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Nerevarine Typically, when a member of the Union invites others to come and see their world for the first time, there are certain expectations. First, that everyone invited is considered a guest rather than a co-worker. And usually... it's a /lot/ more present than this little patch of Skyrim is. Really, it's like Talis hand-picked the worst part of the region to show people. You would think that, being home to the eminent magical research center of the region, Winterhold would be a little more... pleasant? Gentrified?

     That's not the case. The city, if one can call it that these days, is a loose affiliation of rudimentary buildings and the College itself, which is evidently one of the only original structures still standing. People mill about aimlessly in the streets, and it's evident that only a few lucky individuals actually earn a consistent living here. If squalor could also be freezing cold, that'd be a good word for it.

     Yes, the weather is pretty awful too. Thankfully it's only snowing today. Judging by the sheer amount of snowdrifts littering the town, blizzards must be a pretty common occurrence here. The architecture for those familiar with it would ring of Norse influences, admittedly in dire shape. It seems like the College itself is the town's primary source of income, and no one, from the villagers to the jarl himself, seems happy about that. Aside from his pointed ears and shining Indoril armor, Talis fits right in with the general air of grumpiness.

     He leans against the jarl's longhouse, waiting for his new allies as snow softly falls to the ground. One could reach Winterhold through any means of travel, whether Elite or in-world, although it remains equally remote from any other town in Skyrim. The first ally he sees will get a sarcastic, arms-open-wide gesture from him and an inappropriately ostentatious "Welcome to Skyrim!"
Finna A snowy owl comes swooping in through the snow, landing on a rootop not far from the meeting place The white feathers perfectly blend in with the snow, rendering the creature nearly invisible to casual lookarounds. The snow and the cold don't bother it a bit, though such birds would be rarely seen in the midst of such full snow. Or during the day.

    As it so happens, the building is... the Jarl's longhouse, and she landed right above Talis.

    The owl reaches out with one of its feet and shuffles a few clumps of snow off the roof and... down towards the Nerevarine's noggin.

    Just a half a handful.

    As soon as there are any results from that, the owl swoops down into the clearing and smoothly shifts to human form before landing in a crouched position in the street. Of course she waits until there aren't any natives otherwise around looking that way before changing... don't want to cause a panic.

    "Good afternoon! First time in a while I feel at home. Finna Snowdancer!~ Don't think we've met."
Ainsley     Ainsley arrives in a hooded outfit with even her tail wrapped up in cloth. She looks fairly weighed down, and the unpleasant look in her eyes speaks of someone who is very much in the worst part of a world for her biology. Lacking in the ability to easily warm herself, this cold-blooded reptile chose to use some easy to find warming devices and stored them in the many pockets in her outfit so that she would not just die within minutes of coming to Skyrim. The reptile must be determined if she's doing this, but the College was probably already mentioned to her, and that is not an opportunity she wants to pass up.

    Even Argonians have an easier time with the cold than Ainsley does.

    "This place is awful," she mentions aloud, her tone distinctly non-Argonian and crisp, "Who thought it was a good idea to build a town here?" She fidgets in place incessantly, because it helps to warm her blood if she keeps herself moving.
Inga Freyjasdottir For almost the first time ever, Inga's normal, preferred attire blends in perfectly with the land she is visiting. She'd heard it was cold, but little else besides so she arrived swathed in her grey-blue cloak with the white fox fur around her neck, clasped with a silver brooche. Beneath she wears a long, apron style dress of soft wool dyed a forest green, this pinned at the shoulders with her usual silver brooches, a strand of amber beads strung between them. Beneath that a white underdress and, of course, good wool socks.

She walked through the village, her eyes wide, a smile on her face. It looked so familiar. Not exactly, of course, but the feel of it was so similar to her home it brought tears to her eyes.

When she passes someone in the street with a similar hammer shaped amulet, she couldn't look more please. "Hail Thor!" she calls. The person gives her a strange look and moved on.

Upon being welcomed by Talis, she smiles. "It's beautiful," is her response to his sarcasm. Apparently, Finna feels similarly!

Ainsley though? "Oh dear," she says to Ainsley. "Is it wise for you to be here Ainsley?" she says, obviously concerned for Ainsley's safety.

