The City of Inkseeds rose from the desert, shining and decadent. Somehow, it still stood. I crossed through the gate, and the beast knew exactly where to take me: the way worn by beggars and poets. The only place a man of my appetites can find satisfaction. I'm not proud, but then, nobody ever is.
17th of First Seed, 4E 204
Grulmar stood on Tel Mithryn’s balcony, leaning against the handrail, his eyes focused on the two dots in the distance. Two figures, walking to meet fate with their heads high.
One of the figures - the bigger one - turned around, facing Tel Mithryn, and waved.
“Are you sure you will be alright?” he heard Äelberon’s voice from below him and for a second he glanced at the Aetherium shard in his hand. “He is clearly not sane, Gru, even for a Telvanni.”
They had ventured into the Dwemer ruin, Nchardak, just few days ago. Grulmar, Neloth, Äelberon and Serana. And it was there Äelberon decided to show him the true potential of the Aetherium shards they collected so long ago. In secret, while the Telvanni was occupied with other matters. It suddenly made sense how Grulmar was able to see Borgahk giving birth. The shards allowed anyone wearing them to communicate with the other pieces. Images, voices, thoughts. All that was possible with the shards and they had been extremely useful in Nchardak.
Yeah, Grulmar thought, rubbing the shard with his thumb. Don’t worry about me, matey. Worry about Mora and Miraak.
“I am not the only one who should worry about Mora,” Äelberon’s thoughts echoed in Grulmar’s minds.
The ruin hadn’t been easy. Filled with traps and puzzles, partially flooded, it took them several days to figure out how to open the dome protecting the Black Book, even spending Shiny’s birthday there. The old Mer took it in stride, remarking that it wasn’t his first birthday under the stars, and it wouldn’t be his last. What was more surprising was that they actually survived - not the traps and automatons, but Neloth’s craziness. Grulmar had a feeling that it wouldn’t go well, right from the beginning and so he wasn’t surprised when Neloth actually demanded that Äelberon give him the Black Book.
And it nearly went down. Telvanni magic against the Dragonborn’s thu’um. Neloth drove away the dragons in the tower, killing one of them with a display of power that still left Grulmar in awe, but he wasn’t near his tower and Äelberon had killed the dragon that fled Tel Mithryn, and drove Alduin into hiding. The World-Eater himself. The battle between those two would have probably sunk Nchardak for a second time. Thankfully it didn’t come to that. Äelberon needed the book, so he couldn’t back down, Grulmar understood that, but Neloth didn’t need that book specifically, he just wanted any kind of knowledge held inside those Black Books.
So Shiny showed great wisdom, putting away any stubbornness and pride and offered to give Neloth two Black Books for that one. And to Grulmar’s shock, the Telvanni Magister agreed to that. Bloodshed was avoided and Grulmar was alright with that.
Y’are right, Shiny. But I got to at least try. Any advice though?
“The books never give anything for free. There is always a catch. When the moment comes, lad, you have to weigh your options, weigh the price against your goal. I bear the marks of the prices I have paid.”
I’d expect ya’d try to talk me out of it.
“No, you misunderstand me, Gru. You would do it anyway. I am merely trying to convince you not to sell your soul.”
That one is already sold. Behind my back, Grulmar thought and sighed.
“Ah, lad, that I definitely understand,” the Elf answered, sympathy clear in his voice.
Äelberon read the book right at Nchardak. He had opened it and Grulmar could…’feel’ a tentacle of smoke wrap around the Altmer’s neck, dragging him into the book. Yes, Grulmar felt it, because there was nothing to see in reality. Äelberon opened the book and then stood motionless, his normally keen eyes blank.
Neloth explained the Altmer had gone to Apocrypha, but not physically. His soul had traveled there.
Grulmar found himself terrified by that fact. That which makes one truly unique, that which shapes what and who the person is, the driving force of the mind and the body...gone, leaving the body to go somewhere else, leaving the body vulnerable, nothing but an empty shell.
But how different was it from Grulmar’s own dreams? When he slept, vulnerable, his mind - or was it actually his soul? - wandered the darkness that were his dreams. How was this any different then?
They then waited, watching, for almost half a day, Serana growing more agitated with each passing moment. Only for Äelberon to suddenly wake, exhausted, but he got what he needed. Grulmar saw the “price” later that night at camp. The older Mer was shirtless, trimming his beard, getting ready to rest for the night, and on his ghostly pale chest, fresh runes, extending to his throat. Another mark of Hermaeus Mora.
