Chapter Seven
The following morning, after further lessons in alteration provided by Brelyna, S’maash asked her for assistance. During their conversation, she decided to allow him access to her arcane enchanter and provided him with soul gems. He took to it immediately with the ancient, elven boots he had recovered from Anutwyll.
She observed him as he efficiently broke down the enchantment. First, he placed the golden boots on the table. Focusing his intent on the force of magick as it broke free from the boots, he learned they had been enchanted with the ability to muffle footsteps, something he had missed while he wore them. Once the enchantment was freed from the boots, their physical structure became unstable. They fell to pieces. He then turned to Brelyna.
“Why do some artifacts resist disenchantment?”
“If the force of the enchantment exceeds that of the arcane enchanter, it is incapable of releasing the enchantment from the item. Furthermore, if the item is held together by a powerful enchantment, the physical nature of the piece cannot be destroyed, so the enchantment can’t be freed.”
“A form of alteration?”
“Yes, actually; many fail to realize that enchanting is directly correlated to the school of alteration,” she answered.
“I heard about a former enchanter, here. Where did he go?”
“Sergius Turrianus?” she chirped. S’maash shrugged. “He was our only instructor for the school of enchanting.”
“The nords, Wulfgar and Wulfbore, said he worked with the Dragonborn.”
“You must mean Arniel Gane…no one knows for certain. Weeks after his disappearance, we went through his room. There were some journals he left behind.
“It seems he and the Dragonborn had been working on some way to find the dwemer. Arniel was convinced that by using a warped soul gem he could replicate the power of Lorkhan’s Heart. He then obtained Keening, a dwemer artifact. I don’t know what happened after that. He simply vanished. I’m afraid the Dragonborn hasn’t been seen in Skyrim for somtime, so there’s no way to know just what happened….”
S’maash’s heart pounded. He knew the story of how General Nerevar battled Dumac, and was familiar with the subsequent change of the chimer into the dunmer; it involved the Heart of Lorkhan, and the disappearance of the dwemer.
“Is anyone living in Arniel’s room,” he asked.
“No. No one wants to set foot in there. It’s been twenty years, and still people are scared; nonsense, if you ask me, but I have no need to be in there.”
“Do you think I could take his room?”
“I’ll check with Tolfdir. If he approves, it’s all yours,” she said.
During the next few days, S’maash wrote his brother another letter explaining he had finally found his place in life. Next, he poured over the many, dusty tomes kept by Urag, the orc, in the Arcaeneum. The librarian’s abrasive personality softened a tad once he realized the young elf was serious about reading. Finally, S’maash was given Arniel Gane’s old room. With free reign over an arcane enchanter, endless soul gems, and complete silence, he engrossed himself in reading, working, and also writing down every question he came upon.
A week went by before he amassed an entire journal brimming with questions. What is the origin of the arcane enchanter? Are they ingrained with the force of alteration? Can they be amplified? How do soul gems function? Why do they shatter after use? What is it about the Star of Azura that allows it to remain in existence and subsequently refilled? For the most part, his questions remained unanswered.
While conducting studies, he also attempted to discern the nature of the gems he removed from the ayleid ruin. Brelyna, having grown close to S’maash, decided to take some time and assist in that endeavor. After crushing one gem to a fine powder, and refining it into a liquid at her alchemy table, she then ran the contents through the glass and steel apparatus. It turned out to be a solidified version of the ayleid fluid found in glowing pools, pools that were collected and crystallized into a welkynd stone.
While the ayleids had a process for speeding along the results, the liquid itself, or the liquid while in mist form, had the potential to bind and coalesce into a solid state. Only rarely and under specific conditions did the stone truly become a welkynd stone, so the ayleids refined the process through artificial means.
“So, it’s just a welkynd stone in its infancy,” S’maash asked her that night.
They were sitting on the edge of the well before the statue of the once great Shalidor outside the College. It appeared as though its stone robes fluttered in the wind. The moons sat perfectly atop the center of the starry sky. Brelyna, clutching her fur-lined, blue robes, peered into the darkness.
“Yes. Has there been any progress on your research?”
“Not much, truthfully, but then I did not expect to make leaps and bounds after a mere fortnight,” S’maash replied.
“What will you do next?”
He looked up as he brought his thoughts together. “I want to understand why an alteration spell, such as stone flesh, doesn’t permanently alter the living, while a similar enchantment, such as fortify heavy armor, permanently alters the equipment,” he stated.
