An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Nothing has gone right for Kerasil Oakvine after she was sacrificed to the Worm Cult and awoke in Coldharbour. It has continued to go wrong with the knowledge that she wasn't even herself, but a perfect copy of Kerasil Oakvine. Now that she has defeated Mannimarco in Sancre Tor there is one last things she needed to address before she could even hope of moving forward in this new life of hers.
---
WARNING: Implied/Reference Cannibalism
Inspiration from @daggerfall and their post about being a Vestige and the horror that might come from it.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Breaking Through the Surface Chapter 2 is finally out after much struggle and an entire chapter rewriting.
I decided to fuck it, and just write the fun parts and hopefully that'll speed up my writing. Enjoy!
///
It has been at least two weeks since Nylarril was last on a boat and he was going stir crazy.
Unless there was a festival, a gathering of ships, or off-season, most Maormers were off on the seas raiding or pillaging.
Not to say there was nothing to do on the home islands. Families had to be raised, buildings maintained, ships to be built, wood to be gathered, and an endless amount of chores and maintenance to sustain a whole nation. But islands were islands. And theirs were not the expansive landscapes of their ancestral home of Summerset.
Pyandonea was an archipelago, a collection of islands gathered around each other. There was the main island that had the largest amount of land. That was set aside for most of the naval production and farming. Most of the other smaller islands were owned by various clans or communities, much like his own. Though the main island was large and plentiful, it still could not sustain a growing nation that had dreams and ambitions of overthrowing their golden cousins.
Thus, piracy. A decent amount of material and goods came from raids. Either individual companies who patrolled the coast of Tamriel, or those enlisted in the King’s army for more direct attacks on Altmer merchant ships. Those goods would then be distributed to their clans and people and the cycle repeated.
It was a good life, with plenty of opportunity to explore and flaunt their mastery of the sea over the other races. Which is why Nylarril was just about ready to get into a fist fight just to have a feeling.
With most ships ordered to shore leave, he was without any duties to perform. No goods to peruse or share with his family, no festivals to revel and get drunk at. What was the point of staying at shore if there was nothing for him to do?
What was worse was that he can’t stop thinking about that damn mermaid.
Those onyx eyes haunted him in the dark, and those glittering scales taunted him from the shore. He swears he could see a spine in the waters when he visits the beach on a bored afternoon. Of which he is doing again right now, walking toward the beach in an effort to entertain himself.
Anything of worth from the shipwrecks had been picked clean and stripped to the bones. The wood itself was starting to be dismantled, both for resources and to clean up the beach for eventual take offs. His family, though wonderful and storied of themselves, were poor company in extended down time and Nylarril did not want to be subject to his nagging mothers desires to petition for a promotion, nor his father’s endless drills in the courtyard.
No, he was going to escape to the beach to be alone with his thoughts and brood on the fact these storms were endless.
The welcoming scent of salt embraced him as he finally peaked a sand dune and he carefully walked down it to the water’s edge. He was alone this time around and he took this opportunity to lazily kick the foam or flip over shells to find little crabs scuttling away from him. Nylarril’s mind wandered and bounced from thought to thought until it landed once again on that silver mermaid.
What were the chances he, of all mer, would encounter a legendary being. Capable of unlimited magical feats, the downfall of greedy sailors, or plain unlucky ones who fell to their sly whims and sweet songs. He had the rare opportunity to meet one, and then it was gone. All that he had left was that silver scale he carried with him at all times as a reminder of that encounter.
Nylarril half convinced himself it was a dream after putting himself into a drunken stupor after that morning. But his memories were not wrong, and the scale was still in his possession. What was he to do with this knowledge?
He couldn’t share this with anyone, mermaids simply were no real. They were children storybook creatures, or allegories to what happens if one did not respect Mother Sea. Some sailors would come back raving mad and spouting tall tales of sea beasts and mermaids and waves taller than a mountain. A good smack to the head and shore leave usually sobered them up.
But Nylarril wasn’t mad. It was such a small encounter but it was driving him crazy knowing that it was real; they were in the sea, and now there was nothing else he could do except stew and live with this knowledge until the day he died. Hands dragged over his face as he groaned into the air.
“I need another drink or get into a fight, I can’t be going mad over this,” he muttered to himself.
While he was lost in his own thoughts, his feet had carried him further down the shore than he normally goes. Past the sands, he was now approaching the more rocky cliffs that supported the hills and forests of his home isle. In his youth he would explore this areas with his siblings and cousins, playing imaginary games of hidden treasure and battles in little coves and caverns. Now they were just empty caves filled with salty rocks and calmer waters.
It’s been awhile since I last came here, he thought. I wonder if that carving is still on the ceiling.
His older brother had carved an unflattering picture of their mentor into the ceiling of the cave ages ago. They both then used it as a target for throwing rocks or seeing if they could get the seaweed to stick to his face. A great way to end the day after endless hours of reading and spellcasting drills.
Without much else to do, Nylarril started to wade his way into the water and navigate around the rocky cliffside. When the floor eventually gave away to a sheer drop, he started to paddle his way out. It was a calm day in the sea, so it took him no time to make the turn and see the opening of the cave.
A modest cave with a wide opening large enough for a small skiff to fit inside. Deeper into the mouth of the cave was a ledge that was the dry land his childhood played on and did pretend battles on. From water to ledge, it took an old rope to help himself up and help from his older siblings. All he had to do now was reach up and pull himself up.
The cave still fit him at full height as he looked around. What was once a sprawling battleground between his brother and cousins, now it was a simple landing. More a personal hidey hole than anything anymore. It was low enough to the water that waves would splash up and wet the edge. Carefully he walked deeper into the cave as to not slip on the wet floor. Eyes darting left to right as memories resurfaced of playtime and bonding moments with his family members.
As he started to look up to find that carving he noticed something.
Something got dragged into here.
What he thought was just the waves crashing in, now he saw a long wet path that went into the back of the cave. As if someone pulled something out of the water and dragged it along the floor. It was recent as there were puddles where excess water pooled in the divots of the floor.
Not that there was any danger, but who knows which clan members or rival might've sought refuge in his childhood playground. A knife was quietly drawn from his boot as he padded silently along the wet path. The waves covered any sounds he could've picked up but caution was king when it came to ambushes.
Yet as he got further along his eyes caught a glint and it took all his willpower to not gasp.
A silver scale. No bigger than his thumbnail.
And another, a small cluster of them.
Could it be?
Tempering his anticipation, Nylarril slowly peeked around the last corner and beheld the end.
At the end of the cave was a small pool. Fed by a crack in the cliff where the ocean water could trickle in. He and his brother would sometimes catch small fish or crabs and keep them in the pool just to do it. Nothing larger than a mackerel ever went in that thing.
