Looking For Someone - Fanar

I stopped by the temple last week. I was in the area and needed to make a quick stop at Helsmyrr to gear up anyway. My journeys would bring me far north to Dawnstar in the coming weeks. Fannah saw it fit to give me a haircut. I suppose it was getting a bit disheveled. I’m not quite accustomed to this beard either but she left it be. She said it made me look rugged. “Like a Nord.” She liked that. She asked for news from back home but I had none to give. It had been a while. I am long overdue for a trip back.

Past Darkwater Crossing and further north. The old house still stands up on the ridge. I thought about making the climb, paying my respects, perhaps having a chat with the new residents, assuming there are any. But that would come another time. Pargran hasn’t changed a bit. That lady that Mama always fought with still tends the bar. She was always nice to us despite their conflicts. I recall several occasions where she slipped Fannah and I candies while mother wasn’t watching. Good memories. I spent the night, had a few drinks and devoted an hour to my trusty pipe. The next week was uneventful.

The final stretch before the mine was plagued by wolves. The harsher winters drive them mad I hear. I made camp outside the mine at sunset of the first day. Beside my bedroll, I spotted a bit of yellow stone protruding from chiseled wall. It was peculiar. It broke apart like chalk at my touch. “Like a Nord” I thought. Nords usually are fond of warpaint. I took some water from my pouch and mixed up some of this yellow chalk in a bowl. I applied it to my face as best I could and set foot into the mine. Sharp howling wind and a bubbling stream drown out my footsteps. The cavern was unnaturally dark. I was under the impression this was to be a modern mine but it seemed ancient. Workers had been here recently, but there was no trace of them now. I saw a lantern and 2 sconces dimly lit within the first hour, but after that no light. My torch did little to penetrate the thick shadow.

I had known for some time that I was not alone. Out the corner of my eye I saw them. Glowing a faint blue, they shuffled on quiet feet, just out of sight. Their first ambush was a colossal failure. My silver blade fears not the undead. This thing is nothing compared to father’s old greatsword but it does the job. I descended the winding halls, across crumbling scaffolds, up and down cold running canals for many hours, resting only once the area was without a doubt safe. I dared not sleep down here but a short recline against a bedroll does wonders.

It quickly became apparent that this was no ordinary mine. Enormous black caverns with spinning wheels, carts that move of their own accord, platforms levitated by no magic known to me. Eventually I stepped into a thick orange haze. It carried my torchlight far into the distance. At the far end of this vast room, an army of the undead rose up and made fast approach.

They fell one by one. We progressed deeper into the mines as we wrestled for footing. As the final spirit dissipated, I looked up and saw the strangest of contraptions overhead. Pale metal, black and gold. This was not dwemer. I had stumbled into the halls of Sotha Sil himself. It felt odd and I saw many odd things. My recollection of the next week is blurry at best. I met some people down there, they spoke as people anyway. They fed me and gave me a place to rest before adorning me in accessories I couldn’t understand and sending me back to the surface with tasks.

The visor distorts my vision. The world becomes contrasted, sharper, natural colors find otherworldly shades. There was an obligation to keep it on though. Through the visor, a beacon marked each of these tasks. A measurement of the distance ticked down, though in a language I could not read.

I remember little of the journey, but I was bound for High Hrothgar. I had been up there a few times. I treat it as a pilgrimage. Visiting each of the shrines and leaving something of importance, a single septim or flower usually.  Just some proof that I made the climb. The grave is another shrine to me. Father showed me the grave where he laid grandfather’s armor when I was younger. Perhaps 10 or so years old. We had bundled up and made the journey as a family, camping at each shrine. We made a week of it while Aunt Nita cared for the livestock back home. That memory alone made the trip worth it. The marker is worn and snow-covered but finding the spot was easy enough. I scuffed my boot against the mound, heard the heavy plates clank beneath a fine coat of dirt and snow.

