Chapter Text
It couldn’t be said that throughout Murandis’ exceptionally long life, he hadn’t made a mistake or two.
The first mistake, without a doubt, had been abandoning his post amongst his mazken peers; his position upon Nocturnal’s personal force of guards. He hadn’t realized it was a mistake at the time. Didn’t realize it for a couple thousand years afterwards, either. But when he’d found himself laying in the mud in some dark corner of Black Marsh hardly a year and a half ago, being stared down by half a dozen wraiths-of-crows with a message for him, he’d realized: maybe he should’ve said something before he stepped out. Left a note, perhaps.
The next few hundred years or so after his Original Mistake were littered with a few more mistakes, here and there. There was the time he’d fallen asleep without putting out his campfire, and that had led to the whole great burn or whatever they’d called it, and he was very certain he was going to get in trouble for that one, but for some reason the Imperial Legion seemed pretty convinced that was their fault. Or perhaps, the time he’d met some new friends while a little too drunk, and they’d voted on breaking off from their guild, starting a new one–and he only realized a few days later he’d voted in favor of beginning the first branch of the Dark Brotherhood. Or, really, maybe half of the things he got up to around the time of the Oblivion crisis. That–that was all just embarrassing.
During each of these events, there had been A Moment. A Moment where he realized he’d fucked up. A Moment where he thought about what he was doing, and how maybe, he should re-evaluate his priorities. A Moment where he had to take a good, hard look at how he’d gotten there–and how to avoid it happening in the future.
He was having one of those moments right now.
The ruined city of Saarthal was an archaeological marvel, if one was into that sort of thing. It was the site of the first city built by Atmorans on the whole of Tamriel. That had to count for something, right? Sure, nowadays it was little more than the stones peeking out of the metric fuck ton of snow and the ruins of a city that had been burned out of spite, but… The history. The gods-be-damned history. Carved into every fucking stone, or whatever. Oh, all the pieces and shards of pottery, oh the old rusted cutlery, oh the... really old rocks.
Unfortunately, Murray couldn’t really appreciate all that history at the moment; he was too busy freezing his testicles off.
He’d tried his best to prepare for the trip out here. His bag was chock full of supplies for food, and warmth, and rest. They’d planned out their route to get here carefully, keeping to the least unbelievably risky trails, relatively speaking. He’d even stolen half the coats from half the faculty at the college, and had been putting more and more of those coats on the more the temperature seemed to drop–nevermind how Lydia kept insisting it was exactly as cold as it had been an hour ago. She was wrong. He could feel it, dammit.
Ah, Lydia. The one saving grace in this entire stupid-ass decision. He didn’t know why Osprey had such a problem with her; she seemed like a competent, upstanding individual.
That very same Lydia was standing beside him, bundled in only a mild fur coat, a fur cylindrical hat perched on her head as if she were immune to the very cold itself. She was standing with her shield held in front of her, her sword on her hip, looking like a guardian statue–in stark contrast to Murray, who was well-aware he looked like a fabric atronach. The two of them had been standing in that spot for about three minutes now, watching as two teenage wizards tried to figure out how in the gods-be-damned fuck to actually break into the deeper reaches of the dangerous ruin.
The faculty, it turned out, had been intelligent enough to secure their priceless site with more than just a physical lock.
“This is bullshit.” Sybil snarled, throwing up her hands and pacing away from the door as Aremi studied the spell keeping it shut. “It’s bullshit! It's like they don’t want us doing ANYTHING.”
“How unfortunate.” Lydia deadpanned lowly. That put a little flicker of a smile on Murray’s face. It was nice, having someone who voiced the exact sort of incredulous unhappiness he seemed to be feeling when faced with this sort of neverending horse piss. Felt… Cathartic.
“Lydia,” he sighed, watching as Aremi held up her hands, beginning to chant lowly under her breath, pinpricks of magic forming at her fingertips, “I’ve got to admit. I’m really starting to rethink this decision. You know.” He turned to look at her from the narrow slit between his hood, and his hat, and his scarves. “Coming out here.”
“What changed your mind?” Lydia asked blythely. “Was it the knife like wind? The way your very sweat freezes on your brow? The wisdom of breaking into a ruin rumored to once be the fortress of Shalidor himself?” she looked over, raising a brow as her eyes darted down to his feet before coming back up to his face. “Or is it that sinking feeling that these kids are going to get us killed?”
“You’d think it would be the last one,” Murray said, “but it’s mostly that I can neither feel my hands, nor feet.”
“Oh pfft,” Lydia blew a raspberry at him. “Come now, you’ve suffered worse I’m sure. A little numbness builds character. Like eating dirt as a child.”
“Yes, but…” Murray’s face squinched up. “What if I don’t want character? What if i’d rather not be miles from civilization? What if–” He turned more towards her, leaning in a touch. “And, just imagine this with me, now–imagine the warmth of a fire. How nice that would be. …And, like–a chair. With a cushion.”
“I’ve never sat in a chair with a cushion in my life.” Lydia lied. “Is it nice?”
“It is a luxury unlike anything else, ser Winterweary,” Murray said somberly. “You’ve got to give it a try, at least once–so you, too, can have some frame of reference for how fuck-awful being here is–”
And that is when he heard the sound of shattering, and Aremi made a pleased noise. “Door’s open!” the telvanni called, smiling off towards Sybil.
“Aremi you are brilliant!” Sybil said, bouncing light spells into the air one by one. “Alright. You both ready to get out of the snow?”
“We’re leaving for Elswyer?” Lydia asked, Sybil looking over and giving her a dirty look.
“Elsweyr’s nice this time of year, grown woman,” Murray said. “You can wear shirts without sleeves.” He looked morosely over to the door of the ruin… And let out a long, dramatic sigh. “But I suppose this will have to do in the mean time…”
And with that, he trudged his way forward, through snow up to his knees. Anything to get out of the outdoors.
