Gathering Clouds, Chapter 5

  • Chapter 5

     

     

     

     

    For the Eyes of His Imperial Majesty Titus Mede the Second Only

     

    11th of Hearthfire, 4E 182

     

     

     

    Your Imperial Majesty,

                   

                    This is a formal report of the incident that occurred two months ago in the northern seas of High Rock, which resulted in the complete vaporisation of the entire Bay of Farrun and left a crater of unprecedented size in its place (which the masses have taken to calling the Farrun Crater) as well as a land bridge connecting Farrun and Northpoint. The immediate effects of the incident were felt throughout all Tamriel – perhaps further.

     

                    The drying of such a large body of water in such a short time (experts in meteorology, geography and the Destruction School of magic as well as first-hand eyewitness reports all confirm that it took place in an instant, or no more than a span of five seconds) led to immense tidal fluctuations all across the Eltheric Ocean, which in turn disrupted the currents of the Pandomaic Ocean as well. Interviews with inhabitants of coastal cities all have one common denominator: gargantuan waves hundreds or thousands of times the size of the norm appearing as if from nowhere, rising from the shoreline mere metres from dry land, blotting out the sun itself.

     

                    It may come as a pleasant surprise to your Imperial Majesty to learn that there have been no reported casualties. According to eighty-six percent of all eyewitnesses, the waves retracted slowly back into the sea just as they were above to crash into the coast, in what they could only describe as a complete reversal of the water’s movement. Most citizens were only mildly soaked. Even ships and boats carried skywards by the rising seas suffered almost no damage due to the lack of speed in the water’s descent.

     

                    The tale is the same out further at sea, except no giant waves were ever reported. Captains returning from long voyages out in the oceans all claim that the only unnatural experience they had was a sense of some unknown massive object or force passing under them with incredible speed.

     

                    Ships in the bay itself were damaged to some extent, though not as much as falling from the surface of the water to the now-dry bottom would suggest. All sailors survived, albeit with minor injuries. An unnamed wizard garbed in the robes of House Telvanni, who was found lurking in the crater for unknown reasons, suggested that the steam’s upward momentum resulting from the vaporisation cushioned the fall of the ships. Our own mages corroborated this claim, and added that the deeper the waters the ship was cruising in, the larger the amount of water, and thus the more steam the ship would have had to support its drop. The Praefect in charge of the reclamation of the bay was unable to detain the wizard for questioning, and has been suspended from duty pending an ongoing investigation.

     

                    Aside from the fluctuations in oceanic currents, a myriad of other effects has been observed over the weeks following the event, including but not limited to:

     

                    - Increased Precipitation and Flooding in Northwest Tamriel

     

                    - Decreased Precipitation and Drought in Southeast Tamriel

     

                    - Minor earthquakes

     

                    - Drying of almost all rivers and streams in East High Rock*

     

                    - Spread of plague in the coastal regions along the former Farrun Bay, resulting from the amount of dead aquatic life in the crater**

     

                    For a detailed list of the full repercussions of the drying of Farrun Bay, please see the attached report by Yanmac Kellen, master wizard and specialist in geography attached to the Legion.

     

                    *It should be noted that many regions in High Rock are currently flooded due to heavy rain brought about by the incident, and some theorise that the water may simply follow the dried rivers and flow back into the bay. This could have disastrous consequences, as the water itself is no longer seawater, nor clean freshwater. Also see below.

     

                    **The Imperial Legion has swiftly contained the situation, which remains stable so far with extensive use of quarantines and Restoration magic. The Sixth and Eleventh Legions have cleaned and reclaimed two-thirds of the crater, and are moving on to the last sections. So far, only twenty men have fallen ill. Master Kellen warns, however, that the crater itself will likely remain a hotbed of disease for years to come, with infection seeping into the dirt and silt of the dried seabed. He advises controlled application of Fire magic deep into the bowels of the earth of the crater to nullify any pestilence, then converting the resulting fertile soil into farmland. This project will likely take years, if not decades, and will come to ruin were the water from the floods to flow back into the bay. Master Kellen suggests even more usage of Fire magic to vaporise the floodwater slowly, restoring natural precipitation across Tamriel.

