The snapping of the dried foliage cut through the ash leaden winds. A blur of brown, black, and the grey of the ash rolled down the hill. The colors slowed, rising into the form of Gaeolin, his bow raised with an arrow on its string. He Let loose the shot, missing the insect by an inch.
It was like a grasshopper, but enormous, burrowing in and out of the ash between attempts at stinging him. It also had strong jaws, which had already managed to take a chunk of leather out of his boot. The creature chattered at him, a row of fangs revealed with the sound.
Forsaking the bow, Gaeolin drew his sword, slashing out at the insect. The blade removed one of it’s legs, drawing a hiss from it. Before the creature could scuttle away, Gaeolin stabbed through its shell. He placed his foot on the carcass, pushing it off of the steel. It left behind a thick, rust colored gelatinous substance. The Bosmer watched in disgust as the slime rolled down the sword, trying his best not to gag as he cleaned the blade off on the corner of his cloak.
A breeze stirred the ash, a long, mournful sound echoing across the wastes. It was a sea of greys and browns, even the ocean that gave pulse to the emptiness taking on a sullen hue. It did little to help his mood. He brushed his hair aside, resuming the trek up from the coast.
It would be easier if he had any idea how long this was going to take. After taking so long to decide how he felt, it had turned out to be a heavy cost for his indecisiveness. All he could think of while trudging through the ash was how silly it all seemed to him now. He repositioned the mask he wore. ‘All of this is my fault.’ He turned, staring into the distance at the pillar of smoke rising from Red Mountain. ‘I was scared. I hesitated. I ignored Miraak and his cult, and now he’s paying the price.’ In his heart, Gaeolin knew that going alone was probably not the best plan. It had been a long time since he had been truly alone with his thoughts. So many things were running through his mind. The smell of the burnt trees, the silence in the wastes. He felt his shoulders tensing as he walked.
Faendal… Was he still there? Working on that shrine as a slave? He gripped his weapon tighter. Mixed as his emotions were, the strongest one he could feel was anger. His eyes were sharp, his arm ready to strike out at any who might have something to do with this. He stopped, the snapping of dried twigs making him turn around. He was met by a man in strange robes. They were cobbled together from scraps of dwemer armor and what looked suspiciously like Thalmor attire. “Cé a théann ann?” [1] Gaeolin took a defensive stance. The man started running toward him, a spell flashing in his hands. Gaeolin pushed off as fast as he could straight toward his enemy. The magician tried to change direction, but slid into the sweep of the Wood Elf’s blade. Blood rained onto the ash covered trail. The hedge wizard twirled his fingers, flames swirling in his gesture. Gaeolin scowled, his hand plunging through the flames to wrap around his collar. He pulled his opponent off balance and butted him in the head. Before he could react, the mage felt the sword pass through him.
The magic faded, blood soaking Gaeolins glove as he pushed the body off the steel. His adversary coughed, writhing as the end closed in on him. Gaeolin spared him no thought, resuming his trek toward the temple. So many people here seemed willing to attack on sight. He had to admit that from experience this was to be expected. Unfriendly places attract unfriendly people. ‘Windhelm, Leyawiin, now Solstheim. I’m just great at finding trouble I suppose.’ As soon as he thought this, he saw them.
From a set of standing arches ran four bandits. They wore native armor, Bonemold and Chitin, steel maces and longswords ready to tear him apart. A particularly tall one shouted out. “You found a bad place to take a walk, Nwah.” Gaeolin closed his eyes, bringing his sword up in front of him. His face was reflected on the flat of the blade.
“Mindok hin dez. Haalvut krah dinok.” [2] Ice shot up the steel, mist falling from the weapon as it swung. He blocked a mace strike, shards of ice raining to the ground to melt. He plunged his blade into the warrior, casting him aside in favor of the leader. “Dunmer, do you know me?”
The Reaver cracked a wide grin. “You’re a little bosmer, far from your forest. You carry weapons my men and I would give anything to have, and likely have several pouches brimming with gold. Only a fool would wander the ash wastes of Solstheim alone. A fool who would also have a lot of coin.”
Gaeolin turned to the other two. They were trying to get behind him. He took in his breath. “FAAS!” His shout hit them, their weapons falling to the ground as they clutched their heads. He turned back to the leader. He watched in dismay as his men were reduced to whimpering children. He tried to call out to them as they ran. Gaeolin chuckled. “I am Gaeolin of Woodhearth. I am Thane of Whiterun, have infiltrated a Thalmor Stronghold guarded by elite mages, slain dragons, devoured their souls. I am trying to find a way to rescue someone from the clutches of a curse,” he raised his sword, his eyes like shards of ice, “and you are in my way.” The dark elf made to attack. Gaeolin slashed his chest. While the man staggered, he drug his foot in a wide arch, bringing him to his knees. As he staggered, the Bosmer plunged his blade into his shoulder, watching him crumple to the earth.
The air grew colder the further uphill he went. The ash began to change to snow, the sky going a green grey. He squinted ahead, unsure of the shapes the rocks were taking on. As he drew near, he felt his heart grow weak with fear. He took off his mask, shaking.
