riekling and raising his bottle. “Pruzah!” He yelled again, shaking it.
“Pruuuuzaahh!” The Riekling yelled back, practically jumping up and down. “Pruuuzaaah!”
“HA! You make the very Dov shake with your words, mal bii gogil. Hi ofaal niiv. Hi… ofaal….” He then grabbed his crotch and gave it a shake, winking at the Riekling. “Niiv.”
“Niiiiv?” Mahti repeated, in awe of whatever Äelberon was saying.
“Niiiiiivvvv.” The Mer echoed with a drunken slur, nodding slowly before letting go of his crotch. Is Shiny just teachin’ Mahti dirty Dragon language? What the tusk? The Mer continued after a satisfied sigh, sinking into his chair, as if he had just taken care of a bad itch or had a good, long piss. “Good! Well, not the real Atmoran mead of the old days, but better than the goat piss they call Black Briar.” Then Grulmar could have sworn a gust of smoke blew through the mer’s nostrils, only there was no pipe anywhere. “Miraak.” The Mer mused, saying the name slowly. “Miraak.” He repeated. “Morahro wiizaan, ‘Mora’s whore’, in your tongue, is the name we came to call him.”
Who the tusk is ‘we’, Grulmar thought.
“A dragon priest before he became something else.” He lifted the empty bottle and turned upside down, scowling when not a drop emerged. “Ruth. Lir, zos…” He groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm. “Gah, no, not zos, what is the word? Much, many? No, more of this, more. Now.”
Grulmar stared at Serana, raising his eyebrows.
“Just do it,” she sighed. “It’s better that way.”
“Seriously? More sujamma will make this better?”
Äelberon started scanning his surroundings, drumming his fingers upon the table, a mixture of boredom and nonchalance. “A curious little house…” He took a sniff of the air. “Ah, kiibam. That’s what it is. Kusah. The lir is bound to it. Like a dov to his lair. Only this lair can get sick and that would be bad for the silly little lir, I think. Well, my drink, Motagiik. I have been waiting.” Said like a terrible crime was being committed. Or about to be committed.
Serana leaned closer to Grulmar. “Don’t argue with him, unless you want that thu’um rammed down your throat taking half of this overgrown mushroom with it. Just give it to him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, while he turned towards Drovas. “Roll out another bottle.”
Serana’s brow creased and she looked old to Grulmar then, her green eyes going far away while she whispered, her voice barely audible. “So much terrible rage, like an animal forever stuck in a cage who now remembers that he had once been free. After he defeated Alduin-” she began.
“Wait? He defeated Alduin?”
Serana winced, shaking her head. “Yes, well, no, not really.”
Then Aelberon thundered, like he was taunting someone, his voice slurring a bit from the sujamma. “Faal Lein Naakin! Alduin! Faal Nikriin! Faal Lein Draaf! HAHA! Draaf! Shiiiiiiiiit!“
“Shiiiiiiiit!” Mahti happily repeated.
“That’s right, mal gogil. Alduin is SHIT! He ran from my serpent’s tongue like a little lir, the old pussy! HA! And I shall now chase him to the fucking BITTER END!” The Mer then slumped in his chair after his outburst, as deflated as a pig’s bladder somebody took a pin to, sulking. “Bah, when I finish all this other silly shit first... “ He mumbled quietly, clearly annoyed as he brooded. “Stupid shit. Bormah makes things so stupidly difficult. It is tedious and this old shell gets so tiin, weary...”
“The tusk?” Grulmar furrowed his brow. He looked at Serana, the questions in his eyes.
