Of Snow and Bone - Part Thirteen

29th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

After a breakfast of roast goat, milk, and tea, I headed out of the inn into the bright morning light. A Vigiliant of Stendarr accosted me as I passed him by, standing in front of a door set into stone. He asked me if I had seen anyone coming or going from the house, and I told him I was just visiting Markarth and had only arrived yesterday.
I asked him if he would like someone to watch his back as he investigated the house, since he seemed nervous, an offer he quickly accepted. When we went into the basement and tried to latch to a locked door, suddenly things started flying around of their own accord, and a voice in my head urged me to kill the Vigiliant. With a desperate cry, the Vigilant pulled out a steel mace and swung it at me. It glanced off my shoulder, and I slid my blade from it's sheath.
I tried to talk to him, but he just kept crying "I have to kill you to escape!" and eventually I was forced to stab him in the belly. He slid off the blade with a grunt, blood spilling from the wound. As soon as he was dead, the voice came again, telling me "Your reward is waiting for you, further down."

The front door would not budge, so it seemed I had little choice. The door in the basement was now unlocked, and it led to a tunnel and a strange altar, with a rusty mace sitting atop it. As I approached spikes shot up around me, trapping me. The voice identified itself as the Daedric lord Molag Bal. He said that a priest of Boethiah had desecrated the shrine, and demanded that I get revenge on his behalf.
Molag Bal claimed the priest had been captured. He ordered me to free the priest, so that he could return to the shrine to desecrate it once more. When the priest arrived, Molag Bal claimed he would be ready to entrap him. I of course said I would be the messenger of his will, and was allowed to leave.
An alternate plan was already forming in my mind: I would find and free this priest, but we would turn the tables on Molag Bal. Assuming the priest believed me. Molag Bal had given me the details of his location, a cave called Bruca's Leap Redoubt, to the north between Karthwasten and Dragon Bridge. I went to the stabled, mounted Blacktail, and set out immediately.

I found the cave surrounded by a wooden palisade, Forsworn milling about. I quickly cleared the camp and the cave, setting the priest free. I tried to tell him about Molag Bal's trap, but the fool rushed off saying he "Had a task to attend to!". I lost him as he jumped into the river and began swimming across, while I headed back to Blacktail. With a sigh, I realized Molag Bal might get his way after all. I had to reach the house before the priest, and warn him!
When I found the priest, he was already in Molag Bal's trap, foolishly taunting the Daedra. When I entered the shrine, a magical barrier went up behind me, and Molag Bal commanded that take his mace and use it to force the priest into submission. The priests hubris had damned us both to our fates; I could either do as Molag Bal wished, or rot here till some poor sod found my bones. The choice was unpleasant but clear: I brought the rusted mace down on the priests head, hoping to kill him in one blow. But Molag Bal's magic would not allow such a thing.
Every time I slew the priest, Molag Bal resurrected him, until at last Boethiah's faithful broke. He forsook his previous Daedric lord and claimed Molag Bal as his new one. With a cruel laugh, Molag Bal bid me to kill the priest one final time. When I had, the mace glowed in my hand, transforming into an even more cruel weapon. The Daedric lord said it was mine, and that when my enemies "Lay bloodied and broken" I should know that he would be watching.

At last, I felt the eyes of the cruel Daedra leave me. Finding a pick axe leaning against one wall of the tunnel to the shrine, I dug a deep trench and buried the mace, then fled from the house. The sunlight was a relief, and the grip of Dawnbreaker felt like cool salve to a burn after holding that wretched mace. Breathing deep of the fresh air, I headed to the inn for a strong drink or three.
The first draught of cool, strong ale did much to restore my spirits, and two bottles later I felt much better. I paid Kleppr, the innkeeper, twice what I owed him and then stepped outside to clear my head and see the city. I found my way to a secluded alchemists shop, where I traded several potions with an old, haggard woman.

Then, an old man named Calcemo was ranting at me about my Dwemer shield. He offered to buy it from me, but I politely declined the offer. When I asked what he was doing here, in one of the side caverns of the Markarth keep, he claimed he was the number-one living researcher of the Dwemer, investigating the ruins of Nchuand-zel or some unpronounceable Dwemer name.
I asked if I could explore the ruins, for the Dwemer had been a very interesting race, and I was eager to view what they had once called home. At first Calcemo refused, then abruptly changed his mind, and agreed to give me the key to both the ruins and his Dwemer museum if I killed a giant spider named 'Nimhe' for him.
It seems that Nimhe had taken over part of the excavation site, and was making it impossible to continue. I had killed many spiders before of all sizes, so I eagerly agreed to the offer and set off through the huge gates and high halls of Nchuand-zel. I quickly found and slew Nimhe, then backtracked to Calcemo to get the keys, immediately setting off back into the Dwemer ruins. I just hoped I would encounter no Daedric lords, since they seemed to have a strange affinity for me.