“Well, I can assure you, at least part of that reason has to do with the magicka reserves in a person. Equipment such as armor doesn’t have a reserve of magicka,” she answered.
“But weapons with charges behave as though they do and can be recharged with the same force, souls, as used to enchant…every item enchanted is infused with the living essence,” S’maash’s voice trailed away.
Brelyna was impressed. She had never met one so inquisitive.
“So, you think the souls have more to do with the enchantment than the effect or spell,” she asked.
“If the souls—once filtered into the soul gem—adopt the same energy flux as magicka…is that what it is? It can’t be just magicka; by that logic, a welkynd stone could be used to cast an enchantment. What am I missing, here?”
“Souls and magicka are different forces, though both magickal. If Sergius were still here, he might explain it a little better,” Brelyna said.
“Who taught him?”
“I assume someone in Cyrodiil.”
S’maash rubbed the hairless sides of his head. The bitter night’s cold nipped at his ears. With a glance at Brelyna, he stood and made for the door into the Hall of Countenance. For a second, she felt rebuffed, but followed suit. Upon entering, Brelyna went to her room, beside the stairs. S’maash collapsed onto his bed, one floor above. He wanted to think, but his mind was weary. His body was not. He stared at the ceiling for a moment then closed his eyes.
Not good enough, he thought. He quickly rolled out of bed. Shock overtook him for a brief second. He thought he had seen a large, purple mass over by the arcane enchanter, but there was nothing. A mental concatenation from stress? He took a breath before brushing it off and making his way back to the Arcaeneum.
He was alone in the massive study that night. As he perused more volumes amidst the endless, wooden shelves, one caught his eye, one he had overlooked in the past.
“Twin Secrets,” he said.
He decided to take it out for a read. Hoping that a topic not regarding enchanting might give him a new perspective, he was surprised to find just the opposite. Twin Secrets explained the story of a man who met a dragon. The dragon taught him how to use two enchantments at once. S’maash did not know it was possible to do such a thing, but it did explain daedric artifacts. The reasoning behind the limitation of two enchantments was physical anatomy.
Is it possible then, that because of my physical structure, I cannot create specific enchantments? Furthermore, which ones can I utilize? Obviously, the dwemer knew something…they only have two eyes, two hands, and so forth. After finishing the book, the wizard wondered if approaching a dragon was a reasonable step to undertake. There were some left, high on mountaintops, or deep underground. He laughed at the silly thought.
Two weeks passed
during which he spent several hours meditating and practicing the art of dual enchanting. With some level of mastery, S’maash and Brelyna crafted items to improve her alchemy skills. She, in turn, provided him with potions to fortify enchanting. With his temporarily improved abilities, he crafted a second set of more powerful equipment for her. The cycle continued a couple of times, but they reached a limit.
He tested this limit by creating a simple ring of fortify carry weight. His best enchantment was unable to push beyond an additional forty seven stones. One, sunny day, out in the courtyard, Brelyna and some of the other students watched him amble about with an overstuffed pack on his back.
“Perhaps you should just eat more, no,” Wulfgar joked.
“This is important research. My own fondness for alchemy has me intrigued,” Zolara, the argonian, commented.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” Tolfdir interrupted after coming upon the scene. “We’re off on an expedition. There is a tome in Snow Veil Sanctum I want to recover. Along the way, I will explain the effects of overcharging conjuration spells. Who’s coming?”
Zolara stayed behind to watch S’maash as well as speak to Brelyna about some alchemy studies on which he was working. The rest made their trip with Tolfdir. The elf, exhausted, fnally dropped the pack on the ground.
“Is it me? Is it because I’m limited physically that I only cast limited enchantments,” he asked out loud.
The two observers had no answer. In frustration, S’maash kicked the pack before making his way back to his room. There, he sat perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the arcane enchanter. I wonder…I have never read why it is that enchanting doesn’t work on creatures.
“I can enchant a ring; the ring itself does not carry the weight. It is the wearer, who does. So…the ring transfers the enchantment upon the physical structure of the being. Can I skip over the ring as a medium? And what about dead creatures? Are they not as inanimate as a ring? Can they be enchanted? I have to find out.”
Zolara and Brelyna were still outside when S’maash exited the tower. The two sat together as snow fell upon them. The elf was uninterested in what they were discussing, but Brelyna saw the look of angry determination in S’maash’s eye.
“Wait! Where are you going,” she asked.
“To get some chickens,” he yelled without looking back to her.
He ran across the bridge into Winterhold. Upon stepping off the bridge, one of the guards spotted him. He wore a full helmet, covering his face, and some quilted armor to ward off the cold.
