For a moment there was nothing, only blackness. From blackness sprung dreams, dreams of home. Familiar faces wafted about the darkness. A name resonated.
“S’maash,” an unseen voice called.
“S’maash,” the deep and dreadful voice spoke.
“S’maash,” a voice was demanding his attention.
With a wild inhalation, the elf snapped his eyes open. He saw the dusty burial chamber and looked up. A virulent and Wretched Abyss had presented itself. It was a dark, swirling mass of blackness. Deep hues of purple intertwined with the abyss.
“S’maash,” the deep voice beckoned.
Animal fear gripped his heart. S’maash scrambled onto his posterior. He attempted to back away.
“Fear not, S’maash. I am Hermaeus Mora. I have been observing you,” the daedric prince said.
“What do you want of me, foul demon?”
“I am pleased to see you so diligently striving for knowledge. I wish to aid those, who seek enlightenment. I only ask a small favor. Serve me,” Hermaeus Mora commanded.
“Never,” S’maash whispered.
“I can show you that which is hidden to most. Return to Farengar. Inform him that I, the Daedric Prince of Knowledge, have sent you. Tell him to explain what he knows, what I have shown him. Go, before I swallow you into my Wretched Abyss….”
Slack-jawed, the elf was in total disbelief. As the adrenaline wore off, the pain from his battles set in. His body ached, yet he managed to his feet. Suddenly remembering what he had been doing, he began scrambling around, looking for Shalidor’s Insights.
He spotted something then; the glowing cinders. Huffing, he approached and sifted through the remains, revealing some bone meal, quite a few Septims, a staff of snow storm, and Shalidor’s Insights.
He took it all then opened the blue book. The pages inside were nonsensical, only images and strange runes, a few diagrams. S’maash was befuddled, but the oddity mattered very little. He had accomplished his task. A return to Whiterun was in order.
It was a long trip back through Labyrinthian, back to to the city. At the very least, the long haul was no longer riddled with angry draugr. It took the better part of two hours for the weakened wizard to reach the tight exit.
He wriggled through into daylight. While safe, he decided to eat and drink. After a short rest, he proceeded with his return trip.
The warm sun slowly moved across the sky. It was a balmy day. Skyrim’s endless beauty refreshed the heart. He did not know if it was the victory in battle, the successful claiming of lost knowledge, or the food and drink in his belly, but he was happy, happier than he remembered ever being in L’Thu Oad. His only wish was that his brother had fought alongside him. I’ll have to write S’maath a letter regarding this journey.