The lights bounced about the ruin, floating along long abandoned carvings and deep tunnels that twisted into the earth. “According to the notes I stole from Tolfdir,” Sybil said, digging papers of out of her bag. “They aren’t sure what the function of this crypt was, but it seems like it had been in the center of the city.” Sybil explained, reading the notes. “Tolfy thinks that it houses something very important.”
“Tolfy?” Murray asked, squinting at the girl’s back. The halls of the ancient crypt weren’t much warmer than the outside, and certainly moister… But at least he didn’t have to deal with the damn wind, here. His gaze flicked over to Aremi as she began to inspect carvings on the walls, brazenly wiping dust from them to uncover whatever she wanted to see.
“Hey, at least I didn’t call him Toe-nir.” Sybil said, looking over at Murray as her dancing lights illuminated the walls.
Lydia looked on edge, her eyes darting left and right as she listened for any signs of hostile undead. She was nervous. Good. She should be nervous. Murray was nervous, too. He was always nervous when he was in a crypt. Historically, those nerves had served him very, very well. Especially in Morrowind.
The crypts were a bitch in Morrowind.
“So–remind me again, little mage,” he sighed, only speaking once he was fairly sure this initial chamber was devoid of draugr. …Honestly, it was a pretty unremarkable chamber, overall. Funny, for such a rare and revered find. “What was it that’s supposed to be in here, again?”
“We aren’t sure,” Sybil said as she inspected the murals that lined the walls. She walked along them, squinting at each one as if it held the secrets of the universe. “What we know is whatever they have found here was significant.” Sybil told him as she paused, dipping down to pick up and inspect a little golden ring. “That the magical energy is off the charts in this ruin, to the point where they could detect it even when it was deep within the ice.”
“Oh, yeah, I can tell,” Murray muttered. He had spotted a door, and could practically hear the siren call of more magic bullshit emanating from it. Surely, it headed further down. “Magicky as can be, this place. All these old rocks, just–saturated.”
He took a moment to really look around at all these… Not terribly saturated rocks. They didn’t even feel mystical. Just felt like… Rocks. After a moment, he shuffled closer to the girl as he glanced around warily, and added: “…May I ask another question of you, little mage?”
“If you must,” Sybil sighed, not looking away from the old pictograms she was squinting at as the enchanted ring danced over her fingers like a coin. Murray took a moment to figure out how to best word his question, then settled on a good old reliable:
“...Why.”
“Because.” Sybil leaned back, squinting towards the door to the chamber where Lydia was following around Aremi- as if she could really stop the girl from whatever looting she was going to do. A right terror that one. “Because I need secrets, Murr. I need secrets to sell.” Sybil whispered, looking back up the mural. “I need to find something so big that I can trade it for... for things... and stuff.” she answered lamely, looking over at him for a moment. There was a brief moment where he thought she was going to continue- and then she turned and started to powerwalk towards the bullshit-magical-fuck off door.
Damnit. Chickened out, did she? Answered just enough to put him on edge, and then skittered away like a nervous little duckling waddling away in those robes that were at least four sizes too big and probably would fit on a grown man Murray’s size. “Oooh, no,” Murray said, starting to shuffle off after her. “Nooo, you don’t get to end on that. Little miss, do get back here!”
“S’nothin.” Sybil said, inspecting a necklace and amulet on some sort of big display on the wall. It was like it was a museum. Did they even have those in Skyrim? “Besides, why are you worried about it? You gotta handle your shit with Oss anyways.” Sybil shrugged, picking up the necklace with one hand. Suddenly the ‘SHHRK’ of the two of them getting isolated from Lydia and Aremi by thick iron bars caused both of them to stop in their tracks. “Shit.” Sybil whispered, frowning.
Murray stared at the bars, wide-eyed… Then slowly looked over to Sybil, a little leer appearing on his face. “This is a valuable lesson to remember for the future, grown woman,” he said evenly as Aremi approached, a curious look on her face.
“Well,” the Telvanni teenager said as she examined the bars, “How did you manage this, seer-girl?”
“I didn’t foresee that lifting this-” Sybil lifted the amulet in her hands. “Would cause that.” Sybil gestured with it to the bars before hanging it back up.
They waited a moment.
They waited another.
Murray twitched.
Sybil frowned.
Nothing happened.
Sybil started to pace the space.
Murray ran his hand down his face and took a breath.
“Shit.” Sybil hissed, squinting as she inspected the bars. “Hey Aremi, can you portal us out of here?”
Aremi squinted. Let out a hum. Oh, she was thinking about it. Why was she thinking about it? This seemed like the sort of thing you shouldn’t need to think about. Real obvious answer sort of situation. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head. “No, think we’ll have to find another way around.”
That was not the obvious answer, which displeased Murray greatly. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because. Actions have consequences, and if you simply portal your way out of them, you never learn. This seems like a valuable lesson in picking strange things up uninhibited,” Aremi explained. As she started away from the bars, Murray started to regret having said roughly the same thing only a minute or so before. “I’m sure we’ll find another way around!”
Sybil hucked the golden ring at Aremi, plunking it off the back of her head. “Arsehole!” Sybil snarled, pressing herself up against the bars like a feral animal. Lydia was looking at her, expressionless. She looked up to Murray, raising a single brow.
And oh what that raised brow had to say. It said ‘why do we put up with this?’ and ‘good luck being trapped in a ten foot cube with a walking bomb.’ and ‘we’re not paid enough for this.’ and Lydia was RIGHT! Murray wasn’t being paid for this at all, which was a damn travesty. He was just here out of the goodness of his own damn heart. Like a fool!
“NYYYEEGHH,” Sybil grunted, trying to grab for Lydia.