"Lovely to see you, of course. And you as well Finna," she says, before bowing slightly to Nerevarine. "Inga Freyjasdottir, wisewoman. This is your world?" she introduces then inquires.
Nerevarine Talis is quite used to snow landing on his helmet in this blasted place. With a sigh, he wipes it from the brightly colored plume atop his headgear, dusting the dregs from his shoulders. The elf extends an armored hand towards Finna, shaking it. "Talis Indoril, of Great House Indoril. You know how to make an entrance," he admits. "And how to blend in. Good. Nords are superstitious and fearful of anybody different than them." He says this loud enough for the Nord carriage driver a few feet away to hear. The carriage driver makes a rude gesture at Talis.

     He notices Ainsley all bundled up. "It used to be a city, so I understand. Perhaps then it was less awful." He gives a shrug. "Depending on where my assignment takes us, it may be even further out--but it's still nice to see you again, outlander."

     Talis greets Inga. "That sounds like a Nord name," he muses. "No wonder you seem to like this place so much. But yes. My name is Talis Indoril, of Great House Indoril. I don't hail from Skyrim, but it is a part of Nirn, my world. Winterhold is fairly remote even by Skyrim's standards, but if you like this place you'll love Whiterun. In any case... on to why I've called for help."

     Talis explains his reasoning, once everyone has gathered around. "I came to a realization a while back. As long as no one suddenly stabs me in the face, as long as a precariously placed boulder doesn't come rolling down one of these blasted mountains and cave my skull in... I could potentially live forever. I've been lazy, these past few months, just raiding old ruins and running off with whatever would earn me enough septims to keep food on the table." He pauses a minute, chuckling at the notion of using the Empire's money.

     "The thought of doing that forever when there are people who need my help is what motivated me to start adventuring again. Not just wandering into old Dwemer forts and carting out buckets of brass, but helping people. Even outlanders," he says. After all, not all of them are unbearably stupid. Some are even allies! "That's why I've brought you all here today. Because I need to get used to working with other people, preferably before the next apocalyptic prophecy rolls around. I decided to start small, just a little trip to some old wizard's remote outpost to check up on him."

     Talis pushes off of the wall of the jarl's longhouse and heads towards the iced-over cobblestone road which leads to the imposing, lonely College of Winterhold. "The orc who posted it and had it spread around works at the College as a librarian. We need to head inside and check with him so that he knows we're taking his request."
Ainsley     Ainsley turns her attention toward the Nord, remembering that there are people living here and that they probably don't appreciate what she had said. She adjusts her tightly bundled outfit as Talis explains why he had gathered a bunch of allies to handle some random task he had found. She tries to pay attention but she struggles through the frigid air to even think while she's sitting still like this. Inga's concern is noted and replied to, "It is not wise. But if all living creatures only did wise things, the worlds would be very boring places to live in. I take it as a challenge."

    She turns to follow Talis after he's finished explaining. "It's nice to see you, too," she says to him once they get going and she has some sanity to remember her manners.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga blinks. "Nord? Yes, it seems these people of Skyrim must have much in common with my people-from...long ago, anyway," she says. She won't get into too much detail of the whole confusing business. Inga reaches up to touch her Mjolnir pendant with a small smile. Were the gods the same here? She was dying to know, but Talis had called them for something specific, so she would hold her tongue for now. "I see. Well, a pleasure to meet you Talis Indoril," she said, trying to peer at the features beneath his helmet. He was built differently somehow. Lanky.

To his explaination, she blinks, then gives a wry smile. "At least you will not persist even after your skull is crushed," she responds, following, leaning on her staff to walk. Inga walks with a noticable limp.

Upon seeing the stairs of Winterhold, she would sigh heavily and quite possibly swear. "Orc?" she asks.

Inga smiles to Ainsley as well. "Well hopefully it will be warmer inside this "college". I can always make a fire if needed," she offers, her mind already beginning to ruminate around the idea of creating some kind of warming talisman for Ainsley. She'd have to give that some serious thought and expirimentation.
Finna Finna reaches out to grasp the hand... but takes it a step farther by whirling around and wrapping her arms around the offered one, putting on a fun little show of nestling up against the plate-armored chest and gazing up at him. "Know how to do much more than that, you'll soon see!" The fox announces in a teasy sing-song tone... only to break off and bound over to Inga instead. Inga gets an outright HUG from the Lunar! "Sisters of the snow! Today we're in our element!"

    Of course she breaks off from that too and instead regards Ainsley... frowning. Her ears Straighten with clear alarm! "You'll freeze o death here... and don't ever plan on seeing Diamond Hearth of the Haslanti League. Place is so cold you can't go outside without five layers of thick furs on!"