     

                    The cause of the incident itself is believed to be magical. Witnesses report a blinding flash of white light from the bay. Cross-referencing the results of interviews in different spots along the coast, the Sixth Legion determined the exact location the light emanated from, and uncovered a large hole within the crater, six hundred feet in diameter. Imperial Battlemages confirmed that the hole was indeed made with magic – though magic of the likes of which they’d never seen. After studying the edges of the hole, they came to the conclusion that the source was an ‘omnidirectional emission of pure magical energy’ that was powerful enough to reduce all matter within range to their basest particles. The mages also believe that this infused the Eltheric and Pandomaic Oceans with magic that resonated with the emission itself. The enchanted water became drawn to the empty void left once the emission faded, causing them to retrace their original paths completely and preventing any loss of life.

     

                    No single recorded mage, or indeed any number of mages, have exhibited power of this degree. Initial theories about this being an act of sabotage by the Thalmor have been debunked – reports from reliable agents indicate that not even the Aldmeri Dominion possesses such might.

     

                    If this is some form of natural disaster, then the Empire must take precautions and prepare for events of such magnitude to reoccur.

     

                    If this was a demonstration by some unknown power, then this entity(s?) has the ability to sow destruction with unrivalled capacity across all the continent, and may very well be able to wipe Tamriel off the map completely. This is unlikely, however, since no demands or claims have been made thus far, and an area with a populace of zero was the epicentre of the blast.

                   

     

                    The Imperial Legion awaits your Majesty’s command to resume the reclamation of the Farrun Crater.

     

     

    Long Live the Emperor,

     

    General Cornelius

     

    Sixth Legion

     

     

     

     

                    Farrun, coastal city of High Rock. The people there live a simple life compared to the rest of the wealthy cities of the province. Although, Arngrimur thought. Knowing Northpoint, Daggerfall and Evermore, that does not say much.

     

                    He stood on the bay, the sea breeze blowing through his beard, the late afternoon sun adding to the yellow hue of the horns on his helmet. Overhead, a pair of seagulls squawked and circled each other.

     

                    Then he hopped down to the wharf, where the waves lapped against the docks. An old, grizzled fisherman was in the middle of tying his small rowboat to a quay.

     

                    ‘Ho there!’ Arn said as he approached. The fisherman looked up, blinking as the sun glared into his eyes.

     

                    ‘What d’you want?’ He said, rubbing his eyes. ‘If it’s a trip out to sea, well, you’re a little too late. Come back tomorrow.’

     

                    ‘How much for your boat, then?’

     

                    The fisherman squinted, chewing on some kind of weed. Then he grinned. He knew a desperate man when he saw one. ‘This rickety piece of junk?’ He pointed, then spat a gob of phlegm into the sea.

     

                    ‘One thousand septims.’

     

                    ‘ONE THOU- ‘

     

                    ‘Now, now, keep yer voice down, people are staring.’

     

                    ‘Three hundred.’

     

                    ‘Eight hundred.’

     

                    ‘Four hundred fifty, no more.’

     

                    ‘Six hundred fifty, or you can swim wherever you’re going.’

     

                    ‘Fine. I’m sure there are other boatmen who’d be willing to make some septims,’ Arn said, and made to leave. ‘Drink themselves senseless tonight.’

     

                    ‘All right, all right!’ The old man said hurriedly. ‘Yer a better barterer than you look, Nord. Five hundred septims. Not that much more than four fifty…’

     

                    Arn took his purse from his hip and counted out the coin. Then a familiar voice behind him said in eerily buoyant tones, ‘Dearest husband!

     

                    Droplets of sweat broke out all over his face, and he could swear he felt his straw hair whitening. He let out a most un-Nordic squeak.

     

                    With years of sailing in his blood, the fisherman could tell when monsoons were about to blow into port. He took the gold and shambled off without looking back, whistling a merry tune. He was not spared the storm, however. A barrage of noise sent him sprawling, and his whistling rose to a shrill pitch as he took to his heels.

     

                    For nigh on an hour the residents of the city stayed home and locked their doors, fearing for their lives. Dogs covered themselves with their paws, whimpering, and birds fled the area in droves.

     

                    Arn laid face down on the pier, the inner workings of his ears disrupted too badly for him to stand. Thank Talos she never studied the Thu’um.

     

                    Valesse leant over him, experiencing no fatigue at all from her outburst.

     

                    ‘Now then, Arngrimur,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Why Farrun?’

     

                    ‘If I can just… stand up…’ Arn groaned, then flopped over on his back like a dead fish.

