Eventually, he came to Blackreach, and it was beautiful, and foreboding. A great, cavernous country unto itself, immeasurable by the naked eye, its unending darkness seemed to swallow him whole. Never in his life had he felt so small as while crawling tentatively along the roads of the broken Dwemeri city. He wondered at the luminous flora, the phosphorescent pools, the towering mounds of shimmering rock. He could spend a lifetime down here, he thought, dipping his bare feet into the water. It was warm, and left his skin feeling soft and clean. He collected a few vials and moved on. He did not know how many hours he spent in the yawning depths of Blackreach, but eventually, hunger and exhaustion forced his attention back to the task at hand. He fumbled his way to the Tower of Mzark, but determined that he would have to return one day and see more of what was hidden so closely in the earth.
At the top of the tower, Audric found himself in a sepulchral chamber: it was humid and refuse littered the place: books in various states of ruin, gears and levers, bits and pieces of machinery long since defeated. Audric plundered a rucksack nearby and found a journal that, in coarse terms, described the plight of a man who had come before him.
Finding the Oculory, Audric stared in awe at the complexity of lenses and arms above. He wandered up and found the table that operated the machine, just as Septimus had described to him. He pressed and prodded at the mechanism, but nothing happened until he fixed the lexicon into its receptacle. Then, the thing came to life, pulsating with a soft glow. Audric fussed and fidgeted with it for a while until he worked out a pattern to it: to the left, twice, then to the left again, once, and so on… Patiently, he played with the lenses for some time, arranging them until he finally coaxed the machine into submission.
Encased in crystal trapping, the Elder Scroll was his.
His heart thudded hard in his chest and his veins filled with adrenaline; he was almost dizzy with the unexpected thrill of beholding it. He wasn’t sure what had come over him: up to this point, it had been just another artifact, another cobble in the road he was forging. But the nearer he came to it, the more frenzied he felt.
Picking it up, he turned it over. It was light, and the parchment felt almost soft, like tenuous leather – not quite there. He didn’t dare open it, not after what Urag had said about it. Instead, he tucked it into a hide tube, and hid it in his bag. The humor of toting an Elder Scroll amongst his regular belongings did not escape him, and he chuckled to himself on his way out to the lift.
He’d almost gone alone, but now that he was lying on his back in the snow, bleeding out from his arm, he was very glad he hadn’t. He could hear Enthir’s voice, though the words didn’t make sense for him. All the same, it was a comfort to have the sound of a friend, especially while that same friend mended him up. Healing magic was always nasty: the process of bone and sinew regrowing was never as painless as people often imagined.
As Audric fell back into consciousness, he heard Alduin’s distant roar.
“Come on,” Enthir linked his arm with Audric’s uninjured one and pulled him into a sitting position. “Come on, you’re alright.”
“Like hell,” Audric rasped. He could still smell smoke and his eyes watered, the condensation freezing on his lashes. He felt Enthir’s grip on him tighten and winced; then, he felt the sweep of dragon wings, and the shudder of stone.
“By the Eight,” Enthir murmured.
“You truly have the voice of a Dovah.” Paarthurnax crowed proudly. “Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.”
Choking on the cold, Audric snarled. “It wasn’t much of a victory, since he, you know, escaped.” He glared, but his bitterness was wasted on the endless patience of the ancient dragon. “I need to know where he went!”
Calmly, Paarthurnax nodded, considering. “One of his allies could tell us. Motmahus...it won’t be easy to convince one of them to betray him…” The three of them held still in the frigid evening, puzzling over what to do. “Perhaps the Hofkahsejun,” Paarthurnax suggested.
"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB 15c/??
At the top of the tower, Audric found himself in a sepulchral chamber: it was humid and refuse littered the place: books in various states of ruin, gears and levers, bits and pieces of machinery long since defeated. Audric plundered a rucksack nearby and found a journal that, in coarse terms, described the plight of a man who had come before him.
Finding the Oculory, Audric stared in awe at the complexity of lenses and arms above. He wandered up and found the table that operated the machine, just as Septimus had described to him. He pressed and prodded at the mechanism, but nothing happened until he fixed the lexicon into its receptacle. Then, the thing came to life, pulsating with a soft glow. Audric fussed and fidgeted with it for a while until he worked out a pattern to it: to the left, twice, then to the left again, once, and so on… Patiently, he played with the lenses for some time, arranging them until he finally coaxed the machine into submission.
Encased in crystal trapping, the Elder Scroll was his.
His heart thudded hard in his chest and his veins filled with adrenaline; he was almost dizzy with the unexpected thrill of beholding it. He wasn’t sure what had come over him: up to this point, it had been just another artifact, another cobble in the road he was forging. But the nearer he came to it, the more frenzied he felt.
Picking it up, he turned it over. It was light, and the parchment felt almost soft, like tenuous leather – not quite there. He didn’t dare open it, not after what Urag had said about it. Instead, he tucked it into a hide tube, and hid it in his bag. The humor of toting an Elder Scroll amongst his regular belongings did not escape him, and he chuckled to himself on his way out to the lift.
He’d almost gone alone, but now that he was lying on his back in the snow, bleeding out from his arm, he was very glad he hadn’t. He could hear Enthir’s voice, though the words didn’t make sense for him. All the same, it was a comfort to have the sound of a friend, especially while that same friend mended him up. Healing magic was always nasty: the process of bone and sinew regrowing was never as painless as people often imagined.
As Audric fell back into consciousness, he heard Alduin’s distant roar.
“Come on,” Enthir linked his arm with Audric’s uninjured one and pulled him into a sitting position. “Come on, you’re alright.”
“Like hell,” Audric rasped. He could still smell smoke and his eyes watered, the condensation freezing on his lashes. He felt Enthir’s grip on him tighten and winced; then, he felt the sweep of dragon wings, and the shudder of stone.
“By the Eight,” Enthir murmured.
“You truly have the voice of a Dovah.” Paarthurnax crowed proudly. “Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.”
Choking on the cold, Audric snarled. “It wasn’t much of a victory, since he, you know, escaped.” He glared, but his bitterness was wasted on the endless patience of the ancient dragon. “I need to know where he went!”
Calmly, Paarthurnax nodded, considering. “One of his allies could tell us. Motmahus...it won’t be easy to convince one of them to betray him…” The three of them held still in the frigid evening, puzzling over what to do. “Perhaps the Hofkahsejun,” Paarthurnax suggested.
“The what now?” Audric asked impudently.