Skyrim Day 030 - Battle Within the Barrow

14 Heartfire, 4E201

A Shipwreck

~~~

Following a deeply unsatisfying rest at my quarters I stumbled out of bed and threw the robes of my new office back on. I still had to find two more Dwemer cogwheels, but I could not bring myself to search out another ruin and descend into the steam and Falmer that no doubt would be awaiting me.

Instead I chose to leave the College to its own machinations today and interrupted Birna's dinner to pick up the ornamental dragon claw I purchased several days ago. Its origin, Yngol's Barrow, was east of Windhelm on the opposite side of the river. I hoped that whatever mysteries the claw's three coins unlocked would help me understand what I would be facing when I retrieved the golden dragon claw for that shopkeeper I spoke with almost a month ago.

So it was back into the cold and the ice as the College was finishing their collective dinner. No one had taken notice of my late arrival and my subsequent departure garnered just as much attention. I suspect if half of the College slides into the sea I shall have to distribute a notice informing everyone. And there are those here that think they can accompany me, which is even more frightening.

The thieves and Dark Brotherhood assassins were apparently also away eating their dinners and I managed to walk from the College to the back of Windhelm without being troubled by anything other than the onset of the night. 

Yngol's Barrow was just another cavern dug along the shore of the river, with a small altar built out of loose stone and a metal bowl.

On the altar was a small book titled 'Yngol and the Sea-Ghosts'. Risking death by exposure, It would not be the first time an ancient Nordic book provided clues to a problem nearby. I did not understand the story, it sounded like it was incomplete. The book briefly spoke of an expedition that landed on the shores of Skyrim during a storm, with the loss of several boats, including one of Yngol's.  A Nord named 'Ysgramor' took a boat back into the storm to fetch Yngol and the lost ships, but he was unsuccessful: the ships were found the next day along the shore, broken and devoid of life, one evidently containing the corpse of Yngol. Ysgramor sacrificed animals for Yngol's spirit and built the barrow to house his body and I suppose simply moved on after that.

Short as it was, the story did provide a bit of a clue as to the dragon's claw. The events in the story must have taken place prior to the founding of Skyrim, yet the ancient barrow was secured in some way with the claw and its three animal motifs set into the base. Perhaps the golden claw would also open a barrow, but I do not know what the Stormcloaks would require that for.

I was alarmed to find that as I proceeded deeper into the Barrow I was being followed by an increasing amount of bouncing blue lights. If I stopped moving they would bounce and slide some ways ahead, then seem to wait for me to catch up. The effect was rather like having someone constantly two steps behind you which, in a tomb devoid of life, was not welcome.

The ice gradually gave way to finished stone and I eventually found what I guess was the entrance to the actual barrow. I was not surprised to find that there was a corpse, frozen solid, in front of the barrow's gate.

Helpfully, the dead person was keeping a journal before he expired. The journal spelled out the animal-column combination required to open the gate, but the unidentified scholar had decided to operate the gate's lever prior to setting the columns, sending dozens of steel darts into his body. Not very smart.

Beyond the gate lay...not much really. There was a stone bridge lined by ancient candles that I thought was a nice touch. The candle-lit bridge led to a small memorial marked with a two-handed Elven greatsword that I had no use for.

The dragon claw came into its own in front of a massive iron door into which three stone discs were set. In the center of the discs was a carving with three holes in it, one for each of the toes of the claw. My escorts, the bouncing blue lights, were very excited about the door and were seemingly able to pass through it without any trouble.

Using the steel coins set into the underside of the claw, I spun the stone discs to line up their animal symbols in the same order as the claw's. Unsure of what to do next, I pressed the claw into the door, causing the carving to depress into the door which released a counterweight somewhere which pulled the door apart.

Whatever the blue lights were they instantly sped into the chamber beyond and started circling around a hazy shadow in the middle of the room.

The shadow gradually came into focus as an armored Draugr with a long, thin blade, unusual weaponry for a Nord. What followed was a dance: me dodging behind pillars and striking with my dagger when I could, it stomping towards me while swinging its blade. Twice it used some sort of spell that it seemed to yell at me, causing a blast of wind to strike me and carry the dagger out of my hands. 

Scurrying after your weapon while being attacked by the angry spirit of an ancient Nordic warrior is not a fun time.

Eventually the spirit collapsed, yielding its blade to me, the victor. It is an ancient, but still serviceable, Ebony long blade, a weapon I will certainly be keeping with me. My other long blade, the ghostly one I received from the two friendlier spirits of Fjori and Holgeir, is difficult for me to wield, as I keep expecting to swing something with weight behind it. I will likely leave it in the Arch-Mage's quarters at the College.

Yngol's skeleton remained seated upon its throne even after our battle and I saw no reason to disturb its stately rest, even if his spirit did try to kill me. Perhaps that is where the blue lights came from. I shall never know. The barrow also shed little light on the golden dragon claw I have yet to retrieve.

A partially-collapsed staircase led to a trapdoor that opened along the coastline. The moon revealed the wreck of a trading ship which I thought would serve as a place to spend the night instead of walking back to the College in the dark, again.

Unfortunately I was not the only one with this idea. The bandits were poorly organized, lacked any sort of cohesion, and after I killed their leader while he slept, tried to pile through the narrow doorway all at once, allowing me to wield my weapon with practically no opposition.

A dead fisherwoman lay in a cage nearby, confirming my belief that killing them meant only good things for everyone else around. I pushed all their corpses into the sea, flipped the leader's bedroll around, and am not looking forward to a very cold night. I would say I have slept in worse places, but I am beginning to set a pattern of increasingly poor evenings. I need to find my way back to the south, I am growing very tired of snow and ice.

Oblivion Day 30 - Counter-Assault on Oblivion, Part 5

27 Heartfire, 3E433

Anvil

