Dragon of the East - Arc 1, Chapter 13

• Posted by Okan-Zeeus April 5, 2014 - 1,225 views

  Chases-The-Wind

  ~ ~ ~

  The morning brought rain. Its constant patter filled my ears – a pleasant sound, so nearly the same no matter where encountered, like a dear friend met time and again. My scales were satisfyingly moistened in the downpour.

  I found myself on the returning path to Riverwood, moving along a winding road that steeped and coiled near White River falls. The roar of its rapids came louder than ever, torrent bolstered by the weather. The surrounding greens were damp and darkened beneath a thick curtain of clouds. Riverwood was not my destination. It was merely a point of passing. I traveled at an early hour to avoid being seen.

  As I walked over a rise, an ancient stone ruin arose into view, peaking atop a range of mountains.

  Bleak Falls Barrow.

  ~ooooo~

  The previous day, back in Dragonsreach, I had no inclination of what to expect when Balgruuf introduced me to his court wizard. The thin Nord wore a blue robe with white trimming and kept a hood pulled over his head, hiding a narrow face with thick brown mutton chops.

  Balgruuf spoke to the wizard as he and I entered his quarters.

  “Farengar, I think I’ve found someone who can help you with your project. Go ahead and fill him in on all the details.”

  The man kept a cluttered but neat workspace, tables and shelves rife with notes, books, alchemical ingredients, and even a few soul gems. He appeared to have a craft for potion making and enchanting. Many alembics and beakers lined his desk, with an arcane pentacle set upon a table near the back of the room. Farengar lingered his attention on a hefty looking tome before addressing my presence.

  “So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? What for?” the wizard said lazily, his mind clearly occupied with other tasks. “Oh, yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons…”

  “That is the assumption,” I replied. “What would I–”

  “Yes, yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me,” Farengar interrupted, standing from his seat.

  “Err… Pardon? This one–”

  “Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

  At least the wizard was forthcoming.

  My face hung a look of annoyed reluctance. I turned to the Jarl, half expecting and half hoping he might say something more sensible. I was given nothing of the sort, merely stoic silence. Sighing, I turned back to Farengar.

  “Alright,” I muttered, “where exactly do you need me to go? And what I am looking for?”

  “Straight to the point, eh?” the wizard replied, smiling. “No need for hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?”

  I returned an impatient glare. Farengar continued uncomfortably.

  “…I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. A ‘Dragonstone,’ said to contain a map of dragon burial sites.”

  Odd. What service would such a thing provide? Were there truly burial sites dedicated to dragons?

  “I have not heard of this place, Bleak Falls Barrow,” I said, deciding to leave my questions unspoken.

  “It is an old tomb,” the wizard clarified, “built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself.”

  Dragon War?

  “Ah. Maybe you just want to know how to get there,” the man sighed. “It’s near Riverwood, a miserable little village a few miles south of here.”

  My thoughts refocused.

  “So you’re asking me to–”

  “Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred within the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”

  “How are you so certain this Dragonstone actually exists?”

  Farengar folded his arms. “Well, must retain some professional secrets, mustn’t we? I have my sources. Reliable sources.”

  I paused for a moment to consider all that had been said. I knew too little to feel comfortable with this errand. I also knew time was of the essence. In the face of such a colossal threat, even my paranoia could be swayed.

  “What do you say, Argonian?” the Jarl prodded, seeking a response from me. “Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons – we need it quickly, before it’s too late.”

  I was unsure how a map of dragon graves would further this goal. Did the mage seek to study their remains? After mulling for as long as I could, I gave my answer.

  “I will do this for you,” I said, speaking in low tones. “A single assignment, if it will aid your efforts as you say. But nothing more. My concerns are for the people of this hold, not your research.”

