Technonomicon - Chapter 1 Solitude

• Posted by Andrew Shepherd August 1, 2015 - 819 views

  Technonomicon - Chapter 1 Solitude

  The door to the tavern opened, bringing with it a blast of icy air. The buzz of the patrons quietened as they looked up to see a gaunt, dark cloaked and hooded figure standing in the door way. It stepped through as the door closed silently behind it. The patrons looked on for a few seconds more and then returned to their conversations, singing and raucous laughter.

  The stench of the tavern hit Sylvano as he entered the Winking Skeever. Old ale, unwashed bodies, cooking food and smoke. He turned down his physical senses and pushed gently outwards with his mind, brushing lightly against those in the tavern. It had been decades since he had been in a place like this. He felt the thought before he saw its owner, a tall Nord sailor in frayed leather armor with a dirty scarf pulled down over one eye. A wicked looking scimitar hung at his belt. He lurched towards Sylvano from a table full of his companions, all inebriated and bathed in auras of violence. The sailor leered at Sylvano, trying to peer under his hood.

  "So, you some kind of wizard or something?" he slurred. "This is no place for you. Unless you want to buy the regulars a drink, of course." He grinned a yellow, broken-toothed smile.

  "You've had enough already," replied Sylvano quietly as he stretched his mind out to the sailor. It would take but a nudge. The sailor's eyes crossed and he staggered backwards, falling onto a nearby chair. He then slumped his head down onto the table top, cradling it in his arms and then began snoring loudly. The onlookers laughed uproariously. Sylvano stepped carefully through the crowd toward a table and chairs in a dark corner. He sat with his back to the wall, pulled the shadows around him like a cloak and observed.

  Most of the thoughts of the patrons were blurred by drink, debaucherous and base. But there was one mind that was keener than the rest. A fighter, with some magical skill. A spellsword. Sylvano quickly withdrew his mind, but the man had become aware of being watched. From the other side of the tavern he stepped into the light. He was older, with long white hair and a balding pate. His body was lean and he wore leather and a simple iron breastplate, his muscled arms exposed. He strode through the crowd, heading directly towards Sylvano. He would do.

  He crossed his arms, staring down at Sylvano.
  "I noticed your handiwork back there," he said, jerking his head at the sailor passed out at his table. "Very subtle. I doubt anyone noticed." Sylvano looked up.
  "You did." Sylvano replied.
  "I also noticed you poking around in there," the spellsword said, tapping his temple. An air of menace formed about him. "I don't appreciate that."
  "My apologies," replied Sylvano replied contritely. "I am looking for a sell-sword to help me with some business I have here in Skyrim." The spellsword eyed him suspiciously.
  "What kind of business?"
  "The kind that pays well," said Sylvano and tossed a bag of coins on to the table. The spellsword looked at it for a second. It appeared to be double what he normally asked for.
  "Who are you?" he enquired. Sylvano pushed back his hood. The warrior's eyes narrowed. "Thalmor," he nearly spat. "I'll have no business with you." Sylvano tossed another bag of coin on to the table. This time the man's eyes widened. Four times his usual fee!
  "Technically." said Sylvano. "But the truth is I am here for research, which is primarily my own business. It is not just the Thalmor who will benefit from it, but all people of Tamriel."
  "It looks like I'm your man then," said the spellsword. "My name is Belrand." he held out his hand but Sylvano merely inclined his head.
  "Sylvano."
  "What kind of research are you doing here in Skyrim?" Belrand inquired.
  "The Dwemer kind."
  "Ah." Belrand sighed. It appeared he would earn his fee after all.
  "Belrand, I want you gather enough supplies for a journey to Markarth." said Sylvano. Belrand grinned lopsidedly. Travel through the Reach. This was getting better by the second. He nodded his acknowledgement. Sylvano continued. "Where can I purchase a horse around here?" he asked.
  "The farm near the dock." replied Belrand.
  "Have you your own?"
  "Yes."
  "Very well, meet me outside the farm at dawn. We will have a long day of riding ahead of us." Sylvano nodded to the Nord once more, rose and walked to the bar to arrange lodgings. Belrand orded another mead with a passing tavern girl and sat quietly for a while contemplating the encounter. There was great hidden power about the elf, of that much he was certain. But whether it was light or dark he could not say. His eyes though. They were most disconcerting. In any case, he thought taking a sip of his mead, he was in for an interesting adventure.

  
  In the grey light of dawn, Sylvano walked the road down to the Solitude stables. It was colder this morning, due to the light dusting of snow on the ground, but as the sun rose higher it was beggining to melt. A lovely golden light filtered through the pines dotting the slopes above the city. The tall elf drew a deep breath of mountain air. It was certainly more pleasant than the dusty old libraries he had spent half his long life in.

  He approached the stables. Belrand was saddling his horse, a chesnut charger that was strapped with saddle bags. He was talking to the stable owner, a dark haired and bearded man with the look of an adventurer.