“Just be careful, Grulmar,” Äelberon cautioned in Grulmar’s mind and the Orc snorted.
Stop worryin’ ‘bout me, Shiny. Ya have Miraak to worry ‘bout. So keep yer head in the game and kick his ass back to First Era for me, yeah?
“Well, as you like to say: ‘Easy peasy’, right?”
Sounds ‘bout right. Take care, Shiny. I’ll see ya two around.
The figure in the distance waved one last time and then disappeared from Grulmar’s sight, heading towards the Skaal village. The Orc hoped that all the business with Miraak would end soon - he sorely missed a good night of undisturbed sleep. But he knew it wouldn’t be easy to get rid of Miraak, because that tusker certainly didn’t seem like the sort who goes down easily. Lots of teeth and nails and shouting on top of that. Äelberon wasn’t in the best condition anymore, no longer the Elf that went up against Castle Volkihar in all his well, shininess. He was thinner, more tired, like he was gradually being worn down, but at the same time, there was a new wisdom. The Castle Volkihar Shiny might have killed Neloth in his righteousness.
Grulmar hid the shard in his pocket and sighed. But if not Shiny then who, right? Someone has to oppose Miraak, and I guess we all can thank the gods or any other similar tuskers it’s Shiny who stands in Miraak’s way. He walked back into the tower, looking around. Mahti was nowhere to be seen and Neloth was in the back room, probably studying one of those new Black Books he got from Äelberon.
It seemed that those two books yielded more easily to Neloth than the one which he already had in his possession. Grulmar wondered why. If he understood everything right, these Black Books were in reality Daedric Artifacts, very similar to other artifacts like Volendrung or Mehrunes Razor. And those were sometimes rumored to have minds of their own, so maybe it was the same with the Black Books. If they didn’t want to be opened…
He headed to Neloth’s enchanting room, seeing the magister bent over an open book and Grulmar focused his gaze away from the open pages, worried he might see something he wouldn’t be able to unsee. The Orc walked around Neloth, looking into his face, into his eyes and he saw them flickering over the text in the book. The eyes looked up, focusing on Grulmar. “Yes?”
So it doesn’t work the same way for Neloth. No Apocrypha and all that. Just a book full of forbidden knowledge. Grulmar cleared his throat. “I was just wonderin’, Master Neloth. That book ya haven’t opened yet, the one hidden in twilight… Could I see it?”
The Magister closed the book on the table with loud bang and raised his eyebrows. “Are you here to mock me, Orc?”
“No, absolutely not, Master Neloth,” Grulmar blurted out, shaking his head vigorously. “I only thought I could assist ya with that.”
Neloth snorted at that. “You? Assist me? Don’t be ridiculous. If that book didn’t open for me why should it open for you?”
Grulmar grimaced. “Well, if it doesn’t, then the worst thing I did was to ask. But if it does…”
The Telvanni paused and tapped on his upper lip. “It is true that old Mora sometimes likes to reserve his knowledge for certain individuals, making the books inaccessible to others. The Altmer being clear proof of that,” he added with a sour voice. “Alright then, go ahead. It’s not like the book is going to open, but if it does, you could become a perfect subject for my study of Mora’s influence.” He then walked towards the cabinet and opened it, revealing the book. He took it and turned to Grulmar. “Just before we start, while you are still technically sane, would you consent to dissection in case you die or lose your mind?”
Grulmar stared at the Magister, wondering what these crazy Telvanni tuskers had with dissection all the time. As if dissection was the tuskin’ answer to everythin’ or what. He then rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, sure. But only if I die, because if I die, at least I won’t give a tusk anymore.”
“I’m not interested in your tusk but in your brain,” Neloth shook his head and handed Grulmar the book. “Though in your case, they could very well be the same thing,” he added, just to add it, of course
It was made of dark leather, with a symbol on its cover, symbol that probably represented the writhing mass of tentacles that was Hermaeus Mora. Grulmar could feel its dark power creeping into his hands. He heard it whispering inside his head, with words he didn’t understand. But it wasn’t maleficent, more of a...curiousity. Observing. Waiting for him to open it. He took a seat in a chair and drew in a deep breath. “Alright,” he murmured and opened the book.
The pages were covered with the runes, swirling and moving around and he narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on their meaning.
“Well? What do you see?” he heard Neloth’s voice, but he realised it was like words uttered under water, muffled and almost impossible to understand.
