Dust - Fanar

This old tunic is just perfect. A bit of polish really brought out the detail. The scales prove quite durable despite it’s good looks. They clink or chime as I walk, a sound not unlike chainmail. The fabric beneath also tells of the same quality. Snug fitting, but not too tight in any place. Atop my back sat a new backpack. Beneath it, a fine greatsword. The pommel adorned with a snake. One from Mother’s collection. Yesterday, father had stopped me just before the door. He commented on the emptiness of my pack, gesturing to mother as she tended to a cradle on the other side the room. She hastily sat a bottle to the side and joined us at the doorway. Dusting down her dress as she stepped up. They traded whispers briefly. His words putting a light in her eyes. She returned a few words then made way to the cellar. The trapdoor soon swung open and out climbed her wide form, hiding something behind her back. She approached then circled behind me. Sliding this scabbard into my view. Far too valuable to risk on one of my journeys, but she strapped it to my back herself despite my pleas. Her tiny hand then grasped my arm, dragging me to the kitchen to load my new pack with honey and bread. “Now my big boy can come home safe and sound.” her eyes shutting alongside the final word, a wide smile forming. Her eyes abruptly opened, “Hopefully sooner than the last time?” she questioned, her joyous tone transforming to worry instantaneously. I nodded, returning the smile to her face.

I found myself somewhere along the northern shore some days later, collecting my thoughts. A flock of gulls occasionally chirped in the distance. Lifting off as I drew near, revealing a hooded body just beyond the tide. In his hand a journal. I took it aloft, shared in his final thoughts. A fanciful tale of island politics. A troubled mining venture, attempts at gardening, the search for mages to help with their plights. A mass exodus, lockdown by the owner of the estate. A self sustained community perhaps? At the very end, tucked between the back cover a parchment with directions to the island, and fliers requesting assistance. I sat with him for a moment in silence then pulled him up onto the shoreline. A few hours collecting stones to cover him was the least I could do. No matter who he was or what had befallen him, no one deserves to be lie on the beach like that.

In the following days I brought the fliers to the port in Windhelm and hired a ship. We made the journey in but a few hours. Guards in ebony armor tiredly patrolled the quiet streets and dock. One took it upon himself to approach. “No trade ships!” he bellowed from beneath his closed helmet. “Just a visitor” I said, holding up the journal and parchment. He was reluctant to let me pass but with a bit of persuasion and coin, it was done. He strode past me and sought conversation with the captain as I stepped off onto the pier.

I took out my pipe and set it alight. Coming to rest against the cornerstone of what I presumed to be the inn. Intending to just watch and listen for a while. Wind howled past the stone buildings, whistling far off into the distant parts of town. It was the only sound upon my ears for some time. The streets were entirely empty aside from the patrol. Up on the higher part of town sat a large mansion of sorts. An imposing structure. Perhaps the host could have some answers. I found this front gate locked with no gateman to question. Onward to the nearest building. It turned out to be a grocer. A khajiit behind the counter greeted me cautiously. He had no idea what I was talking about. Insisting that their community was perfectly fine yet encouraging me to barter with goods, rather than coin. Waving his hand across the room, motioning at his dwindling wares. I saw tiny portions of cheese, cabbage, potatoes, but little else. No meat to speak of. I bid him farewell and stepped out into the chill air once more. Onto the next, an alchemy shop. The lady behind the counter paid me no heed. Continuing at her work as I browsed the equally barren counter. A familiar odor. Deciding not to disturb her, I let myself out. At last bringing my attention back to the presumed inn.

The innkeep also refused to speak of their problems. Sundown in a community of this size, the inn should have been packed. Yet not a soul to be found. The shelves littered with empty bottles, chairs stacked in the corner as though no one was even expected. After some degree of insistence, he stormed off. Across the way from the counter, I spied a khajiit lady in a worn orange dress. “Miss”, I started. presenting the book and papers. “Do you know anything about this?” I spoke again, reaching them to her. Her eyes darted to the doorway then back to me, as though she was afraid to be seen interacting with me. “Cannot read” she whispered, rolling the “r” in a foreign tongue. She lowered her head, returning to sweeping the floors. “May I read it to you?” I said again, lifting the book and spreading it into the light of the fireplace. She nodded and finished sweeping the floor as I read aloud. Once I had finished, she peered over my shoulder at the door once more, her hand then dug into her waistband, producing a key. Try as she might to conceal them, I spied sturdy shackles about her ankles. Noticing my glare, she tugged down her dress and initiated conversation. She spoke in raspy hushed tones, corroborating much of the journal. The commonfolk held out for assistance. Most had left, many smuggled aboard the final tradeships in desperation. Those that remain are loyal to the doomed estate or too poor to escape. She bid me investigate the underworks.