The vampire leaned closer to him to explain, leaving Äelberon and Mahti to brood together. “It’s complicated. He defeated him, yes, but he still has to do more, it’s not quite finished. But what you’re seeing. It’s not Äelberon. I mean it is and it isn’t. It’s…” She hesitated. “Well, he remembers now. Who he was before. It was really bad after their battle at the Throat. These episodes, these fits,” she shook her head as if she herself was still trying to wrap her head around what had happened, while the Elf was lost in his own world, ignoring them. “They would go on for days. He had to be isolated, gagged sometimes to protect himself, when he became aware. When he finally understood and remembered what had happened to him all that time ago. The terrible sorrow that came with it. It’s much better now. Give him a little time and he’ll snap out of it, and he’ll say his ‘sorries’. He always does. But understand that this was always a part of him, Grulmar, part of what makes him him, what makes him the great mer we know. He just needs to find the right balance again. They need to learn to live together again.” Her old spirit seemed to return when her tired eyes fell on the Altmer who was now inspecting the table as if he had never bloody seen one before, Mahti showing him the parts of it, the two nodding and grunting. She laughed silently at the Mer’s antics and Grulmar could see it. What he guessed was love, remembering their talk on the frozen steps of Windhelm. She then smirked, her eyes flashing with their familiar sarcasm. “Though later, he’ll probably need something strong for the hangover.”
Serana’s words made absolutely no tusking sense, but an image burned in Grulmar’s mind while she spoke. Of wings broken and heart pumping. Of a hammer striking the forge’s anvil. Two heads, one body. Anger. Grudge. Pain. The Chimera of fate. The images of a past dream, the black, the brown, and...yes, the grey clashing upon a white mountain. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes, trying to get the images out of his head.
“Ah, you know of me, eh Motagiik?” The Mer interrupted, the curiosity that was the table no longer holding his interest, his eyes again boring through Grulmar, as if he had seen into his very thoughts. He reclined upon the chair like it was a throne to him, the easy arrogance of it astonishing. “Allow me to give you my power. My name, snuffed like a candle. My bones, now dust. My teeth, now a jagged crown. My old lair, that had made the very glories of the gods, now corrupted with the feeble toothpicks of lir. My soul, now trapped. My song, now silenced. My heart…” He didn’t finish the phrase, the eyes looking like they were about to boil over. “I am…” He chuckled again, turning away for a second, like he was debating whether or not to say his next words. Time’s errant child fighting without much success to keep a big, juicy secret. Another chuckle. “No, not the real name. You are too young still for that sort of thing, little Orcling.” The eyes found Grulmar’s, locked in on them. “You hear my forge’s hammer beating in your skull, don’t you, Motagiik?”
“Yeah,” Grulmar replied just as Drovas finally found another bottle. Grulmar reached out, lifting it from Drovas’ hand at the other side of the room and levitated it towards the Altmer, who caught it, a big grin on his face, as if he was rather entertained by the whole process. He popped the cork and Grulmar blinked when he downed the entire bottle in a matter of seconds, afterwards broadly wiping the excess sujamma that dripped down his silver-white beard with the back of his hand and an earthy chuckle.
“No, not the good Atmoran stuff, but Ruth! This draaf goes right to the gut and the head, doesn’t it! It grows on me, I like, I like.” He pointed with the empty bottle at Grulmar, growing more drunk as the sujamma coursed through his body. Damn! Two bottles on an empty stomach? I’m shocked he’s not dead already. He sure hoped that Altmer metabolism would kick in, for Shiny’s sake. “You are full of clever tricks, Motagiik. You amuse me, so yes, I will tell you who I am. I am the old hammer you so persistently hear,” he knocked his own braided head to illustrate his point, “pounding in that little skull of yours. I am Wuth Tu. Bormahro Tu. Faal Sadon Gein. Faal Heim Mirodahiik. Betrayed and then forgotten.” So many names, Grulmar mused, all spoken with so much pride. A massive belch then escaped Äelberon’s lips and he continued, the brow lowering in thought. “All loved me, all feared me when I roamed the skies over Keizaal, my thu’um; fire, frost, and storm. A true Dovah’s thu’um. Pure power in my words. Pure freedom! Miraak is but a stepping stone in my eternity’s quest for vengeance against the black one who condemned me to this shit shell. Miraak is nothing to me, I will get what I need from him.” The broad shoulders shook with a laugh and the Altmer waved his fingers like they were waving tentacles when he spoke next, his eyes narrowing in mischief. “And old Golden Eye’s testicles can all go in a flurry at the insult to his ego for all I care. I will be much more than he bargained for, because I, unlike Miraak, am no one’s whore...”