“I see-” he began and then the runes collided against themselves and something grabbed Grulmar by his neck, pulling. Pulling him inside.
Grulmar opened his eyes to another realm, one filled with knowledge and the awful stench of something slimy. He looked around and he could see towers and walls with stacks of books piled upon them, surrounding him, and pages of knowledge whirling around in imaginary winds.
The sky was as he remembered it, a sickly green with writhing masses of tentacles waving in the air. But something was different. This felt… more real than it ever did in his dreams.
“And so you have come,” he heard a voice coming from everywhere, speaking in a slow manner, mulling over every syllable as if enjoying the way it sounded, but also tired, almost yawning, yet every word echoing with a secret. “Welcome to Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded. Did you come here to sate your thirst for knowledge in the endless stacks of my library? I wonder...”
Grulmar looked up and saw multitudes of alien eyes hanging above him, writhing tentacles all around them and he suppressed his instinct to vomit. He gritted his teeth. “Ya know why I’m here. I’m here for Talvas.”
“Are you now? Or maybe your journey towards enlightenment has led you here, to my realm. As I knew it would.”
“Spare me that mystical bullshit,” Grulmar growled. “Where do I find Talvas?”
The many eyes above him blinked in unison, amused. “Your reason does not matter, mortal. You are here. We have much to talk about, you and I. Follow the trail of knowledge and you shall find what you are looking for.” With those last words, the eyes and tentacles disappeared in wisps of smoke and Grulmar bared his tusks at the sky.
I’m no tuskin’ pawn of yers, Mora. Want to use me? Well, get in line, he thought and glanced around, noticing a gate ahead. “Ya could have at least pointed me in the right direction, Scryer,” he murmured, walking towards the gate. It was closed, with no visible lock or a way to open it, making Grulmar frown while he looked around. Just few steps in front of the gate was a strange construct, almost looking like a flower of sorts standing on pedestal, glowing with a warm yellow light. It moved, rocking gently from one side to another, like a snake prepared to attack and the Orc carefully stepped towards it.
It seemed to react to his movement, leaning towards him and Grulmar extended his left hand towards it while reaching into the streams of magicka with his right hand. It touched his fingers and then suddenly snapped back. The leaves leaves hanging down from the pedestal rose and closed up around the flower. Grulmar heard the creaking of metal behind him, the gate opening.
“Tusked up flowers actin’ as a knob for a door,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Seriously, where are they comin’ up with this shit?” He headed through the gate, walking up a short set of stairs into a closed room with paned windows lacking any glass. The design of which reminded him a bit of vines creeping and intertwining on a trellis. An opened book rested on a pedestal right in front of him. The symbols on the pages swirled and shifted, but they always formed this shape of a...tower maybe? Grulmar narrowed his eyes and walked towards it.
It was a strange thing. All around him, he heard whispers, creeping into his mind, inviting him to stop and read, to find all answers to all his questions and he knew it were the books that whispered to him. Promising knowledge, promising power. But the book in front of him? Silent. And Grulmar felt this pounding in his head, knowing now that the book was actually a door.
When he touched the page with the tower, the world…blinked and he found himself standing elsewhere.
A hallway. With a ceiling blocking the sight of the sickly green sky, crammed with stacks of books everywhere. Grulmar frowned and began walking among the stacks, even stepping over books strewn upon the floor, bent on seeing this through.
Because the whispers were only getting stonger.
“Stop for a moment.”
“Open your eyes to knowledge.”
“To power.”
“Power is freedom...”
And the thing was that he understood he wanted that. He wanted the power, he wanted the knowledge leading to the power. He craved it. But there was also this rational part of him which just kept wondering if spending an eternity searching for answers, not being able to leave, was really what he wanted. The fact was that maybe if he stayed here, he would be free of his dreams and the steps of fate leading him somewhere he didn’t want to go.
But exchangin’ one prison for another? Orc up, matey. This shit ain’t what ya want. Not like this, he shook his head. Prisons. We all build them, to lock somethin’ away, somethin’ we no longer want to see the light of the day. Memories. Emotions. Fears. But prison doesn’t mean it all goes away. It will be always there, waitin’, lurkin’ in the shadows. Wantin’ to break free at first opportunity.
But sometimes it’s not us who build that prison, sometimes others build it for us. Makin’ us their prisoners. And my prison? I haven’t seen it yet actually, but I know it’s waitin’ for me. It’s where they are leadin’ me, all those tuskers playin’ with my dreams. But he had something to say to them all. Put a chain on me, lock me behind bars of bones and keep the key close to yer hearts, but I can promise ya I won’t stay quiet. I will rattle the cage, I will tug at the chain and eventually I will rip the key from yer hearts. Because what other choice do I have?