  "If you're travelling through the reach, use great caution," he was saying. "My advice is to ride for Rorikstead, stay the night and then do not rest until you reach Markarth. Even the roads are dangerous."

  "Yes I know," replied Belrand. "I've encountered the Forsworn before." The man shook his head.

  "I'm not talking about the Forsworn. I'm talking about the Hagravens. I encountered some years ago during my mercenary days. That part of my life was quickly over after that event." Belrand nodded solemnly. Then he noticed Sylvano standing by.

  "Ah, Sylvano. Meet Geimund, the stablemaster," he called, waving the tall elf over. Sylvano nodded to Geimund. "We've found you a horse," Belrand continued, indicating a young and spirited palomino stallion. "His name is..."

  "Skaar." finished Sylvano. The two men exchanged surpised glances. Sylvano reached out to the palomino's neck with both hand and mind, gentling him. A good steed. Fit, young and enthusiastic. He would not shy in the face of danger. Sylvano tossed the stablemaster a bag of gold. Geimund nodded and bowed vigorously in thanks at the generous purse.

  "All is prepared," said Belrand, looking curiously at Sylvano. With a graceful leap, the elf launched himself into the saddle. Skaar snorted excitedly. He wanted to run. Belrand followed suit.
  "We will stop for a brief rest at Dragonbridge," said Sylvano in his deep, calm voice. Without prompting, Skaar took off at a trot and at the top of the hill broke into a full gallop towards the west. Belrand shook his head and glanced at Geimund, who stood standing watching with eyebrows raised at the Altmer riding away. The spellsword kicked at the charger's flanks and took off in pursuit.

  They had been riding a few hours through the heavily forested woods, the scent of pine needles and frosted loam heavy in the air. Other than the creak of the trees and the whipser of the wind through their branches it was quiet. Too quiet. Sylvano slowed Skaar to a trot, then a standstill. The stallion snorted nervously. He could smell them. Belrand brought his horse alongside Sylvano's.
  "What is it?" he whispered.
  "Ambush," Sylvano replied quietly. He inclined his head. "Up the road, either side in the thickets."
  "Bandits?"
  "Stormcloaks."
  Belrand swore under his breath. A few rag-tag bandits were no problem, but hardened Stormcloak warriors? No, they would have a fight on their hands.
  "Let me talk to them," offered the spellsword. "I'm a Nord. They might listen to me."
  Sylvano looked down at his black robes.
  "I think not."
  Belrand shook his head. They couldn't run. They would have to fight.
  "Let me draw them out, distract them." said the spellsword. Sylvano nodded. The Nord shook the reins and the charger walked slowly forwards. He cupped his hands to his mouth.
  "Brothers!" he shouted. "We are just passing through, we don't want any trouble!" There was silence for a few seconds then the underbrush rustled as a huge Nord warrior with a painted face stepped on to the road. His armor was all steel and spikes and furs, with a snarling bear's head for a helm. His bearded face was a thundercloud and he bared his teeth in a snarl.
  "A Thalmor dog's bitch will always find trouble with the Stormcloaks," he spat, hefting a huge runed steel battle axe. It's razor sharp edges glinted in the sun. Several more helmeted warriors stepped into the road from either side sporting bows, swords and war hammers. He grinned evilly. "I'm going to mount both of your heads on a..." his taunt was cut short as a red blast of energy caught him right between the eyes.

  Sylvano reached into the base parts of the warrior's brain and turned his fury to a beserk rage. The Stormcloak captain suddenly turned on his men with a terrifying battle-cry and swung the axe in a broad, savage arc, scything through the torsos of the three men closest to him. The men collapsed in a shower of blood and entrails. The other stormcloaks recoiled in shock as the warrior sheared the blood-drenched axe down through the middle of another man who dropped without a sound, and then they threw themselves upon him, forcing the crazed barbarian to the ground.

  Sylvano and Belrand spurred their horses forward in attempt to bipass the fray, jumping bodies and dodging warriors still on their feet. Suddenly an archer stepped from a bush further up the road and loosed his nocked arrow directly at Sylvano. In a blur the elf drew a burning sword hissing out of the air and with the same motion flicked the shaft aside. Leaning in the saddle he then back-handed the mystical blade across the archer's neck, opening the man's throat. He felt the archer's soul surge up through the weapon, along his arm and into the black soul-gem hidden in a pouch beneath his cloak. It will serve me better in death, than him in life, Sylvano thought briefly as he galloped onwards.

  They were soon clear of the fight and galloping onwards, towards Dragonbridge. Belrand stared at the wizard's back as the horses pounded down the trail. This was no mere Thalmor Justiciar.

  They reached the small town of Dragonbridge within an hour. Sylvano drew his hood over his face as they passed the Penitus Oculatus outpost. Belrand also discreetly kept his head down. He was hoping for an ale at the inn, but Sylvano made for the bridge. Once they were across, Sylvano rode Skaar down to the riverside and dismounted. Belrand followed, allowing his horse to drink. They stood for several moments and then Sylvano drew a large dark gem from under his cloak, contemplating it. Belrand recognised it. In several parts of Tamriel, those gems were illegal. He looked away. It was none of his business, but it made him uneasy and he wondered whether he would soon regret his decision to join the elf.