~~~

I woke this morning the hero of Anvil, receiving congratulations and even an offer to purchase a cheap manor in the city itself.  But Anvil is too far away from everything else for me to consider buying a house here and I had a lot that needed to be done today.

First on my list was to lighten myself of the Sigil Stones I have been collecting. I can transfer the magicka stored within each stone to enchant something, though I cannot be sure of what enchantment my item will receive until the process is done. Any enchantment is more valuable than no enchantment at all, so I have been carrying around the potential to make quite a bit of money.

This morning I visited Anvil's blacksmith and surprised him by purchasing all of his weapons. Thus burdened I staggered back to the Mages Guild with the large and very heavy sack of equipment and dumped them on the street in front of the Guild. Then, one by one, I matched a weapon with a Stone and soon had a pile of weakly enchanted bows, swords, and axes. The blacksmith, a Dunmer named Varel Morvayn, was even more surprised to see me return with his wares enchanted and for sale back to him. Varel eagerly bought back every enchanted weapon at considerable cost to himself, enriching me by several thousand Septims. I partially spent my new wealth at the Mages Guild for lessons in casting Illusion spells and to identify the amulet I found in Oblivion, which is just as valuable as I hoped: it will reflect a portion of an enemy's spell against them. Very useful!

That concluded my first order of business, finding the hidden agent of the Mythic Dawn cult was the second. With its constant flow of nearly anonymous sailors in and out Anvil's waterfront would serve as an excellent place to get a menial job while keeping one's identity a secret.

I noticed that an Altmer was pacing along the deck of one of the ships, apparently yelling and complaining to herself about something. As I walked by the ship's dock she called out to me saying that I looked like an adventurous, brave sort of person. Naturally.

Her name was Varulae and the problem was a deceptively simple one: In the holds of the ship lay her family's heirloom, a crystal ball. The catch was that the entire hired crew had been murdered overnight in a manner which left their spirits angrily floating about the lower decks, preventing Varulae from getting the crystal ball herself. My task of course was to descend into the ship, banish the hostile spirits, and retrieve the heirloom.

The spirits were actually Wraiths, souls of people killed unjustly enough for their anger to manifest into a spectral being bent on killing everyone else. The sailors' deaths must have been foul indeed, for there were many Wraiths aboard the ship, each wielding a sailor's cutlass and flinging frost magicka at me. Individually they were not particularly strong and the close confines of the ship meant not having to fight more than one at a time, so I had little difficulty in putting the spirits to rest and retrieving the Varulae's treasure.

My reward was a cutlass of my own, grimly enchanted to drain the life of any creature struck by the blade. I also kept one of the Wraiths' cutlasses to enchant with a Sigil Stone at a later date. A seaport town like Anvil would find many buyers for such a weapon.

