Agent

Chapter 2: Path of the dream.

Vodunius was flailing with his arms, trying to keep from drowning with his heavy robe. I unceremoniously grabbed him and dragged him out. In doing so, I caught the glimpse of a torch at the end of an underwater tunnel. This cave seemed to have everything.
“Fargoth? I’m going to investigate the other end of the tunnel. Could you perhaps interrogate mister tax collector here?”

While I was fooling myself with mere curiosity, the truth was that I needed some time alone. Time to think about what I’d done. Time which I didn’t spent thinking because, as I already said, I was fooling myself into believing I merely dove into the water out of curiosity.

It was only when I’d swam about halfway that I realized a tiny detail I’d forgotten. What if there were slaughterfish in the water? Sure, my skills with my fists were good on land but the water slowed me down tremendously, making any punch a futile effort. Fortunately for me, the waters were completely slaughterfish free, though I did come across a skeleton. A rusty saber was stabbed into the ground near it so I pulled it out before continuing. Just in case I met a fish on the other side.

The tunnel opened up into a round chamber of sorts. There wasn’t much to see from underneath the water, except a platform with a robed figure on it.
“Great, more smuggling mages.” I thought to myself as lack of breath forced me up to the surface. Nearly instantly, a fistsized rock splashed into the water nearby. From this close, it took really bad aim to miss. I dropped my sword and withdrew my hands into my sleeve where I retrieved a pair of stars.
“Stop that right now or I’ll poke both of your eyes with some thrown steel!” I warned the man.

“I’ve totally had it with you. You will let me and my companion leave in peace or else you shall face my wrath! My command over the forces of Magicka is something you should not trifle with!” The old man shouted proudly in return. At least he didn’t throw any rocks which allowed me to take a better look at him.

He was dressed in a darkblue robe with a bluish hat on top. A long grey beard hid part of his golden Altmeri skin. An Altmer with a beard, that was unusual. A hue I knew all too well came from the inside of his sleeves.
“Sir, you are wearing slave bracers. So currently, your command over the forces of Magicka can be trifled with easily.” I pointed out politely.
“Bah, I can’t possibly be bothered with the details!”
I had to stifle a laugh. This guy was hilarious. Saying that he couldn’t be bothered with the details when said detail controlled whether or not he could blast everything to pieces.

“Ro-El Frost, a….mercenary. My friend and I have been hired to clear this cave of smugglers. It is safe now. So, please follow me back to the entrance.” I offered, only to receive another hilarious comment.
“What, do you honestly expect me to swim? I’ve never gotten around to learning how. There were greater priorities, such as growing a beard.”
I rolled my eyes and surpressed a sigh.
“Hold on, bring me my staff and I shall separate these waters with a great display of my might.” The Altmer added quickly before I could vanish underwater. Whoever he was, he sure had a large expectation of his power. If anything, he was more arrogant than any other Altmer which sounded quite hard to believe. Yet here I was, with an Altmer who had refused to learn how to swim because he had to grow a beard. Just how did he ever manage to grow one in the first place?
“Right, I’ll be right back.” I mumbled before taking a deep breath and diving. In reality, I had no idea where his staff might be. What if the smugglers had already sold it?

When I came back, Fargoth was still interrogating our prisoner. Several arrows poked out of various painful areas of the tax collector’s body.
“What were you smuggling beyond Dwemer artefacts?” The Bosmer demanded to know. He was rather small, yet that didn’t diminish his intimidating appearance in the slightest.
“Ow! No, not an arrow! I’ll tell! We were transporting ash statues, ash statues and small pouches filled with ash from Red Mountain. We had to deliver them all across the Bitter Coast and West Gash.” Vodunius cried.

Now things were getting clear. Vodunius was involved with the Sixth House, whatever that was. The ash statue sounded just like the thing Hanarai was dealing in. And pouches filled with Red Mountain’s ash? That might explain the presence of soulsickness in Balmora, even though there never was an ash storm near there. If the ash caused the soulsickness, I still had my doubts about that. I left the two alone and instead grabbed the Glass staff conveniently located atop a crate.

The staff sang with the promise of pure power. Power I could not accept. Despite my trick with the fireball, I was still a total loser when it came down to Magicka. Relying on other people to fire their lethal spells into me before I could use them myself didn’t sound right. Whatever was the case, I delivered the staff to the Altmer and also relieved him of his bracers.

The bearded fellow gripped his staff and waited for a moment as his Magicka reserves were restored by the staff’s power.
“Now, step aside. I, Zarador, shall cause a miracle like you have never seen before!” He spoke with a perfect sense of drama. I’d expected something, anything but not this anti-climax. The only thing he did was cast a simple waterbreathing spell!
“What happened to the separating of water?” I asked with a smug grin.
“Bah, treating a peasant like you to a fancy trick is not worthy of my vast knowledge and skill.”
I rolled my eyes once more.
“Right.”

Vodunius was silent upon our return. His body was devoid of arrows yet a red pool of liquid around him told me everything I needed to know. He was dead.
“So, you found the hostage this traitor spoke about. Perhaps he knows more about why they took him?” Fargoth asked with a raised eyebrow, his hand subtly hovering near his bow. The Altmer stepped forward and leaned on his staff as he looked into the eyes of the much shorter Bosmer.
“Since you saved me the trouble of claiming revenge, I will answer. Centurion, come!”

A loud thumping of metal feet echoed through the cave. Before our surprised eyes, what looked like a walking suit of richly decorated Dwemer armour broke through a rusty fence. The thing stopped before the Altmer.
“This here is Centurion. Those uncivilized criminals were looking for what they called the ‘heart of the knight’. They believed that Centurion holds the answer.” The Altmer claimed with a proud spark in his eyes.
“I built it myself. Unfortunately, Centurion is not the heart of the knight, whatever this knight might be.”

I didn’t answer. My thoughts returned to my dreams, my visions. I had seen a knight there. Looking closer at Centurion I realized that it resembled a miniature version of Pelinal. Was Pelinal this knight? If my dreams were real, if they revealed the past to me, then what happened to Pelinal? For once, I longed to sleep, hoping that the answer would be revealed to me. The Sixth House was looking for the knight, I would try to find it first.

“Ro-El? Are you awake? Listen, kid. There is no time to waste. We must go after Vodunius’ contact. We must destroy a Sixth House base he revealed to be near Balmora. Vvardenfell depends on it! The Duke depends on it!” Fargoth shook me back to reality. He was right. If we wanted our information to be useful, we had to act now.
“I, Zarador of the Steel Tower shall accompany you. They have disgraced and humiliated me. Now they shall face my wrath. They shall cower before me as I strike them down with my powers.” The Altmer spoke up. Fargoth and I exchanged a grin. The Altmer might be overestimating himself. Not that it mattered, we could use any help we could get.
“Welcome aboard, Zarador of the Steel Tower.” I replied, bowing slightly.

Our trip to Balmora was as swift as possible. The Silt Strider walked as fast as its long legs could take it. Only the pockets of gas that revealed its similarity to the Netch kept it from falling. I was wary upon our arrival. What if the Camonna Tong were waiting for me? The fact that their club was situated right in front of the Silt Strider port did nothing to ease my worries. Fortunately, either they hadn’t figured out my deed yet or they were too busy drinking to keep an eye out.

There was not time for delays. We left Balmora even quicker than we’d entered it, this time on foot. None of us spoke a word, every lungful of breath fully devoted towards powering our legs forward. We passed fort Moonmoth, crossed a Dwemer bridge and soon descended a twisting path of ash accompanied by the strange Dwemeric towers of a what looked like a large Dwemeric fort.
“Arkngthand, where the council met. Where Nerevar and Almalexia made their oath. Where the three blades were revealed.” My mind brought forth names, names that were strikingly familiar yet understanding slipped my fingers when I tried to grasp it. I ignored my strange connection to the Dwemer, focussing on running just a little bit faster.

Then, we’d arrived. A simple door like all others stood between us and an uncertain fate. I knelt down, swallowing the dry air like a man who has found a miraculous oasis in the middle of a desert. I was exhausted, there was no other word for it. My endurance had improved tremendously through the rigorous training Leroth had given me but in the end, I was still a rookie.
“Sorry, I can’t go inside. I don’t want to kill again.” I managed to whisper. Beyond the exhaustion of my body, my soul was exhausted as well.
“Guard the entrance, the Altmer and I will go inside.” I could only nod at Fargoth as a reply.

I sat down on a nearby rock from where I could see both sides of the road as well as the door. A pair of Cliffracers soared overhead, ignoring me completely. I was grateful for that. After all, I knew of the reputation these birds had. For a few minutes, I could hear the faint sounds of potent Magicka being unleashed. Then, silence. I waited and when I began to lose patience, I waited some more. By now, I had fully recovered from our run. However, I was beginning to get worried. Either this cave was huge or, Fargoth and Zarador had bitten off more than they could chew. If the latter was true, then all I could do was run and pray that I could make the nearby Legionaires perform a raid.

I doubted that they would. With all their regular patrols, I was convinced that the Legionnaires knew of this place. The simple fact that they refused to clean it out was evidence enough. Whatever was in there, it was enough to keep a whole fort of superbly trained soldiers elsewhere. Going inside after the two elves was definitely not an option.

I moved away from my rock, glancing at the door. It looked innocent, but what kind of terror did it hold? I was not eager to find out. I turned my back towards it and swiftly began to walk away. Then, it came. The voice. A voice I knew, somehow.
“Who is it? Could it be? Yes, we remember. We recognize. Come and be welcomed, he who has returned from beyond.” My legs ceased to follow my command. Against my will, I returned to the door. My hands gripped the handle and pulled. I was no longer afraid.

He cave was lit by the eerie light of red candles that had been strewn all over. Rumbling, a zombie approached me. I stood my ground calmly, somehow feeling in my bones that the creature did not seek a fight. As it drew closer, its features became recognizable in the light cast by the candles. My heart stopped beating for a moment as finally, I realized what Hanarai had tried to tell me so long ago. It was not a zombie.

The remains of a suit that was unmistakable was wrapped around this terrible wreck of a man. It was a cuirass, with the emblem of Duke Dren himself on the chest. What Hanarai had claimed to be a blessing, was a curse like no other. Disgusting lumps of swollen flesh disfigured him. The man who had once lived beneath the skin was no more. Only a braindead monster, a slave of the Sixth House, remained.

It limped closer till finally, it stood still before me. I looked into its eyes and realized that I’d drawn the wrong conclusion. The man was still there, trapped in a body that was no longer his own. Slowly, my hand gripped the hilt of the sword sheathed at the monster’s side. I pulled it free and held it up.
“Be free and find peace.” I whispered as I now gripped my weapon by both hands and plunged the blade in its heart. There was a faint hiss then, the corpse fell to the floor.

I examined the sword closer. The blade was long and thin, almost like a needle. Pure silver mixed with the finest steel. Like with the cuirass, the Duke’s emblem graced the bowl protecting the wielder’s hand. It was a weapon crafted by the best Orcish smiths, blessed by both the Divines and the Tribunal.
“I will return your blade. Till then, the steel that once protected you shall protect me as I claim vengeance.” My hesitation had vanished. Whoever had done such a crime against everything that lived deserved to die. If my hand could kill those responsible, I would not slow my fist.

A scrap of paper tucked behind the thing’s belt caught my attention. I reached down and pulled it free. One eye scanning the corridor for trouble, the other eye focussed on the scribbling.

There is not much time. I don’t know how long I can keep my sanity. I don’t know how long it will be before he returns for me. I am Ephraim Serius. A loyal servant of the Duke of Ebonheart.

I stopped reading. I remembered the conversation I’d overheard between Leroth and Serius.
“You said that Ephraim was ready!” Those were the final words Serius had said before stomping off. Ephraim, the man who I’d just freed from his prison, the man who apparently had been sent on the same mission Leroth had planned for me. Even now, I could not believe that the Duke was involved with this. I made a silent prayer for Ephraim’s soul. If I made it out of here alive, I would tell Serius that he no longer had to worry about the man who shared the same family. With a heavy heart, I continued reading.

I had been sent on a mission. I was to investigate the activities of Orvas Dren, the Duke’s own brother.

Orvas Dren? The Duke had an evil twin? That sounded so cliché it caused a smile even in this dark place. Now I knew the truth. No longer was I suspicious about Leroth. When he’d talked about taking action against Dren, he was speaking of Orvas, not the Duke.

Everything went well. Orvas treated me kindly, gracing me with his hospitality. Till the night came. Two assassins hired by him assaulted me. Their wicked blades paralyzed me. I was tied and taken away by Orvas’ terrible allies.
“My brother will never find you. When he does, it will be too late for him and his Empire will be defeated. No one can stop House Dagoth.” Were the last words this monster in mortal form told me.”

For the third time, I paused. House Dagoth, the destroyed house. Not so destroyed at all, it seemed. I wanted to rush in and help my friends before they suffered the same fate as Ephraim yet I controlled myself. This note was written for me in the enemies’ lair. Every single bit of information could be vital.

I was knocked out and when I came to, I was here. Already, my flesh had been cursed even though it was not yet visible to the naked eye. A horrible monster dressed in robes spoke to me, explaining how I would serve the reborn House in search of the ultimate weapon. Boldened, I asked what this weapon was. Pay attention to what follows, as confident in his control over me, the monster was willing to reveal.

“Long ago, in the battle for Red Mountain, Kagrenac betrayed his people. He had built Numidium, the great golem, given life to it with the heart of Lorkhan. During the battle, the giant machine wreaked havoc upon Kagrenac’s foes. Now, to complete his ascendancy to immortality, he claimed the souls of the Dwemer when no one was there to stop him. Only Dumac, weary of fighting against those he saw as his friends, had the fortune of being there when Kagrenac executed his plan. The two, king and priest, battled till Dumac was finally mortally wounded.

Kagrenac used his cursed tools to rip the very souls of his people out of their bodies. Dumac, clinging on to his mortal shell did the only action left that could stop his priest. When the souls of his people were taken, he claimed them for himself and gave life to the only weapon capably of fighting Numidium. This is how Pelinal, the shield of Resdayn awoke. The two Centurions, destroyer and protector, battled till Pelinal separated Lorkhan’s heart from Numidium with a swift strike. Both machines had suffered critical damage and fell.

Kagrenac died at Pelinal’s blade. The skies were ripped open and the servants of Azura took the knight away before it was claimed by the victorious Chimer. Now, after many years have passed, the heart of Lorkhan once again inhabits a great Centurion. Only Pelinal, whose whereabouts are unknown, stands between House Dagoth and victory.

