Dragon of the East - Arc 1, Chapter 14

• Posted by Okan-Zeeus April 28, 2014 - 1,196 views

  Falura
  

  ~ ~ ~

  Tirdas, 19^th of Last Seed 4E 201

  We arrived at the College of Winterhold after two days of miserable travel. The frigid climate of Skyrim was numbing and blustery. Snow had not ceased to fall since our crossing the border. It reminded me of the ash from Red Mountain, the way its igneous plumes engulfed the island of Vvardenfell. I wasn’t accustomed to traveling long distances and found myself quite homesick. Nevertheless, I had to remain at the college for three more days until the traveling guard would make its return trip to Morrowind.

  Light from candelabras bathed across the pages of a book, nestled in the cradle of my arm. Liminal Bridges, by Camilonwe of Alinor. It was one of the few gems I managed to dig up from the surfeit of rubbish those professors called a library. There were few texts worth reading that I hadn’t read already, with the rest not even worth a passing glance. The college’s Arcanaeum contained an overall acceptable collection of literature, but the archives of the Telvanni at Blacklight still reigned supreme. Ethyl had gotten my hopes up too high.

  With the other mages of the college either busy with their own private studies or instructing the lasted clutch of initiates, the Arcanaeum became my retreat. The dark stone masonry of the dodecahedral chamber seemed to keep in the cold rather than ward it away. Wooden book cabinets with tinted glass panes lined the outer walls. Mounted heads of sabre cats hung above, while animal skin rugs were laid below, overtop the tiled ceramic floor. The architecture of the college possessed a distinct arcane flair, though its adornments were unmistakably Nordic.

  I continued to sit and read for some minutes, trying indolently to lose myself in my studies. The urbane voice of an old man prompted my attention.

  “Ah, forgive me – Falura Andrilo, was it?” he said. I looked up to see the visage of Savos Aren, Arch-Mage to the college, standing before me. “I was told you would be here, but I wasn’t aware you were busy. Perhaps I should return another time?”

  I closed my book and set it on the table beside me.                             

  “Oh don’t bother,” I replied. “I’m merely wasting away the hours. To what do I owe this visit?”

  Savos took a seat across the end table beside me. This was the second time we had spoken since my arrival. The first had been a brief greeting – the sparsest exchange of titles and words. He was a very busy man. The wrinkles of his dark countenance betrayed the age of a Dunmer whose energy seemed unusually youthful. Not in the sense of adolescence, but more of what you might see in a person’s prime. I suspected him to be at least a few centuries old. His robes were adorned with coarse furs and masterfully embroidered, giving him an authoritative appearance. A long beard stretched down his chin and a slim hood dressed his head.

  “We have not yet spoken at any length since your arrival,” the Arch-Mage said. “Most unbecoming of me. I understand this trip has been something of an inconvenience for you.”

  “Quite. The choice to come was not mine,” I replied. “But I’ll not be the one to deny a request from the esteemed wizards of the Telvanni.”

  “You show dedication. They are fortunate to have someone like you among their ranks.”

  “Pah. I’ll hear none of that. I act in courtesy. The Telvanni would deny me such an acknowledgement, anyway.”

  The Arch-Mage had an inquisitive look.

  “You feel they disrespect you?”

  “Not so much disrespect as disregard. They waste my time with menial tasks.”

  “Is that so surprising? We must all begin somewhere. You still remain beneath their tutelage. Clearly some part of you is determined to be worthy of favor.”

  I had to think on my response to that comment. I wasn’t sure if he knew of my stunted magicka.

  “Indeed. I’ve much life yet unlived and many things to prove,” I said, “I oughtn’t give up my aspirations in the face of repudiation, however perpetual it may seem.”

  Savos returned a slight grin, thoughtful but oddly provocative.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Come. We’ll speak more outside.”        

  “Very well,” I conceded, rather than suggesting we remain inside, as I should have.

  I picked up my staff and left with Savos to the college courtyard, where students and mages walked and talked. The snowy enclosure of arctic fauna sat within a half-circle of three-story walls, with tall arched windows, reminiscent of a colosseum. Cornices of ice hung like claws over the topmost edges. The rest of the college exterior rivaled a castle in form.

  Magelights – balls of pure aetherial illumination – floated around the courtyard, their purpose to provide light after dark or during bad weather. In the center was a stone sculpture depicting a mage with open arms, robes blowing back, standing in front of a column of blue light that shot into the sky from a mystic focal point. The college itself could draw power from Aetherius, channeling magical energies not unlike a living soul, to be used for the purposes of study and experimentation. Or to garishly decorate a courtyard with Magelights.

  Snow blew into my eyes with the morning wind. It was a dreary, cloudy day. Savos and I walked to the edge of the courtyard. Its walls provided scarce shelter from the snow but lessened the bite of the wind. The Arch-Mage seemed perfectly comfortable in the cold. I imagine I would have been too if my robes were as laden with fur as his.

  “Low visibility in all of this snow,” I said, pulling a hood over my head. “Such a shame. The view of the sea must be lovely.”

  Savos didn’t respond. He merely gazed out into the fog of snow.

  The college stood atop an impossibly thin column of rock, at least a fifth of the actual building’s diameter. A narrow stone bridge was all that connected it to Winterhold, the village at the other side of the cliff.

  Winterhold was a ghost town, yet I heard it had once been a bustling and prosperous city. About eighty years ago, half of Winterhold crumbled away into the Sea of Ghosts, after being battered by monstrous and inexplicable waves. Yet the college somehow remained intact, perhaps protected by arcane forces. This led to accusations that the college had caused the disaster, souring its reputation in the eyes of the local Nords.