    With greetings accomplished, she turns her head to Talis... and grins.

    "So we're headed to the college first? What's an orc?"
Nerevarine Talis responds to Inga's comment about her lifespan. "That sounds like quite the unenviable existence. I can't imagine what that must be like, outlander." A rare moment of empathy from him is soon brushed aside by an explanation for the curious. The face on his helmet is either generic or extremely famous; one does not often comment hammer to anvil for anything in between. The colorful plume rising from the top is like a mohawk, and the helmet wears a constant frown of disapproval. Two dark blue ears, both bearing earrings, and both quite pointier than human ears, jut out from either side of the helmet. The rare moment of empathy from him is overridden by concern for Ainsley.

     "Keep us advised about your health, outlander. I have healing spells ready to assist, and we can always stop and make a fire like Inga said."

     He answers Inga and Finna's questions, next. "An orc is... if you want the physical description, you'll see when we get inside. Just like /I'll/ see what else Finna can do. As for /who/ they are, they're the chosen people of Malacath, Daedric Prince of Outcasts. People are still a little nervous around them, but they're finally starting to get respect. They're rough, tough, and not afraid of anything, and even orcs who don't work in martial professions are no-nonsense, blunt taskmasters. Like I said... you'll see."

     Talis leads the group towards the college. The College of Winterhold is a reflection of Winterhold itself. Even though it is one of the only original structures left standing in the town since whatever disaster befell it, its position on the extreme edge of an outcropping makes it seem distant and inaccessible. The towering stone spires are dusted with the white of constant snowfall, and access to the College is restricted by a long walkway, a closed gate, and one lonely gatekeeper. The walkway itself stands only because of sturdy construction; through the light snowfall, one can easily see where the supporting beams crumbled away or were snapped off by the cataclysm that befell this miserable town.

     It's a short, but silent and lonely walk to the College. The group is met with the occasional disapproving look, although whether it's because of the Dunmer and what they believe to be an Argonian or because everyone is heading to the College is hard to say. These are grumpy people. Talis explains a little more as they go along. "There's a scholar who's part of the College. His name is Septimus Signus, and a few months ago he wandered way up the north coast there--" The elf gestures with an armored hand to the northern horizon. There really, really doesn't seem to be much out there. "In search of some Dwemer artifact. They're a lost and blasphemous civilization that left their toys all over Nirn before they disappeared, so, the appeal is evident for scholarly types. The librarian was a colleague of his who just wants us to go check in on him. Simple stuff--"
Nerevarine Talis' explanation, and the party's advance, is halted by a terse "Halt!" Standing before them is the gatekeeper, a hooded figure blocking their path and preventing any further advance. She lowers her hood, and Ainsley, Inga, and Finna get their first glance at a High Elf. Faralda, the gatekeeper, once had fiery red hair and skin of an almost golden hue. The weather of Skyrim has dulled her complexion, but not her features. Like Talis, her ears are pointed. And, like the gilded face of Indoril Nerevar that makes up Talis' helmet, her eyes are almond shaped. Her forehead is tall, her nose pointed, and her stature tall. Her posture is the slightest bit haughty.

     "What's your business here?" asks the High Elf. She peers at Finna, Inga, and Ainsley, who all look like they might possibly be interested in joining. "Have you come to join? It won't be..." Her attention is drawn to the Dunmer. "An Ordinator? You're a long way from Morrowind. What in the world are you doing here?"

     Talis presents the note from the librarian, and Faralda begins to read it.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga nearly falls over from the force of the hug, but manages to stay on her feet and laugh. "Indeed it is so," she replies to Finna with a fond smile. Finna is always lively, always interesting to be around. She watches her flirtatious antics with Talis with amusement.

Inga looks back to Talis, pursing her lips slightly and looking away. "Mmm. Well, I am young yet," she replies quietly. It has been on her mind lately, but she pushes it away or the time being. The present affords plentiful distractions now.

She does indeed groan upon seeing the stairs. Her progress would be slow. "Must be terribly nice to have a useful power such as /flight/" she grumbles to herself as she climbs. Maybe if she falls and breaks her neck she'd wake up again at the top.

Inga listens to their mission, nodding. "That should be easy enough. Do inquire if we may have an object that belongs to this mage. I can work a tracking spell to help us locate him," she says.