Stranger who has slain the monster I’ve become. You must find Pelinal, the glorious knight, the shield of Resdayn. Find Pelinal, return its power. Only then can you destroy the Sixth House once and for all.

I put the note away. Now the truth about my visions had become clear. Pelinal was real, Dumac was real. Then, everything I’d seen was real. I was chosen, by forces unknown. I was chosen to find the Centurion and to battle the Sixth House, House Dagoth. This was why I lived, this was what I would die for if needed. I vowed at that moment that I would do everything in my power to fulfil Ephraim’s wish. I would defeat the Sixth House, or die trying.

I slowly walked further into the cave, accompanied by the red glow of the candles. More victims of the curse met me but I would not strike them down till I’d found the one who was in charge here. It was somewhat frightening, to be amidst these poor people, knowing that I might become one of them if I messed up. The price of failing had never been greater. Perhaps even more frightening was the fact that they displayed no aggression, only……curiosity?

I came upon some sort of altar. A pillar stood in the middle, holding many ash statues. Two furns stood beside it. One was filled with a variety of weapons and a chest, the other was filled with…….lumps of flesh. I nearly emptied my stomach at that moment. It was disgusting beyond comparison.
“So, you have come. Welcome, returned one. Come, let us talk” I turned to the right. Further along a passage, I could make out a pit of boiling magma. A platform of burned rock rose up, with another altar at its top. And standing next to the altar was a being that seemed to have walked straight out of a nightmare.

My legs trembled at the sight of the slimy tentacles protruding from the things face. It became even worse when I began to notice other things, Elven features. This thing had been born as a Dunmer. I fought back my fear and ascended the stone path towards the thing.
“You will tell me where my friends are.” I ordered it with a voice as cold as the ice of Skyrim. The monster gestured at yet another passage.
“They are there. I have not yet blessed them as I know you would not agree on such an action. I welcome you, returned one.” It spoke with a voice that brought back the image of the Dunmer it once was.

My knuckles were white from the effort with which I gripped my blade. While I was unused to a sword, I would use it given half a chance. I wanted to kill this abomination right then yet there was still one question left to ask.
“Why do you call me the returned one?”
The creature was silent for a short moment, thinking of the answer it would give.
“Your soul belongs in Oblivion, where it has been throughout the eras. Now, you have returned in the form of a mortal, the form of your ancient enemy. Join us. While we last met on the battlefield at opposite sides of the sword, Lord Dagoth remembers the friendship you once shared with his master. For that, he is willing to give you a place among us, his most trusted advisors and assistants. The Sixth House shall rise. With it, you can make your House rise as well. There is only one thing Lord Dagoth would ask of you.”

The words rang like the truth, no matter how hard to believe or how hard to comprehend. While I’d received some answers, more questions had appeared.
“What does he want?” I asked, slowly bringing my sword in the right position to strike. The creature flapped about with its tentacles, emitting a low tone from the flutelike appendage grown from where its chin used to be.
“He wants the key. The key only you can wield.” It explained calmly, not in the least worried about my sword. They seemed very serious about all of this. A key that only I could wield? More proof for me that I was the one who was supposed to reawaken Pelinal and hand their behinds to them on a silver platter. Fine, I would be serious about it as well.
“I don’t use keys, I use lockpicks.”

We both leapt forward at the same time, meeting at the center of the platform. It lashed out with its tentacles, I slipped in a diagonal slash with the sword. The silver cut off the flute, then the tentacles slammed into my chest and sent me flying beyond the ledge. I dug my fingers painfully into the cracked rock, somehow stopping my fall and holding on to my sword. I sheathed the blade so I could free up my other hand for clinging to the rock better. When I looked up, the thing stood on the ledge, staring down at me.
“It is a shame that you should die. We could have used you but now…….we will have nothing to fear when the wielder of the key is gone.” It spoke as Magicka gathered around it, forming into a lethal spell.

I was not going to wait. Seeking for grip against the rock surface, I pushed myself away, dodging the spell and landing at the edge of the magma pit.
“Well, you won’t have to fear anything once I’m through with you.” I shot back at the monster while I reached into my pocket for my trusty collection of scrolls. My fingers only revealed a messy lump of ruined paper. That was how I learned always to store my scrolls in a waterproof pocket in case I would go swimming like I did at Seyda Neen.
“Just my luck.” I cursed and threw my now worthless scroll collection away. I turned around and ran.

I had a choice here. I could dash for the exit or I could try and find a way to turn the tables. I chose the latter. Already, the formerly passive minions began to converge around me, flailing wildly with their arms. I unsheathed the sword I’d taken from Ephraim as I dove past their attacks. With a quick spinning motion, I put two of them out of their misery. A ball of crackling lightning zipped past my head, sending stone fragments into the air when it hit the wall. The leader had joined the chase.

I dove into the nearest passage and ran as if my life depended on it, which it did. To further my ongoing list of bad luck, the passage came to a dead end. The good news was, that said dead end contained a cage with Fargoth and Zarador. The Altmer was out cold, I couldn’t see if he was death or just unconscious. Fargoth though was awake.
“Ro-El, you must have left quite an impression. They weren’t in such an uproar when we came in.” He said dryly. I pressed my back against the cage and held my blade pointed at the approaching mass.
“What can I say? I’m famous.” I joked. Somehow, the gravity of the situation had brought me in a light mood. Quite odd.

“Right, just give me my bow. It’s over there.” Fargoth spoke from behind my back, now more urgently. I had no idea what he wanted to do with that. Still, I lunged forward, using the nearest creature as a stepping stone to get across. I smoothly turned my landing into a roll ending at the place where the Bosmer’s bow and arrows had been discarded.
“No, not the arrows! Just the bow!” I dropped the quiver of arrows and threw the bow over to Fargoth who caught it and withdrew into his cage.

“You are a good runner.” The tentacled leader had caught up with me. Now I was trapped between a whole pack of cursed zombies at one side and a big spellslinging nightmare at the other. Not knowing what to do, I drew back on the Legion rules of engagement. Rule 51: When surrounded, attack in the direction of least resistance. In this case, the least resistance was the side with the big boss.

I rushed at it, somehow managing to catch it offguard. My sword bit into its robes, leaving a long gash in its side as I spun around and aimed a second blow at its back. My opinion of the blade was proven correct as the monster let out a scream of pain. It turned around to face me, forcing me to jump away from the swinging tentacles. My occasional clumsiness came into play when I tripped over a pebble and landed flat on my back. Enraged, my enemy shot a spell at me. I felt my legs freeze, my arms. My lungs drew breath with great effort against ribs that stubbornly refused to move. My heart beat slower, my mind was numbed.

Its minions approached me but were waved away.
“Stop, I want to have the honour of killing him myself. Surely I will raise in rank when I report this to my lord.” If I could, I would have grinned. Legion rule 34: Don’t go for show, go for the kill. Yes, I was paralyzed. However, that spell could be turned on its owner in the blink of an eye. I gathered the threads of Magicka holding me down, subtly bringing them under my command. Not fast enough. A bolt of lightning hit my body, shocking me with its powerful charge. I was in silent agony, unable to make a sound. My vision blackened and through the haze of pain I realized that unless a miracle happened, I would die.

The creature screamed in pain again. This was my chance. I forced the spell out, making it slam into its creator at full force. Instantly, its movements froze, the swirling tentacles suspended in the air. I sprang up to my feet and plunged the silver sword right through its face into the brains.
“You may scare the Legion, but their rules still apply.” I said as I withdrew the blade from the now lifeless creature. Already, my strength began to flee. I collapsed on the floor. The last thing I heard before succumbing to the darkness was the sound of running footsteps followed by the singing of a bow.

They all looked expectantly at the sky. There it was, blocking out the sun. The strange machine descended towards the land with a slow graceful spin. Ropes were thrown down, Dwemer rushed up to secure the Airship to the rings embedded in the rock. Now a trapdoor opened, revealing a ladder.

Dumac climbed down and set foot on the ground.
“Ah, finally arrived. It may not be as quick, but I’ll take the Cloudcleaver over teleportation any day.” He chuckled as he waved a greeting at the collected Chimer and Dwemer. He moved quickly over the carpet towards the door, eager to get inside before it would start to rain. The metal doors opened without a sound, their hinges being regularly oiled.

“You’re late, Dumac.” Was the first thing Nerevar said to his friend. The Chimer was dressed in a traditional suit of armour that had been in his family for generations. It was too heavy and uncomfortable to use in real battle but for a ceremony such as today’s, it was perfect. Dumac wore a much more comfortable version of Dwemeric chainmail with Glass decorations. Finally, there was Almalexia who wore an exquisite dress as opposed to a suit of armour. Dumac greeted the woman politely before stepping onto the platform that had been built just for the occasion.

“Chimer, Dwemer! I thank you for coming to join us on this glorious day! It is with a great sense of pride that I witness how this man and this woman will pledge their oaths! Well, I’ve never been a great lover of pompous ceremonies so let’s make it quick, shall we?” The king of the Dwarves shouted over the crowd, causing a few laughs. Dumac’s distaste for ‘pompous’ ceremonies was nearly legendary.
“Nerevar Indoril, I grant you the hand of this woman, Almalexia. Almalexia, you have renounced your name and now lay claim on the name of Indoril. I grant your hand to this man, Nerevar Indoril. Do the both of you, swear that you will support each other? In peace and in war, in prosperity and in poverty?”
The Chimer answered as one.
“Yes.”

Dumac smiled.
“Good, then let’s get this over with and move on to the good part. It is time for the gifts!” A Dwemer stepped up to the king. In his arms he held a pillow. Three sheathed blades rested on the soft fabric. Dumac pointed at them and frowned a bit.
“Why three?” He asked curiously.
“Kagrenac couldn’t stop after two. He felt he needed to use all three elements. The third is for you.” The Dwemer explained. Dumac’s frown vanished.
“Oh, I like receiving gifts. Give him my thanks.” He told the Dwemer who dropped the pillow with the swords on a pedestal and stepped back into the crowd.

Dumac picked up the first sword. It was a vicious, toothed scimitar. The moment he unsheathed the blade, bright flames erupted. Through the flames, Dumac read the inscription.
“I present this sword to you, Nerevar Indoril. It’s name is Trueflame. May it always show you the right pad.” He spoke as he resheathed the blade and attached it to Nerevar’s belt. He then picked up the second blade. While Trueflame had been a brutal fang of flaming steel, this sword was sleeker and wrapped in crackling lightning.
“I present this sword to you, Almalexia Indoril. It is called Hopesfire. May it bring hope to you in dark times.” He spoke with and attached it, with some trouble, to the belt of the woman’s dress.
“Why is it called Hopesfire when it holds the element of lightning?” The Dwemer muttered to himself as he now reached for the third and final blade.

This weapon was straight where its two siblings were curved. A steel blade rimmed with an icy material, fanning out at the tip like an arrow. The crossguard was like a crescent, decorated with gems of the same material as the blade’s rim. The hilt was wrapped in the finest leather, sure to remain comfortable and provide an excellent grip during even the most heated battle. A large blue gem helt blade and hilt together, with a smaller version as the pommel.

When Dumac unsheathed the blade, it hid in a mist of cold. Through the mist, he read the runes engraved into the blade.
“Forgeheart. The sword of the northern ice. Not a bad name.” He muttered as he trailed the blade’s rim with a finger. He sheathed the sword at his side where it would remain till his death.
“Alright, that wraps it up. Bring out the drinks!” He shouthed, signalling the beginning of the celebration.

Dwemer and Chimer mixed among each other, exchanging rumors and stories. Dumac met a man who was in a heated argument with a few smiths.
“No no, if we combine the strengths of flesh with the metal power of a Centurion, we would be able to create the perfect being.” He argued. When he noticed the king looking at him, he moved closer.
“Sotha Sil, at your service. Milord, may I inquire into the progress made on Pelinal? Just the curiosity of a scholar.” The man asked a bit blunt. Dumac grinned at that.
“It’s doing great. We even managed to activate it last month though we had to make a few changes since then. The spirits of the Dremora made it a bit too violent for us to use. We need a protector, not a destroyer. We replaced the soul gems with empty ones while we’re looking for a better powersource.”

Outside, the first drops of water fell from the sky. It had begun to rain.

I arose out of a dark pit where the sun could not reach. I opened my eyes, expecting to see the plane of Oblivion. None of that. I was back in my room in Ebonheart, lying comfortably in my bed. I shook away the fog of sleep, wondering if it all had been a dream. Balmora, Fargoth, the Sixt House? Were they real? A single look at the other occupants of the room proved to me that it had been real, very real. For one thing, if Fargoth was just the result of my imagination, he wouldn’t be sitting there on a stool.

“Now that we’re all back in the land of the living, it is time for me to start complaining. Just what were you doing? What happened to the concept of stealth? That Ro-El rushes in without thinking is something I’m willing to believe but you Fargoth, you should have known better.” Leroth was sitting on the other stool. A smile took the sharpness out of his words.
“Sorry, master Leroth. So, what happened?” I asked with a tongue that was still numb. Fargoth took it upon him to answer.

“As I told you before, I can kill anything with my bow if I have the right arrow. Now my problem was going in with just Chitin arrows so after you threw me my bow, I improvised with an enchanted mark ring on a stick. Needless to say, that Ascended Sleeper didn’t like having a ring stuck in its windpipe. That gave you the chance to end the fight and kill that creep. After you were knocked out, I recalled to the mark on my ring and annihilated the remaining Corprus stalkers before they could turn you into their punchingbag. We dragged you back to Ebonheart and well, here we are. Five days later.” The Bosmer shrugged. The most interesting part about his explanation were the names he’d used. Ascended Sleeper for the tentacled leader and Corprus Stalkers for its cursed slaves. I sat up straight and looked Fargoth in the eyes.
“Zarador?” I asked seriously.
“He’s alive. He’s bugging us constantly to fetch him Dwemer material to help him in fixing his Centurion. The thing got pretty banged up back there.” Fargoth replied, rolling his eyes at the same time.
“Good, I also found something regarding Orvas Dren. Perhaps you could get Serius in here?”

Leroth shook his head.
“We already emptied your pockets, he knows and is grateful for avenging his brother. Which also brings me to this.” The Bosmer stood up and retrieved a familiar blade from behind his back.
“He wants you to keep the sword. Consider it yours now. I think it’s the perfect weapon for you as it is completely designed for people without the strength required to use a heavier weapon.” He dropped the sword into my lap. I looked at the Duke’s dragon on the hilt. It was a weapon capable of killing any supernatural creature, a weapon I would need in the time to come.
“Give him my thanks once we’re done. In the meantime, I have a few things to say. You’ve read Ephraim’s letter?” I spoke and waited till the two Bosmer had nodded. I took a deep breath as I began.

