Chapter Seventeen
The following morning, S’maash regrouped with his friends outside the inn. Cold wind blew from the mountains in the west. It seemed to settle right over Markarth. Even walking at a brisk pace to Understone Keep, the crew felt the chill of Skyrim’s climate. Upon entering, they went straight to Aicantar’s study area. He was sitting with a book in his hands.
“Aicantar. Good morning,” Brelyna said.
His face lit up. “Good to see you. I had dared to believe you would return safely.”
“We retrieved the fragment as well as these strange books,” S’maash said, showing the tomes to the altmer.
“Ah. Well, now, they seem to have gotten wet. No worries, so you say you found it?” Aicantar was as close to bursting as any high elf. S’maash produced the obsidian gem he stole. Then, he explained how they went through a hidden passage. “Under the water, you say. Now, I am truly impressed. A piece of the Heart of Lorkhan…can you be sure, though?”
“No, but the falmer appeared to have been worshipping it,” S’maash replied.
“It was an eerie sight to behold,” Brelyna added.
Zolara nodded in agreement. Aicantar shrugged. A brief moment passed wherein no one had anything to say. It was difficult to believe that the ancient artifact had been right under Markarth the entire time. Finally, Aicantar returned to the damp books.
“I cannot read them, but I thought you might be able to,” S’maash explained.
“Certainly, I can try. My uncle was the one obsessed with the dwemer. I just find their legacy fascinating. No doubt, he has notes allowing a translation. I should say left me notes…rest his soul,” Aicantar commented.
“We’re off to the College now. Thank you Aicantar,” S’maash smiled.
“To study the relic I presume,” Aicantar pried.
“Actually, no, I need to recover a journal. I don’t know the location of the other fragment, and I have need of both of them to satisfy Hermaeus Mora.”
“Come back soon. I should have these translated within a month or so. Best of luck to you all.”
They bid him well and left Markarth to hire a carriage ride back to Winterhold. The long trip allowed the travelers time to discuss further planning. Brelyna believed she was not going to join S’maash on the next expedition; it was too dangerous, and she was needed at the College. Zolara decided he had had enough adventure for one week.
“Understandable. I appreciate that both of you came along. Perhaps, I will find some fighters to hire. Do you have a Reyda Tong presence here,” S’maash asked.
“No. Nor do we have a Fighters’ Guild. Instead we have the Companions. They’re an order of warriors whose origin started thousands of years ago, back when Ysgramor first led the five hundred,” Brelyna replied.
“I’ll figure something.”
The ride through Markarth’s territories was relaxing. By the time they crossed over the Pale, night had settled in, and they fell asleep. The following morning, the cart driver woke them. Further discussions of what adventures and dangers lay ahead ensued. Night settled in once more before reaching the town of Winterhold. Beautiful patterns of colored lights swam in the black sky beyond the College’s towers.
“Well, I’m off to bed. Stay safe, S’maash,” Zolara said and left.
“Will you be resting here,” Brelyna asked.
“I might as well. I have to recover Farengar’s journal from Tolfdir,” S’maash replied.
With nothing much to do until the following morning, they all went to sleep. It was a restless sleep, for the wizard, though. Strange dreams of endless caverns and hordes of falmer assaulted his mind.
The next day, he met Tolfdir in the Hall of the Elements. Other students had gathered to practice their destruction skills. Thunder and explosions echoed in the background along with laughter.
“Yes, I recall reading something about the locations of the fragments. I can go retrieve the journal if you like,” Tolfdir said.
“I’d appreciate that very much.”
A moment later, Tolfdir returned with the journal in hand. S’maash took it then flipped through pages. The latter portions contained bits of Farengar’s thoughts on what he believed Hermaeus Mora needed. Previously, S’maash was uncertain as to what the notes referred to when speaking of two endeavors. The notes mentioned a city of stone. Markarth clearly, S’maash thought. Another, nonsensical word appeared, obviously of dwemer origins.
“Mzulft. Where is that?”
“Oh, it’s due north of Riften. You can try to get there from Windhelm, but navigating around the mountains is quite perilous,” Tolfdir advised.
“So, I’ll head all the way back to Riften. It has been a long time since I’ve been there,” S’maash said, looking away.
“Is there anything you’ll need before your journey?”
“I am in need of some food perhaps. I’ll have to cast new enchantments to diversify my gear as well,” S’maash announced.
“Before you do, I have something for you.” Tolfdir produced a bundle of tan cloth. As he unwrapped, a pommel was revealed, then the entire blade. It was very unusual. Tolfdir handed it to S’maash. “Do you know what this is?”