  ~ooooo~

  Rain became snow as temperatures dropped with rising altitude. The buckled armor that had been fit for me in Whiterun was warmer than my previous attire, though a bit tight. Its brown leather was inland with insulating fur, a welcome work of Nord ingenuity. I hiked along the side of a mountain with Riverwood in view below. Bleak Falls Barrow rested at the crest of the path. These cliffs were small compared to the Throat of the World, but they were nothing to scoff at. I needed to watch my treading – patches of ice and sleet were gathered everywhere among the rocks, hidden beneath blankets of fresh snow.

  I inspected the ground carefully for footprints as I walked. Any that lingered would not do so for long, before being filled again. There was no reason to assume anyone else had come this way, but I had not survived so many years by being reasonable.

  My caution paid off. I stumbled upon faint traces of boot tracks. Some three or four people had traveled to the barrow. No prints returned in the opposite direction. It was safe to presume they were still there, alive or otherwise. I double checked my equipment, pulled over my hood, and retightened the straps on the scabbard of my sword.

  I had decided to name the blade Xehtasken. It loosely translates “resolution” from Jel, my native tongue. The sword rested firmly against the waist of my armor, as fine a killing tool as I had ever possessed. I only hoped its steel would have no need to stain red, not just yet.

  The wind began to howl as I turned a banking curve along the path, raising my hand up to my face. Snow whipped against me, flecking the fur and leather of my clothing. Bleak Falls Barrow unveiled from behind hills of rock. Even in the blinding winter, one could not mistake its dark form. Grand stone arches, adorned with decorative carvings, aligned parallel to one another in a rising slope. The crypt had been built firmly into the mountain side. Large flights of steps inclined on either side of the ruin’s outer terrace, leading to more stairs that ascended to the entrance.

  Such a peculiar style of architecture, so grandiose… and all for burying dead? I could not tell if the stone carvings were abstract or meant to resemble figures. A few looked like heads, long and angular, reminiscent of beaks or snouts. They were difficult to see clearly, at any rate, while a storm blew. I was eager to get inside but not so eager as to become hasty. There remained the matter of potential company. Entering through the front would be foolhardy – what better way to be spotted? I scaled the steps to the upper terrace and wound around to the side, in search of another way in.

  A portion of the barrow’s antechamber roof had given out, exposing a large opening where once stone work had lain. Under normal circumstances, getting inside from such a point would be impossible. The wall stood at least a story high, slick with ice and snow, while the mountain’s slopes looked far too treacherous to climb.

  But there were means in my possession to overcome such obstacles.     

  I ran my fingers along a set of vials holstered at my waist. Each contained a unique alchemical fluid that served its own purpose. Their contents sifted through my mind: Histcarp toxicant, Taproot and White Cap extract, Withering Moon with Mandrake Root…

  Stopping at the fourth vile to my left, I pulled out the container and held it up to my eyes. Its whitish yellow contents sloshed inside the glass, thick and viscous. The ingredients of this potion were not completely known to me. I suspected some component of Dreugh Wax. Popping open the vial’s cork, I raised the glass to my snout and swallowed a portion of its contents. The chalky acidic mixture slithered down my throat. I returned the container to my belt and waited a brief moment, licking the roof my mouth.

  Then, with a spring of augmented strength, I leapt over ten feet into the air and cleared the top of the wall.

  My claws dug into rocky ice as I caught myself mid-vault, hanging over the wall’s lip inside of the barrow. I needed only a split second to map the room. It was dark and gloomy, built with autochthonous rock that matched the mountains. Moss grew everywhere, tinging the stonework in olive drab. I was surprised to see it withstanding the cold. Two large columns held up a vaulted ceiling, while snow fluttered down from skylights, settling onto rubble that littered the barrow’s floor.

  Rank scents filled my nostrils. I saw corpses of gutted skeevers, large rodents native to Skyrim. A makeshift campfire flickered near the back with sleeping bags nearby. A man and women stood by the flames keeping warm. They looked to be Nords garbed in fur and rawhide.

  Both were armed, one with a mace, the other with a bow.

  I dropped down as quietly as I could, taking cover behind remnants of the fallen roof. Sounds of conversation were distant and vague. I moved in closer, keeping to the shadows. My tail attuned to act as a counter balance with each careful step, distributing my weight perfectly along the floor. Years of training and mastery manipulated every movement. Silent. Calculated. Precise.