Now, he could see the serpentine coils that absolutely filled the pool. Spilling out and onto the cave floor where he could see them rise and fall with breath. He couldn't see where it ended, or where it began, but even from here he could see the mermaid wasn't doing well.
All along the coils he could see scabbed over wounds where the scales didn't cover. Broken spines and torn webbing from where it must've been caught in the ropes and netting that first time he met it. Some of them looked better than others with new scales trying to cover them. But what was most telling was how thin it looked.
It was only a brief moment where he saw the mermaid in full view when he was pushed underwater. Those coils looked strong and muscular even with debris dragging it down. Now these coils had bumps and ridges that suggested bones under the skin. A few places had folds that weren't caused by muscle or fat. He had half a mind to believe that it hadn't eaten in the two weeks he last saw it.
If there was ever a moment a mermaid was vulnerable, it was now.
He had to quickly pull his head back as those coils started to move and he saw the top of a back rise from the center of the pool. Without visual cues Nylarril had to rely on sound to tell what was going on. Perhaps, though, it was better to leave before he was noticed.
He made to back away from the corner and towards the entrance but didn't notice where his foot was. It landed right in a puddle and his boot squeaked loudly as it slid an inch backwards.
Instantly he made to run but it was too late.
As he scrambled to turn around and make a run for the water, the sound of sliding scales against rock filled the air and collided with his back. His knife was knocked out of his hand to clatter to the other side of the cave. Silver coils wrapped around his limbs and pinned him flat to the ground as onyx eyes bore holes into him.
“It’s you.”
Nylarril could only gape in shock as the mermaid spoke to him. Perfect Pyandonian, lips curled back into a snarl to reveal needle like fangs just begging to rip into him. He couldn’t escape, much less struggle. Every part of him pinned down by its coils that were more skin than muscles, but a hundred times more powerful than him. And if he didn’t figure out something soon, his bones would be turned to dust as they started to constrict him.
“It’s me, the one who cut you out,” he gasped quickly. “I didn’t know you were here, I was just looking around.”
“And what were you going to do once you found me?” it asked, each word rumbling deep in its body and vibrating through his. “Tell me, and I might kill you quickly.”
“Nothing!” he exclaimed. “I wasn’t going to do anything! Please just let me go, I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”
It leaned in closer, a hand dragging it’s claw up his neck until it lingered right over his jugular. Left it there as it hissed,
“And how can I trust your words?
It couldn’t. Anything Nylarril could possibly say could be refuted by the simple logic of distrust. What could he possibly give to gain the trust of a legendary creature that could just kill him to solve all it’s problems?
His life on the line, he blurted out the only thing he could possibly offer.
“I can help you, heal you. I can hunt for you until you can leave, just – ” he gasped “ – just don’t kill me.”
It squinted at him, baffled at how stupid his offer was. But the longer it stared at him the higher his chances of survival were. The constriction began to loosen as he sucked in a deep breath, and then was shoved away as he was released entirely.
“Then prove yourself,” it said. “Get me something now. Right now, or it shall be you I feast on.”
No need to tell him twice. Nylarril quickly got himself upright and ran to the exit of the cave to dive into the water. There was the possibility that he could just swim away and never deal with the mermaid again, but the threat was real and he didn’t know the full extend of a mermaid’s power to try and outplay it.
The quickest meal he could possibly get were school fish that hid around the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Easy enough to catch if one knew water magic like himself. With long strokes and swift kicks he propelled himself down and down until he saw a decent sized group of fish.
Hands out, imbuing the surrounding water with his magic, and he made a bubble around them. They could struggle all they want, but the magic made a current the fish couldn’t swim out of. He kicked off one of the rocks to reach the surface faster as he dragged his catch up.
When he broke the surface, he saw the mermaid had made its way toward the mouth of the cave. Looked like it was ready to jump into the water and chase him down. He didn't let himself think about it as he swam back and lifted the water bubble full of fish into the air.
Up and over, it spilled all over the cave floor and the mermaid pounced on it. Coils hoarding the flopping fish as it picked them up one by one and started tearing into them, swallowing them whole as it was finally relieved of hunger. Nylarril clung to the edge of the cave ledge watching the mermaid devour his catch.
I could run away, he thought. Distracted as she was it would be the perfect time. Leave behind his daydreaming of mermaids and legends and back to the reality of his home. But he couldn’t, not when his dreams and legends were sitting right in front of him. Tearing flesh apart and swallowing it whole.
It was only a few minutes but the mermaid had satiated her appetite enough to pause in her feasting and look towards him. Onyx eyes, squinting against a silver face as she spoke to him directly once more,
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A brain thought that grew too big, and turned into a new project.
Enjoy some Maormer fanfic!
---
Was it unlawful and cruel to go running for the shoreline after a massive storm churned up several lost and sunken ships in hopes of finding leftover treasures or supplies to enhance one's own ship?
Nylarril didn't think so, and so did a majority of the others living on Pyandonea.
For months now the sea was in a state of unrest with storms regularly falling over the island. It was the summer months when such storms were meant to happen. Scouting and raid operations were at a halt until there were calmer waters. Only those ordered by King Orgnum himself venture out and with no less than three storm mages per ship to grant them safe passage out of the misty veil.
Until then, Nylarril was home and was going scavenging.
It was going to be awhile before he was called to action and he was hoping to find some decent tools leftover on the ships. If not, he could find some old weapons to turn over to the smith to remake them into new blades. And if it really was a worthless endeavor to search around the wreckages, he could at least find dinner.
There was no one around his area of the shoreline, at least to his knowledge. He did wake up pretty early after the storm had passed over the island. It was a blessing none of the trees had crashed down on his home and only blew leaves onto his path. A minor inconvenience, so long as he didn’t slip on any of them.
Nylarril was waist deep in the belly of a ship, cracked open like a shucked oyster. He could see the different levels and what was left of the cargo floating pitifully around him. Nothing survived their stay in the sea as plenty of them had been eaten by the fish or boring clams chewed the wood into splinters.
He did find the armory of one ship and started collecting the best looking pieces onto a floating crate for ease of carrying.
‘At least today wasn’t a total waste,’ he thought as he piled more miscellaneous pieces into the crate. ‘I can probably convince the smith to make me a new sword out of this. If any of the metal is good.’
With loot in tow, and maybe a few pieces of gold he found in some random corners, he started to wade his way back to the shore. He momentarily got lost inbetween the towering shells of the ships around him and found himself deeper into the ship graveyard. It was there that he heard a noise.
There was a persistent splashing sound somewhere inside the ship’s hull. It could be any number of things that could’ve been caught up in the wreckage. Maybe it was a bit of debris that was hanging in a weird way to keep splashing. Maybe it was a creature wrapped up in some rope trapped. Either way, it was making noise and that could mean something worthwhile to see.
