Falura
~ ~ ~
Fredas, 12th of Hearthfire 4E 201
Delphine was taking Reinhardt and I to a village called Kynesgrove, south of Windhelm. The knowledge she had to share with us along the way was shocking. She spoke of an ancient stone map that the wizard Farengar had recovered as his part of their cooperation, containing locations of ancient dragon burial mounds.
Delphine claimed to have visited these mounds and found them empty.
“The dragons weren't gone somewhere for all these years,” she told us as we rode together to the east. “They were dead, killed off centuries ago. Now something's happening to bring them back to life.”
Not all of the mounds were vacant. Only dragons buried in Skyrim’s southeast had been resurrected. Delphine did not perceive this to be happenchance, but rather the beginning of something more sinister. There resurrections had begun in the Jerall Mountains near Riften and were slowly spreading northwest across the rest of the province. “The mound at Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds,” she said. “If we can get there before it happens, maybe we’ll learn how to stop it.”
I must confess I had my doubts about this mysterious woman. She was loath to disclose even the vaguest information about herself. Yet the circumstances of our meeting at Ustengrav were too convincing for me to harbor any qualms. Delphine was searching for the Dragonborn and a way to stop the dragons, same as us. The possibility of witnessing a dragon resurrection outweighed all risks in my opinion. This was a precious opportunity we could not neglect.
We traveled by horse for three days through the frozen north of Skyrim. It was a quiet journey. Sparse exchanges of dialogue were made with our new escort, until the time of arrival was almost upon us. By then the snowy countryside had transformed into a greener mountain foot with pine trees and rocky terrain.
“There's an inn at Kynesgrove – the Braidwood,” Delphine said above the clopping of our horses. “I hear they serve a nice dark ale. Nothing on the Sleeping Giant, of course.”
Reinhardt raised his mustache. “Dark ale? Eh… I’d go for something more rich and dry right about now. A good stout, maybe.”
“Where will we find the dragon burial mound?” I asked.
Delphine kept to minding the road. “The innkeeper ought to be able to tell us where it is. Can’t be too far from the village.”
“Just don’t forget,” Reinhardt said with a leery smirk, “this is making up for all your threats at Ustengrav. Doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Delphine replied. “Still, I'm glad you were willing to trust me. I know it probably wasn't the best way to introduce myself, but… old habits. You know.”
We were accompanying a woman with enemies; that I could presume. She was in Skyrim impersonating an innkeeper to operate incognito. Quite suspicious. Then there was her sword. Distinctly exotic, it seemed to me. The hand guard depicted interlocking serpents, handle inlaid with gold designs beneath an outer wrap. It was a very slender blade. I’d seen weapons just as ornate, but hers was of a style I couldn’t place with any known cultures in Tamriel. Delphine had mentioned her ‘employers’ to Farengar back at Dragonsreach. Was she part of an organization? If so, who?
There are people operating in the shadows amidst this dragon business, tangled with the events of their return. What forces are at work behind it all?
Stones upon the cobble road suddenly began to clatter. A sound like rumbling thunder shook the air. Our horses stopped.
“Shore’s bones, what is that!?” Reinhardt exclaimed. “A storm!?”
A gathering of dark clouds had suddenly appeared in the sky, swelling and expanding into a violent tempest. It hovered over top our destination. Nothing but magic could account for such a phenomenon. We heard distant cries.
“Look alive,” Delphine snapped. “There are people coming.”
Nords were rushing toward us in a droving herd. The inhabitants of Kynesgrove had taken to the roads, fleeing from the storm that loomed above their village. They passed us by without a moment of regard, repeating the same message – turn back. Reinhardt stopped a woman amidst the crowd, trotting his horse in front of her.
“Woah there, slow down!” he said. “What’s happening here?”
The spindly woman thought us insane, checking behind for signs of pursuit. Fear creased her pale face.
“No, you don’t want to go back there! A dragon–!”
Roaring filled the skies. We shot our eyes up at the clouds and glimpsed a pair of enormous black wings.
“Come on, hurry! We might already be too late,” Delphine barked as she drove her horse into a gallop. We rode behind her into the storm. Blustery winds assailed us with growing intensity. Snowflakes melted on my skin. The dragon banked overhead in the air, frightening our mounts. They bucked in objection to any further spurring.
“Leave the horses!” Reinhardt said as he threw himself off of his saddle. “Let’s go!”