“I already knew of Pelinal before that letter. Pelinal is like a gigantic copy of that Dwemer armor they recently discovered in Cyrodiil. I know this because I’ve been having visions. In those visions, I inhabit a different body, people call me Dumac. I met Chimer, Dwemer, including Almalexia and Nerevar Indoril, the Nerevar Indoril. The Sixth House calls me the returned one and wants me dead before I get the key that only I can wield, if that Ascended Sleeper was right. We had a short talk before it came down to violence. That key presumably controls Pelinal, wherever it is now. So….” I paused for a moment and read the same thought I’d been having in their face.
“Am I some sort of reincarnation of Dumac like the Nerevarine is the reincarnation of Nerevar?”

The room was so silent you could hear the creaking of the ships down at the harbour.
“I don’t know. The Nerevarine prophecies don’t talk about Dumac returning, nor about this Pelinal. In fact, till now this was all completely unknown. We can’t be sure that you’re Dumac returned. Still, that’s not important. What is important is that the Sixth House seems more interested in finding the key than finding Pelinal. Fargoth, get the message across to all agents that I want a meeting within seven days. Ro-El, you stay here and don’t leave the castle under any condition. The Sixth House has two ways to achieve its goal. Getting the key or killing you. So stay inside, for your own safety. That’s all, I have a lot of work to do.” The room had been emptied before I could say a single word of protest. I didn’t want to stay in my room and hide till it all blew over. I wanted to help.
“Not that they’ll ever listen to me.” I grumbled and went back to sleep.

Leroth made sure he kept me out of the whole thing. All agents were strictly ordered not to speak with me in case they would loose a shred of information which might have me chase it. I tried to listen in on their meeting but that didn’t work. In the end, the only thing I could do was hang around the castle while reading and trying to figure out how to make potions that didn’t explode in my face.

One of those days, ten days after regaining consciousness in fact, I was sitting in my room mindlessly playing with my sword’s sheath. The scenes I’d witnessed inside the Sixth House base played through my mind again. Ephraim, then the Corprus Stalkers, then the Ascended Sleeper telling me why they wanted me so badly. The fight, ending with the Sleeper’s death and me falling into a coma. I looked out of the window, watching a pair of Netch float by. I remembered how the Sixth House base had been just a stone’s throw away from the Imperial fort. If the Sixth house could keep an Imperial Legion away, then would they let Ebonheart’s elite garrison stop them? I seriously doubted it.

Last time, I’d survived through help and sheer luck. Both were bad guarantees for survival if I ever came face to face with and Ascended Sleeper again. I needed something better than mere luck. With the sword by my side, I went to the courtyard. I looked at the legionnaires who were busy practicing. My own memories at these practises weren’t nice ones. Serius had first insisted on making me wield a Claymore that was twice as long as I was tall. I never even managed to lift it out of the rack. After that fiasco, he’d chewed me out about not realizing what was possible and what was not. Since then, I’d never returned to the courtyard for training in swordplay. Still, Serius was the man I needed.

He was in a corner, silently mutilating a training dummy with his broadsword. When he noticed me, he stopped and gave me a silent nod. It was probably the first sign of respect he’d ever given to me.
“What do you want?” His voice hadn’t changed though. I unsheathed my sword which till shortly belonged to the man’s brother.
“Teach me.”

There was a silence for a moment. Then, Serius called out to one of the few legionnaires who weren’t doing anything.
“Go and fetch me my rapier from the barracks.” We waited for a few minutes till the legionnaire returned with my sword’s near identical copy.
“I haven’t used a rapier in a while now, so I’m probably a bit rusty.” Serius admitted as he wrapped the thin blade inside cloth. I did the same with mine.
“I’m more rusty than you are.” I replied which actually managed to make Serius give something that resembled a smile.

“You remind me of him. Ephraim I mean. You both are as persistent as a Cliffracer. And you’re both as hotheaded. Now, the rapier is a weapon where you need to use your brains. It is meant for precision. You want intimidating force? Use a big piece of Iron like a Warhammer or a Claymore. Broadswords are for general use, the katana and Wakizashi are for grace. The rapier, is for precision.” Serius stated as he raised his sword’s tip. The legionnaires formed a circle around us, eager to watch the use of this rare weapon.
“Defense come before offence. Don’t attack if it means dropping your defense. Slashes are good to wear down the enemy. Don’t try to use a slash to end a battle unless you have a clean shot at a vital part like the throat. Rather, aim for a single pierce to the heart. Don’t try to defeat armour. Aim at the gaps instead. Or alternatively, you could try and cut the framework holding the armour together so it falls off in pieces. That’s only something to try when you’re a master though.”

Like lightning coming from a clear sky, he dashed forward with a stab to the heart as he’d explained. Despite my surprise, I jumped away so it struck my side in a glancing blow instead. The cloth wrapped around the blade prevented any injury.
“And most important of all, use your brains. Analyze your opponent, know his move before he does. Listening to me talking is fine but you should also watch me, observe the muscles moving underneath the skin. See how these muscles make me move. A single twitch of a finger could mean the difference between a high or a low stab.” Serius warned me. He dashed forward again. This time though, I was prepared and parried the strike. Our blades locked, turning it into a contest of strength. Unsurprisingly, Serius pushed my blade away and finished his strike.

“When the blades lock, disengage from the lock and counter. Try to avoid a lock though as it is not the position you want to be in. Dodging comes before parrying, parrying before blocking. Never block. A heavier weapon can not be stopped by a block, it can only be redirected through a parry.” As Serius continued to test me, my skills improved at an incredible pace. Either he was a good master, I was a good student or the rapier was simply my type of weapon. I personally believe it was the last option.

When Serius was finally finished with me, I was exhausted. If this was his rapier skill when he was rusty, I couldn’t even imagine how dangerous he would be with his skill brought back to full. Maybe I was worried about nothing and Ebonheart castle was as safe as Vivec’s palace though speaking about that, we didn’t have a god in the throne room so maybe Ebonheart was not quite as safe as the palace.

I refreshed myself back at my room, changed into a set of clothes that wasn’t soaked with my own sweat and then proceed to wander around the castle. As I came by the painting of what I now recognized as Red Mountain, I got an idea. When no one was nearby, I slipped through and entered the familiar dark maze of hidden passages. Instead of going directly to Leroth’s place, I decided to actually explore a bit, something I hadn’t done before. I used the most simple method of exploration devised by mortals. Follow the wall at your right side.

As I moved further into unexplored territory, the tiny markings carved into the walls reflected that by turning into symbols I did not recognize. The air smelled different, faintly resembling the distinct scent of an ash storm. The sound of steel hammering on steel echoed through the tunnel. This brought back memories of golden forges, hot flames and fantastic tools worthy of gods being made. I stopped where I were. Those memories were not mine. More lingering thoughts of Dumac? Or some other Dwemer, or perhaps simply my imagination having gone out of control?

With a mental curse at all these confusing thoughts, I moved on towards the source of the sound and smell. Soon, the tunnel was bathed in a flickering light coming from a chamber whose door had been left open. I looked inside and saw a familiar Altmer in a blue robe working on his machine. It was the first time I saw him without his hat which normally covered his head. Zarador was bald.
“Hand me that cog. The little one, about the size of a coin.” The mage ordered without even looking. I shrugged and put the cog in his outstretched hand. He quickly put it to use by pressing it somewhere inside Centurion.

“No, it doesn’t belong there.” I suddenly spoke up. I looked as surprised as Zarador. Till now, I had absolutely no knowledge about the fine intricacies of Dwemer machines. Or so I thought. To hide my own surprise, I grabbed the cog out of his hand and pointed at the inscription on its surface.
“See these markings here? This cog is part of the mechanism that enables the neck to move. Hold on, I’ll put it in the right spot.” I crouched in front of the Centurion and looked at its exposed skeleton. I soon noticed the right gap in the neck and inserted the cog. A few gentle taps with a hammer and the cog was secured into its proper position.

When I looked up again, Zarador was scratching the bald top of his head.
“Wow, I guess the Bosmer wasn’t joking when he said you were a Dwemer. Funny, you don’t look like the ghosts I met in Dwemer forts.” He said with a peculiar trembling voice. I would later find out that he always spoke like that when he didn’t quite know what to think of something.
“More like a reincarnation of a Dwemer. So, did Fargoth return to Seyda Neen? I haven’t seen him around in a while and no one wants to talk to me.” I replied. This caused more headscratching on Zarador’s part.
“The little guy with the bow? Oh, he went back to Seyda Neen. Not for long. After selling his house, he moved on to the north. To Ghostgate. I don’t know what happened after that.”

I was a little bit worried. The small amount of information I managed to get through public channels, also known as asking the occasional traveller, told that the Sixth House main base was beyond Ghostgate. Still, Fargoth knew what he was doing. I was sure that he’d stocked up on silver arrows for his expedition. He would be fine. With that matter taken out of my system, I gave Centurion a closer look.

The machine had been beaten up pretty badly. Both the outside and the inside was a mess. Joints were smashed, plates were torn, vital parts were missing. To make matters worse, it turned out that Zarador’s work on the machine was horrible. Tiny, handmade parts had been forcibly pushed into the wrong place, simple ropes replaced steel wires, what looked like the remains of someone’s meal was smeared all over. In short, there was no chance in Oblivion it could be fixed. Not without a proper supply of the right parts.

“Lies! You dare doubt my wisdom, my knowledge? I’ve studied the Dwemer longer than you have lived! No one knows more about them than me!” The Altmer objected when I presented my findings to him.
“I am a Dwemer, remember? Who knows better than the one who built it?” I countered with a slight grin. Zarador mumbled some more complaints but he couldn’t find anything against the point I’d made.
“Fine, you’re the expert. What do you need?” He asked after a long silence. I shrugged at hearing the question. So far, my Dwemer memories required an external trigger.
“I’ll know when I see the right parts.”

“What?! You expect me to bring a whole Dwemer fort with me just so you can look for the parts you need to fix your Centurion? How am I going to do that, put it in the pocket of my robe perhaps?” I rose an eyebrow. My Centurion? Zarador was clearly shoving his responsibility away. Now I would be the one to blame if anything went wrong.
“Then find a way. It’s not my problem because it is not my Centurion. Have a nice day.” I told him in a decisive tone and left before the Altmer could go any further. I would not use my heritage just to clean up the mess he’d made. Even if a Centurion was a fearsome foe in combat, it was not my problem.

I froze in the tunnel for the second time. Fearsome foe in combat? Any assault on the Sixth House’s main base would be troubled thanks to the eternal Ash storm, not to mention the ranks of Sixth House minions. Even the Houses, with their armour that was adapted specifically for these harsh conditions, would rather not seek battle in that weather. Dwemer Centurions on the other hand, as long as their armoured shell was properly sealed, could function in even the worst Ash storm as if it was a clear day. Vvardenfell was littered with ruins, each protected by these metal guardians. A whole potential army, just waiting to be used. I shook my head hard and called myself an idiot. No one could command the Centurions. This army was hostile towards anything that dared enter their home. It was no miracle really that no one looked towards the Dwemer artefacts as an army.

My growling stomach told me that it was time for diner. I would no longer worry about our current crisis till after I’d filled my stomach with some good food. A man must know his priorities. Hunger was more important than a long dead Dwemer.

That night I was working on my studies. Specifically, geography. Leroth demanded that I knew every city on the island as well as the roads between them. That meant lots of information that I somehow had to cram inside my head. On top of that, I was also supposed to learn all the possible locations for shelter in case I got stuck in Vvardenfell’s infamous bad weather. Just hopping into the nearest cave wasn’t an option. The current inhabitants rarely welcomed visitors. When the sun sank into the sea, I lit a candle to replace the lost light.

It was deep into the night when someone knocked on the door. Without an idea of who to expect this late, I was a bit suspicious. Those suspicions faded when I met my visitor. It was Goran Dhemit, Ebonheart’s cook. While we rarely spoke, I did make sure to leave a compliment regarding his excellent cooking whenever possible. It was thanks to him that the meals at the castle were attended by just about everyone who could find a half-decent excuse to join.

“Hello, sir Dhemit. What can I do for you, this late?” I asked him as I allowed the aging Dunmer to enter. His eyes swept across the room like a caged animal, resting on the slavebracers adorning the wall for a moment before moving on.
“I don’t know. Look, I’ve been having bad dreams lately. I don’t think you should stay here.” He started. His voice was a panicked whisper, an attempt to bring out his message before whatever frightened him so much would rob him of his tongue. His hands were trembling.
“What kind of dreams?” I inquired as I sat down on my bed. Most Dunmer saw dreams as little more than superstition but I’d since learned that dreams could be important. They often held important information the waking mind would not notice.

“There’s this man, wearing a golden mask. He speaks to me, brings me the sweetest promises if I just do a small favour for him. I don’t know, that favour is not small to me. You see, he wants me to betr……” His mouth clamped shut. The trembling of his hands had now taken over his entire body. His mouth opened again but the words that came out were not his.
“The Sixth House shall rise and all outlanders will flee before its glory!” The cook shouted and lunged at me with his fists.

Without a word or any effort, I parried his blows and delivered my own attack that sent him sprawling on the floor. Thanks to Leroth’s training, I could react to a dangerous situation far faster than most people, acting before my mind had even realized the threat and thought of a countermeasure. When I knew what was happening, Dhemit was already on the floor, half-unconscious and bleeding from a broken nose. I forced myself to stand perfectly still so I wouldn’t accidentally kill the old man. Yes, he’d just attacked me but I somehow knew that he didn’t plan to. Someone, or something, had taken control over him. That something might be nearby.

The candle on my desk flickered for a brief moment. I ducked down and reached for my sword below the bed. When I rose, the stars in the sky were blocked out by a black creature climbing through my window.
“Slashes are good to wear down the enemy.”
I slashed across the thing’s face, expecting a scream, a hiss, anything. Nothing happened. The creature only seemed to move faster, not showing any positive effect from the wound. Its hand glowed with Magicka and a pulse caught me in the side. Instantly, I felt tired as if I’d ran a marathon. The creature’s hand glowed as it prepared another spell, a lethal one this time. I would not be able to escape. I had to do something, fast.

The eerie light of the spell reflected on the shining surface of my slavebracers. Acting on a flash of inspiration, I snatched one of the bracers from the wall and threw it at my foe just as he was about to fire his spell. During the brief contact, the bracer’s wellknown draining properties were unable to fully sap its ability at using Magicka. Yet, this contact was enough to cause a disruption and make the spell dissipate harmlessly.
“aim for a single pierce to the heart.”
While the dark creature was still surprised by the failure of its spell, I did just as Serius had taught me, and something more. My rapier penetrated the chest where a mortal’s heart would be while my boot slammed into its already wounded face. The thing flew out through the window and fell down to its death on the stones below. I nearly joined its fate but a strong hand grabbed me and pulled me back inside before it was too late. Dhemit had saved the life he’d tried to end a moment earlier.