He paused and looked at Grulmar as if he was thinking, more smoke coming from the nostrils and mouth. Then he gestured at the house. “The lir bound to this tower - hmm, as if being bound to a giant kiibam is something special. Stupid is more how I see it. Hinzaal, definitely. You are inside, no Magus, no ge, no wind upon your scales.” He wrinkled his nose. “And it smells like Kiibam, like decay.” The Mer let his lips curl into a sneer, as if what he said next was very distasteful to him. “I require, though he is quite limited and inferior, his assistance, his uh...frahzogin? Yes, his information. He will be interested, of course, because he is kiir and all little children are thirsty for knowledge like plants thirsting for Kaan’s sweet rains. Of this, the Gardener of Men knows well and exploits.”
Äelberon flicked his wrist to dismiss Grulmar, his mood growing impatient. “There you have it, Orcling. Dii vahzen, eh… my truths. My tinvaak. Now, bo! Bo! Deliver my demand and leave me to my drink. He will agree. Everybody wants of something and he likes his knowledge. There is one here, hidden nearby, you know. I can feel it, sweetly sinister with its twilight promises, just beyond the door of kiibam fibers, how they twist so, like a web, lox.” He flashed Grulmar a knowing smile that somehow matched the dancing twinkle of his red-orange eyes, full of jokes and deep violence, that made the Orc blink. Then the Altmer pounded his fist hard upon the table, making Drovas jump and Mahti imitated him, laughing. “ZOS, LIR, ZOS!” he bellowed, bearing his teeth, another gust of smoke blowing from his flaring nostrils as he erupted into a fit of crass laughter.
“Zos! Zossss!” Mahti squealed, pounding on the table with his fists.
“Aye, mal gogil, ZOS!”
Grulmar rubbed his eyes and then looked at the Altmer through his fingers, forcing himself not to shake his head. The Altmer - well, sort of - was now eyeing a barrel from his chair, licking his lips, the eyes narrowing as if he was trying to figure out what was in it. Don’t eat the barrel, ya tusker. “I need a tuskin’ drink,” he sighed. “Drovas, damn it, where are the hopper legs?! And more sujamma!” It was frightening and at the same time… shockin’! I mean… tusk? It was so confusing. Should I fear my arse’s goin’ to get bitten off or should I just chill? He always imagined that they were intelligent - beside being completely frightening - but it was really different to see it first hand, without the obvious threat of complete annihilation in the form of enormous winged lizard looming over him. He exchanged glances with Serana and she only nodded, a strange smile of confirmation appearing on her face. She understood too.
There’s a tuskin’ dragon sittin’ in Tel Mithryn’s kitchen guzzlin’ sujamma, chattin’ with me and his vampire lover... Well, slap my arse and call me an Orc princess!
They drank through most of the afternoon, listening to the stories of Dawn Era - the stories of real events that happened - from someone who actually had been there in that time. Grulmar didn’t understand even half of what was said, but it was still breathtaking.
It was strange seeing the Altmer like that, not being himself. Like lookin’ into a mirror and seein’ someone else there, movin’ even though y’are still. Where did one begin and the other end? Serana had said that the dragon had always been there, that he was always a part of Äelberon.
The other Äelberon, the dragon in him… Grulmar certainly didn’t expect that. Wuth Tu, Old Hammer is what his name meant. One thing was seeing a dragon flying through the sky, breathing fire and bringing nothing but destruction, but seeing a dragon just sit down and drink? That was something else. But was it really a dragon? Trapped in a body that wasn’t his, much smaller, much weaker than his original form… No wonder the other guy drinks so much. And yet the dragon acted like a mortal, and if Grulmar hadn’t know - and ignored the bloody dragon language - he could easily mistake him for one. Because down at his core… he’s just a boastful drunk, Grulmar suddenly chuckled.
“Am I so funny?” the Altmer asked and Grulmar glanced over his shoulder, seeing the Altmer rub his bloodshot eyes. Yes, Grulmar certainly didn’t want to be in his skin right now. Havin’ someone else drink for me and I get the headache? No thanks.
“Ah, well, I can’t help myself, ya know. There’s this part of me, this little scamp in my head that’s called ‘mischievousness’ and it just throws me into a fit of joy when I see people havin’ a hangover,” Grulmar chuckled, his shoulders shaking with poorly suppressed laughter. “Especially when they’re priests with Auriel shinin’ up from their arses, who’ve never taken a single sip in their lives. Now that’s hilarious.”