The three of us dismounted and hurried along an uphill road that cut through the heart of Kynesgrove. We left behind the Braidwood Inn, its doors swung open and rooms emptied. There was a small mining camp and a vegetable farm, riddled with tools the townsfolk left behind. Chickens flapped their wings and squawked in their coops. Cattle had broken out of their pens. Tailwinds from the wyrm swayed trees and grass speckled with snow.
This was not the scene of a dragon attack. There were no buildings destroyed, no dead to be found. The black dragon merely flew in circles with the cyclonic clouds. I glimpsed its shape amid the storm, even more menacing than the wyrm we fought at Mount Anthor, with jagged scales and sharp angles all over its body. In the dim light its blood-red eyes glowed. The dragon’s roar was harsh and piercing, enough to rattle the bones of any creature with ears to hear.
No doubt it had caused the storm to appear. Controlling the weather with magic would require vast quantities of magicka. If this dragon could command such power, it was of an order unto itself.
At the crest of the path, a small group of armed and armored soldiers were gathered behind a crop of boulders. I counted nine in total. They must have been guards to the village who chose to stay behind. Reinhardt later told me the men and women were Stormcloaks, on account of the blue cloth they wore.
One of them tried to send us away as we approached. “What are you all doing here? The village has fled! Go! Run for the hills!”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Reinhardt scoffed, pushing past the man. “Move over, milk drinkers.”
“Lorkhan's eyes! Look at that big bastard!” Delphine whispered, observing the dragon above. We hunkered behind the boulders with the Stormcloaks, wind blowing through our clothes. The wyrm stopped flying in circles and began hovering over Kynesgrove’s burial mound. It was still filled with dirt, sitting in the middle of a flat turf overlooking the village. A mountain slope rose behind it, pocked with light forestation.
“This is what we came for,” I said. “We must watch and see what happens.”
One of the soldiers spoke up. “What do you mean watch? What’re you three up to?”
“This ain’t no place for your schemes, elf,” another sneered.
“Damned mage, are you the cause of this!?” another barked.
Such hostility! I couldn’t mask my unease. The Nords seemed ready to string me up a tree. Delphine stepped in to reproach.
“Don’t be foolish,” she said. “We’ve come here to stop this.”
“We’re no fools,” replied another Stormcloak. “But we won’t bury your bodies if you die.” She was an officer, wearing a plated suit of fur with steel clawed gauntlets. A bear pelt dressed her head.
“Nobody here’s dying,” Reinhardt growled, “except for that dragon.”
“Hush!” I hissed. “Something’s happening!”
The black dragon spoke. Its voice was deep and commanding.
“Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!”
With three words it uttered a Shout upon the mound: “Slen tiid vo!!” There came a rumbling beneath our feet. From under the mound’s shifting dirt, the reanimated bones of a dragon climbed out. Its complete lack of muscles or living tissue was of no consequence. As the skeletal dragon pulled the last of itself out from its grave, embers began to glow around the body. They slowly attached to the skeleton and cooled, becoming muscle fibers, sinews, organs, and scales. Its flesh was being rendered from a power within the air itself.
“This is worse than I thought,” Delphine said softly to herself. The embers ceased and where one dragon had been, two were now present. The resurrected dragon donned a hide of copper scales, a head without horns, and a barbed tail.
It spoke as a liege to its lord.
“Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?”
“Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir,” the black wyrm replied.
The storm continued to whorl overhead. We watched the scene from the relative safety of the rocks. My Nord companion, however, felt compelled to stand up and step into the open.
I reached out to him. “Reinhardt, no! Get back here this instant!”
“They know we’re here,” he spoke low-toned. “I won’t cower before these beasts.” The stalwart man exposed himself to the dragons and the elements. Long strands of hair whipped across his face.
His courage was foolhardy, but I couldn’t let him be a fool alone. I rose and stood by his side. Delphine followed. Soon the others were mimicking Reinhardt’s gesture of bravery. Everyone stood before the dragons. They set their eyes on us. The black one twisted a sneer on its face, a look of utter contempt.
“Ful, joor do daar bok lost naram pahlokaal,” it said. “You do not even know our tongue, do you? Conceited mortals.” The dragon turned again to its subject and gave a command. “Sahloknir, krii daar joor. Kos zokoraav, fah siigonis dovahkiin lov.”
At this, the black dragon flew away, disappearing beyond the storm. The remaining wyrm spoke to us.
“My lord requires your deaths. I am glad to oblige him!” The dragon stood on its hind legs. It spread out its wings with a blast of air in intimidating display. “I am Sahloknir! Hear my Voice and despair!”