He walked out of the narrow corridor into a room which had a lake of dark green liquid instead of its floor and Grulmar noticed an arc of black stone to the left, with stairs leading upwards. He bared his tusks at the green liquid, not really interested in finding out how deep it was or what it actually was. Look almost like acid to him and the smell was foul.
Grulmar then spotted two figures floating over the acid and he quickly hid behind a column of carved grey stone, trying to make himself as small as possible. He licked his lips as he studied, grimacing when he began recognizing their shapes.
They had no tuskink legs, only tentacles floating above the acid, thin, frail bodies with two pairs of hands - the upper seemed to be considerably longer - and big heads with tentacles hanging from them. They were clothed in greenish brown cloaks that hung upon their bodies like worn rags rather than cloaks. Tattered. Mora’s pets no doubt. They had to be Daedra of some sort, native to Apocrypha.
One of them conjured up a book from thin air and began quickly searching through its pages. The other was floating under the arc Grulmar wanted to use to progress further. He grimaced and took a deep breath. He certainly didn’t feel like facing those things. Sneaking past them would be better.
Yeah, easy peasy. He cast a levitation spell upon himself and then rose from behind the column, raising his hands - each pointing at a Daedroth’s direction - and called forth the magic, focusing on the Daedra’s minds, imprinting into them that he wasn’t there. But he needed to maintain those spells, otherwise they would probably spot him.
He slowly levitated above the acid towards the arc, focusing on the spells, gritting his teeth in effort.
Of course, things don't always go the way one wants them to go.
The Orc then released yelp of surprise and pain when something grabbed his leg. He saw a disgusting black-green tentacle protruding from the acid, wrapped around his calf, and he could feel it burning through his trousers and his skin.
He was forced to release the spells and he reached for the knife at his belt, burying it into the tentacle. It released its hold, disappearing under the liquid’s surface. He looked up, expecting those two Daedra to be heading towards him, but when he looked around, he saw no sign of them. “What the tusk?” he murmured as he quickly headed up the stairs.
The Orc heard strange noises around himself when he set his feet back on the floor, scanning the area with narrowed eyes. It sounded like murmurs, followed by a clicking of a tongue. It was probably better not to dwell in the area for too long.
Grulmar turned around to continue up the stairs and screamed in shock when the Daedroth materialized out of thin air right in front of him. His instincts kicked in and he stabbed with his knife, aiming for the creatures thin body.
The Deadroth grabbed his forearm with a strength he certainly didn’t expect from such a frail-looking creature. It twisted his hand and he growled in pain, the knife ringing on the floor. It began pulling him towards its head, the tentacles now reaching for his face and he released a sound of disgust, trying to push away.
As he did he noticed the other creature appearing from nowhere right behind him and he cursed: “Ugly tuskers!”
He cast the strongest spell imitating a concussion and the fear of heights on the Daedroth holding him and he could see its milky eyes rolling in confusion and disorientation, the grip on his forearm weakening.
The knife on the floor levitated back to Grulmar’s hand and he jumped forward, towards the retreating creature and buried the knife into one of those milky eyes, which popped, releasing a burst of rancid liquid on Grulmar’s face. He scowled in disgust and reached for the throwing knife in his bandolier and threw it at the creature behind him.
But it wasn’t there anymore.
Grulmar pulled the knife back into his hand before it ended up in the acid, stabbing the creature in front of him one more time, just to be sure. But before he could finish, the Daedroth dissolved into nothingness, only the rags of its cloak remaining.
“Where are ya hidin’, ya bugger?” Grulmar murmured, his eyes flickering around his surroundings. They could turn invisible, that was clear, but it wasn’t just in his mind. No, they were literally invisible. “This ain’t funny,” he growled and extended his arms, gritting his teeth as he gathered the magicka for another spell. The Orc then released the spell, creating a wide area explosion which drained magicka.
And for a second he saw the creature to his left, its invisibility wavering for a moment. Then it released its own magicka. The air shivered as it hit Grulmar before he could react and he screamed when he felt it burning inside his mind, stealing his thoughts. Grulmar found himself kneeling on the floor, feeling blood pouring from his nose and ears, a painful ringing echoing inside his skull. Just think, ya idiot! Fight it! There was a way he could fight invisibility.