“Don’t suppose you could enchant my sword? Dull old blade can barely cut butter,” he said.
S’maash looked him over. “I need a chicken.”
“Come again?”
“Can I take a chicken with me back to the College?”
“I suppose. There’s one right over there,” the guard, said pointing to a bird.
S’maash snatched it from its snowy perch and ran it back to his to room at the College. His quick pace kept him from freezing. In the room, he held the chicken on the arcane enchanter. Once the bird settled down, the elf took a soul gem and attempted to enchant the chicken with a fortify carry weight spell. S’maash learned it was not as simple a matter as he hoped.
Upon initiating the ritual, a flash of light assaulted him. A violent force immediately followed the blinding light. Before he knew it, he was knocked onto his rear. He let out a wild scream. Brelyna and Zolara heard the scream from outside. They ran to S’maash’s room and found him still on his rear and covered in blood, feathers, and other bits of chicken. He looked up at them.
“S’maash,” Brelyna gasped with her hands over her mouth.
He slowly came to his feet. Awkwardly, he moved his hands, wanting to clean himself.
“Cloth,” he asked.
Zolara nodded before leaving.
“What happened? Are you hurt,” Brelyna asked.
“It’s not my blood. I…I exploded a chicken.” S’maash spat feathers, looking around his room.
By the time Zolara returned with the cloth, the elf was busy trying to gather everything that had been covered in blood, feathers, and entrails, which was just about everything. Upon cleaning the room, he tried to explain his attempt at enchanting.
“That’s preposterous,” Brelyna said, astonished.
“Is it? I’m trying to push the boundaries. I have not read in any tome why enchanting doesn’t work on creatures. I still don’t know why. Perhaps I should have started with a plant,” S’maash said, nipping his bottom lip.
“I think maybe you should sleep on it,” Zolara suggested.
That night, he tried again with a plant. A similar situation unfolded. While S’maash utilized only a small plant, the still large explosion knocked him over again. At least that time, he was not covered in anything more than chaff and leaves.
He shook his head in exasperation before logging the results in his journal. Perhaps, I should cast the weakest form of the enchantment. That, too, yielded similar results. He scratched his head and rubbed his rear, which was growing sore from all the repeated falls.
Eventually, exhaustion settled in. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands. For a minute, he pondered over what an appropriate next step might be. Suddenly, he felt an ominous presence. Looking up revealed nothing, but S’maash maintained a leer. Confused, he left the room and peaked around. No one was in sight. At his rope’s end, he decided to rest.
The following morning, he attempted something a little different. He tried to enchant one of the snow berries that grew outside the College’s courtyard. It seemed as though nothing happened then the petty soul gem cracked. It fell to pieces.
S’maash gasped. Did, did it work? There was only one way to tell; he had to disenchant the snow berry. When he tried, it turned to ash. The berry had been enchanted. With wide eyes and a shakey hand, the elf logged his discovery.
He ran back into Winterhold to purchase some chicken eggs; after all, they, too, were reagents. S’maash marked each egg with a different rune to keep from confusing them. Next, he casted the most powerful fortify carry weight spell. He braced himself with the first egg; the enchantment appeared to work. They all appeared to work as all the soul gems cracked. It was only a matter of time before the eggs hatched, if the enchantment didn’t kill the chick inside, and if there was, in fact, a chick inside.
During the time required for results to unfold, S’maash kept quiet about his work. Rather than divulging, he buried himself in more books, spending a great deal of time in the Arcaeneum. The massive library had more tomes than he had ever seen. One day, he struck up a peculiar conversation with Urag.
“Whatever is involved in the art of enchanting has already been established. You’d spend your time more wisely if you just listened to the instructors,” Urag grumbled.
“I disagree. Have you read Twin Secrets?”
“Sure, the story of the man who learned dual enchanting from the dragon. It’s just a story,” Urag said.
“It isn’t. I can do it.” S’maash said. Urag was pensive. For a moment, he stirred in his seat. After standing, he adjusted his yellow robes then returned his gaze to S’maash. “How do you think the daedric princes make such powerful artifacts? They’re simply better mages with a larger supply of magicka or a better stock of souls. souls…didn’t the Dragonborn stay here for a while? I heard he worked on a project with Arniel Gane.”
“Aye. What of it? They both disappeared,” Urag replied.
“But he’s Dragonborn, he steals dragons’ souls…imagine how powerful a dragon soul is,” S’maash commented.
“Dragon’s resist soul trap, and if they didn’t, there is no gem strong enough to hold their souls,” Urag explained.
