Skyrim Day 024 & 025 - Mzulft, the Unpronounceable Ruin

9 Heartfire, 4E201

Whiterun

~~~

No rest for the weary indeed.

I woke yesterday morning and once again sought out Mirabelle to see if she could answer my latest questions. While wandering about the College I briefly stopped to chat with J'zargo, but he only had boastful things to say about himself, as I suspect is usual. Mirabelle admitted that no one knew where the Staff of Magnus was, but that one of the magical factions in Cyrodiil, the Synod, had recently sent its members to the College to inquire after the same. After sending them away she overheard them discuss their next destination: the Dwemer ruin of Mzulft.

According to what she heard, the ruin was dug into the mountains along the hot springs where I had visited the tree 'Eldergleam'. Another long walk.

So it was out into the snow and ice once again. I had not made it far outside Winterhold before I began to hear shouting carried along by the ever-present stormy winds. Ahead of me a group of hunters were trying to shoot down a Troll that had wandered into their camp. By the time I had gotten close enough to effectively fire my crossbow the hunters were dead and the Troll weakened enough that two bolts into its back were enough to put it down.

One of the hunters had ring with a minor enchantment, but the rest just had bows, axes, and leathers. I found a book inside of one of the tents that provided guidance on how better to move silently while armored, a skill I feel I must continue to work on.

It was early in the afternoon when I arrived at the springs and a helpful hunter directed me towards Mzulft, warning me that others had entered, but none yet left. With that she wished me luck, resuming her scraping of the hide of some creature unfortunate enough to find its way in front of her bow.

The ruins appeared to be similar to every other Dwemer ruin I have visited, it appears they did not value creativity, variety, or artistic talent of any sort. A small, locked storeroom built outside the entrance yielded to my meager lock-picking skill, but there was nothing of value inside and only one item of interest: a curiously blue, metallic emblem.

Naturally I took it.

Just inside the main entrance a man lay dying, a mage of Synod order. All I could hear of his last moments was the word "Oculory". On his body I found the group's journal, which was not helpful, and a key to proceed further into the ruin, which was.

Mzulft contains all of the decorations common with the Dwemer: stoic visages and tubes that shot burning steam everywhere. The constructs were still clattering around well after their architects had departed this Plane, but this was not my first Dwemer ruin, try as I might to limit my adventures into them. I recognized the portals built into the walls that would likely eject a hostile machine as I passed and the spider-like creations patrolling the halls proved rather susceptible to crossbow bolts.

Deeper inside the ruin were the detestable Chaurus, large insects that could swarm an unlucky adventurer if she found herself overwhelmed or asleep. One of these two things had happened to a Synod mage camping atop a hastily-built watchtower, but I only encountered the bugs one at a time and had no difficulty with them.

The natural cavern merged back into the Dwemer architecture and the Chaurus were replaced with more Dwemer creations that fell out of holes in the walls, crawled from behind steam vents, and generally made as much a nuisance of themselves as they could. The spider-like crawling things were the most common, but more articulated warriors were built into spheres that they managed to roll on while firing crossbows at me and swinging blades. Defeating one of them earned me a handful of Dwemer crossbow bolts which, surprisingly, fit my own.

These warriors seemed to draw their power from soul gems inserted into their foreheads and I managed to salvage a 'Greater' soul gem which I am sure I can sell for a decent amount.

Eventually my soul gem collecting brought me to a door in front of which lay a dead Falmer, as if murderous machines and acid-spitting giant bugs were not enough trouble.

Evidently the creature succumbed to injuries sustained against two destroyed Dwemer spider-machines and I had little doubt there would be more Falmer behind the door. I have little experience with fighting the things, for my time spent in Skyrim previously was largely limited to chopping wood and walking alongside wagons, activities which kept me from the underground where the Falmer exclusively lived. It is said their dwelling underground has blinded them, but that their hearing is exceptional. That may be true, but also fails to explain how they still manage to craft their crude swords and shields.

The blind Falmer fell one after another to my Dwemer crossbow bolts and I continued deeper into Mzulft, finding absolutely nothing else of interest or value. Eventually my wandering brought me before a door with the trembling voice of an Imperial sounding behind it, Paratus Decimius, the sole survivor of the Synod expedition.

Paratus explained that his group had been trying to find a focusing crystal to power an astronomy machine that would lead them to objects of great power. I searched through my satchel for anything that appeared to be a crystal, but the only thing I had was the blue emblem which he dismissed as worthless. However, what I took to be a Falmer ornament wound up being the crystal Paratus sought. He led me to the astronomy machine and placed the focusing crystal on top of it.

Instantly a beam of light shot from the crystal into the ceiling.

According to Paratus the crystal could be manipulated by striking it with frost and fire magicka, two things I am not very good at doing. He took my honesty rather poorly, snapping that it was fortunate for me that a member of his team brought the simplest books he could find to sell in Skyrim. I ignored his attempts at humor and studied the books. They were, as he said, very simple and after a bit of study I felt ready to try both sets of spells.

The fire magicka did nothing when directed against the crystal, but the frost spell rotated it within the cradle, reflecting the beam of light into multiple points along the ceiling. After some minutes of exhausting myself with the easiest of Destruction magicka, Paratus nodded and told me to manipulate the buttons behind the machine to spin the ceiling until each beam of light was focused into its own mirror.

