An Enchanting Tale

S’maash always had an affinity for magick—enchanting especially—his natural talent was rivaled only by his love for the art. In his days as a child of Morrowind, he ran about with his friends and siblings stirring up all sorts of trouble. While they tried to stow away on silt striders, large insects utilized for the purposes of traveling long distances, S’maash normally found himself in trouble for different reasons, such as skulking into a mage’s workshop to catch a glimpse of a master spell craftsman at work. Most of his endeavors ended with a slap to the back of the head followed by the derogatory you s’wit, but that did little dissuade him.

Upon reaching adulthood in the year 4 E 221, S’maash, a striking, young, dark elf with a shock of gray hair on his head, and a gray-blue complexion, took a job as an inventory manager for a local union of mages in the town of L’Thu Oad. It was a small settlement southwest of Narsis, and his home town.

Working with the Mages’ Coalition consisted of little more than taking notes on their studies and cataloging their findings. Other menial tasks involving the organizing of reagents, soul gems, and magickal equipment kept him busy enough. Although he did learn a great deal about enchantments, the dunmer’s curiosity was never satiated. His knowledge of over fifty enchantments was a testament to the fact that knowledge led only to more curiosity, and that led him to speak to one of the elder mages, an old altmer—or high elf—named Rosoleola, the head of the Mages’ Coalition in L’Thu Oad. Ancient and surly with a shimmering, gold hue to his skin, he was not an easy person to approach.

Master? S’maash called.

The old altmer was stooped over an arcane enchanter, a malevolent-looking table adorned with the skull of a three-eyed beast, several candles, and a misty, green bauble. Rosoleola turned to the young dunmer while flipping through the pages of a journal.

What now? he barked.

I couldn’t help, but notice you’re attempting to enchant that steel dagger with fire damage, S’maash stated the obvious. Rosoleola winced as he returned his steady gaze to his journal. He remained quiet, absorbed, so S’maash stirred nervously before breaking the silence. Why is it that we can imbue a weapon with fire damage, but not a shield or gauntlets?

S’wit…must you ask such a foolish question? The altmer’s voice was raspy and condescending.

I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir. I’ve been watching and taking notes for these past seven years. Along the way, I have realized many truths, but some of them seem to have no logical base.

Rosoleola turned to the youngster with contempt. He pushed an errant strand of silver hair behind his ear.

What are you babbling about now, boy?

Sir, a flame cloak spell can be cast by a mage. This provides him the ability to damage an opponent by merely standing adjacent him without so much as warming his own skin. Why not can a piece of iron armor be enchanted as such?

Rosoleola was taken aback. He stared at the youth for a moment longer, squinting. The boy stood under torchlight with his feet firmly planted on the stone floor. The fires of passion and knowledge burned brightly in his red eyes.

The old elf adjusted his burgundy robes before answering. Well now that is a question, isn’t it…?

His tone had changed as he looked up to the ceiling. S’maash detected a hint of ancient wonder, of memories long forgotten. The torch fires wavered with the forces of magicka in the workshop, casting shadows of the banners and tapestries depicting the progression of arcane studies, yet the elf kept his gaze on the old altmer, still awaiting a response; unnerved, he tugged at his faded, blue robes. Rosoleola took a pensive inhalation before providing insight.

I can’t really answer that, he said and paused. The furrow in his brow was indicative of wonder, something rarely experienced by the aged. Get back to work. You have better things to do than question magickal theory. Go make sure all the reagents are accounted for. Last time I looked for comberry, it took me twenty minutes to find where Naralia put them!

The response given was less impressive than he had anticipated, or perhaps, it was less inspiring. Rosoleola eyed the boy, who nodded and left. Truthfully, the old elf was impressed, but altmer were not given to displaying such emotions, especially not to non-altmer.

Since the duty of reorganizing reagents was a tedious task, S’maash was still in the storage room when the argonian, Barters-with-Whispers, walked in. "Dunmer, fetch me the tome, The Studies of Wards," the green, lizard-woman hissed.

He stood from his crouching position as he turned a jar of bone meal so the label faced out. He looked upon her. Barters-with-Whispers was ancient and decrepit; faded, yellow robes draped off her wiry figure. Still, her demeanor was rather imposing.

Yes, Ma’am.