Upon reaching the sentry, Inga blinks. She has seen elves before, but not quite like this one. Most of the elves she has met were dark elves. "Join? No, I do not think so," she answers.
Ainsley     Ainsley responds to the concern from the rest of the party by pulling out one of the simple enchanted heating pads she had gathered up just so she wouldn't just keel over in the middle of Winterhold. She holds it up and it seems to radiate warmth enough to melt the snow that comes near it. Not enough to burn her, either. "I have a stock of these for when I go travelling anywhere cold," she explains, "They are not the most sturdy but they do their job. Not enough to completely stop the cold but enough to keep me awake and active. Please, don't trouble yourselves." She looks aside at Finna, the remark she had getting more of an unhappy grimace. "I'm aware of the danger," she tells Finna.

    After stuffing the clothen pad back into her winter outfit, she realizes the group is soon coming to a halt.

    The elf woman greets the group, apparently acting as the college's welcoming party. The reptilian woman steps around the others to get a good look at her, bright blue eyes and softer features making it clear Ainsley is not an Argonian of any variety that the locals would have seen. She doesn't speak up since Talis has it handled. It would be impolite to even introduce herself until it's clear it is worth doing so.

    Ainsley turns her head to look at the college itself. In the clearer weather, she can see how the building precariously stands, defying what was clearly a cataclysmic rock slide that consumed part of the area. She thinks to herself that... she could probably just fly across, if she really wanted to. Her wandering thoughts help distract her from the cold.
Finna Finna, owing to the fact that she has absolutely no idea what to say to this person that wouldn't be foolish, ops instead to offer a big, eager, delighted, almost GOOFY grin - of the sort that a student might show upon finally reaching the place where all their drems will come true! Full of mischief and inquisitiveness, that expression... and it's probably wholly genuine, knowing Finna.

    Just not the way that the College would expect.

    "Visiting for now! ... on business with the Ordinator here first."
Nerevarine Faralda reads the note, nodding to the others. "Very well," she says to Finna and Inga, eyeing the silent Ainsley curiously. She clears her throat. "This doesn't sound like Urag, but... only somone at the college would care about Septimus. Or even know him, really. He's very reclusive, even when he's here. I'll let you and your friends in, but don't let me find out this is a trick." Faralda's expression hardens for a moment, her features growing slightly more severe than normal.

     She then returns the note to Talis with a nod. As the Nerevarine accepts it, Moon-and-Star catches the bright winter sun and glimmers slightly. He folds the note and places it back into his armor. Faralda turns, energy gathering in either hand. With a thrust from each of her palms, blue-white bolts of magic fly forth, striking the top of the pillars on either side of the closed, wrought iron gate. It creaks, as if not used to the exertion of opening, and Faralda gives one last advisory. "Urag's in the Arcaneum, you can reach it by entering the first door on your left and heading straight down the hall."

     Talis nods wordlessly to Faralda and leads everyone along. The courtyard of the place seems like an echo of something that used to be. It's more the outline of a courtyard than the real thing; any plants that might have grown here haven't been tended to in quite a long time. Students of the College mill about aimlessly, all wearing robes of different, muted colors. It seems like even in Skyrim's pre-eminent magical research location, there's not a lot to do, or perhaps the curriculum just places value on self-driven learning and simply provides resources to learners. Either way, once the first door's open, things become considerably warmer.

     It's actually bearable in here, and compared to the rest of Winterhold, the place is practically opulent. Clean tiled floors, high vaulted ceilings of sturdy stone, magically fueled torches lighting the way and some kind of enchanted heating system. Talis removes his helmet and reveals his face for the first time since meeting everyone, although he's in front--so, unless anyone suddenly cuts in line, all they're going to see is more of his dark blue skin and his medium-length black hair. He opens the door at the end of the hall and steps into the Arcaneum.

     For Ainsley, the whole trip is likely now worth it. The room is as large as a small cafeteria, and circling the center of it are a series of wide arches occupied by tall, wooden bookshelves. A shallow, two-step set of stairs resides in the center itself, as does a desk with several books piled atop it and a dour, bearded old man with pale green (!) skin, scrutinizing eyes and... tusks. "What do you want?" he bluntly asks.
Ainsley     As Septimus' behavior is explained, Ainsley's eyes momentarily narrow. "A reclusive wizard that has fallen out of contact," she muses just loud enough to hear, as if the words should probably worry the rest of the party much more than someone's friend or colleague going missing. She knows the danger of magic firsthand and this feels like something that is going to end poorly. She looks toward Faralda, offering a soft smile but no introduction of her own. She doesn't really have much to say. Once she's allowed them to enter the College, Ainsley says, "Thank you," with her gratitude matching her words.