This was simple enough, each button turned one of the rings on the ceiling by a certain amount. Lining each one up with the reflected beams was trivial.

Once directed, the beams reflected back into the crystal and projected a surprisingly detailed map of the Tamriel on the wall.

I figured that Paratus would be happy with this result, but he was quite angry. He asked if I was playing some sort of joke on him, but I had no idea what he was talking about. According to his ranting the map should have shown the location of several magical artifacts the Synod were interested in but he claimed "interference" was affecting the output of the Dwemer machine, causing it to point to the College he and his colleagues had left several days ago. He shouted that if "we" wanted the Staff of Magnus so badly then "we" could meet our deaths in Labyrinthian for all he cared...which is exactly the information I had come to Mzulft to find. It was back to the College for me.

As I was leaving the ruins a mage of the Psijic Order popped into existence before me and congratulated me on what little progress I had made, stating that I was on the way towards the aversion of catastrophe. A nice morale booster, that.

Accustomed to using the sun to determine the time of day, I was confused for a moment as I stepped back outside, only to realize that it was already the next day, 9 Heartfire, and I had spent the previous afternoon, evening, and entire night fighting in the ruins of Mzulft. Fate was kind to this tired Khajiit and the long walk back to the College of Winterhold was completed without any incident.

My arrival at the College however was met with quite a bit of incident. The stupid Thalmor, Arcano, managed to shield the Hall of Elements from everyone while he worked on unlocking the mysterious Eye of Magnus. Arch-Mage Savos and Mirabelle were at the entrance when I arrived, both of them attempting to overwhelm the barrier with powerful magicka.

The Arch-Mage insisted that I lend my meager ability towards their effort and miraculously all three of us managed to destroy Arcano's barrier. Savos immediately charged at Arcano as Mirabelle shouted a warning to not do just that. Her warning was not heeded and suddenly there was a blinding explosion.

I woke moments later against the stone wall outside a second barrier. Mirabelle was nearby, slouched against a column. The Arch-Mage was nowhere to be seen, the explosion having flung him into the courtyard, killing him. Tolfdir and the other members of the College came running out of the dormitories, but towards the town of Winterhold, not the body of the Arch-Mage. They stopped at my shout and only then did they realize the Arch-Mage was dead. But there were worse things about than a dead mage. The explosion had somehow brought forth a herd of floating spirits that were busy attempting to level the unfortunate town. Tolfdir and the others had been running to the town's aid before I stopped them. With the Arch-Mage's death Tolfdir decided to keep everyone inside the college, sending me, of course, to the town alone.

Faralda was still guarding the entryway to the College, cautiously zapping any of the spirits that wobbled too close to her. She seemed relieved to see me, suggesting that the both of us work together to clear the town of whatever the things were. I agreed and we crept into the deserted town, the villagers and guards having taken refuge within the few buildings still standing. With my crossbow and Farlda's spells, the little balls of energy had no chance.

The situation was just as grim when we returned to the College. Faralda joined the others in the dormitory and I entered the Hall of Elements to check on Mirabelle. Arcano's barrier was still up, but the Arch-Mage's second-in-command was still okay, though a bit shaky.

I told her that the Staff of Magnus was to be found in Labyrinthian, between Whiterun, Solitude, and Morthal. She appeared puzzled or possibly concussed, remarking that the Arch-Mage had gifted her with an ordinary necklace before he died, stating that she would know what to do with it when the time came. Mirabelle decided that the time came about half an hour after that, handing me the necklace while telling me she was sure it would be helpful where I was going. I do hope she did not strike her head too hard on the column.

So it was back on the road for me without any sleep. An Argonian leaped at me from behind some bushes and died with a very surprised look on his face as he impaled himself on my sword. He had a very nice Dwemer dagger, which I am happy to now call my own.

It was late into the evening when I arrived at Whiterun, but a courier was waiting for me nonetheless. He handed me a sealed scroll, bowed, and left for the city's gate as I began to walk by him. The scroll was an invitation to an incredibly cruel joke.

A museum dedicated to the Mythic Dawn, the cult which destroyed the Septim lineage and brought the Empire to its knees, almost in submission to Mehrunes Dagon. Only through my unsung effort and the sacrifice of Martin Septim was the destruction of civilization averted, though at great cost.

And now someone wanted to give them a museum? Such arrogance from this Silus Vesuius person certainly deserves a personal response. The museum is also his home in Dawnstar, a village I found many years ago to be hostile to Khajiit looking for work. I believe it is time for another visit.

One of the Khajiit caravans was stopped at Whiterun, allowing me to unload a great deal of jewelry and gemstones taken along the way in exchange for a fine Dwemer long blade. The caravan master, Ri'Saad and I spoke of our respective travels for a bit and we parted cordially, his people beginning to set up camp for the night. The sight of the Khajiit gathering around the fire made me feel a bit lonely, so I hurried into the city so that I might be distracted.

It felt like a very long walk from the inside of the city gate to the 'Bannered Mare' inn, but I finally am gong to be getting a good night's rest. Tomorrow I strike for Labyrinthian and the Staff of Magnus. I joined the College so that I might further my skill and have yet to actually perform any useful magicka there. Such is my life.

Oblivion Day 24 - Undercover Cultist

20 Heartfire, 3E433

Cheydinhal