S’maash traveled through the short hallway over bronze carpeting to the study. While the floor of the workshop was of cold stone, its walls were gorgeous mahogany with darkened hues of deep brown. Massive, wooden shelving lined the walls of the library. Each shelf was filled from one end to the other with timeworn tomes. A mental segue took S’maash from his intended task. Dwemer Magick of Old, caught his attention; a leather-bound book.

Gingerly, he took it. The leather creaked as he opened it. While scanning over the pages, he saw the name Volendrung, an ancient war hammer. The dwemer knew quite a bit about forging magick items.

What are you doing, you lazy layabout? Barters-with-Whispers shouted from across the room.

Startled, S’maash dropped the book. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He gave a weak smile, picked the tome from the floor, and replaced it on the shelf before grabbing what he was supposed to have grabbed in the first place. He handed the book over.

It was difficult to read argonians. Their scales made it nearly impossible to detect emotional cues in their faces; although, that day it was obvious she was not pleased.

Apologies, S’maash said.

S’wit.

Narrowing her eyes, she blinked then left the young elf. A new curiosity brewed, and he immediately ran out of the study, down the hall, and back to the arcane enchanter, where Rosoleola was picking soul gems for his next task. The magickal gems were shades of blue and purple.

Master, S’maash called.

Mmm? What now? The old elf didn’t turn from his work.

Which is the closest dwemer ruin?

Oh, let’s see, should be Damlzthur. Why?

I need to study their artifacts. I have to know how they were able to create Volendrung.

Rosoleola sighed as he shook his head in desperation. What nonsense are you spouting? Don’t you have better things to do?

With respect, Master, no I don’t. I need to understand….

The altmer stood as straight as his creaky body allowed, and finally he turned. Mmm, Rosoleola muttered, stroking his long beard. Well… it isn’t safe, you know? S’maash was slightly surprised. Not only did Rosoleola’s voice lose the twinge of aggravation, but he had not expected understanding, much less the concern for his safety. You really care about enchanting don’t you? I’ve watched you, you know? You’ve come a long way in a short time, the old elf said as his head bobbed up and down a bit. I undertook a few quests of my own around your age. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you an advance on your pay. Hire some men from the Reyda Tong. Maybe you can find what you’re looking for.

Again, S’maash was astonished. Thank you, Master!

Yes, yes. Here, this should be enough, He smiled as he handed S’maash a small coin purse. Don’t get yourself killed! You have a brilliant mind, but I fear that some things simply are what they are, so don’t get your hopes up. You hear me?!

Yes, Master. Thank you again, S’maash replied taking the gold.

Rosoleola made a shooing motion. S’maash smiled from pointy ear to pointy ear while running out of the workshop. He crossed the paved road to a large, stone building—the home base of the Reyda Tong, which was a sort of guild for fighters in Morrowind. Its appearance came about after the dissolution of the Empire’s grip.

It was a warm evening in L’Thu Oad and a bead of sweat ran down S’maash’s face as he knocked on the wooden doors. A sign above read: Reyda Tong Fighters. The door opened seconds later, revealing another dark elf, who looked much like S’maash.

Oh, it’s you. Come in, brother, the elf replied.

S’maath, Rosoleola gave me an advance on my pay. I need to hire a few of you to travel into Damlzthur!

S’maath was a few years older than his brother and much stockier. His thick, gray hair grew sharply and unkempt all over his head.

Sounds dangerous. What has he got you searching for?

You misunderstand. The research is mine. I was reading through a tome on dwemer magick. As you well know, I’ve been enthralled with the mysteries of enchanting for some time. I believe there may be some answers stowed away in their old ruins.

The brothers walked through the foyer, passing a rack of swords. Much like the mages’ workshop, the Reyda Tong’s office was bedecked with amazing tapestries depicting its own history, a much more violent one. Further inside, the two found themselves among mixed company; an imperial lad, a redguard woman, and another dark elf.

Amidst a room of etched stone and mahogany walls, the warriors all greeted their guild mate’s brother with a simple nod of the head. The dunmer brothers took seats on a cushioned bench between a rack of mead and a rack weapons. A fire burned in the stone pit at the far end of the room. The gentle crackling unleashed a bit of smoke.

Fara, my brother says he wants to hire us for a trip into Damlzthur, S’maath announced.

Fara, the redguard, adjusted the straps of her iron breastplate as she fidgeted in her seat.

Her dark face crinkled a bit while she snipped. We have plenty of work here.