With a new goal in mind Nylarril waded toward the noise. Rope around his waist to keep his floating crate nearby, it took him longer than he thought to find the source of the noise. The closer he got to the splashing the stranger it sounded. It sounded less like a piece of debris being pushed and pulled by the waves and definitely like something was caught and thrashing around.
It wasn’t long until he ducked under a fallen beam and turned the corner when he finally laid eyes on the cause of the sound.
“Mother Sea preserve me!”
Trapped, wrapped up in a tangle of netting and ropes, was a mermaid.
Serpentine in shape, trapped half in and out of the water, Nylarril could see the glittering silver of its tail splashing in the water as it thrashed around trying to get out. Its arms were pinned to their body and it twisted this way and that way to try and loosen the ropes but only serving to tighten them more. It had gotten to a point where one of the nets must’ve dug into flesh as a steady trickle of blood dripped into the water around it.
His exclamation instantly caught its attention and Nylarril was caught frozen by the eyes that gazed into his own.
Like two pieces of onyx set into a silvery face, glittering from the reflections of the water. They squinted and were accompanied by a snarled mouth lined with razor sharp teeth. This mermaid meant harm in every way possible despite being trapped.
This could be a benefit to him.
There was very little to no information about mermaids, neither here in Pyandonea or in Summerset. Were he to capture this mermaid and bring it to a Captain or even a Commodore this could be a great boon to him. On the other hand… it was also told in myths that to try and use a mermaid for selfish reasons would only bring ruin to a person's name.
Choices, choices.
Of which were about to be severely limited as the longer he stood there like a dumb bluegill with his mouth open the more aggravated the mermaid became. So much so that Nylarril noticed the water orbs starting to rise up and were about to skewer him.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he exclaimed while also dispelling the orbs with a wave of his hand. Without magic to keep them up, the orbs splashed harmlessly back into the sea. Much to the surprise of the mermaid it seemed by the shocked expression on their face. It stopped it’s thrashing just long enough for him to raise his hands and speak again.
“I’m not going to harm you,” he blurted out. “I can… I can cut you down… If you let me.”
Great job, offering to help the thing when not a moment ago he was thinking of passing it off to a Captain.
But also he didn’t want to get stabbed to death with water.
Nylarril wasn’t exactly sure if it even understood Pyandonea but it wasn’t thrashing around anymore. It just kept… staring at him with those giant eyes. Blood kept trickling down some netting and dropping into the water, tainting it red. If there was ever a time to approach it was right now.
He untied himself from his crate, pushing it against a wall so it didn’t drift away. Hands up and slowly walking forward he approached the mermaid. As he approached he started to get a better look at it.
They were silvery before, but even closer up he could see the brilliance in their scales. The little bit of direct sunlight piercing past the clouds bounced off their scales in a kaleidoscope of colors. Nylarril’s knowledge of mermaids was sparse and few, but some of the readings and myths he knew mostly described mermaids as perfectly half fish and half humanoid.
This mermaid certainly was not, with the scales completely covering them from head to wherever their tail ended. They were more akin to lamia he’s seen on Tamriel, part women part snake beings. There was a long dorsal fin he could see poking out and tearing through a piece of a sail, possibly traveled the length of their tail.
Once he was close enough, Nylarril risked getting his dagger out. Slowly it came out of his sheath and the mermaids eyes were locked onto it instantly. There was a moment where he saw their tail twitch and causing a surprising amount of water to shift around him. Just how long was this thing?
But it wasn’t thrashing, and no shift of magic in the water made him think he was about to get skewered. So he carefully started to cut them free.
First starting well away from their body, pulling away the excess sails that were keeping it bound. Once those were away he could see the netting that were digging under their scales and causing them to bleed. Along their chest were familiar ridges of gills where the net was actually digging into flesh. And fairly deep with how much it was bleeding, and the pink of the inner gills were starting to become exposed.
“This is going to hurt,” he explained, as if the thing could understand him. Perhaps so, as it did nothing when his blade got closer to it. Maybe a slight flinch when the blade peeled away the first layers of netting, but nothing threatening anymore. It had to hurt eventually though, as he began to pick the netting and start to dig it out from the flesh. He heard a low rumble through their body and glanced to see it grimacing but looking away from the sight.
More netting he dug out of the flesh, a few small scales falling into the water below, until he finally tugged the last of the twine out of it.
“No more netting in there,” he announced. How strange that he was rather calm next to a practically mythical being. It probably had to do with seeing it trapped and bleeding that assuaged some of the glamour of it all. Not all things from Mother Sea were impervious after all.
There were only a few bundles of netting left keeping them hanging above the water and he solved it with a quick swipe of his blade.
Several things happened all at once then.
No longer bound and free to move, the mermaid shoved him backwards and into the water. Underwater, Nylarril was able to see the true length of this mermaid as it shifted around him. The length of two fishing boats stern to aft, it was a massive amount of body that was swirling around him and out of this ship graveyard. As the mermaid left he could see other parts of it’s body wrapped in sails and netting. And just like that, they were gone.
Nylarril got his feet under him and stood back up, wiping water out off his face to look at the empty area around him. All that was left was some blood lingering in the water, and glittering scales in the sand. He crouched down to pick one of them up. No bigger than one of his thumbnails, but it reflected sunlight like a mirror. Without this scale in his hand one could almost imagine that the mermaid was never here at all.
“I need a drink,” he finally said after a long pause. Nylarril collected his floating crate and retied himself to it and found his way out of the ship graveyard. When he reached the shore did he find others dragging their own loot out onto the beach. A few of them waved at him and called out,
“Found anything interesting out there?”
He thought about the glittering scale he stashed in his pouch. For a moment he thought about saying what he saw. Of onyx eyes and snarling teeth, and blood dripping from a mythical creature. And how it looked at him with wide eyes and kept still as he cut it free.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 3 of Golden is out, and we're continuing the pining and maybe a little bit of vulnerability.
Enjoy!
It was getting incredibly late.
Teldryn closed the porch door behind him and sat back down on the table in front of the hearth.
He was currently in the unusual position of being the only occupant in the house. Yera had left earlier that day to work on Guild business and said she wouldn’t be back until late at night. That left himself and Lydia to lounge around the house doing whatever they wanted.
For the most part that entailed touching up their armor and sharpening their blades. A sparring match came out of it but it was hardly anything serious and sweat-inducing. Then they shared stories of their adventures, and then that lead to stories about their individual experiences with Yera as their lead.
“The first day I was hired by Yera, she climbed down a mining shaft without a rope and caution to the wind,” Teldryn told Lydia. “I couldn’t believe it. And then it turns out the mining shaft turns into some dragon priest dungeon. Just my rotten luck, huh?”