We looked at each other, not saying a word.
“So, feeling better now?” I finally spoke up, pointing at the open window which had been occupied by the creature, whatever it was. Dhemit nodded.
“A little. I’m sorry, sir Frost. I just don’t know why I did that. Would you be willing to accept an old man’s apology?” The cook asked with a voice that was much stronger than the one he’d used when he entered my room.
“Don’t worry about that. You saved my life so I’d say that we’re even……Say, have you received any ash statues lately?”

Dhemit seemed surprised by my question. I couldn’t blame him. To a casual observer, the statues and the creature were completely unrelated. I was not a casual observer though. First, a cook who already served the Duke when said Duke was still wearing diapers, attacked me. One moment later, some humanoid creature tried to take advantage of the distraction and kill me through Magicka. The timing between the two events was simply too perfect to ignore.
“Well um, yes I have. About a month ago. Strange, that’s also when the dreams started.” The Dunmer’s eyes widened as he now also saw the connection.
“Destroy it. No, tell someone else to destroy it. You’ve been effected by it for too long to destroy it yourself.” I ordered him and walked back to the window.

I carefully glanced down in case the creature had survived the fall. At first, I couldn’t see it anywhere which caused some worry. Then though, I noticed a blackened patch of what looked like ash. Were those the thing’s remains? Two guards bearing torches stood around it.
“Don’t touch that! I’ll be down soon! Get someone to drag the Duke and Leroth out of his bed. It’s urgent!” I shouted down and quickly dove into my closet to put on some warmer clothes. With all the excitement, I hadn’t noticed the cold breeze.
“You know what to do, sir Dhemit. I suggest you do it as soon as possible. And find a healer, please. I think I broke your nose.”

Within minutes, the courtyard was flooded with just about everyone who was awake and not stuck with patrolling a different section of Ebonheart. The Duke was among the last to arrive, dressed up like the noble he was. I didn’t envy him. This constant looking after your reputation would give me a headache. I always wore exactly the same blue clothes. I had like five sets of them. The Duke on the other hand had a closet the size of my room filled with nothing but varying clothes for all kinds of different purposes. He also had a professional clothing expert.

“What’s going on here?” He asked with a stern voice that still hinted at the sleep he enjoyed till the guard burst into his room. I looked around at the gathered crowd.
“Everybody leave please. Except you, you, you and of course the Duke.” I told the staring faces. A bit disappointed, they all left. I bet they were hoping for something exciting to breach the monotony of the night. I would love to have the monotony back in my night. I said nothing till they’d all left.
“That patch of ash over there is what I believe to be some sort of humanoid Sixth House construct sent to kill me. More accurately, the remains of a Sixth House construct.” My words lacked any subtlety which managed to get the message across quite nicely.

Leroth was the first to bend down near the black substance and touch it with a finger.
“It looks just like normal ash to me. The kind you can find in an ash storm. Are you sure these are its remains?” Leroth seemed unconvinced. At least he believed me about the attack. I shrugged.
“Well, I wasn’t staring out of the window when it hit the ground but that ash wasn’t there before it came in through the window. So it feels like the logical conclusion. I think I have to thank Demith though. Just because that thing used the cook as a distraction I was all pumped up and alert. If Dhemit hadn’t tried to kill me a few seconds earlier, that thing would have killed me without me noticing a thing.”

The Duke now snapped to attention.
“Dhemit tried to kill you? I don’t believe it. He is one of the most honest and friendliest men I’ve ever had the honour of meeting.” He blurted out, forgetting about the required noble accent for a moment. Not that it mattered. Those who were still around would not hold it against him.
“No need to blame him or punish him or whatever. Apparently, the statues have spread beyond Ald-ruhn. Dhemit received one of those about a month ago. I suggest we should get a public notice out regarding this. Those statues have become too much of a plague to control. If we just tell the people that those statues represent a health hazard due to contact with some diseased animals or something, I’m sure we should be able to keep the situation on a tight leash. For a while, that is.” I explained before anyone could draw a faulty conclusion.

We all looked at the patch of ash silently. Leroth had claimed that the ash was exactly like the one found in your average ash storm. Just the thought of ash storms changing into armies of evil creatures made a cold shiver run down my spine. The Sixth House’s army was like the ultimate guerrilla force. No matter how locked up the enemy was, they could always sneak in a few assassins. It was a frightening idea, to say the least.
“Ro-El, they’re clearly after you.” Serius noted. The man had warmed up considerably. What I first saw as mere grumpiness was because he worried about me.
“I don’t get it though. Why me? I mean, the Nerevarine is prophesized to destroy the Sixth House. I’m just a Nord who might be the reincarnated Dwemer king. I’m not really a threat to them. If they were really serious about it, they could crush me within a heartbeat. Why all this playing around, why do they give me a chance to survive?” I complained to no one in particular. The whole situation had given me a great deal of frustration.

“The Nerevarine is a powerful man, both a great warrior and a great mage. His tools are legendary and equally powerful as the man. Yet, despite all that, he is still mortal. Dagoth Ur, the leader of the Sixth House is, according to everything we know, immortal. In a battle, the mortal will always lose. I don’t know how the Nerevarine is supposed to break this rule but I do know this. The only thing the Sixth House truly fears is the intervention of another god. Pelinal is such a god, a god born of steel who has claimed victory over what was always believed to be an invincible weapon as powerful as the Tribunal. You are the only person who can bring Pelinal back from its slumber and make it challenge the Sixth House.” The Duke answered solemnly.

“Perhaps this is how the Nerevarine is destined to vanquish Dagoth Ur. If all of the devil’s attention is focussed on you, he might underestimate the actions of a single mortal. Ro-El Frost, you are hereby authorized to use any means necessary to recover Pelinal. I want you to follow in Dumac’s footsteps, find out what he did, how he lived, how he died. You are the key to Dumac, who is the key to Pelinal. With Pelinal in our possession, we will have two aces up our sleeves. The Nerevarine and the Shield of Resdayn. The holy vanquisher of evil and the great protector. You are now dismissed, make any preparations you need for your quest.” The Duke continued, a passion I hadn’t heard before echoing in his voice. I now knew that this man believed in me. He believed in a child to save his land. It was a sobering thought.

I returned to my room and packed everything I felt was needed. A portable repair kit for my rapier, the rapier itself, lockpicks, probes, maps, a few potions, a small alchemy kit, money and paper for writing notes. I then went for the man who could help me chasing my first clue. Zarador.

“What? You want to go to that Dwemer ruin near Balmora and that cave where we all nearly got killed? Clearly my young friend, the heat of the bright days here must have clouded your mind. And leaving at night, you might get lost.” The Altmer argued when I dragged him out of his bed.
“This is no joke, Zarador of the Steel Tower. I’ll fix your Centurion for you but I need your help. You look at Dwemer objects with a scholar’s eye. You can fill in the gaps I don’t remember.” I pleaded. If he didn’t want to come out of his free will, I would have to force him. Fortunately, I pushed just the right buttons.
“Since you put it like that, I have no choice but to humbly accept your offer.” The Altmer said, making a bow.

The tall man’s preparations took much longer than mine. He insisted on taking Centurion along which meant that I had to arrange a pack Guar. That took some time to we finally found a trader who was willing to sell his Guar ‘Rolly’ to us. Then of all things, it turned out that Rolly had a cold and needed to be taken to a healer before we could use it. When we finally got on the road, the sun was already looming over the horizon. I was beginning to hate this ‘quest’ already.

Zarador apparently shared none of my not so optimistic mood. He talked endlessly about his knowledge regarding the schools of Magicka, Argonian traditions, Dwemer constructs at which point he said the most blatant nonsense I’d ever heard and anything else he managed to pick as a subject. I wished my own ability at Magicka extended beyond storing and using other people’s spells. I would silence the Altmer instantly.

We did manage to keep a good pace though. Maybe because I really wanted to get to our destination and kept up a speed only slightly short of running. There were a few Nix-hounds to bother us and a pair of Cliffracers but nothing serious. The most amusing moment of our trip, the only amusing moment, was our encounter with a local bandit.

Nels Lendo was his name and thieving was his game. He suddenly jumped out from behind a rock when we were approaching Pelagiad.
“Hello there, fellow travellers. My name is Nels Lendo. Perhaps you have heard of me? I tell you, Nels Lendo is not like all those other rogues, Nels Lendo is a civilized one. Now, if you would be so kind as to give Nels Lendo fifty septims, he will let you pass and you’ll never hear of him again.” He said in a cheery tone. People who referred to themselves in the third person where freaks in my book. Unless they were from Elsweyr or Argonia where people had a different opinion of their own identity. Since in those two provinces it was cultural, I had no problems with this way of speech. In the case of a native Dunmer? I had a big problem with it.

I pushed the Altmer away. I had no intention of leaving a black crisp on the road. Sure, Dunmer were resistant to fire but a big enough flame would still leaved a pile of ash. Nels Lendo was not evil enough to deserve this fate. He was just misled and needed to be led back on the straight path of the law. Preferably while receiving a couple of bruises somewhere in the process.
“No money for you. Leave us and don’t ever try to rob people again, no matter how charming you believe you are.” I told him. The man frowned and his smile vanished.
“Alas, I cannot. Unfortunately, I believe it must come to bloodshed then.” He spoke and drew a shortsword. Small flames travelled across the blade’s surface.

Zarador had stepped forward.
“You do not understand who you are dealing with. I am Zarador, master of destruction. Yes, I can wipe your existence from this world with a mere flick of the wrist. And my companion here, Ro-El Frost may be young but he has all the experience of a true warrior. He has commanded armies into battle on the slopes of Red Mountain, he has fought and claimed victory against foes so terrible, your heart would freeze in fear at the mere mention of their name.” He said with his brilliant sense for drama. Really, if Zarador wanted to, he would be a great bard. I rolled my eyes though when he began about me.
“Dumac was the armyleader, not me. And I also never fought any terrible foes.” I whispered to the Altmer as I pushed him back again.
“Really? Now I do happen to know that these Dunmer are simply terrified about Corprus Stalkers, Ash slaves and Ascended Sleepers. You’ve killed all of those that crossed your path.” He replied, not lowering his voice at all. I gave him a stern face before turning to the bandit.

Nels Lendo had taken one step back and seemed less confident then before.
“It appears that you do have some skill. Yet, my honour demands of me not to withdraw my challenge. Draw your weapon and let us fight as men.” He called out, raising his blade. I shook my head as one of my wicked grins formed on my face.
“I walk a different path. Prepare yourself!” I said and launched myself up into the sky.

Nels pointed his sword at me, hoping I would land on top of it. Big mistake. I swung around, kicking his sword out of my way with one boot and landed the other right on his nose. With a loud crack, his nose broke and he fell on his back with blood streaming down his face. I was getting quite good at breaking noses. I didn’t gave him time to recover or get up but planted my foot on his wrist and took the sword away. I then stepped back and gave him some room to breath.
“I hope this is a good lesson for you. Anyone else might have just killed you without giving you a fair chance. Now get out of our sight.”

That night, Zarador told the story for all to hear, arousing a few laughs. The hostess told me that Nels Lendo was a like a big child with silly ideas. He came to her tavern often so she was glad I did not kill him. I was glad myself as I didn’t like killing to be honest. While the stars travelled the sky outside, I entertained myself and the other patrons with a fine act of egg juggling. All in all, I’d say that the end of that day’s trip wasn’t that bad at all. It was certainly better than the start. Tomorrow though, we would arrive at Arkngthand. The fact that I could speak that name without any difficulty still came as a bit of a surprise. It was probably another piece of my Dwemer heritage. When Zarador attempted to speak the name, it sounded as if he was choking on something.

We set out again early in the morning. No bandits this time, though there was the lone encounter with a Kagouti which was soon promoted to fried Kagouti. Never mess with a mage who is eager to show off his skills. We came by the fort again and this time, we even encountered a few guards on the road. So it was only a small surprise when we were spoken to by a Legionnair while having lunch on an ancient bridge.
“You two, who are you?” He said in a gruff manner that clearly showed who he believed to be in charge. Zarador was about to give one of his longwinded replies but I interrupted him.
“This is Zarador of the Steel Tower. I’m Ro-El Frost. We’re just passing through.” I told the soldier who seemed unconvinced. In fact, he was gripping the hilt of his sword though he hadn’t drawn it yet.

“That’s what they all say. It is my duty to keep these roads clean from any possible threat. So tell me why you’re here.” He demanded. I was unimpressed, especially now I knew what kind of cowards the guards truly were. When the Sixth House base was there, they all remained safely behind their own walls. Only after the threat had been taken care of by outsiders, did they go back to their patrolling. I bet that whenever they saw a bandit, they would rather hire a mercenary than get rid of the nuisance themselves.
“Go back to your patrolling, soldier.” I told him simply.

With the hissing sound of a perfectly maintained blade, the man unsheathed his Broadsword.
“I’ll tell you again. What is your purpose? Answer me now or I shall consider you two to be criminals and fulfil my duty.” He warned. Zarador finally had enough and paralyzed the man with a spell.
“We could stand here and argue all day long. In the end though, that old fort is waiting for us. Stop standing there with your mouth open, Ro-El.”

The entrance to Arkngthand was less than a minute away. There came my first disappointment. The last time I passed the old fort, I wasn’t looking for a way in so I hadn’t noticed the big sphere covering the door.
“Great, so now what? Are we supposed to simply blast a hole in that thing?” I muttered which brought a smug smile on Zarador’s face.
“Look, our Dwemer doesn’t know what to do. Now allow a scholar to show you the mechanism behind this.” He said and pulled a nearby crank I’d ignored. Metal scraped against metal and the dome slowly split in two halves, revealing a Dwemer door.
“That crank was placed here later. No self-respecting architect would block off the only entrance to a fort and then place the openingmechanism on the outside. It would defeat the whole purpose. So evidently, that sphere was to keep something inside, rather than outside.” I concluded.

The Dwemer door made an awful lot of noise. Evidently, it hadn’t been oiled since the Dwemer vanished. Unfortunately for us, that noise also alerted the fort’s current inhabitants. Small shapes whistled through the air. I ducked under the first one headed for me and jumped off the platform we were standing on, noticing that the object was a small dart as I passed. Zarador wasn’t so lucky and I heard the sound of his body hitting the floor. Any worries about the Altmer were forced out of my mind with the upcoming landing. I sank through my knees to bleed off the force of impact and turned my downward movement into a forward roll. A second later, I was back on my feet. Only to find myself surrounded by several very angry bandits.