The Stormcloak officer brought a battleaxe to bear and raised it high.
“For Ulfric, and Skyrim!”
With a unified battle cry, the soldiers charged. Reinhardt and Delphine charged with them. I stayed back to wait for an opening.
Against the fear rising in me, I felt underpinning confidence. We knew what kind of creature we were fighting against. We had strength in numbers. The fight would be bloody, but we had the means to prevail.
It was confidence in ignorance. We were not prepared for the Shouts this dragon knew…
“FAS… RU MAAR!!!”
It unleashed its voice. A visible soundwave flowed out, tinting the air a translucent red. The Shout wrapped around objects and people that obstructed it. Staying back had been my fortune. I was just out of its range. The red tint faded and the charging Nords staggered back. Cries of panic ensued.
The dragon had cast a magical incantation not unlike an illusion spell. Its attackers were suddenly gripped with debilitating fear, so strong that some abandoned their weapons and tried to flee. The rest fought against the domineering power of the Shout using sheer willpower, with varying amounts of success.
The wyrm exploited this chaos and slammed its tail down upon a fleeing Stormcloak, before sweeping it across the ground. Men and women were toppled aside. One was impaled on the spikes that barbed the creature’s tail. A few including Delphine and the Stormcloak officer still had wits to dodge, but Reinhardt was among those swept away.
I did not need to be struck by any Shout to feel dismay at that moment, watching my companion get brushed aside like an ant. In fright I ran to him instead of fighting the dragon. The beast assaulted with its limbs and snapped with its jaws, filling the windy air with dying screams.
As I bent down to pick Reinhardt off the ground, he suddenly clutched at my arm, eyes staring wide at the dragon. His grip was painful tight.
“What… is this!?” He shrieked, writhing in terror. “What’s happening!?”
My spirits sank. Reinhardt’s will hadn’t been strong enough to oppose the dragon’s magic. It was a cruelty to behold. Here was a Nord I’d come to think could stand before a hundred dragons undaunted. To see him in this terror-stricken state felt, for lack of a better word, heartbreaking.
“It’s an illusion, Reinhardt!” I cried. “What you’re seeing isn’t real! You must fight it!”
A bright light flashed. The dragon’s fire breath cascaded upon a Stormcloak, his shield raised in desperation to block the heat. An ally rushed to save him. The woman grazed her sword on the dragon’s neck. It recoiled with a snarl and snatched her in its teeth, gnashing the woman into tatters. The wyrm tossed away her remains. Blood dribbled down its chin. It knocked aside another attacker with a wing slap, turning then to face Reinhardt and me. The creature approached.
But Delphine had snuck in close. Her blade cut the dragon’s wing. It flinched back and took to the air – the wyrm wouldn’t leave its wing exposed to further harm. But the start of its takeoff left it vulnerable. I channeled my staff’s charge.
This is for Reinhardt, you monster!
An explosive fireball punished the wyrm’s escape, scorching the scales upon its chest. The dragon roared, soaring away. It was resilient. Killing the creature would require more than a few simple spellcastings.
“We’ve got to ground this son of a bitch!” Delphine shouted, arming her crossbow.
The remaining soldiers grabbed bows from their backs and their fallen. What followed was a frantic struggle to end the dragon’s flight. I guided Reinhardt away toward a grove of trees. He dragged his sword limply with him. The Nord’s mind was still in turmoil.
“The dragon…” he mumbled. “That dragon…”
There were only five people left scattered in the open field. Delphine was still alive along with four other Stormcloaks. The wyrm flew. Arrows sailed.
“WULD!!!”
The dragon’s Shout dashed it clear of all missiles as it came around and snatched a man away. More arrows soared for a target, but the dragon avoided their arcs. The wyrm was hardly slowed by its attackers. Our losses increased. No werewolves would turn the tide this time. Every death made defeat more certain.
I continued to lead my companion away from the battle. He looked at me with a mixture of confusion and dread.
“Falura…?”
“Keep fighting, Reinhardt. I’m taking you to safety,” I said. “You’ll wear the magic out!”
“…Magic…”
“Just keep fighting it!”
“…That… bastard…”
He suddenly stopped us both and pushed away from me. Something in the Nord had snapped, his brow rumpling.
“That bastard!” Reinhardt growled back at the winged beast. “I let that bastard…!”
The wyrm’s spell had waned. The Nord’s fear was gone, replaced with hot rage. I could see bloodlust in his eyes. He shouted with a fist in the air.