    Following Talis into the college is silent from Ainsley as well. She has a lot to look at, and not a whole lot of value to say. A strange thing when one considers her type of magic. Once they reach the library, she looks around but doesn't yet touch anything. She acts as if she has entered a holy place, wandering about but sticking fairly close and shining eyes of reverence and joy at every single book she can see. She can be heard reading their titles aloud. Urag's presence is almost secondary, but his question brings her back to the rest of the party.

    She fidgets more in here than she did outside, because she so desperately wants to read everything. She almost has pleading eyes at Urag but... they aren't here to read so she doesn't say anything. She just lets her eyes wander to the books on his desk with a hypnotized distraction that he might recognize.
Inga Freyjasdottir "Septimus. A roman name," she says quietly, mostly to herself. Talis had said her name sounded like the name of a Nord. More similarities to her own world...but this was not a version of Earth, was it? Talis had called it something different. Just another strange echo of the multiverse, she supposed.

Inga watches as the woman opens the gates for them, using the sort of magic she's become more accustomed to over these past years. She gives her a respectful nod as they pass, Inga following closely behind Talis.

Inga looks to Ainsley and her heating pads. "Well that is clever. I was thinking, perhaps I could come up with a talisman that would help you control your body temperature. I will look into it," she says. Inga loves to make talismans, so it would be a fun project.

Inga's eyes widen, obviously impressed with the splendor of the architecture. There is obviously a lot of history here. Perhaps she would return another time--even if the stairs are terribly unpleasant. "Very impressive," Inga comments, looking back to Talis, who has removed his helmet.

He sure is blue.

And while we are meeting men of unusual colors, there is the librarian. A green man with /tusks/. Inga blinks. Sure, she'd seen stranger, but it was still rather novel to her. As manners are important, Inga bows to him slightly. "Greetings," she offers simply. Talis would do the talking.

Inga smiles again to Ainsley, who looks like she wants to set up a bed roll and move in until she's read every dusty tome in the place.
Finna "So many interesting people in this land." Finna states upon sighting both Urag the Orc and Talis without the helmet. Interesting indeed!

    She, unfortunately, cannot ready very well, but she's awed by the library's size as they all walk up to the counter. "Heard you were looking for some... dangerous errands dealt with! Not a soul in the world that doesn't need work."
Nerevarine Urag knows a bibliophile when he sees one--after all, he is a librarian of some years. The orc leans forward at his desk and calls out to Ainsley. "I don't know how they do things in Black Marsh," he says, figuring her odd appearance compared to most Argonians is just a regional thing. "But here, you go through /me/ to get a book. I don't care if you wrote it yourself."

     Talis wasn't joking about orcs being all business, but over the years he's become rather blunt himself. "We're here about the inn posting."

     "Inn posting?" Urag looks Talis up and down. Here in the circular room, the others might see his face more easily. Holding his helmet in the crook of his arm like that, he looks like some sort of town guard reporting to the commander. Perhaps that's what an 'Ordinator' is. Urag continues. "Maybe you didn't notice, but I've got a library to run. A library for grubby handed little mages. How would I find the time to make an inn posting?"

     Talis scowls, slapping the note contemptuously upon the table in a challenge to the old orc. "I don't know, but I'll tell you you're going to find the time to pay me--" He corrects himself. "Us the 50 septims you promised."

     "Oh yeah?" says the orc as he rises. "Or what?"

     "Or I kick your ass so hard you'll taste ash from Red Mountain." Maybe it's not such a good idea to let Talis do the talking. That temper... "Now are you going to read your note or do I have to throw you out the window?"

     Urag readies a spell, but Finna's voice stays his--and Talis'--hand. The orc fumes, glaring at Talis. "I was," he admits, giving the note a cursory glance. "But... not this. Septimus left of his own accord," he explains. "To go study some Dwemer artifact. He hasn't been back in a few months, sure, but that's his way. If anything, /he/ was the one who sent this note out. This is his handwriting. See?"

     Urag removes a book from beneath his desk and places it upon the desk for anyone to see. The title is 'Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls.'
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga doesn't make to touch any of the books. They wouldn't mean anything to her anyway. She's been working on it, but Inga is still largely illiterate. So Inga stands back and lets Talis...