  “I don’t know how you manage in this place,” I remarked, resting my staff against a wall. “Between the cold weather and inhospitable natives, Skyrim seems a caustic environment for the work your mages do here.”

  “Most of us have grown accustomed to the weather, and the pressures of the world do not weigh down on us as you might think,” Savos replied. “Besides, someday the College will be fully accepted by the Nords.”

  “Is that your belief or your desire?”

  “I don’t think it makes a difference. Our college has survived much. For as long as it remains, we will remain with it.”

  I stared off into the sky. Clouds were thinning. The snow flurry had begun to slowly subside.

  “I must ask you,” Savos said, keenness in his voice, “it has been far too long since I’ve heard any news. How have our people fared in Morrowind? I hope you can give a proper firsthand account.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” I said.                                       

  “Have the great houses made progress regaining their strength?”

  “Somewhat, yes… Redoran has established its governance militarily, as I’m sure you know. The other houses are at its beck and call. Their combined forces have staved off further incursions from the Argonian invaders.”

  “They haven’t reclaimed territory?”

  “No,” I spoke tersely. “They still occupy much of the southern region. Those lizards have dug their claws in deep. We will not take back our land without great bloodshed.”

  “You sound like you would welcome this.” Savos sounded concerned.

  “Do I? I am not a battle mage. Warfare is no desire of mine.”

  “But you think it is necessary.”

  I learned forward against the cold stone wall, stern in temperament.

  “I think that the Argonians will regret their decision to bring wanton violence against the Dunmer. The centuries of their conquest must come to an end.”

  That, at the very least, I wholeheartedly believed. I won’t pretend my resentment wasn’t deeply personal. But enough was enough. The An-Xileel of Black Marsh deserved to pay for the all lives they’d needlessly killed.

  Savos scratched an itch on his face.                     

  “Well, it is not–” he managed to say, before his words were short by a sudden booming noise. A roar echoed through the air. Both he and I were startled.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked, frantically looking about for the source of this strange cry.

  “Out there, in the sky! Look!” I exclaimed, pointing toward a clearing in the clouds.

  There was a winged creature in flight, circling above the peaks of faraway mountains. Its hide shone brightly – whitish grey, almost silver. The creature was enormous in size, with sharp spines protruding along the length of its body from head to tail. It glided on the wind with grace, bellowing ferocious roars, flaunting its might and majesty. It appeared weightless on the air.

  Mages and students walking about the courtyard quickly gathered near the walls, coming to witness the marvel before us. Others peered out from their study windows. I was practically leaning over the edge of the wall, captivated, trying to see as best as I could.

  Morrowind is host to all manner of fantastic beings – netches and silt-striders among those most noted by outlanders – but nothing like what I saw that day. Eventually the beast descended, disappearing into the alps. Murmured conversations broke out through the courtyard. I hadn’t the wits about me to settle down.

  “By Azura,” I whispered ecstatically. “Savos, what was that?”

  “I’m… I’m not sure…” The Arch-Mage faltered. He had a strange faraway look, both shocked and melancholic at once. I stretch my powers of perception in saying this, but it seemed as though he had recognized something.

  “You’ve never seen this before? Really? Has anyone?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I believe we’ve just witness the first living dragon in thousands of years.”

  ~ooooo~

  Middas, 20^th of Last Seed 4E 201

  Wide awake despite a lack of sleep, I fastened my tote bag over my shoulder. A fur cloak and hood complemented my robes, adding much needed layers of warmth. The mountains of Skyrim would not be welcoming.

  Yet despite the hostile voyage that awaited me, I struggle to recall another time in which I felt such excitement. My preparations were nearly complete. I assembled all of the resources I could, stocking up on a few spell scrolls along with soul gems to keep my destruction staff charged. The Three willing, I wouldn’t have to use it.

  “You’re serious about going?” the Arch-Mage remarked, standing in the doorway of my guest quarters. “With a party perhaps I could see, but by yourself? It could be very dangerous.”

  Clutter littered every thinkable space in the cramped room, from my desk to the blankets on my bed spread. Books, scraps of paper, ink pens, and maps – all the residue of a full night’s worth of research. I would clean it all later. If I was to find that dragon, I should have begun my search the day before.

  “I hope you’re not here to badger me. I’ll get enough of that from my husband when he hears of this,” I chuckled, enunciating my words with gusto. “There’s no need for undue alarm. I’m taking all necessary precautions. I’ll be back before my escort begins its return to Morrowind.”

  “Are you certain this is wise? There’s no way to know what power the dragon possesses. It may be best to leave it alone, for now.”

  I stopped to regard the old Dunmer. His tired eyes met mine.        

  “I shall confess, I’d never even heard of dragons before yesterday,” I said with a smile on my face, “but my investigations thus far have given me good insight. They’re remarkable beings! And to think they haven’t been seen since the second era! When will another opportunity as this present itself?”

  None of my research had yet earned a place among the Telvanni’s archives. But this would be different. No studies had been performed on dragons, surely not in any depth. This was knowledge yet to be gathered, an unexplored horizon. It was impossible to envisage what I would discover, though one thing was clear: I had to find something worth bringing back.

  “Well… It’s obvious I can’t say anything that will change your mind,” Savos relented. “I won’t delay you any further.”

  Giving a curt farewell to the Arch-Mage, I left the confines of my quarters and stepped out into the courtyard. The sky was crystal clear for the first time since my arrival, breaking dawn. I pulled out a map and glossed over it. The dragon had flown somewhere near the southern ranges of Mount Anthor. I hoped to catch a glimpse of the winged beast again somewhere in that region and find where it was roosting.

  Taking my first steps across the bridge to Winterhold, my excursion began.

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