     

                    He explained as they cast off into the bay.

     

                    ‘The Dragon Priests are on alert for me now. I’m no longer under the protection of Tsukikage’s wards, and I took down another one of them when I crossed the Reach into High Rock, so they must know I’m here. I also have a stinking suspicion that they’ve been using some form of scrying to track my movements. I intend to – ‘

     

                    ‘How would they know if you killed the one you met?’

     

                    ‘I cut his mask in two. Dragon Priests can sense it when one of their masks breaks. Took me a while, but after thrusting my sword into every quarter-inch of the strange material, I found that it had a seam right behind the jaw, where it’s usually protected by their golden armour. A forceful stab there can weaken it. Took me a dozen blows to actually break the thing, though. As I was saying, I intend to go to an island in the middle of the bay, then draw the Priests out with the Voice. Though after that tirade you just gave, they’re probably on their way already…’ Arn winced as his ear throbbed.

     

                    ‘Don’t you start playing the victim,’ Valesse warned. ‘Or I’ll throw even more at you all the way back to Tsukikage.’

     

                    ‘Speaking of which… you left the baby back there?’

     

                    ‘I’d already guessed what you were doing, so I left him safely with Jorra. What you’re thinking, however, is beyond me,’ she snapped. ‘Do you even know how many of them there are? There could be twenty, even thirty of them. We almost died fighting six.’

     

                    ‘Yes, but I know where to hit them now. Besides, given your condition – ‘

     

                    ‘Oh? Do I look the least bit indisposed to you? I managed to catch up to you with a one-night head start. What’s that tell you, hmm?’

     

                    ‘That you’re completely fine,’ he held up his hands, trying to placate her.

     

                    ‘I’m more than fine. With the child born I have full access to my magic once again. How do you think I found you? I cast a divination. By myself, mind you, and no ingredients in the spell except Magicka. So don’t you start!’

     

                    No answer. She peered at Arn curiously. He was smiling at her, blue eyes even brighter than usual.

     

                    ‘What?’ She said suspiciously.

     

                    ‘Nothing,’ he beamed. ‘It’s just… I always knew you were resilient, but to give birth, then proceed to be on your feet and strutting about casting spells after just one night’s rest? You’re a much tougher warrior than I am, Valesse, and you don’t even swing a sword.’

     

                    Valesse’s heart fluttered, and she suddenly felt short of breath. She berated herself for behaving like a little schoolgirl. ‘Flatterer,’ she mumbled, and looked away, her cheeks dimpling.

     

                    She sobered quickly enough, though, as Arn stopped rowing and said, ‘We’re here.’

     

                    The island was a small stretch of sand and jagged rock, with some grass growing in small patches. The couple dragged the boat onto the shore, then strode to the centre.

     

                    Arn flexed, rolling his shoulders. ‘No reason to wait!’ He drew in a deep breath.

     

                    Valesse clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘Yes there is,’ she hissed. ‘Let’s decide on a plan first. This won’t be easy, and it’ll go doubly hard if we charge in blindly.’

     

                    ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘So what do we do?’

     

                    ‘First, let’s run over their weaknesses. What do we know? You mentioned that their masks have a seam directly beneath the jawline. I won’t be able to damage those with my spells, unless I can hit it with a projectile in precisely that location, which will be almost impossible from a distance. That’s going to fall to you, then.’

     

                    ‘We know that they can be reduced to ashes with a powerful enough spell,’ Arn picked up where she left off. ‘But you need time to gather so much Magicka. They can be cut into fine pieces and scattered that way, and their bodies are no more durable than that of normal people.’

     

                    ‘And their strengths? As far as I can tell from my encounters with them, they’re extremely powerful mages with seemingly endless reserves of Magicka, and I’ve never seen them resort to attacking in close range before. Then again, their emaciated frames might suggest that they can’t.’

     

                    ‘You need only look at the draugr for proof of the contrary, though they do prefer magic. Their Magicka is not unlimited, but they recover it from Aetherius so quickly that it might as well be so.’

     

                    They discussed various more factors, both relating to the Priests and their own fighting condition.

     

                    ‘…so I might need to move a little more slowly and save up my strength.’ Arn finished.

     

                    ‘One last thing. You mentioned that they might have been scrying you. Why didn’t they attack if they knew where you were?’