“Don’t move kid, unless you like getting holes.” Their leader told me. A dozen bandits wielding a variety of weapons stood around me. I would have to follow his orders, for now. I stood motionlessly as the leader shouted up towards the entrance.
“That other guy, is he alive?”
“Yes, the poison made him take a nice little nap.” A voice answered from above. I felt some relief knowing that the Altmer had cheated death again. Though how long could he keep cheating? And how long could I cheat death myself?

We glared at each other, trying to find our weaknesses. To an outsider, it didn’t look too good. He was a hulking mass of a Dunmer wearing battleworn Bonemold with a large Dwemer axe in his hands. Me, I was the smallest Nord ever seen, wearing nothing but my simple travelling clothes and with the rapier hanging from my belt. Unless I happened to be a powerful mage, which I definitely wasn’t, any battle would have me cut to pieces.

My eyes caught some more details, both of the man and of my surroundings. Starting with the surroundings, it was obvious that Arkngthand was even less than a shadow of its former glory. The pillars were rusted, the lights dim and part of the roof had come down. The doors looked like they were about to fall apart and even the two suits of Dwemer armour guarding said door looked as if they’d seen better days.

My Dwemer memories had been flowing back withing my mind almost constantly, ever since I entered the fort. Those were not suits of armour, the Dwemer never had any need for them. Why should they, when their Centurions were better warriors than any being of flesh and blood? They were Centurions themselves, fully humanoid ones and simply known as the type 1, albeit deactivated. Conceived to have the full flexibility of an organic warrior but with far greater strength. In the end, they offered neither. Slower and more bulky than a Spere centurion and less powerful than the gigantic Steam Centurion, they were about to be replaced by the newer type 2 when Red Mountain came.

The glaring contest had ended. The Dunmer pointed at one of his henchmen.
“Take that little Scrib’s sword.” He barked. I did nothing and allowed the rapier to be taken. It was all part of my plan. Phase one of the plan unfolded as planned with the bandits all being rather surprised at seeing a silver blade being drawn rather than some crummy iron.
“Give me that!” Their leader snatched the rapier out of his underling’s hands and tore off the leather I’d wrapped around the hilt. Phase two was completed as he stared in shock and fear at Ebonheart’s dragon engraved into the pommel.

“Legion rule 04: Never let yourself be caught off guard!” With that bit of advise, I launched myself up and cracked his unprotected nose with a knee. His fingers loosened their grip and I retrieved my sword, giving him a quick stab in the wrist as a farewell gift. My kick knocked the Dunmer to the ground and allowed me to escape the encirclement. I headed straight for the two Centurions with their warhammers. I passed between them and then waited in front of the door. As I’d already expected, the bandits were in hot pursuit. I grinned and said a single word that hadn’t been heard for centuries.

With a swift motion, the two Centurions swung their hammers, sending the two lead bandits flying and cracking a couple of ribs. The following bandits were knocked to the ground by their unfortunate companions, allowing the two Centurions to step in and end the whole battle with several swift motions. Outdated or not, the machines proved to be devastating when no one expected them to be active.

I gave them some more orders in the Dwemeric language and they took up position next to the leader. Being unable to give chase had saved his life. I walked up to the Dunmer and watched him hold his nose as he stared up at the two Centurions who simply stared back, as if they were silently challenging him to get up and fight.
“Who are you?” He asked frightened. I leaned in close with a grin and gave him the answer.
“Dumac Dwarfking. Now you and your friends were looting my property. May I remind you that both Imperial as Dunmeric laws are excessively strict regarding the theft of Dwemer artefacts?” With him immobilized, I could give his armour the examination it required and confirm my previous thoughts. What had first looked like battledamage was in fact the subtle removal of identifying marks. Unfortunately for him, Bonemold marks were not only unique in their shape but also in their placement.

“Since you work for Orvas Dren, I believe it might be a wise idea if you gave him a message. Stay off of my lawn or you’ll be sorry. Signed, Dumac Dwarfking. Now get out of here.” I snapped and watched him go. Maybe it was a mistake, but minor servants like him rarely knew anything I could use. Besides, asking him more about Arkngthand was useless as well. If he couldn’t even recognize two fully functional Centurions, anything he could tell me was probably nonsense. After he’d vanished through the upper door, I turned back tot my new friends.
“Go guard the door, but bring in the Guar first. I have a type 2 Centurion to fix. After that, I have an evil twin to hunt.”

Zarador took a while to wake up again. Once he did, he was clearly in a bad mood.
“Show yourself, you mindless bandits! Show yourself so I can finish your miserable excuse for a life with my great powers!” He shouted as soon as he got up on his feet. I was sitting a bit further away, near the door, amidst a pile of Centurion bits.
“They’re dead, old man.” I spoke without looking away from my task.

Zarador said nothing for a few seconds.
“Well, that’s a good thing. My skill would be sorely wasted on them.” He said in a funny tone. He then noticed what I was doing.
“My Centurion! What have you done to it?!” He shouted in a panic.

This time, I did look up.
“I removed all the malfunctioning and damaged parts. A Carrier is out to fetch me the replacements.” I began to explain when the door noisily opened. In came a Dwemer Centurion of a kind that was rarely seen by people. That was to be expected, as combat was not part of its duties so it took cover when the bandits invaded as opposed to seeking conflict. Its six legs supported a spherical body with two heavy arms at the front and a pair of smaller arms hanging underneath its belly. The small ones were designed for the handling of small objects such as a coin or a mug. The large ones were meant for heavy lifting like it was doing right now. Two more of the Carrier Centurions followed, each holding a steel keg. They carefully put their cargo down and then waited in a corner of the large room for further orders.

“Thank you. I want some maintenance done on the construction facilities. Fetch the Type 2 blueprints from the library and have Construction hall A configured for Type 2 construction. I want production of the Type 2 to be started as soon as possible in Construction hall A. As for their equipment, go for an even spread between Halberds and Crossbows.” I ordered the machines and opened the first keg.
“What were you babbling all about? And I’ve never seen those before! What are they? Why do they follow your commands?” The scholar in Zarador awoke.
“I was telling them to start production on the Type 2 Centurions. I plan on spreading the blueprints among the Dwemer factories and have them all produce as many of the Type 2s as possible. We’re going to need an army if we want to battle the Sixth house, I’m not going to rely on a single mythical Centurion.” I answered and retrieved a heavy machine from the first keg. I rotated it around in my hands till I found the Dwemeric inscription.
Type 2 main power unit. Expected lifetime: 5 years.
“As for your other questions, those were Carrier Centurions. They’re the ones who do all the heavy lifting around here. Not all Centurions are built for battle after all. And they follow my orders because I can speak Dwemeric. That, and maybe me being Dumac has something to do with it. I bet that as the leader of the Dwemer, he could give orders to all Centurions.”

Zarador scratched his bald head.
“That sounds like a logical assumption. Just one more question, what is a Type 2 and did you find out anything about the bandits?” He asked me. I grinned as I placed the power unit inside the Centurion’s chest and connected it to the actual skeleton that would move the machine.
“Those are two questions but that’s ok. A Type 2 is just like your Centurion over here, only with the exact specifications of the blueprint as opposed to someone’s guess. It is a humanoid warrior and the Dwemer’s attempt at versatility. So unlike all the other combat-oriented Centurions, it doesn’t feature any integrated weapons. Nope, this one can and will wield any weapon you and I can hold in our hands. They’re probably the best thing we can get produced fast enough to make a difference in the upcoming battle. And the bandits? They worked for Orvas Dren.” The last words came out as a sigh. That man had allied himself against his own brother and on top of that, his allies were monsters that could have walked straight out of Oblivion.

I was convinced that as long as he lived, he would continue to cause trouble. What I had to do was to convince him otherwise. But how?
“Orvas? That man is a disgrace for his people. Say, you can’t stomp on his house with Pelinal, can you?” Zarador wore a gleeful smile at his idea.
“No, we first need to find Pelinal for that. And even then, Pelinal is useless without the key. Worst of all, I’ve put some Administrator Centurions on the job but they have yet to find any information regarding a key for big Centurions.”

I detached myself from the conversation and focussed fully on my repair job. It was a bit odd, considering that I could just wait a few hours and get myself a brand-new Centurion but I figured that I might as well spent my time for something useful. That, and Zarador’s Centurion had already shown the ability to understand Cyrodiilic. The solution lay in its brain which had been merged with a Soulgem. That would explain the machine’s rather eccentric behaviour. I decided to replace its brain with a standard one, even though Zarador wouldn’t appreciate losing control over his toy.
“So there are no clues at all?” Zarador continued to press the subject.
“None, now let me finish this.” I answered bluntly.

Fully repairing the Centurion took the rest of the day. Once it was fixed, I tried to activate the machine and carefully examined it for any flaws. There were none to be found. Satisfied, I had my belated diner. Zarador and I continued to discuss the whereabouts of the key. Zarador brought up an interesting theory, namely that the key might not be a key in the traditional sense. It could be something different, like a powersource. I remembered my vision in which Kagrenac complained about not having a useable powersource for Numidium. I ran to the library as fast as I could.
The library was a dimly lit room nearly as big as the entrance. Racks upon racks of scrolls, notes, books and other forms of recording filled it as far as the eye could see. Among them, dozens of the so-called Administrator Centurions moved about on their little wheels. Their body could extend to reach even the highest racks and the fingers of their delicate hands were coated in silk to prevent damage to the records. The most eye-catching feature were their heads, which contained at least a dozen eyes. I shuddered as I thought of the damage a single spark could do. An immeasurable amount of knowledge, all lost in the mistake of a single moment. I praised the Dwemer, who had thought about this as well and gave the administrators a closed system without any hot steam being shot out of their backs like the Spheres or the big Macewielders.

“I want another search. Look for a power unit capable of powering a hypothetical Centurion of about two hundred metres in height.” I told the nearest Administrator that wasn’t busy. The Centurion rolled over to one of the racks and extended its body high above the ground. It withdrew a heavy book wrapped in black leather and flitted through the pages so fast that the moving paper was little more than a blur. After only a few seconds, it had moved through all the pages and carefully put the book back in the rack. It returned to me.
“There is no information on a power unit that can meet those requirements. There are a total of 546 other potential sources of information on this subject. These sources will be examined immediately. The closest result is a power unit for a Centurion of about thirty metres in height. Any further requests?” It spoke with a mechanic voice. I shook my head. According to my visions, Pelinal was much bigger than thirty. A hundred metres was the bare minimum I was willing to consider.
“Continue the search. I’ll be at the entrance to Arkngthand.”

I was about to leave the library when one of the other Administrators tried to gain my attention. I nodded for it to tell me what it had. I was hoping for information regarding the key’s location but I told myself not to get my hopes up. The Administrators had been searching the most obscure bits of information for hours with no results so far.
“No information regarding the location of your key has been found. However, there is a known Centurion development facility located on a northern island. Your requested information might be found there.” It told me.

A Centurion development facility. This gave me hope. If there was any place that had information on oversized Centurions, it had to be there. But how to get there? Fortunately, Dumac’s memories came to my aid once more.
“Prepare a map with the location of this facility. I also want to know the current location of the Cloudcleaver. You know where to find me.”

I walked out of the library and back to the entrance where Zarador was trying to start a conversation with the two Type 1s who had killed the bandits earlier. The two machines completely ignored the Altmer as I’d told them to. Having Zarador identified as a friend was one of the first things I did here.
“I want twenty Type 2s, ten spheres, five Macewielders and two Wings to accompany us when we leave. Outfit the Type 2s with Halberds. I also want to take forty Spiders and ten Administrators. Replace the lost Centurions as soon as possible. Furthermore, I want to send a Wing Centurion to all known factories. Have it carry a copy of the Type 2 blueprints and deliver the order to start production of Type 2s till the force defending the factories has been at least tripled. Now get going.” The Two Centurions marched off as I sat down next to the perplexed Zarador.
“Where are they going?” He asked me, scratching his bald head as usual.
“To make a few arrangements.”

The next morning, I was quite pleased with myself. When I’d given my orders, I had not truly realized just how big the group of Centurions was. If I felt for some conquest, I could easily take on the neighbouring fort Moonmoth. Fortunately for the Legionnaires, conquest was not part of my plans.

Zarador was running among the group of machines like a child who has been dumped in a huge pile of toys.
“Look at all these Type 2s! Were they all made this night?” He exclaimed, peering into the ‘eyes’ of one of the Centurions. I wore a rather proud grin while I answered his question.
“Of course they were. This is Arkngthand after all. Those miserable bandits failed to find the elevator leading to the area where the real stuff is hidden. There are three construction halls, which I’ve labelled A to C. The Type 2s were all built by hall A, so that should give you an idea of just how big even one of the halls is.”

Zarador brushed a speck of dust from a Centurion’s kneecap.
“Say, where is my Type 2?” He now asked.
“The one who follows your orders I suppose.” I answered with a shrug. The mage tried it out, but none of the machines listened.
“Hmm, must have gone down to this construction hall of yours for maintenance.” He muttered slightly discontent, stroking his beard.
“Maybe. Anyway, the Cloudcleaver is likely in need of some repairs so I’ll send this group out to its current location. While they’re busy, we can go visit Dren and tell him to stay out of my business.”

As one, the Centurions marched out of the door and down the path. Zarador and I ascended one of Arkngthand’s towers and looked out over the West Gash from a balcony. Balmora and the Odai glittered in the distance. The force of Centurions marching north looked like a golden mantle spread over the ash. I had to force back a chuckle as I thought of the panic they would cause to anyone who happened to see them. I could already see that even the Cliffracers, who were normally aggressive to the extreme, kept their distance.

I looked behind me into the tower. Zarador was standing with his back against the wall, inspecting the floating Centurion that had ascended up through the shaft leading down into the Dwemer fort. I walked inside and inspected the Centurion myself. I already knew it from my memories, but seeing a real one was quite different.

The Wing Centurion looked like a male Netch coated in steel armour, though lacking the tentacles. An integrated crossbow was placed at the front, only a tube the bolt would exit from marked its location. Near the end, it featured two rotating pods equipped with a fan which were used for pushing it through the air.
“And this, is our ride.” I told Zarador. Instantly, the old man’s face went pale.

“You’re kidding me. You want us to fly on that thing? How are we going to do that?” He stammered, struck with fear.
“Simple, hop on top and grab the handholds. Have you ever rode a horse?” I laughed. Zarador shook his head.
“Neither do I. It should be fun.”