I have payment, S’maash interjected.

How much, the imperial asked.

S’maath turned to his brother. Well, S’maash started as he pulled the string on the pouch. He poured the gold coins onto a round table. Twenty five gold.

The three warriors laughed at the paltry sum, but S’maath was sympathetic. Once the laughter died down, he took his glare off his comrades to look at his brother, asking how long the trip was to be. Taking a moment to think, S’maash said it was only a week long.

We’re not riskin’ life an’ limb for twenty five gold, boy, the other dark elf replied.

S’maash looked at his brother questioningly.

Why don’t you go home for now? I’ll see what we can do, the elder brother instructed.

S’maash put the coin away and left for home, slightly ashamed, but not defeated. The walk home was a rather slow one. Night had just settled in before he arrived at his front door. He heard the chirps of insects for a moment then entered his family’s abode. The shutting of the door behind him shut out the noise as well.

With their parents deceased, S’maath and S’maash lived in the modest home together. The young elf busied himself with dinner for the two. Not long after, S’maath entered the house to find rat stew warming over the fire.

I had a long conversation with Fara, he yelled out from the common area.

S’maash entered from the kitchen. What did she say?

So long as the Reyda Tong can lay claim to any profitable artifacts, they’ll back your endeavor.

Good news, then. I’d like to set out as soon as possible.

We can leave first thing in the morning. Numerius, the imperial, will join us as well as Fara. It will just be the four of us, so we’ll need to be cautious

Of course.

Chapter Two

The night passed relatively quickly, though S’maash scarcely slept. By the time the sun shone through the window, he was already packed for the week and ready to go. Moments later, his brother awakened. He had also packed the previous night.

The dark elf brothers locked their abode behind them before setting out for the Reyda Tong office, where they met up with Fara, who wore heavy armor, but no helmet. An iron mace hung from her right hip. Numerius was covered in leather armor, hiding his thick, black hair. He wore his imperial bow and quiver over his shoulders.

I’ve brought your gear, Numerius said.

More leather apparel sat by his feet, awaiting S’maath’s body. After donning his protective equipment, the elf sheathed his steel sword.

Is the boy going to wear anything, Fara asked with a tinge of incredulity.

She looked him over. He wore only his blue robes. The clothing possessed a minor enchantment; the ability to recover magicka more quickly. No weapons hung from his waist, and no armor was draped over his body.

I’m fine. Listen, I very much appreciate your help in this matter, S’maash started. This is very important to me. For a first trip, I don’t expect to find much. My hopes are that we may come across a tome on magickal theory. The dwemer employed a slight variation on the schools of magick we use today. I–

I don’t care about magickal theory, Fara interrupted with a wave of her hand. If you’re looking for a tome, that’s well and good. You keep your eyes open for books. We’re looking for something to sell. Let’s move.

S’maath smiled at his brother. It was evident Fara was the leader of the small band. S’maash was unfamiliar with rank in the Reyda Tong, but understood well enough that seniority dictated the taking of charge, so the crew pressed on and left for Damlzthur.

Moments of silent reverie passed while boots trudged over early morning dew. It was not long before paved roads turned to dirt. Then, the chatter began.

The young elf listened to the warriors. They were hoping for all sorts of valiant battles, riches, and stories to be told afterwards. He, however, was uninterested by such things. His happiness was predicated on obtaining more knowledge. As he followed behind his hired guard, his mind turned to questions.

Will we find anything? Dwemer ruins have been around for so long. It’s hard to imagine anything might have been left behind after numerous expeditions. If anything were left behind, it would likely be books, though. Bull headed warriors often leave behind the most valuable treasure, knowledge. His ponderings had left him oblivious to the fact that the warriors were twenty paces ahead of him. A sudden sound demanded his attention.

He turned towards the direction of the noise. They had entered a forested area known to harbor alits, and one charged right at him; its awkward gait was a consequence of having only two legs and a large mouth. Unable to utter a sound, the elf simply stood there in shock. Gaping maw with razor teeth ambled closer. The leathery-skinned, purple, menace was hungry, slobbering. A fraction of a second later, S’maash heard the screams and battle cries of his crew as they fought the beast.

Alits were not altogether difficult to kill. The creature did not so much as manage to bite anyone. In fact, Fara had already struck it across the top of its head with her mace. It swooned from the blow, and S’maath ran it through with blade. The redguard shook some gunk from her weapon then approached S’maash. Her dark eyes were fierce.