There were bones, entire skeletons littering the path. And not only humans, but dragons. He climbed the steps, his sword drawn. He could hear the sounds of hammers above. He heard that chant. That evil mantra rolled down in the quiet of the place. Reavers, farmers, and many other people he knew nothing about worked on the temple. The stonework seemed to make the area even colder than he had first noticed. He climbed higher and higher, wondering if these people even knew he was there. As he reached the top, he heard something different. A woman.
“You must fight against what is controlling you! We must leave this place! Ysra, can you hear me? You must-” She saw him, holding a torch out to reveal his form. “You there. What brings you to this place? Why are you here?”
Gaeolin took in her image, not sure what to think. She was a Nord. Her hair was pulled back, a pale blonde, with some stray curls falling around her ears. She wore silvery armor, dark fur covering the arms and neck. He lowered his weapon, bowing to her. “I am here to try and find answers to help someone I hold dear. Who are you?”
She relaxed. “Then we are both here for the same purpose. I am Frea of the Skaal.” She looked to Ysra. There are few of my people left who are free of this curse.”
Gaeolin sheathed his weapon, looking around at the slaves. “Are they repairing the temple?”
“No, they are creating something new. Something evil. Their work corrupts the tree stone,” she gestured towards a monolith in the center of the rotunda. It glowed with a sickly green aura, making the Bosmer back away at the very sight. It looked very similar to the Earth Stone near Raven Rock. “I am here to save my people, or avenge them.”
“Do you know what you are saving them from?”
She looked down. Worry swam across her features. “I am unsure. Something has taken control over most of the people of Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, work on the horrible creations that corrupt the stones, the very land itself. My father, Storn, says that Miraak has returned.” She hesitated. “But that is impossible.”
“This Miraak tried to have me killed. He attacked my home, kidnapped part of my family.”
She gave the closest thing to a smile Gaeolin had seen since leaving his friends in the city. “Then you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us. Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here.” She turned to look around the ruins. “The tree stone and my people are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below.”
Frea led the way, holding her torch out to scan the ground. Gaeolin kept his hand on his sword, the air here making him feel anxious. He could swear he heard the sound of battle. What had taken place here so long ago? “What do you know of Miraak?” Frea motioned him to join her. She had found a ramp that spiraled down into the ground.
“His story is as old as Solstheim itself. He served the dragons before their fall from power, as most did. A priest in their order.” It grew quiet, even the sounds of the workers above seeming to go mute. “But unlike most, he turned against them. He made his own path, and his actions cost him dearly.”
“I guessed as much. I saw the dragon skeletons on the way up here.”
She nodded. “The stories say he sought Solstheim for himself, and the dragons destroyed him for it.”
Gaeolin shuddered at the thought of having to face so many dragons at one time. What sort of power did Miraak have that he could fight against them? “You said he was a dragon pre-”
“We have company!” Frea freed her axe from her waist. A pair of cultists ran up from a set of doors at the foot of the slope. She spun to strike the nearest where his neck and shoulders met. The second dodged Gaeolin’s first attack, casting a spell over himself as he moved. He turned with a hand of frost ready. Gaeolin was quicker, driving his blade down through his shoulder. Frea nodded. “Come, there are likely more further inside. We should be careful.” The hall reminded Gaeolin more of a tomb than a temple. The Nordic style was identical to places like Bleak Falls Barrow, or Shroud Hearth. He had to admit that these were in slightly better condition. Candles lit the rooms as the pair of them passed by. Frea stopped, turning to face him. “We should check these room for supplies before heading further into the temple. We should take care in these ruins. Traps can be anywhere,” she eyed the floor, “and there will likely be many. Miraak was trying to take power here, and protect himself in the process.”
Gaeolin grabbed an old potion bottle, wondering if it were even safe to use after an untold number of years down here. It was coated with a thick layer of dust. “Why did you come here alone, Frea? This isn’t a venture I would expect a young woman to go on.”
“There are few of my people left who are not slaves to Miraak’s will. My father and a few of the others resist, but if something isn’t done soon, I fear we will all perish. I could not stay home and do nothing.”
“How are you not affected?”
She pulled an amulet from her armor. “I made this charm. It shields me from Miraak’s influence, but there are no others like it.” Tucking the talisman back into the cuirass, she led him on. “And why are you so free of this power, Gaeolin? You say you are here for someone dear to you, but something tells me that is not the whole truth.”
He held his blade out as he looked into a room. “What do you mean?” Their conversation was interrupted for a moment as they dispatched another pair of cultists. Neither of them felt that they were in much danger, dispatching the enemies in short order.
“Miraak’s power has consumed many on Solstheim, even the people of the Skaal, whom the All-Maker protects. It would take something extremely powerful for an outsider like you to have similar defense from this evil.” She looked him over. He held his hand over his amulet.
“It’s instinct. I can’t fail.” He turned, heading down the hall with his face set in determination. “Not this time.”
Translated lines:
1 ) Who goes there?
2 ) Know your fate. Feel cold death.
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