This climb was no less dangerous than the last. The number fell to single digits just past the final shrine. I continued up toward High Hrothgar when it revealed a structure in need of my attention. A pole rose from the pedestal and emitted low hum. I did as directed then set off for the next site.

Behind me the beacon glowed. A spire of light reaching out to the divines or some pointless task to waste my time. I considered abandoning the visor and the rest of their gifts. It was all a little outrageous at this point. The next two locations seemed so far away. I was never one to give up though. I began my descent down the steps.

Time was lost to me again for several days. I ate and rested little, always moving forward. I remember catching a carriage to Whiterun, though I cannot recall if it was from Ivarstead or Windhelm. The memory loss was a growing concern. From there I traveled northwest, through the swamps and to Solitude. I had exhausted my supplies by this point. I came to my senses just outside of the back gate, my fingers prying at the visor. The distorted world ended and my vision returned to normal. Refreshing. My warpaint had became muddled from rain and snow these many days. I knelt by the shore and cleaned it away before entering the city.

Quickly browsing, shop to shop, mostly interested in food and drink, just in case this visor wanted to cross half the country again. Potions were also a welcome commodity though I usually make my own. I am quite the familiar face in these parts. In most parts, really. We tagged along on so many little adventures, met so many people. Many of these shopkeepers had known me most of my life. Ofttimes greeted by name as I step through a door.  As I pushed my salvaged materials onto the desk to barter, the final shopkeep asked about the glowing wristband I had forgotten to conceal. “Just a novelty from the College” I said, casting a small flame above it so she could see it’s inner workings and hopefully bolster my claim. She believed it, tossing in a few magicka potions for “the big mage”. My pack full of supplies, I set out the front gate. Father loves this street. He would always find some excuse to come this way when were in the area, then he’d take his sweet time. Slowing to a snail’s pace, taking in the bustle of the town just past the gate. The cool air rushing down from the hills to the west. It funnels down into this street, making it quite the comfortable spot. Once out of the guard’s eyeshot, I reluctantly slid the visor back on. The next location was close.

Up the hill and into the snow drifts. A manor came into view and behind it, the beacon in my visor. Wedged between two stones, the number ticked down to single digits. I knelt and brushed away snow and loose soil, revealing the receptacle. I activated it and took a step back, in awe at the glow once again. I wondered if the glow was actually there or just another of the visor’s distortions. The pole was cold to the touch, cast of the same metal as the halls down there. The final marker was far to the east. Presumably near the College.

Some days passed. Perhaps a solid week. I found myself walking, just outside of Dawnstar’s east gate. My supplies nearly untouched. The morning gave rise to a nice clear day, plagued only by the occasional wolf. One day’s passage from Dawnstar, I came across an abandoned shelter on a tiny hill on the shoreline. The unused food and drink made this night led to quite a feast.

I awoke just before dawn and set out again. Another calm stroll. I left the visor off for most of the next day. Just using it to make sure I was still on the correct heading at the end of each day. Eventually the bold outline of the college stood tall on the horizon. Good memories up there. If I were here for any other reason I would stop by. The beacon was right at the edge of the cliff, tucked just out of view by a boulder. The cold metal box extended far down the cliff, mostly obscured by roots, disappearing into the cliff face some meters down. The beam fired upwards, marking my task complete. The visor directed me back to the elevator shaft. Thankfully, back the way I had come. I was looking forward to another relaxing night at that shelter by the shore.

Another week as best I could tell. Pulling that lever and descending back into that place was eerie at best. They welcomed me again with open arms. The visor was taken from me, but I was awarded with more trinkets of their peculiar making. They asked that I stay for a few days as they had more work for me in the coming weeks.