“You’re dead, dragon! You hear me!? Dead!!”
My companion had indeed returned to me. I breathed out. Oh, Azura’s kindness…
Reinhardt abruptly became conscious of himself and turned to me. He had a muddled gawp on his face. Was he ashamed? Embarrassed?
“Falura...”
“Let’s kill this creature,” I said, facing the dragon in flight. “Our journey shall not end here!” Survival was the ultimate goal. We had to persevere.
I wouldn’t perish without passing on my knowledge of the dragons. I wouldn’t leave Ethyl in mourning. And, perhaps, to add to the list of imperatives… I wouldn’t lose Reinhardt.
“Now there’s some sense,” he said. “Time to show this dragon who Skyrim belongs to!”
We returned to the fight together. The wyrm had just grabbed another victim, the Stormcloak officer, flying her up into the storm. He reappeared empty-clawed from the clouds and dove for us. I focused an inferno of fire in my staff, near in power to the one that burned the white dragon. I taught it a lesson: the error of coming too close to me. A fire blast erupted from my staff’s crystal head. The dragon corrected its dive and swerved off, scales alight with flame. It bellowed.
Yet the attack was ineffective. Was the creature resistant to fire? The white dragon had been wounded by it far more. With a soul gem I recharged a portion of my staff. I was running out of energy to feed it. Reinhardt sheathed his sword and began shooting his bow.
The wyrm tried next to grab Delphine. She dodged and dealt a deep wound to its leg, bleeding badly as it flew. Its subsequent gout of fire breath met a Stormcloak near us. The man hollered as he failed to avoid it.
Reinhardt swore. We couldn’t keep losing men like this.
“I’m going for him! Keep that dragon off us!”
My companion rushed over, using his cloak to put out the flames burning the Stormcloak. The dragon tried to finish them off, but a fireball from my staff deterred it. As it flew away I saw loathing for me in its gaze. I was an obstacle, a pest. It redirected its efforts, making my death a priority. I recharged my staff with my last soul gem and prepared to deliver another fiery blow.
The dragon soared over trees and rocks to reach me. It landed with a quake. I could smell the blood of Nords on its breath. It was close, much too close. I would correct that momentarily. My staff’s crystal glowed like the sun.
The creature still hadn’t learned its lesson.
Or so I believed.
“ZUN… HAAL!!!”
A burst of white-blue magic blew from the dragon’s lungs and blasted against me. I felt the fingers gripping my staff pry open. Something in the magic took over my nerves. I gasped. The staff flew from my grasp far off into the woods behind me.
It was another new Shout. A disarming Shout.
Panic rattled me. I ducked under the wyrm’s snapping teeth and tried to scamper away, to little avail. With a swing of its muzzle it knocked me off of my feet and into the air. The breeze felt cold. My flight was impeded by the trunk of a tree. The back of my head stuck its bark and I dropped face-first into the grass, ears ringing, bearings lost.
“Falura!!” Reinhardt hollered.
The Nord ran to my aid. He slashed the dragon’s thigh with his sword, trying to distract it long enough for me to escape, but I was too dazed to come to my feet. The dragon lashed its tail at Reinhardt and he fell on his side. His sword clattered onto a stony patch of dirt. Though my vision was blurred, I watched the Nord scramble to retrieve his weapon, only for the dragon to stomp its foot on the blade.
There was a snap of steel. The weapon broke in two. Reinhardt was little more than a nuisance to the creature now. It brushed him aside with a powerful slap of its wing. He landed on his back.
The dragon fixed its eyes on me.
No! Stand up! This is not the end!
I rose to my hands and knees. Delphine was running, but she wouldn’t make it in time. The wyrm was upon me. Nothing stood in its way.
The ring! Cast your ward!
I extended my left hand weakly. The dragon thumped nearer. Something warm trickled behind my ear.
“This… is not the end…” I whispered.
It opened its mouth.
“YOL…”
Two Shouts rang out.
“…TOOR SHUL!!!”
“…NAH KEST!!!”
A ward blocked its stream of fire. Cast not by me, but by the man who dashed between us on a gust of wind. He slid to a stop in a half-crouch, his tail trailing after him. As a flaring blaze of orange fanned at the front of his outstretched shield, the Argonian looked back with a glare as fierce as the dragon itself.
“Stay behind me!!”
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Comments
I assume you meant Shor's?
I'M SHAKING FROM THE ACTION
THEY ARE TOGETHER AT LAAAAAST