“You, my impudent little Orc, are evil incarnate,” Äelberon groaned, narrowing his eyes, though they were actually twinkling with their own brand of ‘mischievousness’. He shook a finger at the Orc in playful warning. “And I will remember this moment - by Oghma’s sweet tits, I will even remind you of this moment - the next time my woman drinks you under the table and you will be praying - yes, on your knees, praying! - for the salvation that is my healing magicks.” And Grulmar only smirked to that, knowing that it would probably happen too.
After Äelberon became himself again, even switching back to his canis root tea as if nothing had happened, they spent most of their time in Tel Mithryn’s kitchen, just talking. Grulmar told Äelberon about what happened in Tel Mithryn since he had came there, of all the things about Talvas and Ildari - especially the part about Ildari being responsible for most of the Ash Spawn on the island.
Which led to Äelberon telling him about Talvas’ last moments. It hurt Grulmar, because he never wished something like that on Talvas, so much grief and pain. The Orc was only glad that the Dunmer wasn’t alone when he was dying. But what good did it do, hm? He promised himself to Mora, sellin’ his soul and now he’s trapped in Apocrypha. Grief was a very powerful enemy, pushing a man over the edge, breaking him. There was no other way, grief always won, but what mattered was if one was willing to stand up again even after being broken. But sometimes ya just don’t have enough strength for that.
Äelberon also told Grulmar that they encountered Sapphire and a one-armed Dunmer girl in the wilds north of Raven Rock and then led them to an abandoned house, giving them some of their supplies and hunting for them. Apparently Sapphire helped the Dunmer escape from Mogrul and the Orc, in return, killed Glover for it. Yet more shocking news. Damn it, Sapphire. Why couldn’t ya just lay low and wait for yer moment?
Grulmar eventually invited Äelberon and Serana to stay at his - or the steward’s house - for the night, as it wouldn’t be ‘proper’ to pay Neloth a visit in their intoxicated states. Neloth probably already knew there were guests in Tel Mithryn, but it wouldn’t be Neloth if he gave a damn about it, so they waited until morning to pay him a visit. They were appreciative and set up their bedrolls, both sleeping soundly, as if it had been the first decent place to stay for them in a very long time.
The Orc opened the door to the tower, letting Äelberon and Serana enter first.
“Oh, I thought it would be bigger…”the Altmer chuckled, his eyes darting around the bottom of the tower which was basically only a shaft, round and two steps wide.
“Said Fangs when she saw ya naked for the first time,” the Orc roared in laughter, shaking his head. “Seriously, Shiny, y’are makin’ this too easy.”
“Just so you know, every woman I have been with only compliments my-”
“Ya have been only with Fangs!”
“Exactly!” He exclaimed, a big grin on his face.
“I’m standing right next to you, fools!” she reminded them with raised eyebrows and Grulmar exchanged looks with Äelberon.
“We should be ashamed now,” the Altmer whispered.
“And pray for forgiveness for our sins,” the Orc added. Then they both roared in laughter, with Serana just shaking her head in disbelief.
The Orc wiped tears from his eyes, shaking off the last remnants of laughter from himself and hearing the Altmer clear his throat. It was time to sober up, because what waited at the top of the tower didn’t look very promising for his career as a steward - or apprentice, or even a cook. “Alright,” he sighed. “Up we go. Shiny...don’t throw up.” He focused on the ring on his forefinger and cast the levitation spell on both Äelberon and Serana, then on himself. He took each by an arm and then focused his mind on going up.
“Ah. It tickles in the underbelly, does it not?” the Altmer giggled like a little girl and Grulmar gave him a look and rolled his eyes. “I could have gone up with the thu’um, you know.”
“Yeah, let’s not have that be the first impression Neloth gets of ya.”
The Mer nodded. “Those were my thoughts exactly. Didn’ wanna scare ‘im. Telvanni are so impressionable.”
They reached the top of the tower and Grulmar ended the spell on both the visitors.
The Altmer looked around and snorted. “I have to say, I have seen bigger towers in Morrowind, back when-”
“What is this ruckus about?” Neloth appeared from the side room, frowning at the visitors in the tower. “And where did these peasants appear from? First the little blue creature and now these…” an eyebrow raised, as if he wasn’t convinced by his next choice of word, “people.”