After a lot of persuasion, I managed to get Zarador on top of the Wing. I followed suit and took up the front position. There, I pressed a concealed button and watched how two levers and a small panel with buttons appeared. Since flying through the air at high speed could make talking troublesome, the Wing included a manual set of controls. I gripped the two levers and slowly pushed the left one forward. With a slight shudder and a bit hesitantly, the Wing flew out of the tower.

I took the first half of an hour to practise with the machine. Perhaps I should have done it earlier, but my combination of reflexes, quick learning and some memories turned me into a capable pilot soon enough.
“I can’t wait to see the surprise on Orvas’ face when we swoop in on this thing!” I shouted over the winds as we raced towards the Dunmer’s plantation at speeds no bird could match.
“If it is so fast, then why don’t we just go to that research facility far up north with it?!” Zarador shouted back. Since he was stuck staring at my back, he could not see the slightly maniacal grin.
“You want to sit on this thing all day? My behind would be all sore in the end. Not to mention, I want to get to the island in style, riding on Dumac’s luxurious airship! Now be quiet, I think I can see lake Amaya!”

We were hovering high above the ground. Even if the guards somehow felt it necessary to look up, they would only find a tiny black spot in front of the moons. The Wing bobbed up and down gently, its fans whispering as it kept itself stable.
“Now I remember. I’ve felt a presence similar to this when I last visited Cyrodiil. It was in a shrine of the Nine Divines, I believe.” Zarador mumbled, actually stroking his beard again. His fear of falling had almost completely vanished. I looked down on the plantation and counted the moving torches. There were about a dozen. More than I’d expected. I closed my eyes for a moment as I struggled with an internal conflict. Slavers, I had no love for them. Part of me wanted to simply barge in and stab them in their rotten heart. The other part told me that it was suicide, even with the element of surprise and a powerful mage at my side.
“I’ve felt this too, in Ald-ruhn. A Redguard who claims to be the Nerevarine. I wonder what he’s doing here. Ah well, I’ll find out soon enough.”

I brought the wing back around and landed it behind a hill. I whispered a few words to the machine before dismounting.
“Ok, here’s the plan. I want you to stay behind and watch for any trouble. If you see that I do get into trouble, say the following to the Wing.” I told Zarador and whispered the command in his ear.
“So I should say….” I quickly covered his mouth with my hand.
“Not now. The moment you say it, that thing is going to barge down the hills and drive a bolt through every guard it sees.”

I made sure my rapier was secured and wouldn’t make any noise before descending the hill. I deliberately moved along slowly, crawling on all fours. I avoided the gate and instead chose to mover around the east side of the wall surrounding the plantation. Till now, no one had even a clue that I was nearby.

I was hoping to catch Dren unaware, preferably while the monster in mortal form was sleeping in his bed. How wrong I was, to expect the Dunmer to be off-guard. If anything, the Nerevarine’s spirit should have been the sign that made me realize that Dren was definitely not sleeping. I’d seen the signs, I didn’t listen to what they said.

Once I’d figured I’d moved far enough, I invoked my special scroll of clinging and began to scale the wall. The moment I popped my head over the wall, I knew that this would not go as planned. This was just my luck, to climb the wall right where I’d end up next to the guard house. And to make matters worse, a guard was standing on the roof, with a torch, and two crimson eyes looking at my direction.

“Who are you? A tourist? There’s nothing to see here. Now get out of here.” He snarled, fortunately keeping his voice down. I realized that I was dealing with a really dumb guard here. My opinion of my luck had changed drastically with that realization. I hopped over the wall and landed lightly next to him.
“Beautiful weather, don’t you think?” I told him with my hands casually in my pockets. The guard finally noticed the weapon at my side and decided to get suspicious.
“Don’t draw that sword if you want to live, kid!”

The ‘kid’ reward made me laugh on the inside. Somehow, this was one of the first things everyone said to me. Kid. If only they knew my true age. I bet they would be scared.
“Just because I have a sword doesn’t mean I need it.” I answered casually and hit the guard against the helmet with a foot. He flew off the building, screaming till he hit the ground. There was a loud ‘ow’ when he landed. So much for a stealthy entrance.

I turned to the hills and gave Zarador a thumbs up to reassure him before he would intervene. My plan had fallen, but the drop had not been fatal. I dove into my collection of scrolls and produced two. A jumping scroll and an invisibility one. I invoked the jumping scroll first and had already begun my jump to the roof of Dren’s villa before I’d used the other. The guards all rushed into the guard house, probably with the plan of catching me on the roof. Too bad for them for they were moving towards the wrong roof.

Once they’d vanished from sight, I swung down through an open window and landed inside a dimly lit room. The silence was disturbing. I crouched down behind the cover of a plant. When my fingers touched the floor, I withdrew them instantly. I held up one of my hands in front of my face. My hand was covered in a warm liquid of a red colour that could mean only one thing. Blood.

My eyes trailed the path of blood on the floor till they reached the armoured Dunmer who lay against a rack. A few broken bottles of Mazte accompanied him. I needed no explanation this time to read the signs. Orvas Dren was dead. And I bet the Nerevarine had something to do with it. I felt the cold touch of a blade on the back of my neck. My opinion of my luck had turned for the worse again.
“Fancy meeting you here, kid.”

I made a mental list of the situation. One, since I was inside the building it was impossible for me to warn Zarador which removed any possibility of having a spellhappy mage and a Dwemer machine coming to my aid. Two: The guards would likely try to inform Dren of the intruder unless he’d ordered them not to disturb him. Well, no one would disturb him now but that was not so important right now. Three, Dren only had a single wound in his chest right where the heart was located. To get there, the Nerevarine had to slice through an Orcish cuirass. The cuirass had a single clean cut where the blade entered. So the Nerevarine could cut through high-quality armour with ease. That did not reassure my unprotected neck. The only good thing had to be four. We were potential allies, if I could convince him of my point.

“Luper Alkad, I presume?” I asked as politely as was possible while sitting on the floor in a pool of someone else’s blood with a sword against your neck.
“Yeah. Why is that important to you? I’m quite convinced we haven’t met before. And even if we did, this is probably going to be the last time. If you thought you could kill me, you’re wrong.” The man replied. Ok, so apparently he’d forgotten about me and now considered me an enemy. Not that nice to hear.
“We did meet, in Ald-ruhn, during the meeting of the Redoran council. I don’t think it is quite necessary for you to knock off my head. I prefer to keep it where it is, thank you very much.”

To my relief, the Redguard withdrew his sword. I carefully got up from the floor and turned to face him.
“Now I remember. You’re the kid with the cultist. Well, don’t look all that surprised. It’s hard enough to keep track of the people who are out to kill me. I can’t possibly worry about those who are not going to stick a sword into my back given half a chance.” If it was meant as an apology, it definitely did not sound like one.
“Why did you kill Orvas Dren?” I asked him while I did my best to get rid of the blood. I didn’t had a lot of success with it. I hoped that Dumac’s airship contained a place where I could wash my clothes.

“You mean the Dark Elf who’s soiling the floor over there? Nothing special. He was going through this dreadfully boring speech about how he was going to kill me for the greater glory of his lord and blablabla, more of that Guardung. I slipped a sword into his heart while he was working his tongue. I’m a busy guy, I don’t have time for speeches.” Alkad explained to me with a smug grin. I frowned. This was not the most likeable fellow.
“There’s not much honour in killing people who are not ready to defend themselves.” I noted. In reality, I didn’t care though my Dumac side protested loudly. That same side had been protesting against my own questionable form of honour so I ignored it as always.
“I’m a bigshot Telvanni. I don’t remember the word ‘honour’ being used in the Telvanni dictionary.” He quipped, still with that smug grin of his.

The grin faded as he looked down at the corpse.
“Well, so much for that. I needed him to persuade his friends into naming me Hortator. Oh boy, mommy is going to be pissed. Yup, add an angry Daedra to my list of enemies. If things keep going like this, I should build a waiting room back at my mushroom.” He noted grimly. This was a side to the man that seemed to be the complete opposite of his earlier personality.
“You could claim it was an accident.” I said with a shrug.
“Accidents normally don’t tear through Orcish armour as if through paper. They usually miss vital organs as well.”

“Well…” I began but cut myself off. Something had just materialized out of thin air. My reflexes took over and I withdrew a pair of throwing stars from my sleeves which I shot at the form. To my surprise, the form actually managed to dodge the point-blank attack.
“Invisibility! Behind me!”
I went into a crouch while simultaneously dodging to my left and spinning around to face the second attacker. A Glass blade stabbed the air where I’d been a moment earlier. I sent a fist towards the second man’s face but just like his companion, he managed to dodge though to do that, he had to jump away which gave me a split second to look for the Nerevarine.

The Redguard had engaged the first assassin. Despite his heavy suit of armour, he moved as if he was wearing a suit of mere air. He parried a Glass dagger with his left hand and summoned a Daedric longsword with the other. I had no time to watch any further for the second assassin had come back to strike at me. He lunged out with his dagger, I moved around it and countered with a kick towards his knee. He stepped around the attack and struck out with his fist which I pushed away with my own hands. It was as if we were moving through water, each blow seemingly dodged or pushed aside with ease. Neither of us managed to hit. This Dunmer was as good at fighting unarmed as I was and his reflexes were at least as good, if not better, than mine.

We kept striking at each other yet somehow only managed to hit air. In the tense battle, I could not draw my rapier which gave him an unfair advantage with his dagger. I took a step back. Unexpected, the ground vanished below my feet. Before I could lose my balance, I’d jumped up and aimed a kick at his nose. Like with all previous attacks, my opponent dodged though this time he managed to slice through the upper skin of my leg. My leg went numb for a short moment but I’d absorbed the dagger’s power so fast, it seemed as if I’d never even been effected by it.
“Paralysis. Not nice at all.” I noted to myself as I landed at the bottom of the stairs. We stared at each other across the distance. Both of us knew that he who moved first would have to lower his defence and likely forfeit his life. If the sound of blades clashing was any indication, the other battle was still in full swing.

I let my eyes wander across the environment, never loosing sight of the Dunmer I was up against. I was looking for something, anything that could give me the needed advantage. In the meantime, I unsheathed my rapier.
“That sword! You’re with Vedam!” The Dunmer spat. So he had been involved with Ephraim. I noticed an open window. I quickly figured out where it was directed at and knew I’d found my advantage.
“Shoot him!”

During the last moment of his life, he looked at me with a questioning expression, as if he was trying to make sense of my words. Then, he was thrown aside like a doll and pinned to the wall by a bolt the size of my lower arm. Leave it up to the Dwemer to built a weapon capable of shooting through windows from threehundred steps away. It made me wonder how the Chimer ever managed to hold on long enough during the war for Kagrenac’s betrayal.

While this was an interesting question, it was unimportant right now. I rushed up the stairs as the crackling of lightning and the loud boom of thunder roared through the building. Zarador had arrived at the scene and was now in the process of giving the guards outside a shocking experience. I got to the upper floor where the Nerevarine and the second assassin were still fighting. Wasting no time, I picked a fallen Dagger from the floor and hurled it at the Dunmer. Perhaps he’d heard my footsteps, perhaps he was warned by the whistling of moving air. Whatever was the case, he turned around just far enough to see the dagger that would enter his face. He’d dropped dead within a heartbeat.
“Well kid, you stole my fun for a bit but still, nice throw.” Alkad admitted reluctantly. I mimicked his own smug grin from earlier and looked out of the window. A bearded man stood on the grass below, waving at me.
“Your machine suddenly went berserk so I thought, why not give them a display of my might? Now what are we going to do with our spoils of war?” Zarador shouted up.

I looked at the Nerevarine who shrugged.
“Every time I kill someone, I get to keep their house. I can’t handle another one so it’s all yours as far as I’m concerned.” He said and walked downstairs. I looked around the room. It required some cleaning but in the end, not bad at all. I leaned out of the window and waved at Zarador.
“This place needs to be renamed! How about Frost Plantation? Centurions can replace the slaves and we can send those poor people home with a nice bit of gold in their pockets! I’ve always dreamed of my own house. Heh, looks like reality turned out to be bigger than my dreams!” I laughed.

The remainder of that night went without any further incidents. Zarador and I relieved the slaves of their bracers after which we gave them the best meal they’d had in years. Amidst the commotion, the Nerevarine vanished. I kind of missed him since I had hoped to talk with him. Since my whole mission was basically a distraction, I would really like to know just how the Nerevarine was going to destroy the Sixth House. Now that he was gone though, there was nothing left for me to do but try out Dren’s bed.

No visions or dreams came to me during my sleep which did surprise me a bit. This surprise faded quickly, replaced by the worries of the day. The first thing I did was to unlock the little chest that had been tempting me all night sitting there on the rack all sparkling with the gems covering its surface. The expensive container did not disappoint. All it contained was a letter, an important letter. I let out a whistle once I’d finished reading its contents.
“I believe I’ve said it before. What is it with all the bad people writing about their crimes and then storing the evidence in a location where I get my hands on it? At least this might reduce my punishment for killing the Duke’s own brother. We already knew that he was in league with the Sixth House but this, is pure treachery.”

I went upstairs and sat down at the table. I took a sheet of paper and the quill. While writing my own letter, I stabbed the quill in the direction of Orvas Dren’s corpse.
“Killing your own blood. You should be ashamed of yourself.” I chastised the Dunmer and jumped up when a loud explosion occurred outside. I ran to the window and looked down at the crater Zarador had just made.
“What are you doing?!” I shouted down. The mage looked at me, shrugged and went inside. A moment later, I could hear him ascend the stairs.
“It appears that our enemies are quite capable of tracking you. I just removed one of those Ash zombies from existence.” He explained with an air of authority. He then noticed the sheet of paper lying on the table.

“What’s that you’re writing? Making notes on your visions?” He asked me. I shook my head.
“No, I’m actually explaining Orvas’ plan to kill his own brother if he continued to interfere as well as his allegiance with the assassins I took out last night. Judging by their weapons, I think they are the ones who ambushed Ephraim Serius. I also intend to include a formal request to turn Dren plantation into my base of operations after this crisis has been resolved.” I told him as I sat down again and continued where I left off.
“As for my visions, nothing. It’s odd. Maybe I’ve already regained to much of Dumac’s memories? Right now, the visions seem to have been replaced by external stimulation. Seeing the Centurions for example made me remember the Dwemer language.”

The mage took off his hat and scratched his head.
“Quite peculiar. Well, we have to get moving soon before more of those fiends come. Shall I send the slaves to Ebonheart?” He asked me. I sealed my letter in an envelope and also added Dren’s note. At the last moment, I decided to remove the Dunmer’s signature ring from his finger.
“About that, I sent out the Wing. The rendez-vous with the Cloudcleaver has been changed. We’ll meet at lake Amaya instead of the Dwemer fort. It shouldn’t be that long of a walk. Well then, let’s go meet the former slaves.”