I continued to prowl about the waterfront for any rumors of new residents and heard that there was a boarding house appropriately named 'The Forecastle' that catered exclusively to sailors' requirement for temporary lodging between voyages. I suspected that a sailor might be the perfect cover for a cultist and I was right.

She attacked as soon as I entered the boarding house, summoning the typical Mythic Dawn attire upon herself while rushing me with a mace. The rest of the sailors scrambled out of her way and during the ensuring chaos one of them accidentally tripped the cultist, sending her sprawling. A blow from Varulae's cutlass ended her life. On her body was a copy of 'Commentaries, Volume I'.

By then it was only early in the afternoon, so I figured I may as well go back to Skingrad in preparation for the trip to Bravil. The trip was uneventful save for a foolish bandit who was wielding a rather rare Dwemer dagger, which I am keeping for now.

When I arrived at Skingrad it seemed as though I might have been able to make it to Bravil before the night grew too long, but that wound up not happening.

Someone with a cruel sense of humor had opened a Gate directly over a small graveyard of Skingrad's, uprooting caskets and destroying the surrounding landscape. The plane of Oblivion the Gate sent me to was the smallest and easiest of any of the ones I have visited and aside from fighting a new type of well-equipped Dremora nothing about it surprised me.

Despite the time I spent closing the Gate I chose to push onwards towards Bravil, even though it meant arriving some time after midnight. On my way I found two more Gates in the trees near Bravil but they will be taken care of tomorrow.

Bravil's own Gate was not opened over a shrine, but instead over the decrepit remains of an ancient watchtower.

Extra guards were stationed at the city gate and the Captain there assured me that if Daedra started to pour out of the Gate they would be ready to meet them. After what happened to Kvatch I have my doubts, but I am sure an alarm would at least be raised in time, if nothing else.

For tonight I am trusting the guards' vigilance and renting a bed at 'Silverhome on the Water'. Tomorrow I have three Gates I need to close, quite a large order, but I am sure that I am up to the task, for if I am not then no one is.