When that didn’t work, cursing her wee limbs, Sybil pushed off the bars and started to pace the length of it as Aremi fetched her basket, spreading out a little blanket and starting to unwrap some sort of container. “You can do it Seer-girl, I believe in you.” She said blythely as she poured something thick and greasy on whatever was in the container. Sybil fixed her with a look, letting out a puff–which Aremi didn’t even seem to notice, instead looking up to Lydia. “Would you like some, ser Winterweary?”
Lydia looked over, then sat down. “Yeah, I would enjoy that..what is it?”
“Dunmer delicacy,” Aremi said, offering it to her. “Like your cheese, but far better.”
‘I want scuttleeeeee,” Sybil bounced up and down, pressing herself to the bars again and making whining noises like a whiny dog. Murray watched her, putting his hand over his mouth. It would be funny, if they weren’t trapped like rats. Sybil let out a puff and marched to beside murray, flexing her hands. He sucked in a breath, grimacing as magicka started to dance along her skin.
She spun her hands in a circle. A whirl of magic spun into a portal- but not... not a right one. It was warbly, like stained glass that was melting. Murray... Murray didn’t trust like that.
“Fuck.” Sybil sighed, letting the spell go. “I am so shite at portals.” Sybil fussed, stomping her foot a little bit. “Okay... okay.” She sucked in a breath and paced to the other side of the room. She grabbed the display, planting a foot on the wall and trying to haul herself backwards with all of her might. She let out an unholy screech more befitting a wraith of crows, waggling herself back and forth like an angry chimpanzee.
Murray watched, quiet, unimpressed. He waited until she could screech no more before speaking. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” he offered. She got her other foot on the wall, holding herself up by rage and spite alone. She let out a screech and dropped to the floor with a undignified thump. “...Nnnope,” Murray continued. “Solid try, though.”
“You might have to just see if there’s another way around, Sybil,” Aremi called. “I trust it will be safe, considering you have Murray here to protect you.”
Sybil stared up at the ceiling. “You hate me.” She said quietly, Murray standing over her and leaning slightly to stare down at her. She glared up at him. “I’m gonna put on the magicked ass amulet.”
“That seems like a fairly terrible idea,” Murray said. “Have you considered, instead, just… Telling Aremi you don’t like this, instead of taking all of us down in a horrible blaze of questionable magic?”
Sybil sat up, lifted the amulet in question, and dropped it over her head. It stopped mid fall, floating in the air as if floating in water- and there was rumbling from the wall as the display crumbled away into nothingness. Sybil looked at it, raising her brows- and then the bars slid back into their homes under ground and the girl whipped over as a wide smile stretched her face. She looked up at Murray with the same wide grin, like everything was coming up seer-girl.
Murray sighed, a little perturbed at this turn of fate. This girl was going to get so many curses if she wasn’t careful.
“Oh, see?” Evidently Aremi wasn’t quite as perturbed, judging by the pleasant smile on her face as she regarded Sybil. She didn’t move from where she was sitting, either, clearly intent on finishing her scuttle-on-toast. “Knew you’d figure it out. Awfully curious, though - I do wonder what significance the amulet has to how this place operates.” She tilted her head as Sybil got fully to her feet. “Do you think it might open other doors? What magic is it enchanted with?”
“No idea,” Sybil said, getting up. She dusted herself off, and instead of going and getting some of the scuttle she had been bemoaning before she was right off inspecting the newly opened door that had been hiding behind the amulet’s display. “Would you look at that.” She said quietly, letting out a soft little hum.
“Seer-girl,” Aremi admonished, giving her an amused little smirk. “Surely they would have mentioned something about this in the lectures you always pay such close attention to, yes?”
“And you know I don’t take to enchanting,” Sybil said, inspecting the new doorway. “Slept through most of it, much more interested in alchemy,” Sybil hummed and took off the amulet, holding it out. It seemed to flow on the air, as if a current of water was pulling it through the doorway. “But that, that right there is very interesting.” Sybil pointed at the amulet in her other hand, waggling her brows.
“You’re going to follow it, aren’t you,” Murray muttered lowly, staring at that amulet like it had personally offended him. Which, for all intents, it might as well have.
“Of course!” Sybil said, stepping over the cracked and crumbled rubble that used to be the display. Ah, yes. Off she fucked. Not waiting for another heartbeat. “Nothing gained if you don’t explore, or something... Whatever.” Sybil called. “S’okay though if you don't want to come along Murr, you can be a big chicken over by Lydia and her big sword.”
Murray put his hands on his hips. He would have loved to be a big chicken, but un-fucking-fortunately, a fifteen-year-old was venturing further into highly dangerous ruins, and he simply couldn’t abide that. …Plus, it looked like Lydia was getting up to follow her, like a responsible individual. Gods be damned. “You could at least wait for Aremi to finish her lunch,” he grumbled, ignoring that the Telvanni was reluctantly on her way over, too, as he stepped past rubble to follow after the little breton.
The space was a little more cramped, a little more tight as they wove through a series of tunnels that seemed to twist and turn like the guts of a great beast. Murray was about four steps behind Sybil, and Lydia another six behind him, with Aremi making up the rear. “Now this, this is promising.” Sybil said as she stepped into a much larger chamber. In the center was a dias, raised with a desk like altar covered in ancient rotten candles and a variety of magical tat.
Murray didn’t care for the look of magical tat.
“So, how big are we talking, in terms of… Magical, uh, secrets?” He asked as he watched Aremi close her eyes and raise her hands, muttering under her breath as she began to cast a spell that he could only feel at the edge of his consciousness. He looked over to Sybil, raising a brow. “Like… A rare daedric artifact, oooor something that’s not been seen in an era or two, or…?”