The Altmer scanned the tower and nodded. “A bit of a down-size from Tel Naga, eh Master Neloth?” the Altmer purred.
We’re all goin’ to die now.
Neloth narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you? No, most certainly not. Hmm, wait. Didn’t I experiment on you once? Ah, no, that was different Altmer, and it seems I’ve already forgotten his name. Ah, well… no matter. He had decided to die on me during the experiment anyway. Such nerve!”
“Yeah, how infuriatin’,” Grulmar murmured.
“Verily, it is. Well, if you do not recall me, then perhaps you recall Archmagister Rynandor the Bold when he visited Tel Naga last,” Äelberon said and then snorted. “Though I would not be surprised if you did not remember him either. Because how many Arch-Magisters of Crystal-Like-Law of that name visit the Telvann, after all? Dozens, no doubt.”
Neloth frowned, looking more carefully on the Altmer. “I sense sarcasm in your tone, Altmer.”
“Good to see your sense of perception has not diminished through the passing of many, many years, Master Neloth,” the Altmer nodded.
“Do you take me for a fool? Of course I know who Rynandor the Bold is! One can hardly forget such an arrogant mer. All that smugness and those witty remarks that were actually idiotic in their own nature.”
“Look who’s talkin’,” Grulmar mumbled out of the corner of his mouth towards Äelberon, making the Mer’s lips twitch in an attempt not to laugh. Neloth shifted his attention to the Orc, giving him an intense stare.
“But yes,” Neloth continued, walking towards Äelberon. “I remember you now. You are that Dusken servant who followed Rynandor everywhere like a dog. Seeing you, I certainly can see that he didn’t pick you for that silly mission of his because of your intelligence.” The Magister suddenly paused with an open mouth, his eyes honing on the runes covering the Altmer’s neck and hand. “You bear Mora’s mark!” Neloth exclaimed with very poorly hidden surprise in his voice. “Stand still, let me look at you,” he murmured, looking up into the Altmer’s eyes, getting so close their noses were nearly touching, the magister even rising to his tip toes.
“Pray tell, Magister, what are you looking for?” the Altmer leaned back, away from Neloth’s reach. “Incipient madness? Loss of self-awareness? Black spots in the whites of the eyes? Do not worry, you will not find any documented indications of Hermaeus Mora’s permanent influence here.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Neloth snorted, standing on the soles of his feet again. “Just interested. I don’t get to observe first-hand many people who have spoken to Hermaeus Mora.” He then grabbed the Altmer’s hand without his permission, taking a closer look on the runes. Grulmar could see Serana’s nostirls flare. “Hmph. It’s gibberish mostly. Just random words - no, wait! There it is… and it’s gone. They’re shifting! Interesting, interesting. One can almost make out the meanings when not directly looking at them.” The Telvanni then rubbed his chin. “It makes me wonder if the runes would still shift even after your skin had been flayed.”
“Then you have seen these marks before,” the Altmer said with a sly smile. “Maybe in that book you have hidden in the twilight? Have you managed to unlock its secrets yet, Magister?”
Hidden in twilight. Grulmar’s attention suddenly increased. He had heard that before, somewhere… In his dreams. Talvas said it in one of those dreams and those words still haunted him. “I am hidden in the twilight, lost. Find me, Grulmar! Help me!” Those were the precise words and the dragon had mentioned twilight too. Hidden in twilight. A book? It wasn’t making any sense to Grulmar.
“You refer to the tomes of esoteric knowledge that old Hermaeus Mora has scattered throughout the world?” Neloth raised his eyebrows and Grulmar couldn’t help but notice how he was avoiding answering Äelberon’s question. “What could you possibly know about them?”
“I do not know, Master Neloth, what could I possibly know?” Aelber asked sarcasticall. He then raised his eyebrow in a very similar manner to Neloth and pulled up the sleeve of his wool shirt, revealing that the dark runes were wrapped all around his arm. travelling from his palm like a snake - or a tentacle - around his forearm, continuing upwards. “I think the answer is enough.”
"So these are from the Black Books?” Neloth then nodded. “Yes, yes, granted after you read them, you've got the look. I can see it now. Dangerous knowledge is still knowledge and therefore useful. Usually turns out to be the most useful, in my experience."