Outside, we greeted the grateful band of Khajiit and Argonians. Those who knew how to fight had taken up the guard’s weapons and armour. They would protect their brethren during their journey. A sandcoloured Khajiit bowed in front of me.
“Greetings, friend. It’s been an honour to meet you. How can we ever repay you?” He spoke solemnly. It was as the bards told. Khajiit and Argonian were capable of unwavering loyalty to those they considered their friends. If I’d told them to storm Red Mountain, they would have done so happily. I didn’t ask them to storm anything. Instead, I pressed the envelope and the ring into the man’s paws.
“You can repay me by living a happy life. I’d also like to ask you for a favour right now. Before you board the ship at Ebonheart, could you please deliver this letter to the Duke? If the guards stop you, show them this ring. I’m sure you know who that ring belongs to. They’ll surely let you pass then.”

The whole group of slaves bowed.
“It would be my pleasure. Once more we thank you. May you walk warm sands.” With those words, we said goodbye and I watched how the former slaves left. Once they’d passed beyond the gates, Zarador and I left the plantation as well, in the opposite direction.

Two hours later, we were lingering at the beach. A few Mudcrabs were grazing in the distance and a Scrib had chosen to sit in my lap.
“I’ve been thinking.” Zarador suddenly spoke up. I looked at him questioningly without saying a word.
“If you’re Dumac, then how did you die? Tell me.” I don’t know how he did it, but the mage somehow managed to stir more memories awake. In effect, he’d just forced out a vision.

I was sitting on a throne. Several Dwemer were gathered around me. Each and every one of them wore a unique set of armour, which revealed them to be generals in the Dwemer army. Being the ones who led the Centurions into battle, they were also the only Dwemer who knew how to fight.
“Milord, the mountain has been surrounded, all escape routes have been blocked off. The Chimer number in the thousands. Men, women and even children have joined their crusade. We are outnumbered and will never be able to win this battle. We need the help of the shield, we need Pelinal. At your command, an elite team of warriors on Wings will perform a raid to retrieve the keys. With the keys, we can awaken its true potential and turn the tide in our favour.” One of them told me.

I shook my head forcibly.
“No, Pelinal is not meant for this. It is meant to protect, not to destroy. And you know very well that any attempt to retrieve the two keys would be suicide. Tell everyone who is not fit for battle to seek refuge in the inner chamber where Numidium is kept. If needed, we can block off the opening with the steel god’s hand. Kagrenac told me he’d found and implemented a suitable powersource.” I told him and got up out of my throne. I walked towards a large table which carried a miniature representation of the island. Countless red figurines were arrayed around the miniature mountain.
“Any news from the other settlements?” I asked though I already knew the answer.
“None. The few scouts we managed to send out all told us the same thing. A complete annihilation of the inhabitants and the entrance sealed by a metal sphere they could not breach. Without the factories, we cannot build an army to match theirs.” One of the generals answered.

I felt tired from the endless bloodshed.
“Nerevar is a charismatic leader, but he knows nothing about how to lead an army. This is the work of Vivec. I must admit that he knows our weakness. The Centurions do not see the Chimer as enemies. It was a simple matter of entering at night and slaying all the Dwemer in their sleep. By sealing the entrance, he has secured his rear for we cannot reach the Centurions and tell them about their new enemies.”

I looked at the miniatures again. The situation was indeed hopeless. One on one, the Centurions were a match for the average Chimer soldier and more than a match for the women and children who had joined the army. Against a veteran though, they had to rely on strength of numbers. A strength we had during the Northern invasion but a strength which we’d since lost. The first general interrupted my thinking.
“Lord, please. Think about it. We need Pelinal not only to win, but to survive. Even with one key, it will be of great help.” He pleaded. I fingered the hilt of Forgeheart and shook my head again.
“And destroy one race to save another? Then how would that make us any different? No, we’ll entrust the future of our children with those protected by Numidium. As for ourselves, we’ll fight with what we have, inside this fortress. Besides, Pelinal is unable to fight effectively with only its mobile aspect awake.” I looked up at the steel door that was the only access to the throne room.
“Nerevar, why?” I whispered.

As one, the generals drew their weapons. Dwemer steel shone in the light cast by tubes mounted on the walls.
“At this point, there is no further use for a detailed plan or for leaders. There’s only one entrance, only one path to take which is blocked by every single Centurion we have, even those who are not meant for combat. The Chimer’s only choice is to charge in with everything they have. The women and children are likely to stay behind as from what our scouts told us, they are tasked with sustaining the army. As for the men who will fight, the grunts and inexperienced ones will likely lead.” I frowned at the explanation. It was heartless, though in the end, it was the right choice. By sacrificing the inexperienced troops first, the greatest warriors could fight against the final opposition at their full strength.

I drew my own blade as well. I could feel the Forgeheart’s cold touch which made me shiver. For those on the wrong side of the blade, this bitter cold would be even worse.
“It is time for this nightmare to end, though in which way, I do not know.”

For the next few hours, we waited in a nervous anticipation. We didn’t dare to open the door and see if the Chimer had already began but we also did not dare to relax. After three long hours had passed, the sounds of combat reached our ears. Clanging of metal on metal, the screams of the wounded. If possible, the next two hours were even worse than the first three. Indeed, the waiting is the hardest part of any battle. Finally, five hours after the battle had started, silence returned. We looked at each other uneasily. Had the Centurions claimed victory, or were the Chimer standing outside the door, waiting for someone foolish enough to open?

As we’d done up till now, we waited. Another hour passed. At last, the nerves of one of us cracked and he wandered to the door.
“I think they’re gone.” He whispered. The others and I gestured wildly with our hands, telling him not to open the door. He did, and was promptly slain by a flaming sword. A sword I knew. Trueflame.

Nerevar walked through the door, followed by four other Chimer. Three of them I knew. They were Vivec, Sotha Sil and Almalexia Indoril. The fourth one, I did not know. The generals moved up to meet them. There were four of them left. Each one matched blades with one of Nerevar’s aides. Unobstructed, he stepped past the battle and met me at the center of the hall.
“It’s been a long time, Dumac.” He spoke, sadness in his voice.
“I know. Yet somehow, I can’t help but wish it had been longer.” I replied with the same sadness. Forgeheart and Trueflame were raised up into the air. I noted to myself the irony of the whole thing. Trueflame, Hopesfire and Forgeheart. These three blades were forged as a sign of friendship. Now, they would serve to undo this friendship.

“True. This peace should have lasted till long after our bodies had crumbled to dust in a tomb. It was not meant to be. Now, I must destroy you. I’m sorry, my friend.” Nerevar said and stepped forward. Trueflame came down in a flaming arc. I blocked the strike with Forgeheart, feeling the elemental power of fire and ice colliding and shattering into a wide wave that spread around us.
“Likewise. My apologies.” I shouted over the howling of the two blades.

Again and again, the two swords met. Each time, their power would touch us in an embrace that both chilled and charred. With each strike, we weakened from the power our weapons contained. Nerevar was known rightfully as a great warrior among the Chimer, an expert in all weapons. He knew and used countless techniques that appeared impossible for a mortal to perform. I had been his most devoted student and he’d taught me everything about fighting with a sword. Together, we’d stood as an impenetrable wall of steel against the invaders. Gold and snow they called us, after the colour of our skin. During the final days of the war, just our appearance on the battlefield had been enough to make all but the strongest of heart flee. Now, we stood against each other and finally got to see our skill for ourselves.

We both disengaged from battle at the same time. My skin had been blackened by Trueflame’s fire and cracked by Forgeheart’s ice. Nerevar was not doing any better and his skin had lost its golden hue entirely. Around us, his four aides had formed a circle. My generals all lay on the floor in a pool of their own blood.
“You don’t fight with all your strength, Dumac. Does the friendship we shared slow your blade?” Nerevar asked me.
“Yes, it does. You have been holding back as well, my friend. Why?” I replied. Our swords pointed at the ground. A sign of our unwillingness to fight yet ready for it if needed.

Nerevar refused to look me in the eyes.
“Voryn Dagoth here has told me. You are trying to turn yourselves into gods and rule not just Resdayn, but all of Nirn. He told me that if I did not stop you, all Chimer would be sacrificed for your immortality.” He explained, gesturing towards the Chimer whose name I did not know.
“Preposterous! We would never! I’ve considered you to be my friend for as long as I live! Why would I try to destroy my friend?” I shouted angrily. Nerevar hung his head in shame.
“Yes, you would. Isn’t it true that Kagrenac has experimented on the heart of a fallen god? Immortality is a great power. Power corrupts those who do not know how to handle it. Only those who are worthy should be allowed to wield this power.” Voryn interjected.

I glared at him.
“Let me guess. You consider yourself worthy? If Kagrenac indeed wishes to become a god, it is my duty to stop him. My duty alone. Now tell me, where did you learn of this?” I demanded. Voryn sneered.
“I do not have to tell you, Dumac. You’ve already failed to keep your priest under your control. He’s already made contact with those he deems worthy and revealed his plan to them.” My expression changed from one of anger to one of disbelief.
“He contacted you, didn’t he? Now I see. Those who survive this war are worthy of becoming gods. Is that it? Is that why you strived to be the spark that ignited the flames of bloodshed? Let me tell you, immortality is something that is not given to us mortals with a reason! We are meant to live our lives during a limited timespan. Our souls simply cannot cope with eternity! We would be driven mad. And Kagrenac, has he tried his technique? Is he sure that this fool’s plan will work? Well, is he convinced it cannot fail?” As I continued to talk, I stepped closer and closer to the Chimer till I was staring him straight in the eyes.

He looked embarrassed.
“You’re right. It is something we are not meant for. How could I have been so foolish?” He admitted. His eyes focussed, telling me that his resolve was now stronger than steel.
“We must hurry, there is still time. The key to Kagrenac’s plan is Numidium. That is where he keeps Lorkhan’s heart hidden! If we stop him now, we may yet save our people of their eternal doom!” He claimed and moved towards the door at a quick pace. Nerevar and I looked at each other.
“Let’s fight together once more, my friend.” He offered, holding out his hand. I gripped the hand firmly.
“Yes, once more. For our people, for Resdayn!”

As we ran through the winding passages, I shed tears for the fallen we passed. Too many had died for this. My muscles ached from my duel with Nerevar. I knew that I could not fight with all my strength at this moment. We turned around a corner and skidded to a halt. In front of us, a Centurion of unknown design guarded the entrance to Numidium’s chamber. It was big, with heavy plates of armour covering every potential weakness. It had no weapons but it did not need any. The heavy weight of its hands was enough to crush flesh and bones.
“Step aside and let us pass!” I ordered it. In response, the Centurion slammed its hands together, making the corridor tremble. I pointed Forgeheart at it.
“Looks like it only listens to Kagrenac. Fine then, we’ll just have to go through it. Charge!”

We dashed forward as one. Vivec unleashed a barrage of spells to weaken its armour before we met. Voryn used his spear to leap high into the air and landed on the Centurion’s head. Standing on its shoulders, he began to stab at its skull, aiming from the brain inside. I ducked underneath a swinging hand and hammered away at the legs. At my first strike, a minor dent appeared. At my second, the dent tore open and exposed the internal mechanism. At the third and final hit, I severed the knee and sent the hulking beast to the floor. Even in this position, it continued to flail with its hands and I pinned one of them to the ground with Forgeheart.

The Centurion was an incredibly tough opponent, but too slow to truly pose a threat. Nerevar and I assisted each other, fighting as a pair as we struck at whatever weakness presented itself. Trueflame and Forgeheart bathed the thing in an elemental storm. Vivec and Sotha Sil stood behind us and flung spell after spell into the Centurion, adding to the damage while keeping it from regaining its balance. Finally, Voryn managed to penetrate the skull and shatter its brain. The silence after the battle felt strange.

The door was still closed yet this was no problem for us. As the king of the Dwemer, I had a key for every door in the complex, including this one. We stormed through and found ourselves standing on a ledge high above a pit of boiling magma. A winding path descended downwards to a platform where the Dwemer who had not fought in the battle were hiding. The room was dominated by Numidium, a great Centurion formed into the likeness of Kagrenac himself. Its chest area was open, revealing a strange stone with an aura that promised endless power. Kagrenac was standing in front of the heart.

“Kagrenac, come down here!” I shouted at the old smith. The Dwemer laughed at me.
“Do you truly believe that I would listen to you? You’ve come here to stop me, haven’t you? I won’t let you do that, Dumac.” He answered and struck the stone with the hammer he wielded in one hand. A loud chorus like the singing of birds echoed from the stone.
“If you want to stop me, you must defeat a god!” With a loud hiss of escaping steam, the hatch covering the chest closed, sealing Kagrenac and the heart inside.

Suddenly, Numidium’s hand began to move, descending onto the ledge where we were standing.
“Jump!” Nerevar shouted and flung himself over the edge, dragging his wife with him. The rest of us followed suit. Above us, the platform was shattered by Numidium’s hand. We aimed for the wall and tried to get a grip. A heavy rock the size of my head impacted with my shoulder, crushing part of my ribcage. I was about to fall but Vivec reached down and grabbed me. Together, we managed to reach the bottom of the chamber where the Dwemer were trying to keep as much distance to the Centurion as possible.

Vivec carefully lowered me to the ground. The pain of my wounds was nearly enough to kill me on its own. The pain numbed at the touch of the Chimer’s finger though he couldn’t repair the damage that had been done. From my current position, I saw how Numidium smashed a hole in the ceiling and dragged himself out of the mountain.
“Curses! He’ll destroy everyone with that thing!” Voryn roared. Before the great Centurion vanished from our eyes, it turned around and looked down upon us.
“I know you, Dumac. You’d rather die fighting than let me do as I please. Go ahead, try to awaken Pelinal. You’ll find that I’ve destroyed its powersource. Now it is nothing more than a statue!” Kagrenac’s voice was multiplied a thousand times in strength. Then, the machine left us.

“Nerevar.” I whispered, straining my battered lungs. My old friend knelt down beside me.
“Kagrenac is right. Without a suitable powersource, Pelinal is powerless.” I continued, coughing up a large amount of blood.
“Don’t talk, my friend. We’ll stop him for you, no matter what it takes.” The Chimer warleader urged.
“No, we’ve been blinded for too long. Numidium is not a normal Centurion, not powered by a mechanism of our own. It is powered by the heart of a god, by life, not by dead steel. Pelinal will move even without a powersource, if we make the right sacrifice. I’ll be that sacrifice. Take me to it, you know where to go.” Darkness encroached upon the edges of my vision.