...talk shit to the librarian. She's unsure if she should be worried or laugh. This is how men talk to each other. At least most of the men she's known back home.

Inga merely raises a brow and leans on her staff, contemplating taking a seat. "So, this Septimus sent the note himself because he wants someone to check up on him? That seems quite suspicious," and like they wouldn't get paid. Judging by Talis' reaction, that was still important to him. She wouldn't mind getting paid either. "I don't suppose he left any of his belongings behind? I could use such to track him," she asks Urag.
Ainsley     "Yes," Ainsley replies, her tone patient, a layer of politeness holding down a well of energy. She wants to read all of the books. All of them. "This is, after all, /your/ library, and I would never dream of even touching one of these books without first asking your permission or even doing you a favor." As if she was offering to do his shopping for him if that's what it took to get to read something from this library. Her tail began to wiggle behind her, the cloth around it creaking and shuffling a little because of how tightly-bound it is.

    The potential of violence gets her a little... twitchy. And the revelation that Urag never sent the note... All the joy starts to run out of her face when she realizes that someone else had sent the note.

    "May I?" she murmurs, before reaching out to pick up the book Urag put out for them and start flipping through it. Her feathery light touches and bright eyes absorb everything there is to find within.

    "This man is drowning in his own knowledge," she remarks, as she tries to translate the odd waxing poetic language she finds within the tome. "I doubt he had the presence of mind to call for anyone to help him, if this book is how his mind operates. I doubt he thinks he's in any danger at all. This feels like a trap to ensnare us from a third party." She closes the book and frowns.

    "We should find him. He mustn't be left out there."
Finna Unfortunately Finna has little interest in the book, and looks to Inga and then Ainsley about it. "Elder Scrolls." She reads from it, unsure what that means. Sounds important though!

    She purses her lips at Ainsley's deducations, then folds her arms. "Hard to see how one man could SURVIVE in this weather. A mage though, that's different. But if YOU didn't make the post..." She peers at Urag... then at Talis, "And you're obviously not pulling anyone's legs... and HE wouldn't repot himself missing or alone...... what's going on?"
Nerevarine "Yeah," says Urag to Inga. "The book is an original copy of his. Hand-written. If I have your guarantee that I'll have it back in pristine condition, and I do mean pristine, I'll let you use it as a focus for a tracking spell. You're right to be suspicious, too. I don't think he wants someone to 'check up' on him. The man is loony, but he can take care of himself. This is probably his way of getting help for whatever pet project he's gotten himself engrossed in, if you ask me."

     "So you're not going to pay us," states Talis matter-of-factly.

     "You bet your ash yams I'm not," spits Urag. "But Septimus might. He's crazy, but I've never known him to be stingy."

     The orc then responds to Ainsley. "That's what studying the Elder Scrolls can do," he says. "Septimus is our resident expert on them, in so much as anyone /can/ be an expert. It's extremely difficult to decipher what he says and turn it into useful knowledge at times, but if he's out there, way up north, he's there for a reason." Compared to the note, the book's handwriting is as exact a match as one could hope to find, but it is, as Ainsley pointed out, notably more coherent than the book. Either Septimus had help writing it, or the note is a very convincing forgery.

     Talis groans. "So much for an easy first outing," he says. The elf steels himself and wheels around, and... wow. His eyes are /red./ Like, literally, intensely red. Combined with his blue-grey skin those eyes evoke the image of smoldering ashes after a fire. He places the helmet back on. "I agree," he ultimately responds to Ainsley. "Most Dwemer artifacts are simple suits of armor, weapons, or the occasional curiosity. But they also built some of the most devastating weapons Nirn has ever seen. If Septimus has run afoul of one of those, he may not understand what he's getting into."

     Talis then responds to Finna. "Either he suddenly got a /lot/ more coherent, he's not as crazy as he lets on... or this is a forgery. Suddenly, I'm glad I /did/ ask for help."

     "Inga, how long would it take you to make a tracking spell for that? If he's where the note says he is, it's several hours out in very cold conditions."
Ainsley     Ainsley makes sure the book is set down exactly where it was when she picked it up without so much as a smudge on its cover. Of all people, she would know that the book and the note are written by different people. It falls within her purview. There's... details that can be discerned from a note. Things that even the most convincing forgery would miss. Now that Talis is starting to agree that this smells fishy, the lizard woman puffs a gentle sigh and rubs at one side of her face, pained by how dangerous this may get. Then she looks at Urag's face.