You have to be more careful. Keep pace with us or go back home, she scolded.

He swallowed hard before nodding in accordance. He wanted to thank her, but she walked away. They continued their journey as though nothing had happened, yet the young elf’s heart was still pounding. It soon settled in his chest while the warriors joked over the fun of the fight. It was not fun for S’maash; it was dangerous and scary, but it was only an alit after all.

S’maath looked back to his brother, who was then keeping pace quite well. Not too shaken up, are you?

No, not anymore, he smiled.

Never were a fighter, S’maath chuckled, hitting him in the shoulder.

Is that so bad?

Of course not, you’re a scholar, and that’s good, but you know destruction magick. You could have burned that thing to a crisp.

I suppose. I’ve never actually used an attack spell in defense before, S’maash admitted.

Maybe you’ll learn more about magick by using it than reading about it in books.

It was a sound proposition. The brothers held each other’s eyes for a moment longer. S’maash knew most knowledge was derived from practical applications. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anymore to be gained by practical enchanting. The past, few, hundred years yielded no real advancement in that field.

The remainder of the day passed by quietly, only S’maash thought a little less and looked around a little more. The group then broke for a rest. Heat had turned morning dew to midday humidity during their trek.

We could keep moving, Numerius said with a harsh voice.

No. My brother grows weary. His mind could roam for hours, but his feet tire quickly, besides, I hunger, S’maath countered.

Yes, and I thirst, Fara added.

The group took seats on the leaf covered ground. They had moved off the dirt road to a beaten path. Overhead, the sun shone brightly. Shadows of the surrounding foliage bounced along the ground.

S’maash relaxed his back against a tree, basking in the cool of the shade. He was not a big eater, but thirsted instead. He noticed the fighters were eyeing him. Their stares did not hold disdain or contempt. They were, after all, often hired to accompany less athletic travelers on unsafe business, yet he grew curious.

What is it, he asked, addressing them all.

S’maath looked his compatriots over. With his mouth slightly open, his eyes darted a little as he gauged the looks on everyone’s faces. He then turned to his brother as the others answered.

Damlzthur might be infested with dangerous creatures…or worse, Fara stated.

Aye, automatons, Numerius added.

S’maash ran long fingers through his mowhawk. Automatons were bizarre contraptions created by the long gone dwemer. The mechanical guardians were known to roam the halls of ruins like Damlzthur.

I am well aware, but I have to…to find something, he said, looking away.

And if you don’t, his brother asked.

S’maash was pensive, yet he looked back to the group. It is a possibility, I know. I can’t sit around L’Thu Oad pouring over the same monotony, though, his voice trailed off as he looked away again.

Fara stood and stretched her legs. I hear you, elf. It was a similar reason my family moved to Morrowind ages ago.

S’maath smiled at his brother. Soon after, they put away their food and drink for more walking. The sun slowly worked its way over the sky, and the horizon grew dark. Once the sun set, the small creatures of Morrowind began their ritual music and dance. Several insects chirped in unison. The journey had lasted most of the day.

By the time the moons came out, Fara decided it was time to make camp. Pelt tents were erected and sleeping rolls unfurled. Numerius opted for first watch, but S’maash interjected.

I can take it. I won’t fall to sleep easily with so much excitement and wonder on my mind.

Numerius laughed as though it were a joke. S’maash was put off by his response, but before he formulated a reply, his brother jumped in.

I’ll take first with my brother. How’s that?

Fine by me, Fara replied.

She then looked to Numerius, who did not dream of contradicting her. With that, he nodded to the elf brothers.

Thank you, S’maash said.

Of course, S’maath answered.

First watch held little interest. The brothers discussed possible hazards Damlzthur might hold. Conversations then turned to magickal theory, which was enough to put S’maath to rest. Once S’maash heard his brother’s snores, he woke Numerius for second watch. He then slept. No dreams entered his vision that night.

The following morning, Fara roused them. It took only minutes to pack their gear and continue the long journey. It was believed their arrival was less than twelve hours away. That time around, although sore, S’maash did not want to stop.

There will be time for rest once we make our entrance, he said.

Fair enough, then, Fara replied.

They continued their journey. They passed the beautiful mushrooms and flowers of Morrowind as they made jaunty discussions about treasures to be found. Numerius was hoping to bring back some dwemer metal for their house smith. Fara wanted only coin, so she spoke of artwork and small tools.