And so they did. Their little tasks brought me to a great many locales. The visor lead me a majority of the time, so my recollection is fuzzier than I would have liked. I do recall a fort in some forgotten pass. A blizzard. Scrubbing and scraping some refuse from between the gears below the gate. Lastly, they sent me even further beneath our feet. Into a monumental smithy or furnace of sorts. With each success, the visor would direct me back down. They would shower me with trinkets and crafts of their kind. Their gifts might seem odd but at their core, it’s just magic, enchantment. They’re truly fond of glowing parts but most of it appears useless to me. The weapons have certainly been interesting to look at. A bandit above would probably be intimidated by such things. They get the job done here, but they are no more useful than fine silver. I’ve been disassembling some of their larger gifts during my trips to the surface. Trimming them down to just their Dwemer metal components so I could use it for bartering. Although harder to conceal, the metal cage about my arms and chest had proven the most useful so far. It strengthened my athletic abilities far beyond that of before. Endurance was important down here. I would often be stuck tinkering with some mechanism for days, traversing a hold’s worth of distance between stops.

One good thing about spending so much time down here is the abundance of stone. Colorful chalk like I had found outside the mines. I tried different patterns, different colors. Just trying to find something that fit me. Yet I wonder what sister would think of me now. My beard was the only real way of measuring time since this had all began. Scruff on my jaws had became a full fledged beard. I carried a few more scars. Stories to tell. If I was rugged before, what am I now? I was admittedly homesick before, but I carried on. I avoided the house, took the long away around so many times. Feeding Fannah a new excuse every time I stopped by the temple. I miss them immensely. All of them. All of it. I just can’t go home empty handed again. Hand’s not of riches, but of worth. They gave me so much and what had I done with it? No real accomplishments to speak of. I had traveled much of the last 5 years, trying to help out, make a difference, spreading my usefulness as far and wide as I could. I had done little things, made people happy, sure. But nothing of weight. Part of me thought this was it. I had to see it through.

The tasks continued. As did the rewards. I awoke some mornings to find a trove of gear outside my allotted room. They practically shoveled these things onto me, but I had little use for them. By the end of the second month my room would have been filled to the ceiling if I had hoarded it all away. Yet they never questioned where the things went as I disembarked for the surface and returned without them. I never knew if were aware that I was selling it off or if they simply didn’t care.

I did however, enjoy getting to experience such a range of weaponry. I tended to bring a new one along on each trip. Wielding it as a side arm just to get a feel for it. Most were easily mastered, just variations on surface designs. While others, like the whip were quite foreign to me. At the end of the day, I’d still take my old silver arms if given the choice. Fun, nonetheless.

With the artifacts and information I had recovered for them, they began work on a grand new tunnel. A shaft, hewn through bedrock as though it were butter. Over time, a ghastly fog filled the ever expanding room. A sickening smell, a mixture of whatever they use to power their digging machine and dust from rock that no man should ever inhale. The tunnel was a success as far as I knew. Until the incident. One day they dug into another chamber. Something older I suppose. I was sent in to investigate.

Down the long tunnel. Their drilling machine does amazing work. The walls were so smooth. Like glass. It extended for quite some time. Around an hour in, I caught a draft. Bodies of the miners soon came into view, and with them a small crack in the right-hand wall of the tunnel. Just large enough for a man. The drilling mechanism lie just beyond that, stuck in a sheer wall. That vile haze was rolling not from it’s pipes but from the opening in the wall. It was a tight squeeze with all of this gear but I managed.

I caught ear of a nightmarish screeching in the distance. Accompanied by chirping of birds, what I thought to be wind whistling through trees. I thought it odd until I stepped through the next doorway. It gave way to a massive cavern. The ceiling concealed by a thick haze. It glowed like a dreary morning sky. Pipes and trees rose far above me. A forest of brass. Soft rusted soil at my feet. Tangled in the roots of the trees were boxes, caskets I suppose. The closest of which was shattered yet nothing lay within. The screeching continued.