Lydia regaled similar tales between her laughs, delighted that she no longer has to suffer the brunt of Yera’s recklessness.
“Trouble seems to find her at every corner. We were in this one dungeon far up north. Looking for Word Walls as it were and we stumbled upon this crypt full of bandits. They were attacking each other and later on we learned there was Wispmother haunting the place. What we didn’t know was the sword the bandits were hoarding was connected to the Wispmother. So what happens when Yera does her customary looting of bodies?”
“No,” Teldryn gasped. “Don’t tell me-”
“The second she touches that sword, a whole wispmother comes out of thin air and starts chasing us around the whole place! We found the altar where it was supposed to be and slammed that sword back into place and never returned. The one and only time I have heard Yera scream, probably scared that ghost just as bad.”
A roar of laughter, so much it brought a tear to Teldryn’s eye. Imagine, seeing the illustrious Dragonborn startled and scared shitless by a ghost and chased around a crypt. He would’ve paid bags of drakes to see that for himself. Just as they were getting into another round of stories, a knock interrupted them.
As the housecarl of the home, Lydia stood up and opened the door. A courier was present, presenting a letter and bidding her farewell. Lydia idly looked at the seal as she closed the door and grabbed a nearby knife to break the wax. A quick glance over the letter had her looking confused, sending her eyes to reread the letter.
“Something we should be worried about?” Teldryn asked.
“Not really,” she answered. “Business back at Whiterun regarding some dispute with the home. Nothing Yera needs to deal with. Says they need someone in person to confirm something though.”
“Will we need to start packing for a trip?”
Lydia shook her head, already grabbing a small pack from its place on the wall.
“It is small and something I can deal with alone. You and Yera can stay here and I'll return in a few days. I'll head over to the Guild and let her know.”
Alone? With Yera? Nothing he hasn't done before but that was on the road. That was on Solstheim, in ash filled caves and dim tavern rooms. It was where watch duty and armor kept the two of them close but also separate. Now he was in her home, where she rested her head at night and let her guard down completely. This was where she relaxed and now he was going to be alone in it without Lydia as a buffer-
But before Teldryn could make any objections, Lydia was already out the door toward the Guild's location.
Now he was alone. And Yera was still not back. Lydia had returned to pick up her kit and a few items Yera had wanted moved to her other home before departing for the carriage ride. This left Teldryn to spent the rest of the day wandering around and perusing the wares Riften had to offered.
For all the rumors he heard from Glover about the place, it was a decent city. The lower levels were busy with boats delivering goods and receiving shipments. The upper levels were busy with pulleys bring up crates and dispersing them their rightful owners. In the center was the market place, surrounding a defunct well that had overgrown with vines and flowers. Vendors hawked their wares, calling out great deals and exclusive items. The occasional sharp ting of a hammer on metal cut through the busy air and it reminded Teldryn almost of Solstheim. Much less ash and despair though.
But it’s not in despair any longer, he thought.
When they left Solstheim together on that boat, the town was in higher spirits than he ever thought possible. The mines were reopened, the counciler was saved from an assassination plot, and most importantly there were no pesky Dragon Priests trying to take over the island. It was nearly dead under the ash and weight of decay, but Yera came in and brought a wind of fresh air and revived it from almost nothing.
As Teldryn wandered the market, he wondered if this place too benefited from Yera’s attention to it.
Hidden in the shadows as the master of a Thieves Guild; both using it for illicit gathering of wealth and information, but also as a means of networking so she is never unaware of the pulse of Skyrim and her people. Using the wealth and knowledge she gains to funnel it back to people and places to enhance it for the better. Knowing this, he could easily imagine Riften flourishing from it’s unknown provider.
And as time went on and evening was starting to turn late, he wondered where in the Three was Yera. Was she truely that busy running a Guild that she wouldn’t return home to rest?
Then again, there were a number of times Teldryn had to coax her to rest. Especially after he realized that Yera just didn’t sleep on Sosltheim. Nevermind the dream-mind control Miraak had, Yera’s boundless energy prevented her from recognizing her exhaustion until she was forced to lay down in a bed. He swears by the Three, that woman would’ve stayed awake a week at a time if he or Lydia didn’t stop her.
Now that there was no Lydia here, and Teldryn didn’t quite know where to find Yera, what was she doing?
A helpful knock on the door answered his question. Rising up from the kitchen table, he opened it to find the surprising pair of Yera with Brynjolf. The redhaired Nord had a giant smile on his face as he practically dumped a semi-limp Yera right into his arms.
“Hey there! Sorry to dump this onto you so suddenly, but it seems our Guildmaster needed a break,” he smiled. “And seeing as Lydia ain’t around, I figured you knew what to do with her for the meantime. Make sure she gets some rest!”
Squirming in his arms, Yera finally got her feet under her but had a noticeable sway that told of exhaustion.
“Brynjolf, you could’ve just let me walk to my house instead of carrying me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“Boss, you were sitting at that desk and training the new padfoots for over fourteen hours. With nary a break, we had to drag you out of the Cistern. Also it’s a rule Lydia made us take: after twelve hours we have a right to drag you out and dump you at home. You were liable to wander back into the Ratways if I let you go home by yourself.”
Yera grumbled something about ‘ungrateful thieves’ and walked past Teldryn into the rest of her home. Somewhat awkwardly caught in the middle of the conversation, he nodded to the Nord and made to close the door. Except the man leaned in real quick and gave a quick pat on his shoulder.
“Thanks for taking care of her,” he whispered to him. “From what I heard, I’ve you to thank for getting our Guildmaster back home from Solstheim. Quite the hairy business, but she doesn’t look worst for ware compared to her other ‘adventures’.”
So there were others that knew of Yera’s quirks and title. Teldryn thought that Riften was one of the cities Yera kept her Dragonborn title a secret; probably hard to keep that undercover when working for a guild of sneaks and eavedroppers. It is, however, nice to know that her support system were there to take care of her when there was no one else.
Still, he didn’t know the man very well but accepted a compliment when it was given.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “It was no problem at all. Happy to of been useful during her adventure.”
“Aye, she might be tougher than steel, but she doesn’t know how when to call it quits for a day. Be sure to keep an eye on her, alright?”
With that, Brynjolf bid him good night and walked back out into the night. Door closed, Teldryn turned around to see Yera fussing about with the desk in the living room. After learning she’s been working this whole day, he wasn’t about to let her get away with more of it.
“Boss, you really ought to call it for the day. You’ve been working since dawn from what I’ve heard.”
“I’ve been away for months, and have a hundred and one things to catch up on,” Yera countered. “I don’t have the luxury of time to sleep around, I have a whole nation of thieves and deals to manage. It took forever to make sure they followed the new rules I made, so I need to make sure nothing happened while I was gone.”