     

                    ‘I don’t know. Maybe their scrying was of the sort that revealed my appearance but not my surroundings? Maybe they were preparing like we were.’ He shrugged.

     

                    ‘All right then, I’m ready.’ Valesse said, her voice low. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do…’

     

                    The sun was setting as what looked like a migrating flock of birds emerged from the clouds above High Rock. They zoomed past Jehanna and stopped over Farrun, hovering.

     

                    From the middle of the sea came a great roar, as if some ancient beast had awakened. The Dragon Priests paused. It sounded like their masters of yore. Then they turned to the direction of the roar as one.

     

                    ‘Dovahkiin…’

     

                    On the island in the centre of the bay, Arngrimur snapped his jaws shut, then unsheathed his sword. Valesse stood at his side, casting all the spells of fortification she knew on both of them.

     

                    Eight spectres descended onto the sand, their masks glinting in the dying light.

     

                    They landed square on the four translucent runes that Valesse had set minutes ago. The ground erupted in a flurry of cold. The Priests stumbled, thin, white webs spreading across their bodies.

     

                    Arn stepped forward, the Thu’um coiling in his mouth.

     

                    ‘IIZ SLEN NUS.’ Frost blew from between his lips as well.

     

                    Unable to withstand both the Nordic Shout and Altmer magic, the Dovah-Sonaak froze solid, tumbling to the ground as rigid as statues.

     

                    Arn grabbed his sword along the blade, using his left hand to guide it as he would a spear. He jabbed two of them along the side of the neck, and they wasted away into crystalline dust, the strange glow fading in the split halves of the mask.

     

                    The third one had its head crooked at an odd angle, chin buried in its shoulder. Instead of wasting time finding an opening, Arn simply raised his shield and slammed it into the Priest’s scrawny chest with all his might. The creature shattered into tiny fragments.

     

                    He reached the fourth and disposed of it the same way he did the first two, then missed by a hair on the fifth. The tip of the steel sword bounced off the frozen surface of the mask, leaving a crack. A low hum filled the air.

     

                    Arn uttered an oath and retreated to the left, hopping backwards once and crouching behind a nearby outcropping. The Priest rose, positively sibilating with malice, as the shell of ice crumbled away.

     

                    It glided over to the other Sonaak and thawed them out with short bursts of fire.

     

                    How appropriate, Arn thought to himself as the remaining four headed sideways for a clear shot, hissing in rage, magical energy building in their hands. They stepped on the new runes that Valesse had placed while they were immobilised, realising too late what the pair had lured them into.

     

                    The runes activated, bathing the Priests in a large swath of twisting flame. With their numbers reduced and herded into a small group, Arn vaulted over the rock and Shouted again.

     

                    ‘YOL TOR SHUL.’

     

                    This time, the Thu’um exploded from his throat in a conflagration of bright orange. Once again, the Sonaak proved incapable of weathering the combination. They disappeared in the blaze, leaving behind their masks and four black splotches.

     

                    Arn sat down hard on the sand, gasping raggedly for air.

     

                    ‘You don’t look well,’ Valesse said worriedly.

     

                    ‘Never chained two Shouts together so quickly before,’ he wheezed. ‘Let alone two with nearly opposite effects.’

     

                    ‘Will you be – ‘

     

                    He took several more gulps of air, then relaxed.

     

                    ‘Whew. That really took a lot out of me. Might need to sleep in on the island before we go back. I don’t suppose you brought any bedrolls?’

     

                    Valesse was silent, staring straight upwards, the blood draining from her face.

     

                    ‘Is something wrong?’

     

                    Arn followed her gaze. His sword slid from his nerveless fingers as the last streaks of dusk vanished from the horizon.

     

                    Twenty Priests floated in front of them, looking almost amused. Staves glowed in their hands, set with soul gems of pure black.

     

                    He willed himself back onto his feet, picking up his sword and staggering slightly.

     

                    ‘This is going to be a hard drudge,’ he said, covering himself with his shield and stepping in front of Valesse.

     

                    Then twenty more Priests thudded into the sand behind them. Arn growled and extended his sword backwards in their direction.

     

                    Twenty others approached from the right.

     

                    Then another twenty from the left, completing the circle and surrounding them.

     

                    ‘I can’t believe it,’ Arn murmured. ‘Were there always this many of you in Tamriel?’