Slavers. That never sat right with me. I made my way round the north side of the island, finding the entrance as directed. Guards made conversation below me. I followed the shadows, weaving through corridors, past many a stockpile of food. Hoarded away in spare prison cells. The last of it, I imagined. The walls here fed into older structures. Dirt walls, crumbling stone at times patched with newer brick. The halls grew quiet and dark, each more dim than the last. After some time, I came upon signs of a struggle. Shuffling, groaning, slow, steady footsteps at my back. I turned and was greeted by the rogue mage’s handiwork. Ash beasts. This new blade had it’s first taste of combat. Their dust coated it’s every inch by the time all fell quiet. Occasionally I would bump against the cold ebony of a fallen guard in the darkness. I would prop him up against the wall so as not to trip on him again, should my escape be in haste. The fallen were not only guards, but civilians in some places. Miners and perhaps other slaves. The beasts had spread far in this place. Some engagements were over in an instant, while other’s dragged on. I often had to toss my torch at their feet to free up my other hand to grapple or lend itself to a block. Yet I persevered.

The halls grew more civilized at one point. Some degree of furnishing. Maps of the trade routes adorned many a wall. Logs and documents, bathing areas for the workers. Beyond that, the mines and their refineries. Vast beds of molten ore lay at the center of the larger rooms. One such room gave me some pause. Gates lined the far wall. Nearly every gate housing a beast, glaring at me from between the bars. Their eyes dumb, devoid of any thought. Yet they sought to hinder or injure me just the same. With my luck, the lever opened all of the gates at once. Beset by enemies on all sides, I retreated to the closest gate. My sword soared high, into the center of the first beast’s chest. With the impact it crumbled into dust, it’s particles streaming down. A cloud in it’s wake. I backed myself against the wall and held the sword aloft as they fell upon me.

As the dust settled, the piercing rays of my healing magicks shone through. They were but dust at my feet. I had taken my fair share of injuries, though they mended well. From there, the halls winded back up beneath the estate. Giving way to “the gardens”. They did indeed have something special here. Corridors filled with still growing vegetables. Some sort of watering mechanisms above, using reservoirs in the stone I imagined. Large from lack of attendance. Casualties grew large here as well. Some appeared to have been commoners, slain and left lying between the planters. The proceeding corridors lead into the bowls of the estate. I found it empty for the most part. In the uppermost floor, I came upon the lord’s sitting area. At the foot of the throne, the crumbled body of a mage. His rotting arms still clutching fast bulky bags of plunder. One of the beast’s daggers peeked out from his back. The lord of the manor was suspiciously absent. The host himself had long abandoned this place. Before or after the incident, I wondered. Perusing the corridors, I made search for survivors to no avail. I found the front gate bolted and locked.

Wearily, I began my descent again, intending to backtrack whence I came. As the halls once more fell into darkness, the groans returned. The final beast towered over me. Lumbering slowly, it’s swings wild and poor. I made one clean move down it’s center. It’s sickly skin fell away, bursting into a quickly settling cloud. I felt true silence for the first time in many an hour. The air changed as the last beast was made dust. The unnatural darkness lifted. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I wiped the last bit of dust from my brow.

The sunlight was a welcome sight. I made haste to the inn to report the situation. I found only the innkeep. He stood by the mantle dressing a wound on his hip. The khajiit’s shackles and a bloodied kitchen knife lie at his feet. He cursed under his breath, kicking at the cabinet before him. Under any under circumstances, I might have offered assistance. I instead made way back to the docks, casting the journal and fliers into the sea as I crossed the rampart. Several guards bickered outside the cabin door, another group huddled together off to the side. It appeared I would have some unfortunate company on the return trip. At last, I settled down onto a crate. Hoping to rest as we disembarked. I began to doze, only to be awoken by a pecking sound from inside that very crate. A pair of yellow eyes peered from between gaps in the boards. A shuffling sound and lastly, raspy foreign laughter, with my own chuckle soon joining it.