Uh oh, she was pulling out drawers and rifling through some papers. How she went about reading them without an aid around was a question he was going to ask later. Right now he had a job to do. One he had great experience with back on Sosltheim.
“Sorry, boss. But I have to do this.”
Swiftly as to catch her off guard, Teldryn literally swept her off her feet into a cradle carry and turned away from the desk toward the stairs. Oh, yes Yera protested and grumbled as such right into his ear, but she didn’t fight as badly as he thought she would. Down they went into the basement area where it was refurbished into the living quarters.
Teldyrn was only mildly jealous to see a full sized bed piled with furs and feather pillows as he entered into her bedroom. Gently he sat her down on the bed where she pouted as he lit some of the lanterns and candles. Really it was just so he could see Yera and ensure she was actually going to sleep. In the candlelight, he could see the dark bags under her eyes and the slump in her shoulders. All too familiar signs she showed back on Solstheim.
Days of walking across Solstheim looking for the All-Maker Stones. Days of planning and research. Endless hours in dungeons and waiting for her to return from inside the Black Books. Always coming back out a little bit more tired, a little bit more rough around the edges. How can someone with such a title as Dragonborn have such disregard for her self care?
Yera seemed to realize her exhaustion soon enough and made to tuck herself in. Under the fur and pillows, she looked so much smaller than she was. Less the legendary adventurer he knew, who threw him face first into dangerous caverns and dungeons. More like a regular woman who was just… tired.
“Anything else you need, Yera? Or do I need to stay and sing you a bedtime song?”
“Oh that’s the last thing I need,” she smiled.”You’ll make up a song about sujamma and ash yams and I’ll be kicking you out soon enough.”
“Bar songs not up to your taste? My singing too ashy for your delicate ears?”
A tired laugh, but no less full. That was a better expression on her face than before.
“... Will you stay a moment? At least until I fall asleep.”
“... Yeah, I’ll stay.”
He pulled up the spare chair and sat next to her, silence spreading between the two of them. In the dim candlelight he could see the flame reflected against her eyes. Little pinpoints of light in the dark. Soon they were covered, half-lidded eyes fighting against sleep. Her warpaint was smudging a bit, little red streaks against her pillow and faded against her cheek. He’ll tell her to wash the pillow case tomorrow morning.
“... I have a hard time sleeping,” Yera whispered. “No surprise, really. You know this from Solstheim. And I do sleep. It just… takes awhile.”
Teldryn sat quietly in the room, letting Yera mumble and speak without interruption. He could feel something about to shake loose so he patiently waited for it to come out.
“It’s the dragon souls that makes it hard,” she continued. “It… they’re still alive inside me. Not fully formed, but just echoes of it. And they make me stronger, but they also never tired. I don’t feel it the same way as I used to.”
Her hand flexed in the sheets, bundling them up before releasing them.
“I sometimes don’t feel like myself. Like my skin is too tight, my bones too small. Sometimes when I’m near a cliff I have the urge to jump because feel like I ought to have wings. I try and stay away from them as much as possible.”
Eyes drooping, nearly closed now. Candles casting long shadows over her face as sleep begins to seep into her.
“I’m glad you came with me to Skyrim,” she mumbled, words barely forming on her lips. “I like having you around. Keeps me here. You make me laugh. I like it.”
He curled his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, and managed to keep his breath steady. Her eyes were fully closed now but her steady breathing meant she was still awake. Bravely, he reached over and brushed his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear.
“Go to sleep, Yera. I’ll stay until you’re asleep.”
That seemed to be the key as her breath became slower and slower, until her fingers curled loosely into a deep sleep. Even then Teldryn sat there, watching over Yera as she slept. Like a half dozen times before, exactly the same but completely different now.
No armor was between them. No ash storm outside the cave to trap them in. No biting cold to force them close to huddle in front of a fire.
Just candlelight and furs, and the soft breathing of Yera.
He rubbed his fingers together, trying to imprint the memory of her hair into his mind. Short, not silky but clean all the same. The ghost of her warmth lingered in his skin as he brought his fingers to his lips.
Teldryn knew in his heart that he really shouldn’t. This was so far over the line already, he couldn’t even pretend there was any professionalism between them anymore. They were friends, bonds forged in conflict and survival. So as a friend he leaned over and pulled the blankets higher over Yera’s shoulder and whispered into the darkness,
“You take my breath away when you laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen a more beautiful sight than that.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Made a sequel chapter to the "Golden" story I made for tesfest24.
Teldryn continuing to catch feelings and denying them at every turn. Enjoy!
Things were different since that day.
Well, not really. Teldryn still hung out with his boss and helped her in the marketplace carrying supplies back home. They took small adventures into the nearby forest to hunt for deer or just to explore the nearby mountiain. Every night they shared a dinner in her home and every night they separated into their respective rooms to sleep.
Sometimes Yera had to leave to deal with Guild business and left Teldryn on his own to do as he pleased. He spent it browsing the few books she had on her shelves, chatting with Lydia on whatever idle conversation came up, or trying his hand at fishing on their personal dock.
All very mundane, domestic activities he didn’t believe he could ever experience again. For decades his life revolved around how much money he got and which patron was next on the list. Everything else was put to the side as survival was of the utmost importance. Sure there were years he was living it in some form of luxury with the influx of gold, but most of it was saved or spent drinking the evenings away to keep the creeping nightmares away.
Always that promise he’d leave Solstheim and return to Morrowind, his homeland for what it’s worth. Yet here he is now back in Skyrim. Living now in his boss’ home - free of charge! - and spending his afternoon fishing. Fishing on that lake that shined gold at dusk, the same gold that lived in Yera’s hair and eyes when she sat on the porch.
He was sure her housecarl knew. Teldryn knew that Lydia teased Yera back on Solstheim whenever the two of them were chummy. It wasn’t as if Lydia didn’t like Teldryn; in fact the housecarl was grateful for another person to be around Yera when she couldn’t be there. Being guide and friend and housecarl all in one was a big responsibility. But how could Teldryn be that person when all he can think of is running his hand through her hair, looking right into her sunlit eyes, and leaning down to-
Enough, he thought. There are more important things to think about.
For example, like how he was dragging out rugs to the porch to get the dust beaten out of them. It had been months since Yera was last home and the home chores were finally catching up to her. Lydia was already outside setting up the racks to hang them off of while he and Yera rolled and carried the rugs out.
Once outside, they were beaten until a considerable amount of dust and dirt fell onto the porch. Teldryn was tempted to grab his helmet if only to spare his lungs and eyes from the cloud that came out of it.
“How in the Gods did it get so dusty?” Yera grumbled, waving the air in front of her face. “It’s not like I was gone for months and left the bloody windows open.”