And you, brother, S’maash asked.

I appreciate the experience. I have a good home, food, friends, and family. My life is good. You might think it simple, and you might be right, but it is good to me.

S’maash always took his brother’s words to heart. But it is not enough for me. My experience will come from unraveling these mysteries. I must find something, some way. I refuse to accept these limitations…. His thoughts dwindled once his feet ached. Fortunately, Damlzthur was in sight.

Chapter Three

The once mighty city walls of Damlzthur stood as little more than rubble; brown hills with scattered, gray, stone architecture. The group pressed on beyond the fallen stones. Searching for an entry, Numerius rounded a large wall to the east with Fara as the brothers rounded it to the west. Appearances suggested a former tower long since abandoned.

I have located the exterior door, Fara yelled.

The elves bounded over the rubble. There, she stood before an askewed, brass-like door. Evidently, time and pressure had forced the foundation beneath the soil to list a bit towards the north end, their own right-hand side. The group worked quickly to clear debris from the door then pushed their way in.

Stale winds assaulted their olfactory senses for a moment. Immediately, the droning of gears and steam rushing through pipes assaulted their auditory senses. The excitement was palpable. For a lingering moment, they simply gawked, awed by the ancient dwemer.

Alright, we need to be wary of traps, S’maash said.

All four of them peered down the tall, long, stone hallway. At the end of the hallway was only darkness. Numerius produced a torch. Before he lit it, S’maash raised a right hand overhead, casting a candle light spell. The illumination from his magickal beacon did little to bring radiance to the far end of the hall, but so long as the team stood together while moving slowly, the spell—a wavering bauble of light—remained over the wizard’s head.

Nicely done, Fara said. She took the forefront, leading the team. S’maath, Numerius, keep your eyes peeled for floor traps.

Aye, both man and mer replied.

They treaded carefully and quietly, their footsteps drowned out by the sound of the ruin itself. Like a living, breathing beast, it ticked, clanked, and sent roaring steam through its walls. The candle light revealed the entry hall was quite extensive. While the others had little trouble moving, S’maash was thrown off by the tilt in the floor. Like the door, the entire hallway listed slightly. Then, they reached a corner.

Fara raised a hand, calling the group to a halt. She stepped forwards to peer around the juncture. The wizard saw beautiful filigree carved into the walls and brass-like metal, which adorned the junctures. Small, dwemer shelving lined the left side of the corridor, which was much more level than the previous one. It was difficult to tell, but there seemed to be some doorways along their left. Finally, the redguard motioned to resume movement.

I thought we were going to rest upon arrival, Numerius remarked.

Don’t be a fool. We’ll rest after having taken stock of our surroundings, Fara chastised.

He winced, but she was right. They pressed on. After inspecting the shelving, and a few of the other rooms, they found little in the way of treasures. Weary and hungry, the group took a break in one of the rooms. Fara shut the door as the others unpacked. S’maash stopped to look at her quizzically.

In the case of intrusion, whatever might be coming will at least have to get through this door, she said to him before he uttered a word.

This is why she leads us, S’maath added.

After garnering an hour’s rest, the group left their gear in the room as a sort of base camp. S’maath pulled some parchment from his robes. With charcoal, he started sketching a map, providing the luxury of referring back to where they had started should the need arise.

Hours and hours of searching yielded only ruined tomes, old dishes, bed sheets, and broken tools. Apart from the unnerving clatter of dwemer gears built into the stonework, there was nothing extraordinary. The first day of the expedition ended with moving camp to a new location, one quieter than the previous.

As was custom when traveling, the group took watch once more, and once more they all rose to Fara’s calling. She led them in a similar fashion the following day. As they progressed into the ruins, the floors and stairs led deeper. Most of the paths were blocked by cave-ins or rubble, but one hall led the group to a large, round room. That particular room provided excellent lighting from a gas-powered lamp at its center. The light was more than ample for S’maash to catch a depiction of dwemer forging along the walls. Carvings provided a glimpse into the ancient dwemer’s passion for smithing.

What is this room, S’maath asked.

They all looked to his brother. I am not sure. Some kind of study hall?

There were ruined stone seats and tables. Books were scattered over the floor, but there was little else. No gears or pipes led into the room. The carvings in the walls were magnificent, but provided