He quickly cast a spell on himself, a spell that allowed him to detect magicka and living creatures. And then he saw it, cloud of pink and blue mist to his right.
Both knives flew from his hand as if they were being propelled forward by a ballista. It hit the creature before it could dodge, one knife burying into the thin body and the second under, where a normal person would have, a chin. The creature suddenly became visible again and Grulmar cast a Burden spell on the knives in the creature’s body, the metal now ten times heavier, pulling the creature down on the floor while it screamed in pain.
Grulmar growled and pulled the knives back to himself, only to propell them into the creature’s head, which ended its ear-piercing shreaks, leaving only rags behind. Grulmar crouched and picked up the knives, grimacing as he saw the black ooze dripping from them. “Ugh! Definitely not a pleasure meetin’ ya,” he muttered.
He progressed through Apocrypha quickly, almost as if someone was guiding him and if he had to take a guess he would put his money on Mora. Grulmar encountered a few more of those brain-eating, octopus-like creatures which were called ‘Seekers’ - he knew that now because he had managed to put one of the Seekers under a spell, convincing it he was a friend, a follower of Hermaeus Mora. Once the Seeker started talking, Grulmar was not able to stop it.
He learned more about this place, about the books that lead to other ‘chapters’, as well as about the dangerous Lurkers. Which was quite appropriate considering they were lurking in the acidic water, looking like they were made of it; their large, lumbering forms covered with writhing tentacles and bursts of acid coming from their mouths. He had even met one, that it was the size of the Daedroth being quite intimidating. He managed to sneak past it and now he felt he was nearing the end of this place.
End of this story. This book.
He walked over a bridge that had the appearance of a web or net maybe - it was difficult to compare things in Apocrypha to things he was accustomed to in Tamrie, or wait, like the trellis window he saw in the beginning. Everything was alien and strange in this realm of knowledge, almost as if begging to be understood, to be researched.
It was a trap. The whole place was just one big trap for people foolish enough to let themselves lured by false promises of knowledge and power. The realm was the perfect image of what Daedric Princes represented.
He could see that at the end of the bridge was this huge platform, with some sort of a room behind a barred gate at the platform’s far end, right opposite the bridge. To the left and to the right were two pools of that nasty liquid and Grulmar narrowed his eyes. Ya know the feelin’ when ya just look at somethin’ and ya know y’are goin’ to die? This is pretty much it.
As soon as his foot touched the platform, the bridge behind him lowered, blocking his way back, and the two pools at his sides began bubbling. The Orc groaned at his own idiocy, shaking his head. “Walkin’ into a trap. Good for ya, matey. Just perfect…”
Two Lurkers crawled out from the pools and Grulmar sighed.
The Orc’s fingers began weaving a complicated net, his mind creating an intricate image, as he focused the magic on the two Lurkers. They saw him, they felt him, but it didn’t matter because he was already shifting their perception. The Lurkers didn’t seem very bright, which Grulmar found very ironic considering they seemed to be a Daedra native to Apocrypha, a realm that was basically one big library.
But there was a place for everything. The Seekers were the ones hoarding the knowledge, treasuring it and researching it, but Lurkers? Every house needs its dogs - in this case, this library needed not particularly intelligent guardians to deal with unwelcome visitors.
And their lack of intelligence only played into Grulmar’s hands, because with a flick of his wrist he set both Lurkers on fire.
At least they believed that he did.
What was the School of Illusion about if not creating imitations of reality, so believable that there was no longer a difference between what was real and unreal? Everything was in the details, but only in the small ones, because a mind was always more easily convinced of something if there were enough tiny details that it could identify.
Like the fire’s color, the dancing flames mesmerizing one’s eyes, forcing them to stare at the hypnotic show. The pain of a burn - which was something very difficult to imitate. First comes the sound of course, the sizzling of skin, and only after that comes the pain. The shock forcing one to twitch, try to get away from the pain. And then the smell of course, the stench of burned skin and flesh.
The Lurkers were experiencing all that, trying to fight against the pain but it was in vain. They backed away from Grulmar and headed back to the pools of acid, probably hoping it would make the pain go away, yet Grulmar wasn’t prepared to let them get away so easily. The fires burned even after they disappeared in the green liquid and he made sure the liquid’s surface was lit on fire too in their minds, preventing them from coming back.