“Don’t know about the windows, sera, but you were in Solstheim for quite a few months. You might even say you were gone long enough for the dust to settle in your home.”
“Only because an ancient dragon priest and a Daedric Prince of Knowledge wanted my soul for extreme dubious reasons,” she responded. “I have them to blame for my house chores being left undone.”
“Blame it on Hermaeus Mora’s all seeing eye that you can’t get your rugs dusted in an orderly fashion,” Teldryn joked back.
“Wouldn’t be the first nor the last time the Gods and Princes both wanted to bother me for their own entertainment,” Yera huffed. “But enough of that, I think these are ready to be taken down to the lake for a soak.”
Yera set aside the paddle she was using and reached up to tug the rug down from the rack. It was a huge, heavy thing and while the rack was sturdy it looked ready to fall forward with one badly timed pull.
Too late, the rug caught the pole at the very end of the tug and the whole thing started to fall towards Yera. Out of instinct, Teldryn reached out and grabbed Yera to use his own body to protect against the falling rack. Thankfully, it clattered harmlessly around them and just threw up a big cloud of dust.
“Yera, are you alright?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “Didn’t think I’d pull the whole thing down.”
Now that there was no threat, Teldryn realized the position he put himself in. Arms wrapped around Yera and hunched over her as if blocking an attack. No attack forthcoming except the realization of how close he was to Yera. And how she looked up at him just as stunned as he was.
From this close he could see the scar on her lip so clearly. Two thin lines crossing over the corner of her lips. How she looked so different without her usual warpaint, almost youthful. Eyes clouded over but he could still see where her irises were and how they focused at the center of his face.
How easy would it be to lean down and-
“I heard some noise, did something happen?”
Lydia arrived just in time to have Teldryn release Yera, as if he were about to do something indecent to her. Yera herself took a step back as well and patted herself down, brushing off the dust that and floated onto her.
“Nothing,” Yera answered. “Just pulled on the rug too hard and made the rack fell.”
Yera could never see it, but Teldryn could see it clear as day. Lydia’s eyes glanced down at the rack and back at Teldryn and Yera, and back to Teldryn again. A silent conversation that he could not hear was transmitted through the housecarl’s eyes right into his skull. He knew what she was thinking, and she knew he knew what she was thinking. But Teldryn was an honest man and a coward and didn’t say a single word.
Lydia broke the eye contact and simply walked over to the fallen rug.
“I’m glad you are unharmed. Let’s get this rug into the lake before more unforeseen accidents happen.”
And just like that Teldryn was left on the porch alone once more. Lydia and Yera dragging the rug down while he was left to sweep the dust away. He almost wanted to use the broom to beam himself in the head with how stupid he was acting.
She is still your boss and is paying you, he thought. There is no space here for that kind of feeling. Nevermind she probably doesn’t have the thought or time for it with her lifestyle.
Conveniently forgetting that Yera hasn’t paid him in months, or that she loudly proclaimed she was not going on anymore adventures for the next lifetime, Teldryn focused and brushing the dust and his own feelings away into the wind.
He gave one last cough as some dust flew back into his face, before sweeping them off the porch.
Late to the party, but I had a vivid image in my head for this prompt and needed to write it out.
No beta, wrote this in 30 minutes, but I needed to get this out. Enjoy!
-------------
For all Teldyrn’s gripes about Riften, the natural sights were a sight for sore eyes.
After living decades upon decades in ashfilled wastelands, craggy cliffsides, or snow covered plains it was nice to settle down somewhere with an abundance of green. Not to mention the lakeside home with a personal dock.
It was about sunset, and the sun was sparkling perfectly off Lake Honrich. All around the area were birch trees with their beautiful stark white trunks and glittering orange leaves waving in the wind. The last of the fishing boats were coming to shore, muffled and distant cries of orders as people rushed to get back home. Teldryn throught the nearby fishery would cast this place in a terrible stench but the wind was blowing just right and blowing it far away from this perfect sight.
He couldn’t say that this was his own piece of Aetherius unfortunately. No, that belonged to his patron that was just coming out of the house with a towel over her head.
Freshly bathed and finally dressed in something casual, Yera plopped down on the chair next to him and scrubbed at her hair to get the last of the water out.
“You’ve got a nice place here, boss,” he commented to her. “Can see why you were rushing us to get back here.”
“Mostly that, yeah,” she responded under the towel. “The other half of it is if I don’t come back home every so often, Brynjolf sends every padfoot in the country looking for me begging me to come back. Like a mother hen that one but the sentiment is nice.”
That was another part of his boss he wasn’t expecting. Being Dragonborn was shocking enough, but also being head of a guild of thieves threw a wrench in his image of her. Teldryn didn’t have the highest opinions on thieves and cheats; compared to his life as a mercenary and living a particularly bloody lifestyle it seemed tame and cowardly to sneak away and steal your living.
He still didn’t understand it completely, but what he did understand was that these were her people and they had her back. Just the same that Yera made the effort to come back to homebase and take care of home before being whisked away onto another adventure. They seemed like… ‘nice’ enough people. Teldyrn walked away with all his armor and gold intact after the first meet-and-greet.
These were thoughts for another time. What was more important was he was going to bunk up with his boss in her fancy lakeside house for free. And his own furnished room with a feather mattress! Luxury of the highest order in his opinion.
“What are the next plans, if any?” he asked her.
“I’ve got Guild business to work on, but otherwise I feel like we deserve a break after all that nonsense on Solstheim,” Yera answered. “You’re welcome to anything in the house, within reason, and to any plans you’d like to make. I think you especially deserve it after what I dragged you through.”
“If you ever need help saving another island from an ancient dragon priest bent on taking over Nirn and steal your own soul for power, I need a bigger pay bonus to do it again.”
Yera scoffed at him and threw the towel resting on her head in his general direction. He swatted it out of the air with a laugh that caught halfway in his throat when he looked at her.
Caught in the tangled locks of her hair was the sun. Light caught in her white hair, reflecting it like spun gold.
Her eyes, half lidded against the sun, similarly caught the light and for the barest of moments he thought he could see gold in those eyes.
Teldryn had seen Yera in many different forms; ranging from a wandering stranger into the Retching Netch, to a towering warrior over a freshly burning dragon, to a frightening stillness while recovering in a tent after her final fight.
Never had he seen her quite as relaxed and calm as she was now.
It was a phenomenal sight.
One he had to shake himself out of neigh immediately after that thought.
They fell into a silent lull after, appreciating the ambient sound of the lake and nature around them. The songbirds singing their evening calls, beckoning flockmates to their roosts to sleep the evening away. An occasional fish leaping out of the water, splashing water into liquid gold in the fading sun’s light.