“I do not, but I feel the magicka radiating from within its structure,” S’maash looked the blade up and down.
“That is Keening, one of the artifacts used by the dwemer when they vanished from our world. Its other half is Sunder,” Tolfdir said.
S’maash looked up from the blade to meet the old nord’s eyes. He was aware of Kagrenac’s tools, but knew little of them.
“Tell me more,” S’maash demanded.
“I found it after you…well after you wreaked havoc on your room. Arniel had hidden it, or perhaps the Dragonborn had hidden it. I don’t know how much you know about Arniel Gane, but he was studying the dwemer for entirely different reasons than yourself.
“Upon his request, the Dragonborn helped Arniel with his endeavor. Other than the blade, I also found some old logbooks. They were hidden under some floorboards. Far as I can tell, Arniel forged a warped soul gem and attempted a maneuver similar to the dwemer’s, only he did not have all the necessary items.
“I fear we’ll never know just how it all ended. Arniel simply vanished,” Tolfdir explained.
“Fascinating. Where is the other half of this blade? Where is Sunder?” the elf demanded. Tolfdir only shook his head. S’maash put the blade away. “Thank you. I’ll be in my room then.”
He ran off to secure his equipment. Keening was an alluring artifact. It reverberated ever so slightly as though it had been lightly tapped. Once S’maash focused upon it, he felt three, distinct enchantments, flows of magicka. How can it possess three enchantments? It was that kind of question, which drove him inexorably towards discovery.
After placing Keening in the old, linen wraps, S’maash hid it safely inside a small chest. He then returned to his task at hand- forging versatile equipment. There are no enchantments to increase the destructive power of magick. Instead, I can only reduce the drain upon my reserves. Physical damage, on the other hand, can be increased by fortifying one’s own ability in specialized combat. Before committing to his act, he scrambled for a new journal.
In the log, he scribed a theory. He was going to find some fortify enchanting potions. He knew Brelyna had some stashed away. Next, he was going to craft a set of equipment to improve smithing, not for himself, but for his old friend in Riften, Balimund. S’maash reasoned that if he improved all of his equipment and fortified his newly honed combat skills, he might fare better against the falmer and automatons of Mzulft. Strong as magickal attacks were, they did little against several creatures. Furthermore, spells with a radius effect always had the possibility of injuring one’s friends. He logged the equipment and enchantments in his new journal before undertaking the actual task.
For Balimund, he wrote; leather bracers, leather armor, silver ring, and silver necklace. All of these enchanted to fortify smithing.
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For myself, he wrote; a hide shield with resist magicka and fortify block. An elven sword with fiery, soul trap and frost damage. One pair of leather boots fortified with one-handed and muffle. Leather armor, fortifying my abilities with light armor and stamina. One, leather helmet, fortifying restoration and destruction. A second set of leather bracers for myself, fortifying one-handed and magicka. A silver ring to resist magicka and fortify destruction, and lastly a silver necklace with fortify restoration and destruction.
Obtaining everything was a time consuming effort. He spent hours running about, wherein he sold off the treasures recovered from Nchuand-Zel, purchased all the required equipment, bought new, spell tomes, and received the potions from Brelyna. Upon the conclusion of his undertaking, S’maash left for Riften in the late evening. Between the jostlings of the cart ride, he added to a journal he had started long ago, making notes about his friends, places visited, and thoughts on his quest.
On a dewy morning, he arrived in Riften. It was much warmer so near Cyrodiil. The town had a golden sheen from the sun in the cloudless sky. S’maash found Balimund at his forge.
“Is that S’maash? What are you doing out here? College business, I presume,” Balimund said as he stood to shake hands.
“Personal business, and I brought you some gifts. I thought you might want to try them,” S’maash said, handing over a satchel.
“Armor,” Balimund asked.
“Enchanted to fortify smithing,” S’maash smiled.
“I don’t know what to say,” Balimund said accepting the gift.
“Say you’ll improve my equipment free of charge.”
“You’ve been a good friend to me. That means something. Of course, I’ll do it.” They spent some time catching up on life as Balimund operated the worktable and grindstone. “So, Mzulft eh? You’re not the same mer who came in here almost a year ago,” Balimund commented.
“I suppose not.”
“Just make sure you’re careful. Seasoned warriors and mages might both fall prey to ancient traps. Keep your eyes peeled, Okay?” Balimund suggested.
“Thank you, friend. I will, and I’ll stop by once I have advanced my research.”