“Big secrets, the kind that could be traded for anything you want.” Sybil told him, crawling over some rubble as she inspected the dais. She tilted her head, circling it like vulture. “The kind that would make even herma mora shit his tentacles.”
Murray blinked. What? Why?
Just as he opened his mouth to ask that very question once again, Sybil came around to a crypt, staring up at it for a moment. “You think the corpses here have anything of value on them, murr?”
Actually, yes. Yes, that was something Murray had quite a few thoughts on, and several centuries of experience in graverobbing to back him up. He shifted on his feet, getting ready to give her a solid answer; to tell her how they were unlikely to find much of direct value given the age of the place, but the historical value would probably earn a pretty price tag to a few pieces in here, provided they were able to transport it carefully–
And then Sybil, without waiting for so much as a fucking second, started to try and pry open the crypt door by force- despite the fact it was standing vertically and if it just opened she’d be crushed. Murray’s jaw snapped shut and he rushed forward in a hurry, the words ‘LITTLE MAGE,’ falling from his mouth without him even realizing as he shoved his entire body against the stone slab. It was a small miracle that, even with his relatively slight frame, he still was a good bit stronger than Sybil, noodly little thing that she was. Thank fuck she didn’t have her da’s ridiculous muscles.
“Little mage,” he repeated as Lydia and Aremi moved to see what was going on, “you will be the death of me.”
Sybil just looked at him with the most disgruntled frown he had ever seen on a human face.
“Murray.” Sybil said. “I want this crypt open. I want to rob it.” she said plainly, giving the door another yank as he shoved it again.
“Sybil,” Murray said, “I want this little mage unsmooshed. I want her alive. Do–” he gestured quickly between the girl and the slab, “do you see the issue, here? In terms of smooshing? Because I do. And I don’t like it.”
“The fuck is a smooshing?” Sybil asked, gesturing to him. “I’m gonna open it sideways. Xan does it all the time.”
“Xantos is absurdly muscular, like some kind of bear-man-hybrid,” Murray pointed out. “If you tried to do it, you’d manage to get it off-kilter, maybe, more likely you’d just pull it towards yourself, and then? Sybil pancake. And then? Xantos would use those stupid bear-man-hybrid muscles to cave my skull in just by squeezing it.” He shook his head vigorously. “No. Nuh-uh. No sir. I value my skull.”
Sybil put her hands on her hips, staring up at him with a dead eye’d stare that reminded him too much of Osprey. “How do you suggest we get it open then?” she asked, gesturing to it with her hand.
“Well, ideally, you go for the horizontal–”
And then, with a flick of her wrist, Aremi simply lifted the thing with telekinesis, the stone slab grinding against the ground as it was moved to the side–resulting in Murray stumbling backwards into the crypt. This was punctuated by a whoop of delight by Sybil and an exasperated sigh from Lydia.
Luckily, Murray didn’t make it all the way to the ground. There was a set of dry, crunchy hands there to catch him.
Wait, fuck, oh no.
“Hello. Welcome to the Grand Tombs of Sarthal, Great Priest and accompanying guests.” Murray had hardly waited half a second before he was trying to wrench his way out of the grip of the–why was this damn draugr so strong? He could literally see its skin flaking off. He was getting vice-gripped by walking, talking, papier mache. Its voice rasped out once again, positively crispy. Ghostly. “Is there something I can assist you with today?”
“WHAT the fuck is going on? What? What?” Murray snapped, reaching for Sybil, who was staring at the creature with bright eyes and an insufferable wide grin on her face. By god, Murray was going to die to a polite draugr, and she was loving it. He couldn’t fucking believe it. “Sybil! Sybil! Help me!”
“We would like to tour the tombs of Saarthal and learn the history of our forebears!” Sybil said excitedly, grabbing Murray by the arm and wiggling it slightly. No help at all. He was fucked. “If you’d please, ser.”
“What the fuck,” Aremi said, a low chuckle in her voice as she tilted her head curiously at the draugr. “I thought draugr were supposed to be… Less accommodating, if memory serves?”
“It’s going to accommodate my brain right out of my skull!” Murray barked. “Lydia!!”
Lydia had her shield out and had grabbed the front of Murray’s robe, ready to pull him out of the creature’s grasp if it stopped being friendly at all. She didn’t say anything though, just had those brown eyes locked on the creature as it regarded Sybil with its flickering blue flames–even as Murray tried to drag himself along Lydia’s arm and to freedom.
The draugr seemingly didn’t hear his or Aremi’s words, though it did release him–Murray falling into Lydia–before simply inclining its head at the breton. “I shall do my utmost to assist as I have been bade upon my being sealed here.”
“Excellent, please lead the way.” Sybil said as she gestured towards the newly opened path. “What may I refer to you as, my guide?”
“I am Jyrik Gauldurson, Priest.” The draugr explained, turning and leading the way in a soft shuffle. Sybil looked back at Aremi, Lydia, and Murray with a big grin and a waggle of her brows as she then turned to follow this walking dead creature. Murray did not immediately follow, instead simply staring after the two of them. Nocturnal was fucking with him, right now. He was so, so sure of it. “Firstborn of the Gauldursons, and the fading remains of these Grand Tombs are my prison.”
“I see, is this a punishment for some sort of err?” Sybil asked the dragur, following it as it led the group down more winding tunnels and into a great room filled with hundreds of coffins lining the walls around them, and above them, and as Murray looked down- below them too. It was like they were in a veritable orb of corpse.
“My brothers and I sought to take what was our father’s for our own, Priest, and King Harald and his men had us struck down and our names taken from all the Eddas.” Sybil nodded, keeping pace with the tall draugr. “So The High King’s mage split its power and bound us separately. What you do with this is your doing, Priest. I know not where my brothers lay, for I cannot read now that I no longer breathe.”