He walked towards the gate, feeling sick. His knees were shaking and he stopped by the strange flower used for opening the gate, leaning against his thighs, taking a deep breath. The Orc looked at the pools of acid, clenching his jaws. I’m still tuskin’ alive, he thought, surprised. The shakes, the weakness...it was an aftershock of supressed fear.
Back in the old days...ya would run, matey. ‘Cause these things are way above ya, nothin’ mere thieves want to get involved in. But now? He wasn’t a mere thief anymore. Even though the fear was still there, the new him suppressed it, the sensation of magicka flowing through his fingertips completely drowning out that emotion. Only when the spellcasting was done did his mind come to comprehend the situation, his old instincts kicking back in and he could only wonder how he was still alive.
But he was. And he could deal with that later.
He touched the flower, taking another deep breath before heading through the gate.
He entered a not particularly large room, with several shelves of books serving as its walls, a set of short stairs leading towards an open book on a pedestal. But none of that was of any interest to him because right in front of him was the reason he came to this place.
The Dunmer was a mess, his clothes dirty and wrinkled, his face gaunt and covered with a beard that had to have been growing for weeks. He was holding an open book in his hands, his eyes jumping from one word to another while gleaming with a strange hectic fever. He didn’t seem like a prisoner to Grulmar though.
“Talvas,” he spoke his name in low voice and the Dunmer narrowed his eyes and looked up from the book. The eyes then went wide as he recognized Grulmar.
“Grulmar!” he exclaimed in surprise. “You came! I knew you would come, that you would help me.”
“Yes, ‘bout that. We need to get out fast-”
“Get out?” the Dunmer raised his eyebrows and turned his body to fully face Grulmar.
And the Orc supressed a terrified scream.
Just now he noticed that Talvas’ left hand was no longer a hand, but a black tentacle.
“Get out?” Talvas repeated, walking towards Grulmar. “No, no, no. You can’t be serious. Not now, not when I’m so close. I need your help, Grulmar. I need you to help me with this.”
“Help with what?” the Orc murmured, stunned. All along he thought Talvas wanted to help get free of this place, but now that he saw him, saw what he was turning into... There was nothing to help, nothing to save anymore.
“Bringing Ildari back! Just like she was. I nearly have it, and with your help, we will figure this out!” Talvas grasped Grulmar’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring shake. “I’ll continue here and you go through those on the other side, alright?” the Dunmer pointed at the book he was reading and then behind Grulmar, at the wall of books.
We build our own prisons, our own chains that define us. Shape us. We are our own prisoners and jailers, locked inside our minds, dwellin’ on things that are unreachable or long gone, that still haunt us. We are weak. Grulmar stared at Talvas’ back, clenching his jaws. This is no life. No way to live. Ya locked yerself in here, Talvas, ‘cause ya can’t let go of things that are broken beyond repair.
“Pity,” Hermaeus Mora murmured, sounding almost as if he was yawning from above. Grulmar looked up, staring into the myriads of golden eyes, like a frog’s eyes. “You have mounted a rescue. But your friend does not seem to be in need of saving.”
Talvas seemed to completely ignore Mora’s voice and Grulmar gritted his teeth. “Wiggle yer tentacles all ya want, Mora, pretend y’are better than the rest of them, but the truth is y’are all the same tuskin’ pieces of shit ruinin’ our lives.”
“Is that so? I have given your friend what he wanted-”
“Exactly!” Grulmar growled. “Ya gave him what he wanted and that is where ya shits draw yer strength from. Ya feed on our desires, on our needs and our dreams. And ya know. Ya know very well that what we want is not what we need.” The Orc paused, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “What we want is never a good thing,” he added with a whisper. He looked at Talvas with anger and grief, narrowing his eyes. “Ya bloody idiot,” he whispered, but the Dunmer didn’t react. Grulmar growled and grabbed him by a shoulder, spinning him around. “Idiot! Did ya really want this? Ya will never find what y’are lookin’ for. And if ya do it will be too late, ‘cause ya will no longer care.”
But the Dunmer still didn’t react, his eyes focused on the book in his ‘hands’, mumbling something under his breath. Completely lost in his own hunger for knowledge, with the desire to bring back the perfect world he dreamt about.
“And what do you want, Orc? What is the thing that you want the most?” Mora said and Grulmar had to give him credit because the Daedric Prince sounded as if he was really interested in his answer.
“All I tuskin’ want is to be left alone by ya bloody tuskers!” the Orc growled. “Malacath and the other shithead. Ya. All of ya. I want ya all to just pack yer shit and get the tusk out of my life. I want to be free, not dragged around by fate and destiny and all that bullshit.”