Though, it’s source soon revealed itself. They scuttled about like dogs. Bodies of bone but different. Definitely not skeletons of any known beast. Perhaps they assembled bones into these monstrosities and gave them life. I had little time to ponder it. These places never cease to amaze or terrify. They galloped out of the shadows at nearly every turn. Swarms. In time, things grew quiet. The sprawling woods thinned, letting that haze settle on the ground. Amongst the mists, I oft caught glances of shapes, very large shapes at that but it was some hours into the investigation before one of them actually came into full view. Behemoths, blasphemies in the shape of mammoths. A mockery of the real thing. These were silent, and their lurching ways made them all the more disconcerting. Only in groups did they react to my presence. Lifting their spine of a trunk and rattling it as they lurch directly toward me. I made dash through the huddled roots.

On several occasions I found myself backed into a corner. I tried to fight back but none of my assortment of weapons could drive them away. Unflinching, bones too sturdy to crush, immune to magic. I crawled through roots, scrambled up trunks and leapt over ledges, coming at last to a dark corner far from those lumbering beasts. But another stepped out of the shadow of a trunk. Different from the others, vulnerable to fire thankfully. Past it, a shimmering blade of make unknown to me. Similar to the things they had given me so many times these months, yet different in it’s own ways. A green fluid filled the central cavity, a pale light beneath it barely penetrated the liquid. The abominations in the previous room fled at the sight of it. Cornered, it drove them mad. Three of them charged me, I held the blade aloft to block them. Mere contact with the metal obliterated them in a shimmer of green light. Interesting. The three, now a pile of bones and blood in the roots. I stepped over their remains and wandered through these woods once more. Back at the first corridor, the screeching from before had halted. The chirping however had increased exponentially. Above me I could see them darting between the limbs. Little metal birds. Going about their business, whatever that may be. I took their chatter as a sign of gratitude.

One of my trips to the surface brought me to Sunguard. Lovely little town with statue of Mara given a place of importance. Orderly little gardens along the west gate. One of the flowers caught my eye. I took it and tucked it into my pouch for safekeeping. I would be known here too, but not with this attire and beard. I would have normally walked proud, made small talk with the passersby and generally enjoyed the atmosphere. But there I was, reduced to entering at sunset, a bulky cloak and hood like some outlaw. And that is how I felt. like an outlaw. I had seen wonders and been given riches, but they were of no use to me.

The metal skeleton wrapped about my limbs was too tiresome to remove every time I wanted to visit civilization. During my last trip, I adopted a new robe to conceal my gear. If I walked just right it would muffle the clanging of metal. On the surface I now wore a single-eye visor instead of the full head piece. Same benefits but it could be hidden under a hood with some effort.

I unloaded a sack full of scrapped parts onto the counter. The shopkeeps were always amazed at the sheer amount of scrap. It always brought questions that I wouldn’t dare answer. Waving away the coinpurse, this time taking but a single potion and went about my way. I enjoyed a brief respite at the statue before leaving town. It calmed my nerves.

Two days later I found myself on the elevator platform again. Down into the deep. Upon my arrival I was met by armed guard. Accused of some betrayal or treachery against them. Utter nonsense. Months of service only to come to this. They locked me into a cell and lowered me into the depths of their city. At the very bottom I was released. Forced to walk the fallen gears and darkness. I saw strange things in the distance, yet I think I’ve grown quite accustomed to strange things as of late. They become more of curiosities than horrors as the days tick by.