“Not even the Star of Azura?”
“You mean the Black Star. The Dragonborn helped a mage turn it into the Black Star. It is no longer connected to Azura.”
S’maash was intrigued. He sat across the counter from the orc, r
apping his fingers on the wood.
“Then, there’s an imbalance in power, right?”
“What do you mean?” Urag sounded irritated.
“The artifacts they create…each, daedric prince, I mean. How can I explain this? They, themselves, exist in several planes, like Elder Scrolls; I read this in some of your texts. The artifacts they create differ in each plane, but because they, the princes, exist, their artifacts must exist as well,” S’maash tried to elucidate.
“By Ysmir, you might be right. But so what? What does that mean?”
“Azura might craft a new Star, one to reconnect her to this plane. If she chose to do so, she might craft one powerful enough to contain dragon souls….”
“That’s doubtful, but it doesn’t mater; we’re back to dragon’s resisting soul trap.”
S’maash clicked his tongue. A moment of silence passed as the two looked around at the many tomes in the Arcaeneum. S’maash welcomed the silence of the library. He felt it was more conducive to exploring thought. It was evident Urag felt similarly. Finally, they resumed their discussion.
“Well it’s a thought. I know the dwemer were capable of creating great weapons like Volendrung; I’d love to hear the story of how that artifact fell into Malacath’s hands. Then, you have the fact that they worked with the Heart of Lorkhan. Then, the ayleids and their mastery over light magick…I can feel it. There’s more we can achieve, here,” S’maash complained.
“Well, it’s all too much for me. Not to mention, if Arniel was working on something similar, it did not end well for him,” Urag replied.
With that, they ended their discussion. S’maash decided to read up on Azura. He discovered what was needed to summon her. During his search to gather what he needed, one of the chicks hatched. The others did not, so he put his endeavor with Azura on hold to run tests with his new chick. He marked the new chicken with a green band around its right leg.
The initial test to be documented involved the chicken’s ability to pull a bag of small stones. He compared the results to similar chicks he purchased in town. The store bought chicks were much weaker. Proud of his great finding, he decided to retry a former experiment.
Again, he attempted a weak enchantment on a store bought baby chick. His reasoning was that the chick was still in its infancy, and as such, it had not yet solidified its magickal nature. He was mistaken. The little bird burst into a bloody mess, knocking him on his rear again. In a fit of rage, S’maash kicked the furniture around the room, which drew the attention of Tolfdir, who had recently returned from another trip with the students.
Upon finding S’maash in a rage, and covered in blood, the old nord flew off the handle. “What’s this? Are you practicing necromancy?”
“What? No!” S’maash started.
“Silence. I will not tolerate this. Your entire room is covered in blood. I kept quiet before to see what might transpire. This is the third time you’ve desecrated a living creature!”
“Please, I can explain,” S’maash begged.
“No. You are here by expelled from the Winterhold College of Mages. Take your belongings and leave at once,” Tolfdir ordered.
The young elf’s heart sank. His stomach churned knots, and then he sighed as he looked around the room. In resignation, he shook his shoulders.
“I need to find something quickly then I will go.” It took the elf a moment to sift through the junk he had strewn about. Tossing around pieces of wooden furniture and ragged bed sheets, he located his journal and handed it to Tolfdir. “Everything is in there. I hope you’ll see you’ve made a mistake,” S’maash said.
The old man’s face remained grim, yet he took the book. He watched S’maash gather the remainder of his belongings from his trunk. Still bloodied, the elf took a look at the room. Then, he turned and left. In disbelief, he trudged from the tower to the courtyard, from the courtyard to the bridge, from there, into Winterhold.
It was late, a snowstorm brewed in the southern horizon, and the lights in the night sky danced in a dizzying array. Before exiting the town, S’maash stopped a guard.
“What is it? Dragons,” the guard asked.
“Where do mages go when they leave Winterhold?”
“Kicked out of the College eh? What, you practice necromancy,” the guard inquired.
“They think so, but no, I don’t. I’m not overly familiar with Skyrim. I have only been here and in Riften,” S’maash replied.
The guard carefully scrutinized the elf. His robes were still stained with blood. Then, he glared.
“I think it best you find your own way, dunmer.”
S’maash shook his head in desperation. He knew he needed to find a place to work while he hoped Tolfdir read over his journal and realized the misunderstanding. Work was not easy to come by, at least not work allowing him the time he needed to conduct more studies, so he followed the road south into Windhelm, south into a blizzard.