Teldryn dreamed of retiring to a place like this. Away from the ash and trauma of his homeland to somewhere free of such scars. Somewhere fresh and alive at every turn. The idea of one day finally hanging up his sword and never needing to pull it down again was a goal somewhere in the far, far, far future.
And as he dreamed of how much gold he needed to live that dream, his eyes kept drifting toward his companion. In the final rays of light, the sky was cast in a myriad of pinks and oranges and reds. The birch trees with their orange leaves made for a brilliant background as he gazed once more at the golden visage of his friend, catching the sun with her very being.
For a single moment, he wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair. To touch that glimmering gold just once.
Then the moment was lost, the sound of a door opening and closing in the house.
“That must be Lydia back from the market,” Yera said, standing up from the chair. “I’ll head inside and get started on dinner. You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you want.”
“I’ll… stay out here a bit longer,” Teldryn answered back. “I won’t be long.”
With a nod, Yera turned and re-entered her home, calling out to Lydia before the door shut behind her.
Alone on the porch once more, Teldryn finally took the moment to hunch over and cradle his face in his hands.
‘You’re a professional,’ he thought to himself. ‘You can’t be thinking about your boss like this.’
But he couldn’t get the image out of his head of a relaxed Yera. Sitting quietly on a porch in her home, the wind fluttering her hair, and gold in her eyes.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 4 is finally up! Long awaited fight with the dragon priest, how will they hold up?
---
It was obvious in his career that Teldryn was not adverse to the living dead.
Being culturally Dunmer made it almost boring knowing that one can speak with their ancestors and interact with their ghosts at a whim. It’s when their bodies start moving around on their own and start harassing the living that it becomes a problem. One he was intimately familiar with.
What was new and unusual was being told that this particular undead was as old as dirt and more dangerous than anything he probably had encountered.
“I’ve met my fair share of dragon priests, and none of them were easy to fight,” she explained. “Each of them possessed a mastery over magic honed over who knows how long, and each of them has a personal vendetta against the living. At least that’s how it feels to me.”
“So what’s the plan, sera?”
“You said the place was mostly flooded in the center, with just the edges of the room being solid ground?”
“Correct,” he answered. “There is a platform that extends a little into the center, but it has railings and very little room for manuverabily.”
Yera nodded and gestured to Teldryn again.
“Do me a favor, summon up a mage light for me?”
He raised an eyebrow at this request - how was this going to help? - but he obliged and summoned a ball of light into his palm. Instantly Yera’s attention turned toward the ball of light and he wondered what kind of magic he was witnessing at this moment.
“A little surprise for you: I got enough vision left in me to see bright lights,” Yera explained. “Your fire atronach? Can see those flames from a good distance away. And you’ve seen how accurate I am with a bow when I have time to aim. So this is what we are going to do-”
The plan was fairly simple in theory. Teldryn was going to charge in first to get the attention of the dragon priest. His fire atronach was going to serve as an additional distraction by throwing fireballs at it until it caught fire. Meanwhile, Yera will sneak on the opposite side of the room and shoot from a distance using the fire as her guide. Between the two of them the priest’s attention would be split or lacking in focus at the very least until they killed it.
“If you have any barriers against magic, I suggest you do not spare yourself of them. All the dragon priests I encountered were magically gifted but physically weak,” Yera explained. “If I can shoot it down or get close enough to it, I can finish them off. If it starts chanting something, I need you to get out of it’s direct path right away. Understand?”
“Clear as day, boss,” he answered back. “Let’s be off.”
Teldyrn began by sneaking into the room first. The dragon priest had wandered off deeper into the room, hovering before some sort of wall with chisled symbols into it. Soon after he entered Yera did as well. Crouched and dressed in her dark leathers she practically disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the room. He paused behind some rubble to keep out of sight until Yera gave the signal.
His eyes darted to her positions, finding it difficult to keep her in sight with the shadows almost bending around her. But he could see just enough to notice that ebony bow being pulled out and a closed fist raised in the air.
Sword already drawn and one hand readied with a summoning spell, he released it into the room and the sound of the air ripping apart into Oblivion made the dragon priest turn with a groan.
“Volann!”
Not a second later did Teldryn also release a fireball right into it’s ugly masked mug. The tattered and dilapitated clothing caught fire instantly but it didn’t seem to slow it down. Hands raised, he could see the telltale crackle of lightning and barely had time to throw up a barrier before two bolts of lighting slammed into him. Even behind a barrier and underneath his armor, Teldryn could still feel his skin prickle and the air taste of lightning. The dragon priest was charging up another round when his fire atronach attacked.
Two small fireballs launched somewhere beyond his periphery. It was enough of a distraction to let Teldryn run opposite direction and he distantly saw Yera fire a volley of arrows at the thing. Five black fletched arrows stuck out of it’s back causing it to lurch in the air. It spun around trying to find Yera in the shadows when the fire atronach attacked again.
Distracted on three fronts, it rumbled something like a curse in it’s foreign language and let out a roar.
At least, it could be described as a roar. Teldryn would better describe it as a clap of thunder as the whole room shook at the power of this dragon priest’s voice. His fire atronach was flung backwards from the power of it and crumpled into a pile of ash. Teldryn himself had to brace himself to keep him upright, nearly falling sideways into the water. It was only by luck and the smell of lightning that told him to quickly roll to the side to avoid a bolt thrown at him.
“Hey, ugly!” yelled Yera. “Zu’u los hin paal!”
Whatever his boss said was enough to draw the things attention and Teldryn threw another fireball to reignite it. Not a moment later three more black arrows were sticking out the side of the dragon priest. It was, worryingly though, very close to Teldryn and it was making a point to target him now.
Sword arm ready, he swung in a wide arc to give himself some more space as he backed up. There was a lot of rubble on this side of the pool and he had to be mindful of his steps as the damn thing kept floating at him. He tried to slice the things hands off, anything to stop threatening him with lightning bolts he had to keep a shield up for. As he kept walking backwards and closer to the entrance of this place, one of his feet landed on a loose piece of rubble. He slipped, and that was all it needed.
With alarming speed, the dragon priest rushed at Teldryn and had a gnarled hand wrapped around his throat. The hand crackled once and sent a charge of electricity right into his body. His teeth gnashed behind his scarf, every muscle twitching involuntarily, and distantly he could hear the clank of his sword falling from his hand. With what little wits he had left Teldryn could feel himself being lifted off the ground.
He tried kicking at the dragon priest, trying to snap its brittle bones but whatever it was imbued with was enough to withstand his weak attempts at survival. It raised its other hand and an otherworldly and sickly green aura surrounded it, surely charging up for some foul magic.
But before it could deal the final blow to him, the flash of a blade glinted in the fire. Then the sound of cracking bones and the death rattle of an undead monster as it’s head was sliced clean off its shoulders into the hands of Yera.