“Is this the first time this ruin has been disturbed like this?” Sybil asked, looking around the room as she paused. “Am I the first priest to return to this place after it had been buried in the snow?”
“Though I had not awoken, this is not the first time that the Grand Temple has had interlopers within.” For a moment, the draugr’s eyes flared red before returning to their icy blue. “Shalidor decided that it would be a boon to hide some little trinkets of his in one of the minor crypts, and then interlopers looked further. It isn’t all bad, I suppose. Fuel is fuel for our forms no matter why they throw themselves to die upon our blades.”
Murray, roughly ten feet behind the draugr, was pulling a rather unhappy face. He looked over at Lydia, the picture of discomfort. Lydia was stoic, but her mouth was pulled into a thin displeased line as she watched Sybil charge forward, Aremi quite close on her heels. “This–this is fucking weird, right?” he asked in a low voice. “Feel like it’s not supposed to go like this. All historical precedence suggests as much.”
“I have a bad feeling about this.” Lydia whispered, looking finally at Murray. “Keep sharp.”
“Don’t think I could do otherwise if I tried,” Murray muttered, his eyes returning to the draugr and the little mage.
The draugr, the Jyrik Gauldurson of adventuring legends, the tomb that those who dive into these hellholes for profit whisper about, was leading them deeper into a winding set of tunnels and tombs that were filled with hundreds, if not thousands of draugr. And this did not seem to phase Sybil in the slightest. No. if anything she seemed delighted by it all as she twist and wound her way down deeper and deeper, Aremi beside her as they interrogated the Draugr who was probably leading them to their doom.
Lydia, bless her soul and everything about her, had chalk, and every time they went down a new tunnel she’d make a mark pointing which way they came. So long as a little goblin didn't come by and switch round all the marks while insulting their mothers, they’d be peachy keen to escape unharmed. That was smart. Murray appreciated just how smart Lydia was. It made him feel like, perhaps, he wasn’t about to have his skin pulled from his bones like taffy being stretched away from a… A… Taffy-stretcher.
“Sybil,” he said during a brief interlude between the draugr’s talking and the little mage’s endless questions. He’d taken the opportunity to hurry over to her, and was speaking in hushed tones. “Sybil, what if this is a trap?”
“Then we fight our way out of it.” Sybil said plainly as the draugr spoke of the warriors ready for the return of the great and almighty dragon king. “If we get stuck, Aremi portals us out, she’s got a recall to her tower.” Sybil looked at Murray sidelong, a little smile on her face. “You thought we were unprepared, didn’t you?”
“Well, your solution is to fight your way out, so… Yes,” Murray said, his worried little frown worsening. “That’s rather dangerous, Sybil, especially for…” He trailed off. Nope. Couldn’t bring up her age. He’d only known Sybil for a short amount of time, but he’d figured out fairly quickly that mentioning she was still a child was a great way to make her double down. “Well–i’d rather we not throw ourselves into danger, you see?”
Sybil gave him an incredulous look. “Of course my first plan is to fight my way out, have you met the man who trained me?”
Murray squinted. “Would you call him a particularly… Wise individual, though? Forgive the rudeness, grown woman, but he is kind of–” He rolled one hand on its wrist, “the sort who tends to… Throw himself into things that get him, slightly… Stabbed, for instance.”
“I’m smarter. I won’t get stabbed.” Sybil sounded smug, like this was the perfect counter argument. Murray looked back to Lydia who just barely shook her head. It wasn’t worth it. He’d make himself blue in the face that little shake said, she had tried already it said. He took a deep breath, his mouth drawing into a thin line. He… Was experienced, dealing with people who were too stubborn in choosing the stupid option. By the gods, just look at Osprey. It was practically her whole modus operandi.
And because of this, he knew just what to do.
“...Very well, little mage,” he sighed, straightening up.
Simply let her continue, then save her ass if it came to that.
This netted him a thumbs up from Lydia, which felt like a win somehow.
The lot of them filtered into the next chamber: a massive, grandiose thing, surely some sort of temple center where they did… Temple things. Or… Maybe some sort of fight pit? Murray had seen a few like this. Colloseums, and whatnot. Regardless, he was fairly certain there was some sort of ritual sacrifice involved here.
As Sybil spoke to the draugr–who waited patiently as she began to inspect the inner workings of the room–Murray did a once-over of their little gang. Lydia was standing stalwart as always, and when her gaze wasn’t on the draugr, she was keeping a weather eye out for other sorts of danger. Aremi–well, fucking hell, Aremi was perusing ancient texts carefully preserved on distant shelves like she was sorting through the ‘used’ section of a bookstore. Gods, Telvanni really just couldn’t help but be Like That, could they? Shaking his head, he wandered over to Sybil once again–who, frankly, he wasn’t entirely certain was actually listening to the draugr’s rambling.
“How’s that happen, anyway?” he asked. “You, getting adopted by… Ashborne.” He glanced at her, squinting. “From what I understand he’s not really the sort to kidnap kids, and if you picked him, well, I would’ve expected you to go for a surrogate father figure who was less…”
Impulsive. Violent. Completely confounded by magic.
“...Prone to getting stabbed.”
Sybil looked over at Murray, snorting a little bit. “S’not like I had a choice. You don’t get to choose family.” She said as they followed the draugr from display to display. “It was him, or it was taking a long walk off a short cliff.” she shrugged. “I chose t’ live. Xantos was a means to an end.”
“Well that’s… Dark,” Murray said, raising a brow at the girl.
“Murray,” Sybil said, turning her full attention to him. “Would someone with a happy childhood be like- like this?” she motioned to herself, from foot to top, raising her brows incredulously at him to pour vinegar on the point. Murray only gave a little hum and a shrug, deciding not to argue the point. “I know I’ve mentioned I was set to be married off, and that I left because of it.” Sybil looked back to the Draugr, who was talking about the history of Atmora. “Did you think that someone in a tiny little village in the reach had a lot of opportunity to leave?”