S’maash made for the road heading north and out of Riften. The scenery was vastly different than most of Skyrim; trees grew all about the grassy hills, colorful leaves swirled, and there was even a variety of birdsongs. It did not take long before S’maash spotted broken piping protruding from the ground surrounding cliffs and ancient ruins.
Mzulft was built high into the mountains. Moments of jogging uphill ensued. S’maash came upon the doors leading into the ruins and pushed through. Like the other, dwarven cities, pipes, gears, and machinery lined the walls and ground, only in Mzulft they were grouped tighter together as though the dwarves had too little space. Plus, he was absolutely deafened by the clanking of machines.
A sudden sinking feeling set in, before S’maash reacted, spikes from the ceiling dealt his flesh a bit of damage. He yelled in pain as he fell backwards.
“Oof! Balimund just told me to keep my eyes peeled.”
Shaking his head, he healed himself, stepped over the pressure plate, and moved further in. It was difficult to tell whether Mzulft was simply older or more badly damaged than other ruins. Several oddities struck him, though; the halls were steamy, there was old camping gear, and winding areas led into portions of the ruin, which were not organic to dwemer architecture. Those earthy areas seemed to have been carved beyond the former walls and into the natural mountain. It was stranger still that dwemer, gas lamps hung suspended from the natural ceilings.
Evidence of a previous expedition invited him to be extra careful. Thankfully, he spotted the trip wires along the way. Definitely not dwemer traps, and the camping gear isn’t falmer. I wonder who came through.
Hours of navigating the twisting caverns passed then he had to cross over darkened areas, which forced him to wield candle light. Apart from traps, Mzulft appeared rather safe. A very strange thought nagged him. Why does it keep going up?
Every, other, dwemer city was designed to progresses deeper and deeper, but Mzulft was different. After a long hike, S’maash found himself in a very dark room filled with steamy pipes. Crumbled pillars were before him. He gazed over a ledge built into a depression in the stonework. It was obvious the only way forwards was to hug the leftmost wall, but pipes were protruding from there as well. Upon drawing closer, S’maash casted another candle light to better see.
The spell revealed pressure plates in the ground. As he sidled the wall and piping, he made sure to step over the traps. On the other side, he was safe.
Beyond a corner was a set of dwarven metal doors, but there were dead falmer and broken automatons strewn all over. The wizard walked beyond the evidence of battle and into the boilery, a damp, dark area emitting a strange, mechanical whining.
Large, empty halls appeared picked clean. There wasn’t so much as dwemer pottery, scrap metal, or anything. After passing another, earthy area, he reached a room with barred gates, peculiar gates not of dwemer construction. Taking a moment to scan his surroundings, he noticed beyond one gate were mangled automatons, beyond another was practically nothing, just one, stone bench. The other gate was open. Beyond it was a rubbly passage where ferns grew from the ground.
Shrugging, he settled for the open gate, first; the path beyond was winding and undulating. Dwemer stonework soon gave way to brown, rocky passages carved by unknown hands. They, in turn, gave way to black stone and glowing mushrooms, so he treaded carefully, believing the area to be falmer territory.
He spotted dark huts, seemingly of falmer architecture, but they were empty. Mysteriously, the falmer cave gave way to more of Mzulft. S’maash then found himself in a spanning, rectangular room with a sunken center. At the center were huge, broken pipes. Water had recently pooled at the surrounding ground.
A thorough inspection ensued; he concluded there was little of interest and proceeded around the depression and up stairs. There, he pushed through doors and into the aedrome, where he halted and shook his head. Mzulft was very unlike Nchuand-Zel and Damlzthur; it was downright mystifying, but only in its architecture.
The aedrome lacked much in the way of dwemer art. It was mostly bland, gray stone, though carved exceptionally well. Many doors remained locked. If the way beyond the hall is through one of these doors, I’ll have to come back with someone who can pick locks.
Before making a decision to leave, he skulked around the room. Tall pillars rose to the ceiling in a beautiful array, yet there didn’t appear to be anything worthy of scrutiny, so he broke for food and rest. Refreshed, he skulked some more and found one side of the aedrome had a set of stairs leading up, and the opposite side had stairs leading down, yet both were a dead end.
“Nothing in here,” S’maash said, his voice reverberating from wall to wall.
With no other alternative, and his patience gone, he decided to abandon Mzulft for the time being. It was a mindnumbing journey, which took hours. Ultimately, he stopped by the area with the strange, barred gates.
“I wonder what the story is, here.”
For all intents and purposes, the rooms beyond the gates appeared ordinary. There was nothing within that required barred entry. Resigning himself to futility, he started back for Riften.