 Like the monstrosities before, these seemed immune to everything in my arsenal. I eluded them as best I could, trying to find my way up. I knew not how deep I had been taken, but up was the only option. I came upon a large corridor. At the far end, an armored foe. The pedestals before me corresponded to things that I carried. The visor had an effect on one of them, the staff at my side on another, and the golden sword with the green liquid upon the last. I suppose they were cannons, of sorts. With the activation of the third, they fired upon my foe, slaying him. He crumpled and fell deeper into the pit. I crossed the gap and found a glowing shield in his wake. Like the sword before, the denizens of this pit fled from it’s sight. Contact with it spelled death for them, the same as before. This made no sense. Everything had a purpose. It was like I was supposed to be here. Like I was meant to do these things. It was an odd sensation. I still wonder about it to this day, although my memory of the events has grown foggier with the years. The things I have told you might not be exactly as they happened but the message and order of events is mostly intact. The largest beasts blocked the path upwards. With them out of the way, I was free to continue my ascent. It felt like another day, just walking and presenting the shield to clear paths. At the top, an elevator brought me back to their city. Deserted. Not a trace of them to be found. It looked as though there had been a battle of some sort. I followed the strewn weapons and armor back to the main shaft, and then to the new tunnel. The haze had all but dissipated, but in it’s place a thick smoke. I followed the tunnel to it’s end.

Past this point, I am not sure how much I can accurately recall. There was molten rock, smoke, whatever enemy had pinned blame on me littered my path. They fell like flies before this wandering man at the end of his rope. Their warped cries as they fell into the molten streams is one of the things that I do recall in perfect clarity. I still hear it at times. All paths lead to one point, a high ridge. Atop the ridge, sat the drilling machine. Whatever they sought to reach, they had been overtaken just before they could finish. The wall across from it was hollow. I tapped my knuckle across it, giving way to a booming echo.I fiddled with the machine. My knowledge of their technology was near nonexistent, but their tasks had taught me how to problem solve like no other. With a whistle, the machine came to life and in moments, hew a man-sized hole in the forward wall. A blue light bled out. Intense and wavering. I crawled in. I know not why, but I know I crawled in. But after that. I just don’t know.

A dream. Maybe a nightmare. I just cannot recall. I felt ill, sick at my stomach, my legs weak. I remember the main shaft. I just couldn’t bear the weight of my gear any longer. I shed it as I crawled. I somehow stood long enough to pull the lever and return to the surface. Mama claims I showed up on their doorstep, nearly a year after Fannah had last spoken to me. I was feverish, delirious, rambled like a madman. On the 6th day, all was normal. I awoke that morning like nothing had happened. I told them my tale, as best I could. Shoveling in homecooked food and gulping mead between words. The finest food I had taken in my entire life. Tears and regrets interrupted many parts of the story. Their hugs and kind words meant the world to me. As did merely seeing their faces again. I was a mess. It took another week to get my story straight and fed to them. Mother believed every word of it, but father had some doubts about the more bizarre elements. He trusted me but not my recollection. He had lived with his own fair share of bizarre dreams and perhaps thought this was more of the same.

Nothing from the blue light, until I woke in my old bed made any sense. The mental images are nightmares, simple as that. They cannot be explained away. I see Pinegrove, my own figure, nude, standing at the side. A pondering expression upon my face. I see myself as a child again, above me hovers the figure of the thing I nearly became. One of them. I see myself standing on the pier in Helsmyrr. Gazing upon myself, oddly enough. I was dressed in the garb of kings. Smiling. Happy. The last image is of Breezerock, a skeletal figure hanging above the archway. Motionless. Trying to stop me from going home. But I did it. I carried on, I persevered.

They sent word to Fannah of my arrival and paid for carriage fare to Helsmyrr. I had apparently returned with nothing but the scraps on my back. I brought back naught but a story. An unbelievable one at that.

“Fanar wake up!” a firm but gentle hand struck the back of my head, jolting me awake. It took a moment to realize where I was, when I was, even. The nightmares always seem to hit me during briefest of naps. “Sorry, sister. I had anoth-” Again, a slap interrupted my train of thought. “We’re done talking about that.” she whispered, resting her head against mine. Her fingers ruffled through my freshly cut hair as she spoke. “Just never do it again, ok? A year is just a little too long.” Her hand continued down, cupping just under my chin, lifting my head to inspect the stubble. Seeing that her haircut was a successful one, she tucked her scissors into a pocket and gave me one last smack on the head for good measure.