Morrowind Day 30 - Junk Treasure

14 Hearthfire

~~~

I have been on Vvardenfell for quite some time and have witnessed acts of kindness and acts of cruelty, but never before today has a harsher blow been struck against me.

Much to my surprise, I woke late in the morning at the Ashland campsite, having planned only to nap for an hour or two. Despite the length of time, the sleep was not refreshing and my morning started slowly as I worked the stiffness out of my legs before resuming the trek to the Ashlander camp.

There were not a lot of creatures out this morning and the Ashlands were fairly quiet and peaceful. I encountered a self-proclaimed pilgrim calling himself Fonus Rathryon who asked for an escort to a shrine near Gnisis. I did not trust him however, for he stated himself as lost, yet offered very precise directions to where he had to go, precisely the sort of thing a group of bandits would do to lure travelers into an ambush. I  told him I was heading from Gnisis and had not the time to escort him to his destination. He seemed to accept the excuse and was still standing on the trail when I looked back, waiting for someone else to come by.

Another Blight Storm started while I was outside, but familiarity breeds contempt, as the saying goes. I find that I no longer worry under the red sky, though the physical symptoms of the weather are still just as hazardous. With the storm came the creatures and I dispatched several hostile Kagouti and Nix Hounds, all with the growths on their bodies.

The storm was short-lived and receded just as I reached the end of the foyada, which gave way to the welcome sight of Vvardenfell's north coast. I cautiously washed my equipment and self of dust and took a moment to rest and get my bearings. Thirty yards from the shore was a door set into a small swell of the land, at the time I assumed it was an abandoned egg mine. Still on the search for a place to call my own, I figured I had enough time to look around before I'd have to continue to the campsite to get there before dark.

However, I was not the first to find the cave. Fortunately there was a dead Scamp just inside, putting me on alert and showing that the current denizens were either careless or believed themselves strong enough to not need caution.

The latter proved not to be the case. I heard the woman shouting at what I thought were employees after I had only taken a few steps past the corpse. I succeeded at making myself invisible after three attempts and rushed forwards to see if I could spot the woman before the cheap spell wore off. She was arguing (foolishly) with another Scamp she had evidently just summoned, thrusting a mining pick at the sullen creature and ordering it to dig alongside the rest of them. To summon even two creatures simultaneously was a feat of strength and skill, but it sounded like there was quite a few more Scamps than two. I guessed her for a member of the Mages Guild and was just about to approach her when she started shouting and raving at her Scamps.

Quite a talkative one she was too. It was the frenzied yelling about the "fools at the Mages Guild" and "killing the whole lot of the idiots" that tipped me off that the woman certainly would not greet me as a fellow Guild member.

Never one to give an enemy a fair chance, I sneaked back to the entrance, activated the armor enchantments on my belt, renewed the invisibility spell, and rushed back to my initial vantage point, bow in hand. The first volley of arrows caught her unawares, but in my excitement three of the four arrows flew wide and the arrow that did not found its mark poorly, only grazing the irate mage.

I expected a barrage of spells to be flung at me, but she fled off of the wooden platform she was standing on and out of sight down a ramp, giving me no choice but to follow. The wooden platform was really a small tower built into the excavation pit, but I while I could see pickaxes and refuse around the base of the tower, I saw no mage and no Scamps. I contemplated retreating back to the entrance of the cave and recasting my protective spells, but Scamps are cowardly, weak creatures and it seemed the mage was limited to summoning them, so I wasn't very worried about her either.

The bottom of the pit only had three exits: two doors and the ramp I had just come down. One door was open, but only led to a lake. The water should have been still, but evidently someone or something had dove into the lake and out of sight. The second door was locked and I took a moment to reactivate my protective enchantments before magically unlocking it. As soon as I pushed it open a whole bunch of Scamps ran out of the room, past me, and through the door leading to the lake. A multitude of splashes followed and here I was thinking they could not swim.

The angry mage used the distraction to her best advantage, hitting me with a spell that began to rapidly sap me of energy. Spells that fatigue are rarely strong enough to put someone to sleep and usually do not last very long. Panicking can sap more energy than the actual spell and I calmly stepped backwards out of the doorway and leaned against the raw stone wall as the spell wore off.

I guess she thought I had run away up the tower, for she charged out of the room, dagger in hand. She must have been quite surprised to receive a shield to the face, which I followed up with my sword between her ribs, another depressingly quick combat over and done with. Or so I thought, but I'm getting ahead of myself again.

The room seemed to serve as a workshop and bedroom, several tables loaded with books and alchemy equipment lined one side and two cots and a few smaller tables on the other. The alchemy equipment would have proved useful to me, but the calcinator and alembic, while of decent quality, were too heavy and bulky to take with me. This point was driven home a little later.

There was a small journal written by "Elante" who may have been the mage that I killed. Most of it was unhelpful, just rants about the Mages Guild and a second mage named Badama, whom Elante blamed for her project's failures. The writing became a lot more useful towards then end as she described the project I had interrupted. Elante seemed to think that this cave led to a tomb of great treasure and had been using the Scamps as slave labor. The Scamp at the entrance of the cave had been killed by Elante after it tried to escape and the journal did detail the remaining Scamps' attempts to hurl themselves into the lake once it had been uncovered. The journal ended there, with no information as to where this "Badama" was now. It seemed I had no choice but to follow the Scamps if I wanted to satiate my curiosity. Elante had been kind enough to leave several flasks of Water Breathing on one of the tables.