“I’ll be completely honest, little mage,” Murray said, “I hadn’t put much thought towards all that, one way or another.”
“Well, let me set the scene then.” Sybil said, looking at Murray with a sidelong look that was filled with so much disgust he might have thought it was directed towards him if it hadn’t been refocused on her own hands. “A little family of bretons lives in the mountains, in a village with about two hundred people clinging to the side of a crumbling cliff.” Sybil started, looking up at one of the murals the draugr was explaining. “You work, day in, and day out, the girl children are not exempt from this, in a town of that size everyone works no matter how old you are. The father worked the mines until he threw out his back, the mother was a washer woman until she died of treatable infection.” Sybil was standing in front of a mural depicting sweeping mountains with dragons over head, her eyes locked on it.
Murray hummed, moving to look up at the mural as well. He wondered if the girl’d had many chances to actually talk about it all. Didn’t much seem like it.
“The eldest daughter married well, bringing the family into the fold of the man who owned the mines, the youngest was a disappointing weirdo.” she continued. “She got to visit markarth twice a year once her father was put in charge of selling the ore that was pulled from the depths of the mine, but other than that the little disappointing weirdo’s entire world was one village, the ten miles of wilderness around it, and raising her sister’s children while her sister fucked every man who would look at her.” Sybil went quiet, taking a breath.
Oh yes. Definitely hadn’t talked about it. Murray glanced over to where Aremi was explaining the contents of some ancient tome to Lydia; he wondered if she’d even told the other little magelet.
“The girl explored those ten miles, made plans, had ideas. She learned about the herbs and the plants, and she tried to teach herself how to survive. She even showed signs of magical talent, little visions that kept her safe, kept her sister safe when she would care to listen.” Sybil explained, fidgeting with her hands. “But it was always overshadowed by babies and toddlers and children pulling on her every free second, by being hit when she didn’t do the cleaning in the exact way it was demanded of her, of being grabbed and groped every time she went to market- suffering comments about how valuable she was as if she was meat.” Sybil took a breath, looking down again. “But at least she got to go to the woods right? Got to sit out in the cold wet and contemplate how her entire life was hurtling to be sold to the highest bidder, forced to carry babies she didn’t want, to clean and cook and care for some cunt she didn’t even like.”
“As it tends to be,” Murray said, nodding vaguely.
“One day that girl finds an abandoned temple, deep in the mountains.” Sybil continued, moving to the next mural. It depicted a dragon and a man, with a mask between them. Like it was the tool of uplifting ones self. “Its deep in the mountain, deeper than the girl had gone. It had a big monument, you probably saw something similar while traveling with Osprey right? Big, curved, carved with runes.” Sybil explained, looking to Murray.
“The dragon walls, yes,” Murray said.
“This one was broken. And around it grew all sorts of slimy black molds and stringy green slimes.” Sybil explained, “like it had been taken over, right of conquest.” She went back to looking at the mural, a depiction of the first ascension of dragon priests in atmora, apparently. The vassals of higher powers, keepers of the peace. “It whispered to her, but not in the dragon’s tongue.” She explained, inspecting the priest depicted in the mural. “And when she touched it? Tentacles, black and green and blue.” She smirked a little bit. “And a world of books. Never had she ever seen so many books. What few books she had were precious to her, little portals to other worlds they were.”
Ah. Murray pursed his lips. He’d know that rot anywhere. “Suppose the herma-mora comment from earlier was more literal than I realized, then,” he said, lowering his voice a touch. A smile just pulled at her mouth, sardonic and tight.
“The girl, the disappointing weirdo, started to go to that little shrine, two- three times a week.” She explained. “This brought the ire of her sister, and her father, and her sister’s family, but what were they going to do about it? They had no idea where she was creeping off to just before dawn, and she always came home as if she had just gone to market.”
“Oooh, little mage,” Murray said, grimacing. “Oh, dear.”
“Eventually, she found a very interesting book.” Sybil explained, moving to the next mural, one depicting the totemic gods. Murray’s face squinched up, that grimace worsening. He knew where this was going. “Did you know that there are ways to change your very soul stuff?”
“Among other things,” Murray said. He crossed his arms, leaning down a little towards the girl. “You didn’t.”
“I never said this was about me.” Sybil told him, putting a hand on her chest and grinning like the cat who had caught the fat pigeon. Murray gave her a flat look. “The girl, this... little disappointing weirdo... had grown up on stories of red eagle, of heroes and monsters and fate.” Sybil explained. “And if you had the chance to change your fate, would you, murr?”
“Well, that is a question highly dependent on context, little mage,” Murray answered, crossing his arms.
“Well you see, when the girl was told they had found her a husband who didn’t mind she was a little weird, one that had decided she was pretty enough with her long curly hair and slight frame, well...” Sybil looked away, back at the mural as her mouth pulled into a frown. “She felt desperate."
Murray exhaled. Desperation and youth. Never a good mix.
“She stole the book about souls, and soul stuff, and time and space and what makes the world.” Sybil explained. “And in that dank cave, in front of that whispering monument, she made a choice. She changed her fate.” Sybil continued, eyes locked on the depiction of Alduin. “And the master of that realm was not pleased that she had done so.” Sybil looked over her shoulder, at Lydia and Aremi. “And he made her a deal. She could repay the debt with something of equal value, as long as it was given before her eighteenth birthday.” Sybil told Murray, following the draugr as it talked about ancient artefacts. “Something secret, something powerful, something old big wiggly wanted but didn’t yet have.”