     

                    ‘Why are you hounding us like this?’ Valesse cried. ‘What do you want?’

     

                    ‘Is it about the ones I defeated at the Word Walls?’ Arn demanded. ‘Krosis and Volsung, was it?’

     

                    The Priests said nothing, but five among the twenty in front broke from the group and flew closer around them, eyes aglow behind the slits of their masks. One of them studied Arn particularly closely, then shook his head. Another swept behind him and inspected Valesse for a brief moment before being forced back by the point of his sword.

     

                    The five Sonaak regrouped, huddling amidst themselves. Arn caught phrases of the Dragon Language and shifted, apprehensive. They whirled and pointed at Valesse’s belly abruptly, screeching in unison.

     

                    ‘Faal sosin lo mii! Dovahkiin los ni het! Rek ahrk faal vun fent biis ko sos!’

     

                    The other Priests took up the cry. ‘SOSAAL! SOSAAL!

     

                    Arn trembled with mingled rage and horror as the truth dawned on him.

     

                    ‘They’re after our son,’ he growled, the ground on the island shaking along with his voice. ‘They’re hunting my baby boy.

     

                    Power surged into his limbs. He looked at Valesse and saw the same fury written across her face.

     

                    They both let out a raw-throated howl as the Priests fell upon them from all sides.

     

                    Gouts of flame and lightning filled the air. Arn blocked half of them with his shield, Valesse with a Ward. He gathered the Thu’um once again, and his form flickered through the Sonaak’s ranks. Four masks shattered almost instantaneously. The Priests chuckled, then raised their staves and brought them down as one.

     

                    Tendrils of lightning snaked across the floor, sending Arn careening off his feet. The Shock magic curled upwards, forming a cage. His hand brushed against it and it sent a painful jolt up his arm. The smell of singed hair tickled his nose.

     

                    Valesse grabbed two Dragon Priests by the heads, allowing the spells cast her way to fall on her fortified skin. Her palms glowed red-hot, and the Priests clawed at their faces as their masks began to melt. She twirled the molten substance between her fingers and hurled it at the Priests maintaining the cage. They started and their concentration broke, allowing Arn to slip free from the weakened bars. He repaid her by slicing the head off one of the Sonaak’s staves.

     

                    Their gaunt opponents paused, taken aback by their ferocity. Arn took the opportunity to charge at a lone Priest, trapping one of its arms and pelting its mask with slashes. The Priest stumbled, off-balance, and Arn gouged the blade into the side of its face. The mask cracked and the dry body beneath it began to desiccate.

     

                    Their initial rush of strength was wearing off, but they managed to slay two more. Arn’s shield granted them brief moments of reprieve, and the spells that did get through dissipated on Valesse’s own Wards.

     

                    The battle continued into the dead of the night.

     

                    Arn bent time twice more, succeeding each time in striking down three Priests, but they soon learned to keep him at a distance with cloaks of swirling energy, and to duck their masks into their chests and shoulders whenever his body blurred at the edges. A fireball sailed from a staff and he blocked it with his shield. There was dull clang as it came loose of the grip, the temper of the steel destroyed by the heat.

     

                    Valesse hurled every spell in her arsenal at the writhing mass of assailants, not even bothering to spend Magicka on Wards. She could feel her reserves thinning, and each spell that her mage armour absorbed struck closer and closer to home.

     

                    Still they continued grimly.

     

                    Arn rolled and ducked and parried and slashed, his Voice spent, his arm soon to follow. He cut one Priest along the torso and stabbed another in the shoulder, but their only response was a rasping guffaw.

     

                    A spike of ice shot across the fray, headed straight for Valesse. She lifted her hand to cast a Ward, but the Magicka would not come. The spike splintered on one of her ribs, drawing blood.

     

                    Four hours had passed, and still over sixty remained. The Sonaak must have sensed their exhaustion. They were toying with them, sending two or three at a time.

     

                    Her eyes met Arngrimur’s, and she saw her despair mirrored in his eyes.

     

                    She clenched her fist as hard as she could and limped over to him. The gravelly laughter rang out again. The Priests were just gloating now.

     

                    ‘We’re not running,’ he said, barely able to stay upright. ‘We can’t run. They’ll… find our son and…’

     

                    ‘I know, Arn,’ she said softly. ‘I wasn’t about to suggest that.’

     

                    Arn looked at her expectantly, too tired to speak.