~~~

Tar-Meena was good on her word. The next morning I found her back in the University library, poring over the copies she had made of the first two volumes. She suspected the first letter of each paragraph, which was larger and stylized, was significant, but did not have anything more than that for today.

But it was enough for me. It was so simple that I am embarrassed to admit that I did not think of it first. Each of the letters in each paragraph of each volume combined to spell out "Green Emperor Way Where Tower Touches Midday Sun". I thought this was telling me the location of the Mythic Dawn, but it did not. I had quite some time until midday, so I futilely spoke to the other students at the University about finding someone willing to train with Illusion magic, but my questioning turned up nobody.

At midday I walked to the Green Emperor Way plaza which doubled as the city's graveyard. The clue did not give any hint as to what I was looking for exactly, so I walked along the graveyard examining the headstones. My thought was that one of them was a fake and would serve as a switch to some secret underground staircase or something, but things were not to be that simple.

What I found was a hidden map on the tomb of the unfortunate Prince Camarril, glowing red with the symbol of the Mythic Dawn.

The map depicted a much-shrunken Cyrodiil with a marker set over a small lake near Cheydinhal. This is the clue that prospective cultists clever enough to decipher the "hidden" meaning of the 'Commentaries' received, so I was obviously meant to go where ever the marker was depicting. I knew of nothing notable in the location it pointed me to, so I guessed my destination was a ruin or ex-mine of some kind.

Thanks to my trusting horse I made it to the lake before the sun set and went about finding an entrance to the Mythic Dawn's hidden site. Soon enough I came upon a very old door set against the hill side and cautiously crept in, aware that there could be dozens of cultists if I was in the right place.

They were a great deal more confident than they should have been. Only one guard was posted at the front door and he let me in without a blink, self-assured that I was a loyal worshiper of Mehrunes Dagon. Once inside I was greeted by Harrow, a Dunmer who described himself as the Warden of the shrine which lay deeper inside. He insisted I leave all my equipment with him and not wanting to ruin my seemingly perfect cover, I agreed, throwing all of my sacks, satchels, and equipment into a huge bag he had been carrying around. In return I was given an ill-fitting Mythic Dawn robe and told to follow.

Mankar Camoran himself was in attendance at the shrine and Harrow whispered as we approached that I would be given the honor of being inducted into the Mythic Dawn by the Master himself.