Murray had to bite his tongue, quite literally. He knew it would be foolish to chastise–for more reasons than one. But, gods, what a decision the girl had made. He counted down. He was used to doing that. With Osprey–and with many others, from ages gone by. Five. Four. Three… “...I see,” he finally managed. “Iii… See.” He took a slow, deep breath. “Which is why we’re here. In an old tomb. Looking for… Fuck-knows-what.”
She looked at him, tilting her head. “The story isn’t over, Murr, it got worse.”
Murray simply looked over at her, looking pained. How many bad decisions did this girl have in her?
“The girl figured that it would be better to live for six years than to be subject to what her family wanted.” Sybil followed as the draugr led them to an armor display, some example of a great enchanter from the city of Saarthal. “She got home that evening, and she was grabbed by her throat and pinned to the wall. She suffered a terrible beating for her insolence, and was told if she went into the woods she would... go missing.” Sybil explained. “But fate works in funny ways, it really does.”
She looked at the armor, appraising it for a moment. She shook her head, not good enough for big wiggly apparently. Gods be damned, Murray wondered what would be. “She had changed her fate afterall, and fate is like a tapestry. Change the color of a single thread and the entire design changes.”
Murray kept his lips sealed tight. Only nodded.
“That evening, after she had made the deal, but before she had gotten home, an adventuring party had rolled into town and spent more money in the tavern than anyone in the town had made within years.” Sybil smiled fondly as she looked at the weapons the draugr was lecturing about- and the techniques to make them. “They rolled in, rough and tumble and violent. Their leader, a big brute of a man, was put in the stocks to calm down.”
“Mm-hm,” Murray hummed. Had she considered a future as a skald? Awfully theatrical, the little thing. …Oh, supposed that answered his question from earlier, didn’t it? He’d almost forgotten about that.
“He was disgusting.” Sybil told Murray. “A horrible wretched thing, drug addled, piss stained, throwup down his chest.” Sybil shuddered, laughing a little bit under his breath. “Gods he was foul, the stocks almost too small for his big stupid thick neck. Ugliest coat you’ve ever seen in your life.”
“Shouldn’t speak of your da that way,” Murray said, only a little sarcastic. She laughed, legitimately laughed, enough to catch Lydia’s attention. She looked over, watching them for a moment, and after determining that Sybil was safe she returned to where Aremi was explaining the ins and out of portal theory.
“Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so drunk that he couldn’t take two steps.” Sybil told Murray. “And that coat is ugly as all hell.” Sybil looked back at the weapons, a big fond smile stuck on her face. “Anyways, its not him because the girl is not me, keep up murray.”
“Of course. Hypothetical girl. Just telling me your latest fictions.” Murray gestured with one hand. “Do go on.”
“Truth in stories, stories in truth.” Sybil told him.
“Little mage, you must decide whether this is about you or not,” Murray said, giving her an incredulous look. “I’m starting to lose the thread.”
“Anyways, she was sent to market with all of her annoying little nibblings.” She continued, after sticking her tongue out at him. “Clinging to her like little bats, chewing on her ankles like little shackles, keeping an eye on her to keep her from running off into the woods to play magician.” Sybil explained. “When this big disgusting brute in the stocks called out to her. She ignored him, of course. But he kept doing it as she delivered the washing, shopped the market, ran her errands.” Sybil moved to the next display, of jewelry.
Murray could practically hear it. He’d heard Xantos call for Osprey like that. Just needed to multiply it by several bottles of mead, probably a rough throat…
“Little girl, kid, kid, kid, girl, girl, lass, lass, lass, little girl, little girl–”
“And he just doesn’t stop until you look at him, does he?” Murray said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You try to walk away, he just follows you–but never close enough to just talk. Only close enough to summon.”
“Well, he was stuck in the stocks, but yes.” Sybil laughed, leaning forward and looking over enchanted amulets. “Finally, after my sister collected her stupid six spawn, I was sent to fetch bread for dinner.” Sybil explained. “And oh, I had a plan. I had such a plan.” Sybil grinned, eyes half lidded. “I’d collected so much nightshade over the months I had been going down into the mountain, I was going to poison my da and I was going to run that night.” Sybil tilted her head. She inspected the ring and raised a brow. “Oh, thats mammoth ivory, a good piece.” she said idly before moving to the next set of murals depicting the founding of Saarthal. Murray watched her go, then glanced at the ring–then at the draugr–
Who was staring straight at him.
Better not. He sighed, moving on after Sybil.
“So I stop, the last time he calls out, and he says ‘lass, hear m’out alright?’ and I look at him.”
“Ah. That’s how he gets you,” Murray said, shaking his head. “All downhill from there.”
She laughed again. “Oh no murr, it was the best thing I ever did.”
“Well, i’m very glad it worked out for you, because it has earned me nothing but trouble.” He took a deep breath. “But, I digress. Please continue.”
“Oh murray, if you weren’t daedric I’d be able to tell you if the trouble was worth it,” Sybil told him, voice low as she looked over towards Lydia and Aremi. “But unfortunately my sight is limited to mundus.” she looked back to great carvings of skyrim’s landscapes, of the throat of the world. “He tried to ply me with sweet promises, asking who had hurt me, who needed to die.” Sybil explained. “I saw through it, of course. He was just trying to get me to release the lock on the stocks.”
Murray was silent at that. Xantos had been a different kind of person then, of course, but with what he knew of the man now… He had to wonder.
Sybil tilted her head, squinting at the detailing on the little glass pieces that made up the ribbons of kyne. “So I asked him for terms, naturally. Nothing is free afterall.” Sybil told Murray, a little laugh punctuating it. “So he tells me, right?” Sybil took a breath. “You have my word, on my ancestors- that I will not harm a single hair on your head.” She crossed her arms, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “ I called bullshit of course, because like- what? You just going to pluck a hair from my head and call that the unharmed hair, kill me, and move on? Oh no stupid bandit, that was not how this game was going to be played.” Sybil scoffed. “So I bound him in contract, in promises. He could not do harm to me, he could not just leave me, so on and so forth, and he agreed to every single term I set.” Sybil went quiet, her face falling a little bit. “I made him promise to teach me how to be free, to not leave me helpless, to protect me.” Sybil explained, frowning at her feet. “He agreed. No hesitation.”