    There's a serious look, the reptile's face more expressive than any Argonian's. She can read the signs here. The more it feels like a deception, the more serious she seems.

    "I'll need to grab more warming pads," she mumbles, looking away when she realizes she'd be freezing half to death if they went further north.
Finna Finna slinks around behind Ainsley and has a look at the book... but all she's seeing are some incredibly flowery usages of plenty of words she knows don't describe what's being talked about. "Reads like... the rantings of a dreamseer who's had too much mushroom smoke!" A reference that maybe only Inga will be able to reason out, but she's frowning in dismay at these findings.

    "Well... only one way to find out if guy's in trouble, weird things going on, or someone maybe even holding him hostage... go looking!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga nods to Urag. "I will see that it is so. Indeed, I only need it for a moment. No need to take it with me," she assures him, taking the book. She holds it gingerly, knowing bibliophiles well enough by now to treat books gently.

"Well, looks like we will have to find this Septimus and be sure he pays us," Inga says, to Talis, then nearly jumps back when he turns around and she gets a good look at his face. At his eyes. She blinks. She's never seen eyes that startling color before.

"Uh...how long? Oh, not too long. A couple of hours would be ideal, but I could throw it together in maybe fifteen minutes if needed," she replies.

Inga looks to Ainsley. "Well, this is a place of mages yes? Perhaps there is one who knows a spell that helps people withstand the cold? Could be worth looking into could it not?" she asks.
Nerevarine Talis nods. If Inga can get the tracking spell done quickly, that's the best option he sees available. Or, it would be, if it weren't for how far out Septimus might be. "I want that money, but more importantly, I want to know why an eccentric, borderline lunatic--or someone who wants us to think it's him--is sending out requersts for adventurers." He considers Ainsley's remark about heating pads. The journey will be long and cold, so heading out after some preparation would be best. "Let's do this. Ainsley, go stock up on those heating pads. That should give Inga some time to work on a tracking spell. There's an inn back in town if any of you need to use it. We'll head out tomorrow morning so we have plenty of daylight for the trip to Septimus."
Ainsley     "Okay."

    Ainsley doesn't even seem to think about it more than the bare minimum she needs to. She smiles at the others briefly and then starts to leave, though she takes flight once she's a fair distance away and outside, which may startle some of the students or other locals not used to seeing such a thing. Maybe even the teachers, if they're around to see it.

    It shouldn't take along for her to stock up for a deep arctic trip, and she has the time she needs to be back here. She'll worry about cold resist enchantments after she gets back.
Inga Freyjasdottir It wouldn't have taken Inga all night, but as it had grown dark it was best to set out in the morning. She could have worked the spell quickly, but more time would mean an even better spell so Inga had holed up in the school for the night, evidentally not needing sleep.

The next morning, she stood in the snow with a stone with a hole through the middle and a bit of sinew, grooves carved into the stone, some dark substance inside the grooves. Ink and blood.

She holds the string and turns, watching the pendulum swing. It clearly leans in one direction, guiding the way. "Well, here we go...I don't suppose we can borrow a horse?" she asks. It will likely be a long way.
Finna "Can make a pretty guess, here! Our big-brained scholar can't explore terrible place full of bloodthirsty monsters. And come back alive, anyways." Finna states daringly, putting a hand on her hip and grinning impishly.

    She's been in the Multiverse too long. maybe.

    But they won't know until they meet the guy, will we?

    Which turns out to be next morning.

    "Ehhhhh... I can carry everyone as a Great Terror, but they're smelly." She offers to Inga. "No need to bring a horse even further into these frigid reaches. Poor beasts aren't bred for it."
Nerevarine Talis arrives at the school the next morning, fully bedecked in his armor and ready to leave. The morning sun is high in the sky, casting a bright, cold glow upon Winterhold. The place could've been pretty once, especially with the view on the coastline. Now, it's just a shell of whatever it was, and even the most beautiful winter's morning can only emphasize what it isn't. The topic of transportation is brought up, and Inga makes a good point, but Finna makes a better counterpoint.

     "Skyrim horses are assuredly bred for it. They're easily twice the size of their Cyrodil cousins, and they handle the cold as well as any Nord. The problem is, this is the sticks. Winterhold doesn't have any place one can buy a horse from. There's the carriage driver, but that's... unlikely. I think Finna's solution is the best. Besides, whatever a Great Terror is, it can't smell as bad as a Nord."