“I’m sorry, but…” Grulmar interrupted, having difficulties following what they were talking about. “Black Books? That have to do somethin’ with...Mora?”
"You didn't know? Oh, who am I kidding, of course you didn’t. How could you?” Neloth snorted. “Hermaeus Mora has always tried to seduce mortals into his service with the lure of forbidden knowledge, and Black Books are ones of those lures. Where the Black Books actually came from... no one really knows. Some appear to have been written in the past, others might be from the future. Apparently time is more malleable if you're the Daedric Prince of fate and destiny." He then shifted his attention back to the Altmer. “So you should know better than anyone that Hermaeus Mora is not to be trifled with. But he is subtler than most of the other Daedric Princes, as you would expect of the prince of knowledge and fate. You seem to have escaped the fate of many who find themselves ensnared forever by the lure of his secrets. Or... perhaps not."
“I can handle old Golden Eye,” the Altmer shrugged, though his eyes snapped with a bit of dragon’s fire. “Even though he is subtler than most of the lot, he is still a Daedric Prince, bound by his nature. Everything has a price when it comes to Daedric Princes and what does Mora want more than anything? Knowledge.”
“Ah, so you understand. They are rather…’static’ even though being Padomaic in their origin are they not?” Neloth chuckled. “But that means you need something from Hermaeus Mora, hmm,” the Magister tapped on his upper lip. “What could it be?”
And Grulmar suddenly put two and two together. Everything the Äelberon that wasn’t Äelberon had said yesterday. The dreams and their hidden meanings. “He needs to know what Miraak knows,” the Orc murmured, more as saying his thoughts out loud than a statement. “He needs to match his thu’um.” That got a look from the Altmer and a nod.
“Ah,” Neloth’s eyes widened in curiosity. “Now it all makes sense. The First and..” his eyes then narrowed at Äelberon, “the Last,” he chuckled. “Weren’t you supposed to be more...Nordic?” The Magister then shook his head in amusement. “But I see. You walk a dangerous path. Hermaeus Mora doesn’t give anything for free. You may end up like Miraak, of course. Two power-mad Dragonborn. That could be interesting.”
Äelberon’s face darkened. “I will not end up like Mir--”
Neloth then waved his hand, only hearing ‘Miraak’. “How do I know about Miraak you ask? Well-”
“Nobody asked,” Grulmar grimaced.
“- I have spent some time on Solstheim and do you really believe I have been idle the whole time? Especially when this fascinating madness engulfed the island?”
“Only if idle means trying to crack open that Black Book of yours without success,” the Altmer responded, the tiniest of sneers forming on his lips. “But you know where the book I need is, the one pertaining to Miraak. And yet, you have not cracked that one open either. Perhaps you have not even reached it.” He glanced around the tower and then his eyes fell again on Master Neloth. “Is it perhaps too far from your tower, Magister? I have seen necromancy and soul gems used, but, this? This using of yourself? I will not lie, that takes some guts. A strong connection, but bound. I could sense the pull.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Neloth growled. “And even if it was, I would still have the book already. But the blasted Dwemer knew how to protect their secrets, Dagoth take them!”
The Altmer chuckled. “Well, they certainly were taken.”
Neloth only frowned and then walked towards the tower’s northern wall, waving his hand. The wall just opened before him, giving them all a clear view on a Dwemer ruin in the distance. And Grulmar understood rather well then that Äelberon had indeed been among Telvanni because the tusker didn’t even flinch when the wall opened. “Forbidden knowledge was somewhat a specialty of the dwarves, eh?” Neloth continued. “It seems the ancient Dwemer discovered this book and took it to study. I have found their ‘reading room’ in the ruins of Nchardak,” the Magister pointed at the ruin half sunken near Solstheim’s shore. “The book is there, but it’s sealed in a protective case which I wasn’t able to open.”
“And what makes you think I would have any more luck than you? I am no Telvanni. I am just a Dusken servant,” the Altmer shrugged, though Grulmar knew him well enough to see the cogs of his brain beginning to turn, see him beginning to go towards that part of his brain that stored all the Dwemer shit.