The ruins were infested with Falmer; a veritable army sitting right under Markarth! They could have overrun the city at any time. It was fortunate for the city, then, that I had an interest in Dwemer history. I began cutting down every Falmer in sight as I made my way through the ancient stone halls. Their chitin weapons did little against my new Orcish armor beside leave scratches, but their poisons and magics were more effective.
It was fascinating to see massive pistons still working after centuries of disrepair, magical light still streaming from dusty chandeliers. How could such a technologically advanced race just disappear? The ruins were fascinating, but left me with plenty of questions, and no answers. And whatever the Dwemer alloy was made of, it was everywhere, as common as wood or stone in a normal city. Everything was made from it; furniture, cookware, weapons and armor. They must have produced it in mass quantities unheard of to modern society.
Much to my surprise, I found a cloak of metallic cloth, silky and fluid. A pattern was embroidered on it, and judging by the design the cloak must have been Dwemer in make. I had never seen anything like it, and quickly rolled it up, tying it to my waist. It was very luxurious, but looked nowhere near as warm as the thick wool cloak I had picked up in that skeever cabin near Rorikstead. I decided I would gift the Dwemer cloak to Calcemo, assuming he hadn't already discovered something similar.

When I opened an ancient chest, I found an Orcish bow of all things. I wondered if the Falmer had put it in there. When I removed the weapon and slung it on my back , tossing my old bow to the side, two Dwemer spheres popped from piped in the wall and unfolded into mechanical warriors! I had never seen such a thing.
While their metal construction and surprisingly quick reflexes gave them an advantage, it necessitated that their inner workings be poorly armored. Quick and precise slices allowed me to cut the cords strung from gear to gear like tendons, leaving them immobile. I supposed if one was more inclined to brute strength than finesse, a good warhammer could crush them into scrap metal as well.
I found two magical amulets and a perfectly cut onyx behind one of the locked gates; the other held only a suit of Dwemer armor. I continued down the halls, hissing with steam or echoing with the sounds of clanking gears. Whatever Falmer remained would be cut down or routed by my hand; something told me there were more than a few still lurking about.

The Falmer have one considerable weakness, that I have come to exploit in nearly every fight; they are easily thrown off balance. Perhaps it is due to their blindness, but even a halfhearted shield bash or powerful strike will set them off kilter, opening the way for a well aimed stab or slash. Whatever the reason, it's an advantage I use often.
Stifling a yawn as I walked through a quiet portion of the ruins, I wondered what time it was. It was impossible to keep track of the hour while underground like this. My stomach rumbled loudly, so it must be dinner time. I took a moment to wolf down a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese I had stashed in my haversack, washing it down with a few swigs from my waterskin.
If these ruins proved to go on much further, I might have to stop and find a relatively safe place to rest. Sleeping on the hard stone didn't sound very appealing, though, and the noise of distant machinery was constantly echoing through the halls.

I was just thinking it was awfully quiet when a half dozen mechincal spiders poured from sockets in the wall, attacking me with their metal pincers. Their gears were fragile and exposed, though, and they were easily disabled, though for a moment their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm me.
Shortly thereafter I found some sort of control room, with a lever connected to several complex gears and cogs. When I pulled the lever, the machinery sprung to life, turning at a furious rate. Deep in the stone walls of Nchuand-zel, I could hear ancient machines hissing with steam as they came alive. I hoped I hadn't just doomed myself.
"What in Oblivion is THAT!?" I exclaimed as I reentered the massive main hall to a battle between Falmer and ancient Dwemer machines. A massive Dwemer automaton was battling two Falmer, crushing one beneath a huge hammer. It was easily twice the size of any other machines I had encountered, hissing steam with every movement. It skewered the second Falmer on a blade the size of a greatsword, then turned it's armored face towards me, striding in my direction on huge legs of Dwemer alloy.
It hissed a great cloud of steam at me, and I cowered behind my shield. Thankfully it's blows, though powerful, were slow and easily predicted. Still, there was little room to maneuver on the high stone walkways, and I was forced to retreat at every blow. After several dodged strikes, I noticed a small spinning gyro set into the things chest. With a lung, I jammed the tip of Dawnbreaker into it, and the gears of the machine made an awfully grinding sound. It stumbled to one side, nearly taking Dawnbreaker with it as the machine fell over the side of the walkway into the dark waters fall below, falling with a huge splash of water and a great cloud of steam.
With that, I scrambled up a small side path looming over the main walkway leading back to Markarth. I lept onto it in a jumble of orichalcum, hamstringing one of the man-sized automatons as I sprinted back to the entrance of the ancient ruins.

I returned to find Calcemo still hard at work, scribbling notes into a book. When I told him of all that had happened, he stared at me in disbelief, then scolded me "You're lucky that centurion didn't pulverize you to a bloody paste!"
He softened when I presented the Dwemer cloak to him, though, saying he had never seen so much as a single scrap of Dwemer fabric before. He gave me a purse heavy with coin as thanks for the gift, and asked if the ruins were safe to research now.
"I'm not sure." I replied, removing my helmet and wiping sweat from my brow. "I killed many dozens of Falmer, but when I pulled that lever I am sure I awoke many machine guardians. If more Falmer don't creep from crevices and destroy them, who knows how long they'll keep roaming the halls?"
"Centuries, doubtless." Calcemo replied, scowling. "I will write up a full report for the Jarl. He should know how close his city was to potential disaster, the fool. We all owe you a great debt."

Bidding Calcemo a warm farewell, I went to find the inn, exhausted. Judging by how dark it was and the chill in the air, it must have been after midnight. I curled up on the stone bed of my room and fell fast asleep. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.