The Golden Eye released a slow laugh and Grulmar frowned. Of course the tusker finds it amusin’. Still remember our chat about free will.
“Freedom,” Mora said, and if he had a face, Grulmar could certainly imagine a smirk on it right now. “Free. Of what precisely do you want to be free of?”
“Didn’t I just say it? I’m sick of bein’ a pawn.”
That precise response seemed to amuse Hermaeus Mora to no end, his laughter quite telling. “Pawn. I would say that is quite fitting, mortal, because pawns very rarely have any idea what the bigger picture is.”
Talvas then looked up, a dark expression on his face. “You are being led like a sheep to the slaughter, even though you have no idea what the slaughter means. You can struggle, of course, but your steps are set in stone.”
“I’m no tuskin’ sheep,” the Orc bared his tusks at Talvas, but when he blinked it the Dunmer was looking at his book as if he never said anything.
“Yes, you are. You stumble blindly in the darkness of the slaughterhouse, no idea what is coming next. You are a pawn and you will remain one as long as you will insist on closing your eyes to the truth,” the Daedric Prince waved a tentacle in a manner that would lend itself to a hand making a dismissive gesture.
“That’s ‘cause all ya bastards don’t tell me shit!” Grulmar shook his head in frustration.
“I ask again, Orc: What do you want?”
Grulmar bit his lip, looking at Talvas. What do I really want? He had said the truth. He wanted to be free of gods' and Princes’ machinations, but that probably wasn’t what Mora wanted to hear. It wasn’t the right answer. But what was?
Mora was right. After all these years, after all the dreams and stumbling, he still didn’t have the slightest clue what the Tall Man wanted from him. He was always making him to watch, forcing him to witness events he barely understood. But what was it he really wanted from Grulmar?
The Orc then frowned and looked into the golden eye hovering above him. “What’s it to ya, Scryer? Why does it matter to ya?”
“Ah. Observing question,” Mora sighed. “This is the moment I could just tell you what fate has in store for you, mortal. But knowledge given is not knowledge earned. He has been very clever, hiding you from us, but in here neither you or He can hide. I will say this: Your freedom seems to be in my interest, which does not mean it is something I desire. It is only a better option than the other outcome.”
“What the tusk is that supposed to mean?” Grulmar murmured. He certainly didn’t like the sound of that. Hermaeus Mora, a Daedric Prince, not being fond of the...whatever it was what the Tall Man planned.
“I will ask you one last time, mortal. What do you want?”
And Grulmar knew the answer. He knew it all along, he just didn’t want to admit it. To himself mainly. Denial was a sword with more than two edges, it cut in all directions but its center, because the sword was a soul and the soul was protecting itself. But the sword had to be broken, either by others or by itself, sooner than later, because one could not be in denial forever. Grulmar raised his chin, facing his own reflection in the soul-mirror without blinking or avoiding eye-contact.
“I want power,” he said out loud, resolution echoing in his voice. Part of him wanted to add: ‘I want the power to free myself. I want the power to resist the Tall Man. I want the power to break all the chains.’ But what did it matter? His reflection was staring at him with a knowing smirk and he understood that it didn’t matter at all. Not to Mora, and not to him anymore. I want the power.... Doesn’t matter how ya continue that sentence, what kind of excuse or explanation ya use. Power is always the same, it is the concept that shatters souls and kills morality, no matter what the intentions of usin’ that power are. It shapes ya in its own image with no amount of will or resistance stoppin’ it. Everyone craves it, but only some are willin’ to admit it. Ya either live in the gutter or ya claw yer way out of it over the bodies of those in yer way.
“Beware the creatures living in the dark,” Talvas mumbled next to him. “Rats. Beasts.” He then looked into Grulmar’s eyes with something twisted and terrifying in his own eyes. “Monsters.”
“Everythin' has a price,” the Orc murmured, frowning. “We are all rats. Some of us are just rats of a different kind.” He looked back at the twisting mass of tentacles and eyes that was Mora with defiance, baring his tusks. “That kind that doesn’t sell its soul for power,” he growled. “I don’t want or need anything from ya, Golden Eye. I don’t need yer tuskin’ knowledge.”
“That might change, mortal,” Mora replied, still amused. “But I can assure you your soul is of no interest to me. Still, I would like to propose a deal. An exchange, where everyone gains and nobody loses.”
Grulmar narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but didn’t say anything.