Neloth glanced over his shoulder at the Altmer, scowling. “Humility doesn’t suit you, Dragonborn. Why be humble when you can make mountains shake, hmm? Or maybe you have just indulged me with another bit of your poor witted sarcasm.”
“Of course.”
The Telvanni then shrugged and turned to face the Altmer. “But very well. Even servants have their purpose, the Orc being a clear proof of that,” he pointed at Grulmar who tilted his head, clenching his jaws. “Yes, you. You must be eternally grateful for the opportunity I have given you, am I right? So now go and tell my steward to prepare supplies for a few days. And tell the steward to pack my silken sheets too. And don’t forget to tell that useless cook to pack some of the salted ash hopper legs and a few bottles of sujamma.” He resumed gazing at the ruin, finished giving orders.
Serana blinked at the Altmer, givin him that ‘are you going to just let him talk to you like that’ face, but the Altmer’s face was unreadable. She leaned closer to the Äelberon, grabbing his forarm to draw him closer and Grulmar heard it. “You let him talk to you like that? We don’t need him for the ruin, you can shout him to--”
“You are in a Telvanni house. And you will conduct yourself appropriately,” the Altmer warned, his voice barely audible. She shot daggers from her eyes and then the Altmer leaned closer, his face softening. “There are better ways to be, Serana.” He sighed, putting an arm around her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Stop stomping like a bull and think for a second about what’s important, woman.” He smiled, his eyes flickering towards Neloth. “It’s definitely not my ego. Been insulted before. And really, love, once you hear them from Alduin, no one else’s really has quite the same impact.” He turned to Master Neloth and raised his voice beyond a whisper with a polite nod. “We leave at your convenience, Magister.”
“Yes, why waste time when two minds together are faster? Especially when the other one is mine,” Neloth smirked and frowned at the Orc. “Well? Why are you still standing here? Go tell the steward what I need.”
Grulmar just stared at the Magister, not sure if he was being serious or not. Am I so easy to forget or somethin’? I mean, ya can’t really forget an Orc steward, can ya? The Orc shook his head and put up his arms. “Alright, alright.” He turned his head to the left, looking at the empty air. “Ya there! Yes, ya! The Magister wants ya to pack supplies for few days.”
Then he looked to the right. “Supplies? Why?” he responded with a high voice, almost like a child. Already the Altmer’s eyes were twinkling, he got it.
Back to the left again. “I haven’t asked! Just do it. And pack his silken sheets too!”
“But which ones? The pink or red ones?”
“The pink ones of course! Are ya stupid?!”
“Yes, sera!”
“Get it done or I’ll flay yer lazy skin!” The Orc then looked at Neloth, putting a docile look on his face. “It’s done, Master Neloth. Anythin’ else?”
The Magister tilted his head, blinking several times before he shook his head in disbelief. “I think this Orc is broken.”
“Probably one experiment too many, Master Neloth.” Aelberon replied with a smile before giving Grulmar a knowing wink. “Need some help, Steward?”
“Nah, I’m good,” the Orc shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “Unless ya have a special order. I’d take somethin’ to stuff yer ears with if I were ya, so that ya don’t have to listen to this all day.”
“And what makes ya think I’m not wearin’ somethin’ like that now, lad?” The Altmer smirked. “I was well-prepared for my visit to Tel Naga. Pink silk sheets ‘n all...”
“Galar’s were green,” offered Serana, though her eyes were still narrow and focused right on Neloth. “They ended up burned with the dead horses in Windhelm. Destroyed.”
Better keep yer woman on a tight leash, Shiny.
“Wait, you are my steward?” Neloth wondered suddenly, returning to the conversation. “It must have been a really bad day. Where is my apprentice then? I will take him with me to the ruin.”
“Y’are lookin’ at him,” Grulmar scoffed. “Let’s just say Tel Mithryn’s been short-staffed lately.”
Äelberon, put his arm around Serana’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Ha, he’ll have to smooth her ruffled feathers, thought Grulmar, she still looked like she was going to attempt to rip Neloth in half. “Come on, woman, time to pack the extra canis root.” He smirked. “I’m going to need it.”
Comments
Whew! Well, this was an unexpectedly long one. Wonder why? The character interactions are as enjoyable as ever, especially with Neloth and Albee. Those two old farts know ea... more