Alas, the honor was not to be mine. As soon as he was done with whatever speech he was giving a small portal opened behind him, looking very much like the Oblivion Gates I have been closing. He stepped through the portal and it disappeared, taking the Amulet of Kings with him. Clearly the man was favored by Mehrunes Dagon and therefore is not one to be underestimated.

I could not go back to the Blades empty-handed, so I designated a secondary target: the Mythic Dawn's holiest book: the Mysterium Xarxes, said to be penned by Mehrunes Dagon himself. To attempt to read it was to court madness, yet Mankar had read it and from the book wrote his 'Commentaries', forming the Mythic Dawn as it is today. Perhaps if the Blades had the Daedric volume someone could use it to track down the Amulet of Kings. I have to hope something is possible for us to succeed. 

The cultist next to me died without knowing what had happened, his throat torn open by my inexpert swipe of claw. The next closest started to react and died just as messily. But I only got two free kills and the remaining cultists yelled and started to swarm me. As luck would have it Harrow was at the head of the assault. The man had no skill in melee and foolishly attempted to wield my own blade against me. He was quickly disarmed and impaled, quite a sudden reversal of fortune. 

Armed with something familiar I made short work of the remaining four cultists and only then realized I was still not alone. An Argonian lay on a slab underneath a large statue of the Daedric Prince and I quickly cut his bonds. As soon as he was able he leaped off of the slab and ran out of the room, ignoring my warning about more cultists possibly lying in wait ahead of us.

I grabbed the ordinary-looking book and ran after him through more corridors and rooms, pausing twice to duel with cultists desperate to curry their Master's favor by slaying me.

The Argonian was nervously waiting outside of the cavern for me. He introduced himself as Jeelius and thanked me profusely for saving his life. He is a priest in the Temple of the One in the Imperial City, so I will have to visit him once I am back in the capital. But it was too late in the night to ride back there today, so I left him to his determined journey and turned my horse towards Cheydinhal. On my way I came upon a sign of Mehrunes Dagon's displeasure: another gate to Oblivion and I marked it on my map for later attention.

Tonight I am staying at the Newlands Lodge and tomorrow I shall close the Oblivion gate on my way back to Bruma, for Martin will surely be interested in the book I managed to recover. I can only hope that it is enough to make up for the temporary loss of the Amulet of Kings.