  They rode on into the afternoon sun. Away from the mountains the air had warmed considerably and the scent of grass and dark earth wafted through it. They crossed a river at a small ford, bipassing a fort along the road. With the war going, many of the old forts were now inhabited by bandits. Murderers and theives, rapists, deserters and general scum preying on the weak and defenseless. As they rode Sylvano contemplated this. He knew the stalemate benefited the Dominion, but secretly he wished the Imperials would regain control and restore order. He had never felt any animosity towards the Empire. Its stability had helped with his research. However, the war had cast a long shadow over the land, and within the shadow Sylvano could work relatively unnoticed.

  They rounded a bend on the other side of a hill and down on the plane they spied a farmstead burning. There had been a recent battle between Stormcloaks and the Imperials. As they drew closer they saw that the Imperials had been the victors. In the distance several Imperial soldiers stood around the farmstead, laughing and drinking.

  Suddenly there came several screams. A woman's scream and a child's. The two companions rode closer. Sylvano could see three soldiers dragging a woman away from the burning ruin. They threw her to the ground and ripped at her dress. She screamed again as two of the soldiers held her down and the third began to remove the armour from his hips and groin, exposing himself. A young girl, no older than seven, was being restrained by a nearby soldier who chuckled and swilled from a wine-skin.

  To Belrand, it seemed as time had slowed. Sylvano, riding ahead, dismounted in one smooth motion and held up his hands...

  A cold fire had erupted in Sylvano's mind. He raised his hands and pulled all of the surrounding flammable gasses from the air into a ball between them, using sheer force of will. Using the same power he then drew heat from the air and between his hands ignited a bright fireball. He hurled it towards the nearest three soldiers. It hit the middle soldier in the back, the force of the impact separating limbs from torso as it was catapulted forward, incinerated. The soldiers either side dropped screaming to the ground, flames engulfing their bodies.

  The air around Sylvano was now super-cooled. Now he drew the moisture from the air into each hand, forming sharp and jagged icicles. He pitched the frozen projectiles with the force of his mind towards the men holding the Nord woman down, each lancing through brain pans. They fell to the ground like felled cattle. The would-be rapist stood only to catch a stream of frosted air in the groin and he collapsed, doubled up and screaming in agony.

  The remaining soldier restraining the little girl drew a dagger and held it to her throat. Her eyes were wide with terror. In a barely controlled rage, Sylvano extended the shadow he was casting on the ground. It's hand shot out and forwards, and punched into the man's forehead. The Imperial's jaw dropped and his eyes rolled back in his head as the dagger fell to the ground and he released his grip on the young girl. She ran crying to her mother, as Belrand dispatched her attacker with a sword throught the chest.

  The elf projected his mind along the shadow, into that of the soldier. Holding his wrath in check he spoke within the recesses of the Imperial's conciousness.

  "Go back and tell your masters what you have done," his shadow-voice hissed. "And pray they grant you a quick death. For if not, I will stretch my will across all of Tamriel to find you, and you will beg for it before the end!" The soldier held his hands to his temples.
  "Yes, I will!" he shrieked. "Please stop!" Sylvano released him. Still holding his head, the soldier ran screaming up to the road and then along it until the sound finally faded.

  Belrand was helping the woman to her feet, covering her with a cloak from his pack. The little girl walked over to Sylvano, lifting her tear-streaked face up to the tall elf.
  "They killed my Da, and burned our house," she said in a small voice. Sylvano dropped to one knee and looked the child in the face.
  "Your father fought bravely to protect his family," he said quietly and sincere. "He revels now in song and cheer in the halls of your fore-fathers, in Sovngarde." Sylvano smiled. "You will see him again someday, but until then, you must be brave."
  The child, her dress tattered and filthy, her flaxen hair matted, pressed her lips together. Her blue eyes gazed into the clear depths of Sylvano's. Timidly she took his hand. In surprise, he gently grasped hers and stood. Then the four walked back to the road and made for Rorikstead.

  
  That evening, in the Rorisktead inn, Sylvano and Belrand sat contemplating the flames in the fire-pit. Sylvano had given the local land-owner a sizeable amount of gold and asked for room and board for the Nord woman and her daughter. He had looked at the gold, then at Sylvano and then led them away to his homestead without question.

  Belrand leaned over to Sylvano and spoke quietly.

  "The magic you used today, with your shadow," he began tentatively. "I've never even heard of it, let alone seen it before." Sylvano looked directly at the spellsword.
  "Nor again shall you," he replied. "My usual restraint in openly using it weakened. I was overcome with... emotion." he finished quietly. Belrand opened his mouth to speak again, thought better of it and returned his attention to the flames. Sylvano no longer saw them. He was listening to a distant echo, deep within the dark recesses of his mind.

  We will not forget this betrayal, Sylvano.