     

                    ‘I have… one last trick up my sleeve.’ Her voice quavered. ‘A spell that even Master Neloth deemed too dangerous. I’m the only other person who knows it.’

     

                    ‘Enough… Magicka?’

     

                    ‘This spell requires none.’ She said, eyes downcast.

     

                    ‘…how?’

     

                    ‘A soul contains massive energy, Valesse remembered the old Enchanting lessons in Tel Mithryn. ‘The spell is called the Aena S’ara... the Soul Release. It unleashes that energy. We experimented on animals before a rabbit soul almost collapsed the tower. Sentient souls are tens of thousands of times more powerful.’

     

                    Arn’s breathing steadied. ‘And the cost?’ He asked, strangely calm.

     

                    ‘The energy released destroys everything indiscriminantly. Even if I manage to weather it... the body cannot survive without the soul.’ She said, flatly at first, but a shiver crept into her voice at the end.

     

                    Arn said nothing, and held her tightly in his arms. Tears began to well in her eyes.

     

                    ‘If it’ll take them with us and keep the boy safe… It’s a price I’ll gladly pay.’

     

                    ‘Don’t be absurd,’ she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. ‘Only one of us needs to cast the Aena S’ara. You should run and–’

     

                    White mist, from the corner of her eye. The Priests had gotten bored. They fired off another volley of ice, twice as thick and three times as long as the spikes they’d been throwing before.

     

                    Arn sidestepped lightly and pushed her behind him, his thick arms spread wide.

     

                    A few drops of blood splashed onto her face. The transparent spears had torn clean through Arn’s armour and were protruding from his back and shoulders. One ran through his thigh, another his elbow.

     

                    Her heart stopped.

     

                    ‘Damned... cheap armour. This… is what I get, heh,’ Arn coughed weakly. ‘Heh heh heh… for spending all my gold on mead…’

     

                    He fell backwards into her lap, red trailing from his lips.

     

                    ‘ARNGRIMUR!’ Valesse screamed. A hidden burst of Magicka leapt to her fingers, and she expelled all of it at once. A blizzard came to life around them, blocking them off from the Priests for just a moment.

     

                    ‘Valesse…’ Arn murmured. ‘Take… my soul… as well. It’s… always belonged to...’

     

                    ‘You complete fool of a Nord!’ She cried, her voice thick. ‘Stay still, I- I can heal this somehow!’

     

                    ‘Shush now…’ The corner of his mouth twitched, and his voice fell even fainter. ‘What… difference would it make? Cast… the damned spell…’

     

                    Valesse shook her head frantically. Somehow, Arn managed to raise the hand that hadn’t been crippled, and he brushed a few errant strands of black hair lightly from her cheek.

     

                    ‘Don’t… worry,’ he managed a smile. ‘I’ll… come find you… on the other side.’

     

                    She felt something break inside her, and began weeping in earnest.

     

                    ‘No, you won’t,’ she sniffled. ‘My soul’s essence will be used up entirely. I’ll never – I’ll never reach Aetherius.’

     

                    ‘I… see…’ Arn smiled again. ‘All… the more reason… to use mine… as well. Be it Oblivion… or Sovngarde… it will be… terribly boring… without you.’

     

                    Valesse buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

     

                    ‘Say… I can’t believe… I never asked,’ he rasped. ‘What’s… our little boy’s… name?’

     

                    ‘Harrow,’ she said hoarsely. ‘His name is Harrow.’

     

                    ‘Dunmer… name…?’

     

                    ‘To pass- to pass through strife and peril unscathed.’ Her lips quivered. ‘I- I thought that… given the times…’

     

                    Arn tried to laugh, but ended up coughing some more instead. ‘Mother’s… insight,’ he choked. ‘It’s… a good name.’

     

                    A fresh flow streamed down her cheeks when she saw that tears had begun to trickle from Arn’s eyes as well.

     

                    ‘I… wanted so much more time… with him… so much more…’ he whispered. ‘To see you… teach him his letters. Watch him take… his first steps. Give him… his first sword. Sit next to him… when he pines for lost love… Counsel him… in the dangers of drink – ‘

     

                    Despite herself, Valesse managed a snort.

     

                    ‘And there’s… that haughty grin… that I love.’ Arn closed his eyes briefly, then said in stronger tones, ‘Do not delay. Your snowstorm… won’t last forever.’ As if on cue, a skeletal hand tore through the blizzard’s winds, groping inside.