  Pressing against the farthest column from the man and woman, I eavesdropped.

  “We’re just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with the golden claw?” the female asked her companion.

  “That Dark Elf wants to go on ahead, let him,” the male replied. “Better than us risking our necks.”

  Outlaws? Treasure hunters? I was unsure who these two were, but my intuitions told me they were hostile.

  “What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my share from that claw!”                                 

  “Just shut it. Keep an eye out for trouble.”

  I wanted to know what they were talking about. An interrogation, however, would risk a fight. There would be no killings if I could help it. I would manage well enough on intuition, so I devised a plan to slip past the pair.

  A large clay pot, partially broken, stood across the room. I picked up a chunk of rock on the floor and took aim.

  “What trouble? You think that shop keeper’s going to send someone? Nobody’s coming after us.”

  The rock tossed through the air, crashing into the pottery. Its clattering echoed through the chamber. I withdrew as the two Nords startled.

  “Did you hear that?” the man asked, reaching for the blunt instrument at his waist.

  “Was it another skeever? I don’t see anything.”

  “Dammit… Wait here. I’ll check it out.”

  I listened carefully as the man’s footsteps grew louder. He came over to inspect the shards of clay. I inched around the column, placing it between me and the Nord’s vision.

  “Well? What is it?” the woman called out impatiently.

  “Nothing. I don’t–”

  The man stopped mid-sentence, whipping his attention to the sound of my knife tapping three times against a stone.

  “Huh? Hang on, I hear something,” he said, bringing his weapon to bear.

  The Nord moved toward the sound with a quick and impetuous gait. He circled to the back of the column. I circled in unison. A second pillar further down kept the woman from seeing me.

  “Ah-ha!” the man uttered in premature triumph as he came to the spot where I once was. Frowning, he lowered his weapon, only to recoil at the sudden sensation of a blade slicing his hand. The man’s grip loosened reflexively. I pulled away the mace from his grasp. Before he could turn around, I rose and snapped my arm around the Nord’s neck. The crook of my elbow constricted his jugular veins, off-hand locking the arm firmly in place.

  “Thtachxuto jeer-c'ei tsuqlop,” I hissed in Jel as the struggling man slipped from consciousness.

  Carefully timing the duration of my blood choke, I slackened the noose of my hold and kept the limp Nord caught in my arms. There was no way to know how long he’d stay out, though he would be disoriented for a time. Best not to dawdle.

  “Hogvir?” the woman exclaimed. “Hogvir, what’s going on?”

  I repositioned near the edge of my cover, dropping the Nord to the floor in clear view of the campfire. A clanging of his mace soon followed as I tossed it nearby.

  “By the Eight!” she swore at the sight of her fallen comrade. The woman drew her bow as she backed against a wall, eyes peeled for movement.

  “Xhuth, no… don’t stay there…!” I cursed softly, peering from my hiding place.

  She wasn’t going to check on him. That made things difficult. I snuck closer to the campfire until a final barrier of rubble was all that flanked me against its light. I readied my crossbow and contemplated where best to wound her…

  Then I heard movement. The woman started walking. I glanced over, sighing in relief. She was going to the man after all.

  I slinked past and rushed down the corridor beyond as quietly as possible. With luck, my disruption would dissuade the Nords from pursuing. But I was not about to bank on such a fortune. I weaved through the ancient crypt at a brisk pace, hoping to leave those two well behind. My goal remained further within the heart of the barrow. Darkness, rock, and earth cloistered me. I fought back against a growing discomfort.

  Until the Dragonstone was in my possession, I would not return to Whiterun. I never left assignments incomplete.   

  AUTHOR'S NOTES

  The phrases and words in Jel (excluding “Xhuth”) used here by Chases-The-Wind were all made up. I referenced both established and fan-made aspects of the language to try and create some believable words and sentence structuring.

  In this instance, the language translates: “See no more, dry skin.”

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