My wounds had numbed my senses and I lost consciousness multiple times as Nerevar carried me further through halls filled with magma. When we arrived at Pelinal’s location, Vivec’s powers were needed again to keep me alive. They took me to Pelinal’s head and lowered me into a throne located inside its head. Safe for the throne, the only features of the chamber where three slots arrayed around the throne.
“Put Trueflame in the right slot, Hopesfire in the left” I instructed them. I did not know where my plan came from. It was as if someone else was hiding in the shadows, playing me like a puppet. Nerevar and his wife did as I’d told. Sotha Sil helped me lift my arm and place Forgeheart in the third and final slot.
“Take my soul. I beg you, Shield of Resdayn. Take my soul and come to life!” I no longer had the strength to say a word so my request was only spoken as a thought.

I could feel my soul leaving my body. I willed my soul to move into Pelinal, to become its lifeblood. The god refused me somehow and I was cast back into my dying body. I could hear voices, vague as if they were speaking from the other side of a very large room.
“We won’t stand by and watch how everyone is slaughtered by Numidium. This is our curse, we shall lift it by our own strength. Better for one race to die than for two. No more shall we be known as the Dwemer, a mortal race. We shall be known as the Centurion’s blood!” Once again, my soul left my body. I was swept along by a tidal wave of souls all trying to merge with the Centurion. Again, the barrier refused us but this time it collapsed under the combined strength of our souls.

Now we were in Pelinal. No, we were Pelinal. All our memories, our emotions, our very identity, it was all stripped away from us. Our souls became one featureless mass as silent as a frozen sea. From this mass, a single new soul rose up. The soul of Pelinal.

I opened my eyes slowly. The scene had changed since I’d closed them. The sun was about to make place for the night and a large Dwemer construct hovered above the lake. The airship had arrived. Zarador pulled me on to my feet and brushed the sand from my pants.
“And after that? What happened after Pelinal’s awakening?” He asked. I shrugged.
“Don’t ask me. Technically, I was dead by then. The first memory after that is located in a babycrib somewhere on Soltstheim. All I know is from the information we’ve managed to gather. Pelinal trashed Numidium but suffered heavy damage in the process.”

We boarded the Cloudcleaver in silence. The army of Centurions I’d sent out to retrieve and repair the vehicle had all gathered on deck. I thanked them for their service and made the preparations for our trip to the northern island. Back to the place where Ro-El was born. Solstheim.

“We now know more about the powersource though. Pelinal doesn’t have one. It is fuelled by the souls of the Dwemer who were at Red Mountain during the event. Just how my soul was separated and brought into a Nord’s body, I don’t know. I also did some research on the swords. Trueflame has been lost, broken according to some accounts. Hopesfire is still in Almalexia’s possession and Forgeheart is hidden somewhere. If we can find Forgeheart, retrieve Hopesfire and somehow find the current location of Pelinal, we can revive it with two of its three aspects.” I reasoned as we made ourselves comfortable on deck. Zarador looked towards the rear of the ship and pointed at Red Mountain.
“We need to make haste, I’m afraid. It appears that the Sixth House no longer wishes to play with us.” I looked out towards Red Mountain as well. We could no longer see the actual mountain. It was hidden under a cloud of ash. And the cloud was moving parallel along our course. We were being followed.

Fortunately, we soon found out that the ash storm moved only slightly faster than a running man. As things were, the Cloudcleaver could run circles around it. By the time we arrived, we would have a major headstart. We needed to take advantage of our headstart as much as was possible.

Zarador and I spent most of the trip belowdeck, looking over the hopelessly outdated maps of Solstheim.
“The bad part is, that according to our map, the research facility is right underneath the lake.” I explained to the Altmer.
“Lake? I don’t see a lake.” He replied with a light frown. I grabbed a pencil and began making crude marks to the map.
“This here is lake Fjalding. My birthplace is around here, at the Skaal. They don’t like foreigners so it is probably best for you to stay behind at the airship. Nords have a tendency to respond with violence if confronted with strangers.”

Zarador opened a small bottle of flin and took a sip from it as he examined the alterations I’d made to the map.
“Won’t they see you as a stranger? Perhaps you should take a few of those flashy Centurions with you.” He suggested. I shook my head and rejected this plan.
“No. Arriving at the village like a Dwemer king will only lead to my head being put on a spear. I have a few relatives living there, such as my uncle or my foster-father. I should be able to solve things and get their help.”

By the end of the day, we’d reached the northern coast of Vvardenfell. The Cloudcleaver continued its journey over the seas, lit only by the moons for I’d covered all lights with a dark cloth. We slept easily in the ancient beds. When I woke up the next morning, I was immediately spoken to by an Administrator.
“Lord, it appears that we are lost. The coast does not match the map.” It said. I yawned for a bit and headed up to the deck to see for myself. I had to admit, the coast did look different than on the map, even if I took natural corrosion into account. The Imperial fort, or its remains, had clearly not been here for long. A large group of Imperials, an Argonian and a few Bretons were all gathered in the courtyard, looking up and pointing at the airship.

I slapped my forehead in frustration.
“Leave it up to my luck to park the Cloudcleaver above the heads of the local fort.”
I dragged Zarador out of his bed and had him get dressed up in all of his blue splendour as the airship began its descent.
“Hold it, Ro-El! What do you want me to do?” He asked a bit cranky due to me kicking him out of the bed.
“I don’t know. Just get out there and convince those fools that you’re this scholar who has made the fabulous invention of a fully functioning airship. I can’t bother to be slowed down by formalities such as explaining where I found this thing.” I explained and threw a rope out from the ship’s stern.
“From here on out, I think I’m heading out on my own. I’ll come back. Try to keep the villagers away from the Centurions. The little machines might get agitated and attack.” I waved a short goodbye and then descended along the rope, landing on the beach while hidden from prying eyes by a convenient rock.

I drew my cloak around me and began my long walk to my old home. I followed the river known as Iggnir. As I continued north, the steady decline in warmth continued and soon the river froze. I rested at night, using a scroll of fire and collected twigs to keep me warm. As soon as the sun rose up in the sky again, I would continue my journey. My diet consisted of whatever I could scavenge. Perhaps it wasn’t the most healthy but I simply lacked the courage to hunt some of the more dangerous animals that lived on this frozen pit in the middle of nowhere. My only respite came after four days of travel when I reached the Meadhall of Thirsk. Apart from their rather gruesome habit of displaying bodyparts of fallen foes as trophies, the place was hospitable with a fire always burning and the alcohol always flowing. I stuck with water.

I saw three more days of travel, part of which was through a snowstorm. Only my Nord blood kept me from freezing. Finally, I saw the wooden huts of Skaal in the distance. My cold feet already felt warmer at the sight of civilization in this waste. If I wasn’t born here, I would’ve never believed that anyone would be mad enough to live here. As was the Nord custom, I first entered the Greathall to make my presence known to the current chieftain. Nothing had changed it seemed, for Tharsten Heart-Fang was still in charge. I did not bow, for that would be seen as a sign of weakness. If I knew one thing, it was this. Nords did not like weaklings or cowards. Too bad I was both.

“Glory and fame to you, Chieftain. I, Roland Wolf-Tail, have returned.” I spoke, using the name I’d received upon birth. Tharsten looked at me closely. After a while, recognition gleamed in his eyes.
“Little Roland, how you’ve grown! Not as much as I’d hoped, but more than I’d expected! You must be a fully grown warrior now. Yes, join the men around the table. I’ll have the Mead brought out so you can tell us of your exploits and battles.” He barked with a fatherly voice. I remembered that voice clearly, for it was Tharsten who’d raised me as his own son after my parents were killed during the Riestaag, a sacred hunt.

We Nords did what we do best. Tell completely exaggerated stories while getting seriously drunk. After half an hour, I was the only one sober enough to remember my name. Or all three names I could claim. My name list was getting rather long for comfort. After the heavy drinking, the Skaal continued with another ancient tradition. Snoring till they would wake up again with a huge hangover. The medication for that hangover was more drinking.

Anyway, I went to my old bed and prepared for the night. It was then that Tharsten stumbled in.
“Roland, we need to talk.” He said with a slurring voice. Somehow, I had the feeling I was not going to enjoy our conversation.
“What is it, Chieftain?” Tharsten dropped down on the floor like a sack of Kwama eggs.
“You’ve changed Roland. Ay, your stories were ones of great bravery and glorious battle. But the reality is different. You prefer to fight in such a way that the battle is into your favour before it has even began. You don’t show your opponents any honour. And finally, a toothpick is not the weapon of a warrior!” He gestured wildly with his arms.

“So, to prove yourself as a Skaal, I have just the thing for you.” He started and looked at me expectantly. My reply was not the one he’d expected.
“Sorry, but I’m not interested. It’s impossible to have a conversation when you’re drunk.” I replied with an utterly bored voice. For some reason, drunkards lacked any intimidation factor.
“The land has fallen into bad times. The All-maker has put forth a challenge for us to prove ourselves worthy of his favour. You Roland, will be the one who takes the challenge. The challenge our greatest hero has taken long ago.” Tharsten was drooling on the ground which was a rather disgusting sight. As I’d said before, drunkards failed to impress me. I rolled my eyes and let out a weary sigh.

“Not that one.” I complained.
“Yes, the quest of Aevar Stone-Singer! Reawaken the land! Travel to the stones of Solstheim and collect their blessings! Do this Roland, and you will be a man we’ll sing about in our legends. Then, we’ll find you a woman so you can father a whole gang of kids.” He pressed on.
“Do I really have to? I’m a bit young for marriage and all. There’s also the fact that I’m in a bit of a hurry. I don’t have time to wander aimlessly across the land, looking for some old rocks. Actually, I only came here to find a way into Lake Fjalding.” I admitted.

Tharsten crawled back onto his feet.
“What?! Your only reason for coming here was because you plan to desecrate the sacred lake? I should smack you!” He shouted angrily.
“I seriously doubt you could right now. Besides, as you already know, I don’t fight fair.” I reminded him. Tharsten calmed down a bit. Enough to stop drooling.
“I’ll tell you something. You are the only one who is able to go on this quest right now. Please bring back the blessings to our land and I’ll see what I can do with Lake Fjalding.” I now had the clear impression that the Chieftain was rather desperate. He was lying when he said that no one could go on that quest. In fact, he would have to use violence to keep everyone from going on just that quest if he ever brought up the subject. No, Tharsten had changed since we last met, just as how I’d changed. He’d become a frightened man, a man who wanted me to leave.

But what for? What was he expecting to happen? There was only one way to figure it out. Go on the stupid pilgrimage and come back to find my answers. After stepping into Aevar Stone-Singer’s footsteps, I might be able to gain access to the Dwemer facility through the ice. If the Skaal would refuse to help me, I would just have to use the Cloudcleaver as a giant battering ram. Speaking of Dwemer airships, if I visited Zarador, I could get a Wing. That would seriously shorten my traveltime. I felt stupid for not thinking of this earlier.
“Oh alright, I’ll do it. Tomorrow.”

The next morning, Tharsten had sobered up again which meant he was capable of coordinated movements. This also meant that going against his decisions now wouldn’t be a bad thing to do but since I’d already decided to do the damn pilgrimage, it didn’t matter. Anyway, the day began with probably the oldest tradition in the village. Throwing beds on their side while people are still sleeping in them.

Tharsten nearly threw the door out of its hinges and walked straight up to my bed.
“Wake up, Roland! You’re wasting good sunlight!” He barked and threw the bed onto its side so hard, it slid across the floor till it ended up against a wall. Painful for the occupant, I remember.
“Don’t throw the bed. You’re wasting good furniture.” I quipped, standing in the doorframe with my arms crossed in front of my chest. The dumbfounded expression on the Chieftain’s face was a classic.

“Wha? How did you get there?” He stammered. I shrugged and walked into the room.
“That’s something I learned. How to move unseen. And as for me being all up and ready to go save the world, I’ve developed the habit of waking up early. A couple hours before you do, to be precise.” I told him with a smug grin. Back in the days before I moved to Vvardenfell, I had the rather dubious reputation of being the one guy who slept through just about anything. Well, not anymore. With all the night-time assassinations to look out for, I couldn’t afford a long rest.

Tharsten recomposed himself. He picked up the bed and slammed it down heavily into its proper position. One of the bed’s legs broke upon impact with the floor and soon after the whole thing fell apart in a dozen pieces or something.
“Warned you.” I joked. The Nord looked at the remains with complete disinterest.
“The wood was getting old anyway.” He said as an excuse.
“At least it will be good wood for the fire. Now get your legs moving. Come one, Aevar Stone-Singer didn’t linger!” He shooed me out of the door. Once I was out of his sight, I slinked back. Tharsten was standing near the pile of wood that used to be the bed. He was holding two pieces and tried frantically to make them stick together. I stifled a laugh and left the building.

The Skaal village was still quiet. It seemed as if Tharsten and I were the only ones awake. The others were still caught in their drunken slumber. That worked for me, it would make my departure a lot easier. I went into my extensive collection of trusty paper and withdrew a scroll of recall. Trudging across the whole island again through a thick pack of snow was not part of my plans. Aevar might have been a longlegged Nord with infinite stamina, I was definitely not.

The moment I reappeared onboard the Cloudcleaver, I nearly had to duck for a Sphere’s sword aimed at my face. Fortunately for me, the machine recognized me and stopped the blade before it could redesign my nose. It reminded me not to use teleportation without caution. That, and the sick feeling of having your stomach upside-down and inverted was another downside to instant travelling.

I made my way to the bedrooms where I heard Zarador’s loud snoring. I played with the thought of the Altmer being drunk like the Skaal for a while but decided not to wake him. I had no success to show him and more importantly, he would not approve of me doing my old family a favour with this long pilgrimage.

Instead of wasting time on a pointless conversation, I restocked my supplies and boarded a Wing. Once I was high up in the air, I took the time to look around while cursing the cold wind. I had heard the story of Aevar Stone-Singer countless times, so finding the damn stones shouldn’t be that much of a problem. Figuring out which one to visit first was. To add to my dilemma, I saw an ominous black cloud to the south. The Ash storm was getting closer. I peered at the dark omen. It was slow and it would never be able to catch me as long as I kept moving. While I knew that this was not the time to worry about such things, I was rather fascinated with the Sixth House’s abilities to track me down wherever I went. I shrugged and pointed the Wing east.
“Must be one of the perks you get when your boss is a god. Oh well, let’s start with the stone of the sun. Might as well hop over to the closest first.”

On to the next chapter