     

                    Valesse nodded, stilling herself. She spread her fingers out and pressed her left hand between her ribs, and her right hand over Arn’s chest. Reach beyond the mundane, and beyond the arcane. Her fingertips glowed as she made contact with their souls. They both shuddered at the sensation.

     

                    ‘Wait…’ Arn raised his head. ‘One moment…’

     

                    He drew in a little breath and let out three final Words.

     

                    ‘Zul Mey Gut.’

     

                    ‘A message… for a friend,’ he explained, and she understood. ‘Might take a while… to arrive.’

     

                    The blizzard’s speed began to drop, and Valesse knew that time was short. ‘Ready?’ She asked gently.

     

                    Arngrimur looked up at her, and his blue eyes met her green.

     

                    ‘Let us be off,’ he said lightly.

     

                    The blizzard vanished. The Dragon Priests swarmed inside and stared, surprised, at the pair kneeling there, supporting each other, paying them no heed at all.

     

                    The two figures embraced for one last time, and vanished in a brilliant surge of white light.

     

                    In the halls of the Tsukikage hospice, Jorra was keeping the infant company, rocking his cradle back and forth.

     

                    ‘I don’t know how you manage not to vomit,’ he remarked. ‘This looks very unpleasant from the outside.’

     

                    He looked inside to find the baby fast asleep.

     

                    ‘Humph. Of course he is – ‘

     

                    Jorra.

     

                    ‘Arngrimur? What – where are you?’ The shinobi looked around wildly, searching for the source of the disembodied voice.

     

                    Jorra. I’m afraid I’m going to have to collect on your debt one last time.

     

                    ‘What are you saying all of a sudden?’ Jorra asked, confused. ‘More importantly, how did you – ‘

     

                    Promise me you’ll take care of Harrow.

     

                    There was a loud crack in the distance. A roar of thunder. The earth shook, and Harrow fidgeted in his sleep.

     

                    Promise me you’ll keep my son safe.

     

                    Jorra dashed outside, along with most of the Shadeclaws. The sound had come distinctly from the north. He squinted in that direction and saw a column of smoke rising high into the air.

     

                    It’s been an honour, old friend. Farewell. Look after Harrow.

     

                    Promise me.

     

                    ‘I promise,’ Jorra whispered as the voice faded.

     

     

     

      

         

     

     

     

     

Comments

6 Comments   |   The Long-Chapper and 4 others like this.
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  July 29, 2018
    So sad and great chapter! :)
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Caladran
      Caladran
      Caladran
      So sad and great chapter! :)
        ·  July 29, 2018
      Ooh, getting on Roaring Thunder, Caladran-ko! Thanks for reading!
  • ilanisilver
    ilanisilver   ·  March 11, 2018
    Holy shit. Wow. 
  • SpookyBorn2021
    SpookyBorn2021   ·  August 17, 2017
    Bloody hell that was a dramatic chapter wasn't it. Almost got me to tear up too. I have to say that one of my favourite bits is weirdly just the opening letter, I don't know why but that was just something that I found rather enjoyable to read. Oh and I w...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      SpookyBorn2021
      SpookyBorn2021
      SpookyBorn2021
      Bloody hell that was a dramatic chapter wasn't it. Almost got me to tear up too. I have to say that one of my favourite bits is weirdly just the opening letter, I don't know why but that was just something that I found rather enjoyable to read. Oh and I w...  more
        ·  August 18, 2017
      Thanks for asking, it made me look it up myself and I realised that I made a typo which drastically changed the meaning of the entire sentence. I meant to type 'ni' instead of 'nu', which means 'not' instead of 'now'. The Dragon Priest is saying 'The Witc...  more
      • SpookyBorn2021
        SpookyBorn2021
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        Thanks for asking, it made me look it up myself and I realised that I made a typo which drastically changed the meaning of the entire sentence. I meant to type 'ni' instead of 'nu', which means 'not' instead of 'now'. The Dragon Priest is saying 'The Witc...  more
          ·  August 18, 2017
        Welp, glad to have helped you discover that. Tongue huh, I thought that was a miss-translation or something because it sounded kinda weird but now that makes a lot more sense. So Arngrimur isn't the Dragonborn but just a Tongue, that really does change a ...  more