Fannah rose and twirled, tugging at her ill fitting dress as she stopped to face me. She made it so obvious that she was used to robes. She hadn’t worn a dress regularly since she was a kid. She lifted her right pointer finger to the sky, entering her classic lecture pose. She began to speak but stopped herself, biting her tongue, she placed her hands behind her back and clasped them. “Besides, you caught enough lectures to last a lifetime when you came crawling in like that. You worried them sick. You worried everyone sick.” She stepped aside, letting me stand. I stretched and ran my own hand through my hair, feeling the clean sheer. She always does such a good job. I ran my fingers across my now barren chin. It had been quite some time since I had felt this. A hand came to rest on my shoulder, then a darting snap of scissors as she clipped a stray hair from just beside my ear. “Much better!” she shouted, again returning the scissors to her pocket. “I don’t think the rugged look was for you anyway.” she jested, stepping off the pier and onto the well-worn path. Another stretch, then I sought to follow her but was struck by her pouting glare. The glare mother always gives before a lecture. “Your gloves?” she chirped, clearing her throat and extending a finger to the gloves under my boot. I retrieved them with a chuckle, whacking them against the leg of my pants to clear away any dust before slipping them back on. I took a moment to enjoy the sunlight. In it’s natural color at last. Fannah hopped around behind me, greeting everyone that passed by. A few of them called out to me but I was far too preoccupied. I took in the town. The hoof-beats of the passing guard. The pond, the splashing of the stream, people, friends chatting at varying distances. I caught the scent of elves ears being smoked. It was faint but I loved it regardless. I felt Fannah’s arms come around my neck, resting on my shoulders briefly. A sigh, her breath on my neck. Then a clap above my head brought be me to my senses. “Lets go before you fall asleep again.” she barked, grabbing the collar of my shirt and yanking me around to face her. “To the temple. I’m going to make dinner then we’re both heading home. For a good while. Mama is preparing a party. No excuses this time, ok?” She gracefully grabbed the handles of the sturdy town gate and gave them a tug, setting them in motion. She was always strong for her size. I’ve yet to see her drop a woman in a single punch but she really seems to take after mother more every year. Maybe I missed her first knockout during my absence. Perhaps I should ask later.

Down the hill from the front gate, one could see the path over to the temple extending just out of view. Mama and Dad always loved this town. They brought us here often. At one point, they brought us down to this ruined little temple. A shrine to the worship of Mara, the mother wolf, now just Mara the mother. Crumbling wolf statues littered the grounds at that time but they were removed in the reconstruction. The roof had collapsed many years before my time. I assume that attributed to it’s abandonment but who knows. When we were old enough to set out on our own, Fannah remembered this place. She disappeared. Like I did, I suppose. But in the end, she came here and with the help of other new Mara devout, they returned this temple to it’s glory. At the door she stopped me. Putting her tiny hand on my shoulder. She turns to me with a heartfelt expression, though it quickly turned with her temper. “What did you get out of it? Nothing but bad dreams, Fanar. You have people that love you here. You don’t have to go searching for someone. When the time is right, she will come to you. Mara says-” After all of this, all of my attempts at explanation, the fantastical stories, she had it in her head that I was out searching for someone. She was half right. I was searching for someone, but that someone was me.

She opened the door and ushered me inside with shooing hands. She took up a bottle of water from foyer counter and offered it to me silently, expressing with her eyes. I took it and took a long drink as she began again. “I hope you got it out of your system. For good this time. Because I’m not letting you disappear like this ever again. I’ll leave the temple right here and now. You know I will.  This is the end. I don’t know what you were searching for but I hope you found it.“

I looked down. Sloshing the water in the bottom of the bottle. Crashing it against the sides, letting it swirl, then finally settle. Pushing the cork back into the lip of the bottle, I angled my eyes up to her and spoke. “I believe I did.”