Everything immediately went limp. The hand on his throat crumbled into dust. The unnatural green glow was snuffed out like it was never there. The short drop back to ground made him stumble but not enough to fall backwards again. New hands were on him, small and in black leather and annoying him with how they worry over him.
“I’m not dead yet, boss,” he coughed, batting away the hands. “Was a close call though. Good work with that blade.”
“Close isn’t even a good enough word to describe it; I nearly got you killed because I wasn’t fast enough.”
Yera continued to fuss over him until she reached a satisfactory amount of patting him down. A heavy sigh left her and she pinched the bridge of her nose. It was cute, in a way. He never had an employer worry over his wellbeing as much as this. Usually they’re hiding behind him and then asking if he’s alright when he’s got a blade in his side. This was a refreshing turn of events but the worrying could be left out.
But now was the best part of dungeon crawling and defeating a horrifying monster.
“Well I still got all my fingers, boss. And that means we have the privilege of looting this thing. Let me help you get your arrows.”
Teldryn summoned a magelight to illuminate the darken corner and picked up his fallen sword at the same time. The entirety of the dragon priest had disintergrated and all that was left was some shiny ash. Easy enough to gather up the arrows while Yera was off the to side dusting off the mask it wore. Now that he wasn’t inches away from death, he took the time to examine it along side her.
A matte black metal with strange slitted eyes and an even stranger ridged lower mouth. Magic pulsed from it but it was nothing Teldryn had ever felt before. It was… older. Ancient even. Yera was tracing the lines on the mask and had a confused look about her.
“Odd,” she muttered. “It looks different than others I’ve seen before.”
“You mean it’s not supposed to look like a half octopus looking thing?”
“No,” she answered. “They look pretty humanoid, with a frowning mouth at the bottom. And the forehead is all different, supposed to have a symbol there. This is just all lines and… too organic looking I guess.”
It didn’t seem to bother Yera too much after a moment as she tucked it away somewhere in her pack. Arrows returned, they continued to poke around the room before Teldryn found the exit out of this place. He turned to call out to Yera and saw she was hanging out near that giant wall. In fact, she was tracing some of the carvings in it, focusing on one spot in particular. Teldryn called out to her all the same and when she didn’t respond he called out a bit louder.
“Yera! Are you coming?”
And like if she was in a trance, she flinched back and turned to look at his direction.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m coming.”
Weird. But not the weirdest thing he’s ever seen out of a patron. They both exited into what he hoped would be the way out but there was something strange, again, to say the least.
The hallways was tame enough. Nordic pillars with familiar whorls carved into the stone. But as they continued further down the way it began to change. Geometric shapes morphed into odd organic shapes. Weird grates with patterns like the underside of a mushroom. The walls bulging and twisting upon itself much like tentacles. Writhing around as if they could move at any moment to lash out at the pair.
On a pedestal at the end of the hallways, just before a spiraling staircase, was a book. Black and pristine, it looked almost out of place until Teldryn finally laid eyes on it. His lips curled under his scarf and he moved to block it from Yera’s path to give it a wide a berth as possible.
He knew what this book belonged to.
Hermaeus Mora. There was no other reason why a book would have a many tentacled face embossed on the cover unless it was associated with that particular Prince. Forbidden knowledge and secrets. Temptation for scholars and those believing themselves clever enough to steal knowledge from the Prince Himself. Nothing good came with calling Hermaeus Mora unless one was willing to pay the price for it.
“What is it?” Yera asked. He wasn’t as subtle as he wanted, what with him stopping and blocking Yera’s way. He was hoping to completely walk around the book and avoid it at all cost.
“It’s a book,” he answered. “From Hermaeus Mora. Best to leave it alone.”
He made to start walking around it but when he heard no footsteps behind him he turned around. Yera had somehow walked right up to the pedestal and was staring at it. Her hand was hovering over the book but not quite touching it. That was enough for Teldryn; he quickly turned back and tugged Yera back away from the thing. She snapped out of it the second he touched her and gasped as if she was holding her breath.
Instantly she curled her hand back against her chest as if to protect it from the book. Yet still she was staring right at it, somehow able to tell where it was. Evidently she was also realizing this and took extra steps back.
“Herama-Mora for sure,” she muttered. “It’s… can you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That whispering?” she answered. “You don’t hear it?”
He focused, trying to hear any faint noises, but he wasn’t picking anything up. Just what was going on?
“Hate to tell you boss, but this is the second time you’ve zoned out staring at random objects. You not telling me something?”
“What?” she turned at him. “No, I’m perfectly fine. I was just - that wall there had interesting runes I saw before and I was trying to figure them out. This though -”
She turned to look at the book again, a worrisome expression taking over her face.
“I hate to say this, I really do, but I don’t think we should leave this here.”
What in the world was she saying. He wished he could drag his hands over his face but the best he could do was try and persuade her against this.
“It looked like you were moments away from taking the damn thing,” Teldryn responded back. “For all I know it’s cursed to make people want to pick it up. I’m happy with just leaving it here to rot.”
“Yes, I understand. But… Teldryn I have a bad feeling about this thing. It shouldn’t be here.”
Understatement of the era. He resisted rolling his eyes and tried again.
“Which is why I suggest leaving it here. What would you even do with the book? All that thing is going to do is invite more trouble onto us.”
“Yes, I absolutely believe it, no doubt about it,” she responded. “But if this place is connected to the mines and people come down here now that we cleared it out, someone else is going to pick it up. We ought to take it out of here at least and toss it into the sea or something. Somewhere no one else can reach it.”
Not wrong, but not the best idea. Hermaeus Mora by far wasn’t the worst of the Princes to get involved with. It was just the artifacts associated with Him usually drove people into madness. If not madness, then if rumors of this book began to float around some enthusiast might get interested and want to take it for their own collection. At any cost.
At the same time though Teldryn couldn’t think of a proper counter to taking it. Their job at the moment was to keep Raven Rock safe from the sudden dragur infestation they discovered. What’s tossing out an eldritch book part of the contract? He was going to ask for hazard pay for sure, this was more excitement than he had experienced in the last decade.
“Fine,” he submitted. “We’ll take the book, but I’m not touching it or going anywhere near it.”
“No argument there,” Yera said as she pulled out a different bag from her pack. “I don’t even want to touch the damn thing.”
Into the bag it went, tied shut, and then shoved back into her pack. Now that the book was out of the way, the pair finally began to make their way up the stairs. Round and round it went, an untold amount of floors, until the finally reached a door.
Just as Teldryn reached to opened it, Yera blurted out:
“I swear, if we find a bandit camp after all of this, I’m going to scream.”
He paused, prayed to the Three, and pushed opened the door.