Murray eyed the girl. It seemed to him that she was wondering, too.
“So I walked into the tavern, I grabbed the key from behind the counter as all of his men watched us, I made eye contact with that poncy orc he called his second- I even jingled the keys at him.” Sybil laughed, but there was less mirth there. “I walked over, right past a guard who was sleeping standing up.” she paused, oh so dramatic. “And I let him go.”
There was a moment between the two of them, then: a lingering silence, both of them staring up at that mural of the land. Murray could just barely hear Aremi still talking, Lydia’s quiet acknowledgements–but it felt more distant than it really was. He took a deep breath through his nose.
“And then he reigned hellfire upon the land?” he asked, glancing over at Sybil, his brows raised. “Right?”
“It was like the deadlands had descended on that poor little town, and every single one of them deserved it.” Sybil said, voice tight. “Every single one of them. Every grown up had watched me suffer at the hands of my family, had seen my father beat me in public, every single one had made a hundred and one excuses about how I needed to give my father grace for my mother’s death, how I should be patient with the cunt.” there was rage in her voice, tight like a fishing line pulled taut. “How my sister had suffered so badly when her husband died in the mines, how I should have more sympathy for people who hurt me, abused me, sold me like meat.” She looked at Murray. “They deserved everything Xantos and his crew did to them ten fold.”
Murray watched her quietly, his expression impassive. Her venom didn’t bother him; from what she was saying, those for whom it was for certainly deserved it. …Well, most of them, anyway. He wasn’t so sure about the ‘nibblings’, as she’d called them. But…
…She was young. She was hurting. He knew that wildfire of pain, wielded against any who got too close. She would better understand who deserved that ire, with time, once those fires had the chance to cool. She didn’t need to be told otherwise, not now–not when she was still burning.
“He offered to kill my father too, offered to do it so my hands could stay clean. He had no way of knowing that I was going to poison the rat bastard. Had no idea my hands were covered in tar and slime already.” Sybil said, taking a breath. “So I told him no, and I took one of his knives. And I looked that fucker in the eyes as I killed him, sunk the knife deep into his gut. Made sure to cut his intestines all over so even if he survived the burning building he’d die of infection.” Sybil’s voice was even as she spoke, like she was talking about grocery shopping at market or purchasing a new horse. “We left him curled up by the hearth, doused in all the alcohol in the house, and Xantos set the roof on fire.” she took a breath. “And the rest is history I suppose. We traveled for six months together, until we tried to go to Cyrodill, and the thalmor collapsed the pass and killed everyone but Xan and I in an avalanche. We were picked up by imperials, hauled to helgen, and Alduin returned.”
“Alduin has returned?” the draugr asked, Sybil looking over and giving a nod. Murray did a double-take, fixing the draugr with a look. He didn’t know how he felt about the… The man? The being, having been listening in.
“It was why I was sent here, so that I could see if everything was ready when he called upon Saarthal.” Sybil lied, looking to the draugr. “If we could continue,”
The draugr nodded solemnly, turning and beginning further down into the tomb. Murray watched it go, then started to meander along–taking his time, though. He took a moment to chew on it all. There was… Much to say, but little reason to say it. Nothing she didn’t already know, surely–and if not that, then nothing that changed or improved the given situation. They’d almost reached the next passageway when he looked over to the girl once again.
“I am sorry you had to go through all that, Sybil,” he said. “Would be an awful lot for anyone–let alone someone who hasn’t even seen twenty years yet.”
“I havent hit fifteen yet.” Sybil shrugged. “Not for another month.”
“And I wouldn’t wish all that on a grown mer,” Murray said, nodding faintly.
Sybil let out a little hum, following after the draugr. “It will be, what it will be, and I figure if I don’t make the deadline- the last five years will be an awfully big adventure.”
Murray fixed the girl with a flat look, then. Ah, the morose dramatics of a teenager, waxing poetic about the big woopsie she managed to walk herself into. He sighed, looking ahead of himself. Not helpful. Not going to change anything. No amount of wiggling the little mage will shake the teenage out of her.
It was not the first time he’d thought this, and Sybil was not the first person to bring these thoughts about. She also, most certainly, would not be the last.
“Well–have you told anyone else about it, then?” he asked, frowning over at the girl. “Have you told Osprey? I’m sure you know about her whole–Mora-related business. She could likely help you.”
Sybil looked over at him like a smug kitten, caught in the cream. “Nope.” she popped the P, her face scrunching with delight. “And I have no intention to. I only told you because I have dirt on you, and unless you want that to become common knowledge, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
Murray hummed. “And why do you not plan on telling her, exactly?”
“Because she has enough shit on her plate. She doesn’t need to add worrying about me to it. They can believe I am happily honing my skills up in winterhold for as long as possible.” Sybil said as the draugr stood outside of a door. Sybil tapped each wheel inlaid into the door, adjusting the animals along the rim. “None of them need to be worrying about me as long as there are other, far larger problems about.”
Murray frowned a touch. He glanced over his shoulder to Lydia and Aremi: they were watching them, now. He wasn’t sure if they could hear them, but it was obvious they knew something was going on. “...How would they take that, do you think?” he asked.
“Poorly.” Sybil said plainly. “Which is why I won’t broach it.” Sybil opened the door, her eyes widening in delight. “Aremi darling, I think you ought to see this.”
“Wow,” Murray said, his brow furrowing as he looked past the girl and into the next chamber. “That is the second biggest whirling ball of blue I think i’ve ever seen.”