The Scamps weren't as smart. The lake was the opening to an underwater tunnel and all of the Scamps had drowned while trying to swim through it. Good riddance. I had no issues, courtesy of the flasks and the tunnel ended at another lake, this one occupied by the debris from a collapsed Daedric shrine.and the corpse of either Badama or Elante, floating gently among the ruins.

Had it not been for the dead mage, I might have made the same mistake she had, for stalking around the the lake was a Daedroth, waiting for me to surface. I did not have enough magicka to cast my own water breathing spell and I wasn't sure what would happen if I uncorked a water breathing potion while in the water, so I surfaced, bracing myself for the attack. I expected the Daedroth to expend its spells first, as they normally do, but this one was content to leer at me as it waited, probably having expended all of its magicka against the late mage.

The creature seemed in no hurry, so I took a moment to renew the protective enchantments and reviewed the surrounding area. I could see a chest and a potion set upon a large stone block behind the Daedroth, but little else. The Daedroth did not seem as skilled as his brethren in the Ashland caves and I realized he was a summoned Daedra when he expired in a flash of light and electrically charged air as my spear pierced his heart. The dead mage must have not been skilled enough to summon a stronger Daedroth and weak enough to lose control over the one she did manage to find, losing her life to the irritated creature after it turned on her. I felt a bit cheated, Daedra hearts are quite valuable as alchemy ingredients.

As is usual for Morrowind, the chest contained almost nothing of interest, the exception being a large, Daedric-looking key, which I took. The key shared space inside the chest with several books and mundane jewelry, which I left to molder. A second pathway ran from the lake's shore and to a very large ornate door, which I thought would lead deeper into the Daedric-looking ruins.

The key from the chest fit into the lock set into the center of the door and it swung open ponderously, but the deadly guardian within sprung at me before the door was fully open, catching me completely by surprise.

Golden Saints are under the command of Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness and in Elsweyr is known as the Skooma Cat, child of Anu the Everything. Not having been raised in Elsweyr, I don't know much more than that, but Golden Saints are among the most skilled and dangerous opponents any adventurer might face. Certainly I never expected to see one in my lifetime, reasoning that if I did, my remaining lifetime would be measured in minutes...if I was lucky.

And I was, of course, or I would not be writing this journal entry. The Golden Saint was armed with a very valuable Glass longsword and shield and was very adept at wielding both. I might have gotten one out of every eight strikes past its (her?) guard and she got far more than that past mine. By the time it fell, my armor was heavily damaged from the heavy strikes of the glass sword and I felt like I was going to pass out. The glass equipment was valuable, but cumbersome, and I left it on the Saint's body, though I later moved the sword and shield inside the tomb.

The door did not lead into a Daedric shrine as I expected, but a richly decorated tomb for a long-dead warrior or king. At the time I barely noticed any of the treasures, instead stumbling into the tomb and crashing to the ground, managing to drink one weak health restoration potion before unconsciousness claimed me.

I don't know how long I laid in the tomb between the two corpses, but my blood had dried into my fur by the time I woke, though the bleeding had stopped and I felt well enough to take my first real look at what my combat had won for me.

The tomb was full of treasure! Enough that had I been able to cart all of it away I could retire to any province a rich Khajiit and never have to risk my life ever again. But this is Morrowind and she delights in cruel taunts. There were several chests and urns in the tomb, some magical scrolls of decent strength, which I took, and others with gold and gemstones, also taken.

The real treasure was the Daedric battle axe, staff, full helm, and shield, the collection worth a villa in Cyrodiil at the very least. Like the spear at Berandas, each weighed far more than their size suggested, the helm liable to shatter my skull or collarbone were I able to fit my Khajiit head inside of it. The battle axe and shield were similarily out of the question: with two hands I could just barely shift either upon the tomb's altar, picking them up would have been out of the question on my best days, of which this one was not. The staff alone proved light enough to wield, but I have no use for a staff and it is very cumbersome to carry, so it too remains in the tomb. There was also a large silver and white shield hanging over the altar, but it was too high for me to reach.

Eight skulls adorned the tomb, each with a silver dagger plunged into their foreheads. The daggers seemed in fine condition, but the first dagger I removed summoned a spirit similar to the ones Dunmer use to guard their ancestral tombs. Weak as I was, a spirit was just no match after the Golden Saint, but the daggers were not worth the aggravation and I left the remaining seven where they were.

And that was the inventory of the tomb's treasure. I probably carried out less than five percent of the total wealth, but most of the equipment is worthless without any ability to ship the rest of the treasure to an Imperial province where the merchants are richer. The tomb contains enough value to enable me to retire from this life forever, but Morrowind is not the place to sell such things. The Golden Saint's glass sword and shield could  be sold with some effort, but I contented myself with the Septims and gemstones, I do not have the time to seek a buyer for the equipment. Let it be my offering to the tomb's owner in exchange for his diamonds and rubies.

I left the key in the tomb and magically locked the tomb's door behind me as I stumbled into the lake, quaffing a Water Breathing potion and sinking gratefully into the lake, a brownish-pink haze trailing behind me as the blood washed out of my fur and armor. I surfaced back at the excavation camp no less exhausted and claimed the one of the mages' hammocks as my own.

I have no way of knowing what time of day it is and right now I don't care. I've magically locked the flimsy gate leading to the workshop and am about to settle in for a good night's, or day's, sleep.