Morrowind Day 24 - The Deadlands

8 Hearthfire
~~~

Spending the night on a boat presents two sides of the same brackish coin: on one side, the typical Vvardenfell coastal is barren of any comforts, but on the other, the gentle rocking can assist one to sleep, should she be in the right frame of mind.

Unfortunately, I was not in the right frame of mind to be rocked to sleep and spent a restless, uncomfortable night. Even the boat owner was able to find lodging at the local Temple, trusting me not to sail away to pursue a life on the seas.

The canton town felt even less welcoming than the Telvanni Canton in Vivec, so I hopped off the boat and made my way out of Molag Mar, hoping to find the staff and be back in civilization before dinner. There wasn't much to distract me from my task. Molag Mar sits right in the Ashlands, a barren land that looks as if it should be devoid of life, but there are several hardy plants that seem to thrive here, as well as some of Vvardenfell's most dangerous beasts. I left the town and started along the marked road up toward Mount Kand.

Even the soil of the Ashlands battles against the unprepared, such as myself. Unaccustomed to the rocky volcanic soil, the pads of my feet began to ache until I ruined Bivale's gift, cutting the belt in half to make crude, but effective, foot wraps. Every creature I came across that would ordinarily have ignored me or run away instead proved hostile and I slew a good number of rats, nix hounds, and even scribs. The strangest foe today has to be the Alit, which is accurately described as a giant head with two legs stuck where the ears might have been. Deceptively fast, the first Alit I encountered almost ate my sword and I would have counted myself lucky had that been the only thing it consumed. As it was, luck was with me and I avoided losing an arm due to slipping in panic and tumbling down the side of a hill. The Alit was brighter and loped the long way around the hill at me, but by that time I had composed myself and the beast's giant mount was no match for the longer reach of my spear.

The path up towards Mount Kand reminded me unpleasantly of the path I painfully crawled up outside of Ghostgate, though only trepidation greeted me on my way up. The path turned to the left at the crest and I was surprised to see the common wooden door of an egg mine set into the side of the mountain. The door was quite worn, but I could see no signs of habitation outside of the cave. My desire to get out of the open and somewhere more secure drove me inside, a mistake that I'll be a lot more careful about not making in the future.

The door did not lead to a mine, but a rough cavern, whether it was hewn or natural, I couldn't tell. Large crystals jutted out from the floor and walls, capturing the fluorescence of the mushrooms growing around them, lighting the cave in dull purples and blues.

Alert as I was, the gentle shifting of the colors managed to disguise the Daedroth's approach and the first sign of the creature's presence was a powerful electric shock painfully coursing through my limbs. The shock jerked me against the stone wall, my helmet saving me from a concussion (or worse). My knowledge of Daedra and their minions is only slightly better than average, but the slavering crocodile-looking creature was known to me as a servant of Molag Bal, Harvester of Souls. Fearsome looking as they were, Daedroth were counted among the weaker of the Daedra, equipped with strong spells and strength, but barely above animal intelligence.

This one was unable to follow through on its successful ambush and strode towards me, flinging spells of poison and fire almost as an afterthought, its eagerness to close to melee range causing the spells to fly wide. Glad as I was for the creature's poor aim, they were very strong fighters and I thought about retreating out of the cave completely. But I've come a long way in nearly a month on Vvardenfell and rewards only comes to those willing to take risks. And as every Khajiit knows, agility and wit can always win against brute strength. The creature fell easier than the winged monsters from Berandas, but still proved to be a challenging opponent. I carved the heart of the creature from its chest, Daedra hearts are well-prized by alchemists and there is no point in being squeamish about such a thing.

Flush with victory, I continued down the corridor and turned a corner only to come face-to-face with two Daedroth milling around in front of a small hut, evidently occupied. They were slow to react and I ran back, not to set up an ambush of my own, but to retreat out of the cave. The single Daedroth was challenging enough, two of them, plus the occupant of the hut, would likely prove too much for me to handle alone.

I spent the rest of the morning wandering around Mount Kand, periodically activating Kaye's ring in an effort to find the Staff. If it weren't for the hardy plants and animals, I would rename this place the Deadlands. The "soil" is composed of ash, rock, and small glassy shards of previous volcanic eruptions which do their best to slice into my feet, even with the belt wrapped around them. The wind whipping around the plain is no relief, flinging ash and small pebbles against my face.

The sun was just at its peak when I found the second cave and I was only marginally smarter in how I approached it. Entering only after my Invisibility spell succeeded (three attempts), I stepped into what was almost certainly a natural hollowing of the earth, given how long I had to walk along the tunnel before I came to a chamber containing a Flame Atronach and a pool of lava. After the Daedroth, the Atronach seemed too easy and I continued along the tunnel on the opposite end of the small chamber.

Curiously, I came to a second chamber which might have been a pool of water at some point, but the occupying Frost Atronach had frozen it into a sheet of ice. The Atronach, again, fell surprisingly easily. The last chamber was another pool of water, this time with bolts of lightning flying from it, due to the Storm Atronach meandering about. It fared no better than its cousins did. I find it curious that the cavern should only have three rooms, each with an Atronach of different element. Perhaps it served a mage long gone to store the Atronachs there. I suppose I'll never know.

I rested for a while just outside the cavern door, washing my lunch down with a cheap endurance restoration potion to fortify myself for the searching I still had to do. The landscape is largely unchanging, just valleys and swells of grey rock and dust, with the occasional dead-looking tree or tough plant poking through the ground. I spent the rest of the daylight hours pacing around Mount Kand, but couldn't find any sign of the late Linus or his staff.

I started worrying about shelter as it grew increasingly dark. All I had to do was trip over something in the dark and break a bone falling into a ravine. The only shelter I had come across all day was the two caves, one with Daedroth and one presumably still empty. But my search had carried me in a pretty wide circle and in the dusk I couldn't be sure I would find my way back to the Atronach cave.

Night comes swiftly to the Ashlands and I thought I had found shelter in the form of an abandoned house, only to realize as I got closer that it was the dessicated husk of a silt strider that I had mistaken for a dwelling in the Ald'Ruhn style.

I wound up not finding the Atronach cave, nor could I bring myself to somehow burrow into the silt strider corpse, so I'm laying down along the shore of a small lake to rest for a little bit before resuming my search early tomorrow morning.