“Knowledge for knowledge, mortal.”
The Orc snorted at that. “Ol’ Daedric Prince of Knowledge, the riddle unsolvable, the door unopenable, the book unreadable, doesn’t know somethin’? What could I possibly know that ya don’t?”
“You do not know it. Yet,” Mora murmured and a chill ran down Grulmar’s spine after those words. “I do not require your answer, mortal. Just keep this in mind: Take my book, the one you have read, and once you leave the ash and snow behind, look for Inkseeds. And only when you discover its secret, the book shall open for you, giving you access to the power you...need.”
Grulmar was tempted to tell Mora to go tusk himself, but he kept his mouth shut. It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t willing to take that deal. The book could rot in Tel Mithryn for all he cared, but Mora didn’t have to know that. Instead he pointed at Talvas. “What about Talvas?”
“The Dunmer will remain here. There is nothing back in the world for him. All he wants is right here.”
The Orc closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Talvas,” he murmured, trying to get the Dunmer’s attention. “Last chance, matey. Let’s get out of here, yeah?” But the Telvanni apprentice didn’t react, completely oblivious to Grulmar’s presence and words. As if he had already forgot that Grulmar ever existed. “Damn it, Talvas!” the Orc growled. “Don’t do this to me, for tusk’s sake. This is no way to live! Let me save ya. Ya hear me? Just let me!”
The Dunmer then looked up and smiled at Grulmar. “Yes. Save. I will save Ildari. And Varona too. I will make this right.”
Grulmar clenched his jaws, fighting against the emotions flooding his mind, against the tears pushing into his eyes. How can ya condemn someone to somethin’ like this? An eternity of hope of findin’ the answers to everythin’, an eternity of illusion. How can ya? Only with yer back to it, matey. ‘Cause sometimes ya have to leave things behind so that ya can continue forward. He grasped Talvas’ shoulder and squeezed, forcing a smile on his face. “Goodbye, Talvas,” he said.
It was the Dunmer’s confused look that hurt him the most. Like a child watching its father walk away, or watching its father beating a woman. Seeing and hearing, but not understanding.
He turned his back to Talvas and sighed. “How do I get out of here?” he asked Mora and the Daedric Prince’s tentacle pointed at the open book on the pedestal. Grulmar took a deep breath, his hands trembling, and walked towards it, looking at the swirling runes on the pages. And with one last look at Talvas he touched the page.
He opened his eyes and gasped for breath, as if he had been underwater for too long. He blinked several times, scanning his surroundings, only to realize he was still in Tel Mithryn’s tower. His head hurt like Oblivion, the world was spinning and his sight was blurred. He could feel the muscle under his eye twitching, and his hands were shaking in the advanced stage of withdrawal from his addiction.
Grulmar’s thoughts were hazy, his mind too hectic, but even in this state, he was capable of noticing black runes swirling around his right hand, starting at his palm and then twining around his forearm. Mora! Ya piece of shit!
Suddenly Neloth walked into the room and noticed the Orc staring at his hand. “Ah, you’re back. I was wondering if Mora would spit you out or not.” He walked closer and looked at Grulmar’s hand and sure enough, a stupid oiled eyebrow went up. “Most interesting. I’m almost tempted to say Mora is like a dog these day, marking things left and right.”
Grulmar reached for his belt, finding the right vial, even though he had problems taking it into his fingers because he was slowly losing control over his own body. He had to have been in Apocrypha for days, because this was the strongest seizure he had ever had. He quickly poured the liquid into his mouth and he felt the energy crackling through his veins, soothing his nerves and he sighed in relief.
“So the book opened,” Neloth murmured, leaning closer. “So what did Mora give you?”
The Orc didn’t answer at first, because he was so tired. Drained. It felt as if he went without sleep, food and water for days - which most likely was true. “He offered me power,” he mumbled, and then shook his head, not inclined to explain himself to Neloth. Instead he pointed at the book now resting in his lap. “The book. It won’t give up its secrets. Mora made sure of that.” He then got back on his feet while he still could - thanks to the magicka potion crackling in his body. “Excuse me. I think I’m goin’ to sleep through the rest of the week.”
He ate something real quick, poured some water down his throat, and then fell into the bed at his house, pretty much drifting off before he even hit the pillow. He slept.
And he dreamt.
Comments
The addiction. The addiction sort of changed to... Illness? I guess. Like, it was in one of the first chapters I think, where Grulmar says he... more
And thank you... more
And thank you, Wulf.