     And speaking of Finna's points, he nods in agreement with her regarding her prediction. "Yes," he says. "He's probably found some Dwemer city he wants us to delve into. They were very protective of their secrets. Even now, thousands of years after their disappearance, their automated protectors still skulk through the halls of their strongholds. And, as you might guess, it hasn't improved their temperament."

     When Ainsley returns, she'll be met with excited chatter from several students. Flight isn't unheard of in Tamriel, but the College of Winterhold rarely gets to see it in use, being somewhat separated from other, more tolerant parts of the world. Nords tend to distrust magic and put stock only in the most utilitarian spells. Talis, too, is also impressed, offering a token comment. "I haven't seen a Levitation spell in two centuries, outlander. That was quite impressive. But--we should be on. When everyone's ready we should follow Inga's tracking spell and head out."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga reaches back to pull up the hood of her cloak, resting her staff in the crook of her arm for just a moment as they figure out transportation. "I will not complain of any smell Finna, for if you have to walk at my pace we shall never get there," Inga sighs. It's true, she'd never make it leagues away on foot, not any time soon.

A small smile. "Yes, that's likely true Finna. It is what I would do if I had to," she replies, stepping back a few steps from the Lunar so she can change into...whatever it is. A giant fox, perhaps? A riding fox sounds...adorable.

To Ainsley, she shakes her head, smiling. "If only I could work such a spell. You could tow me along like a kite," she purses her lips. That's a very interesting mental image.

To Talis, she looks over her shoulder, adjusting her hood. "Well, if that is the case there are things we can take and sell, yes?" she asks, raising a brow. "Gold and silver?" she asks.
Ainsley     Ainsley spares a moment to explain to the students and Talis, "It isn't a spell, it is an innate ability, like walking or running. It is, indeed, magic, but I'm afraid I haven't the faintest clue how it works or how to even begin teaching it to anyone. So... it isn't all that impressive." As if the power of unassisted magical flight wasn't something to fuss about. She seems a little embarrassed by the attention, or as much as she can be. Her nose gets red but her expression is as neutral as before.

    "Right. I won't need to ride a horse, or anything else, obviously. Let's go," she says, checking her equipment and making sure the empty pack she brought is secured so she can do a good bit of looting on their adventure if they get the chance.
Finna "You'd be surprised." Finna singsongs, stretching her arms around.

    When the group reaches their departure point... she does indeed shapeshift. Her body grows MASSIVE, clothes drowning under a sudden explosion of snow-white fur... but it's not soft. It's clumpy and naturally matted, cresting along her back - but not to the point where one couldn't mount it. She bends over and adopts a four-legged position as her joints reshape. Terrible, flesh-ripping claws erupt from her fingernails, and her body elongates and gains hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of muscle.

    When all's said and done... the creature is easily 18 FEET LONG, 12 FEET TALL, vaguely resembles a Hyena - if a Hyena was bigger than a horse, with a jaw big enough to casually BITE A GROWN MAN IN HALF, and topping matters off...

    It has an oily, pungent odor that smells like a combination of drowning dog and... rotting dog.

    But Finna crouches down, clearly in control of the creature's ferocious instincts. "Let's go."

    After everyone who wants to climbs on... "And HOLD ON."

    Well. Riding a big canine that looks like it would not have been out of place on ANCIENT EARTH when saber-tooth-tigers walked the land...
Nerevarine Talis replies first to Inga. "Yes," he says. "Although technically the sale of Dwemer artifacts is illegal, I've yet to met an Imperial who actually /enforces/ that law. Probably because of how hopelessly difficult it would be. Tamriel is lousy with Dwemer ruins. Nowhere was safe from their foolishness."

     Trusting that Ainsley knows her own strengths, he leads everyone to the departure point. Namely, it's the edge of the cliff, with a steep but not unmanageable decline downwards. The decline leads down to a thick, frozen layer of ice that gives way to the Sea of Ghosts. The frozen coastline stretches a winding path far into the horizon, and Inga's charm seems to be pointing them towards following that winding path.

     Talis nods at Ainsley, then turns and prepares to see just what a Great Terror is, and what it smells like. "Almalexia's Mercy, that's foul," he says. "It might even be /worse/ than Nords." A nearby Nord student enjoying the view mutters bitterly and walks off, his experience of witnessing a transformation soured by Talis' insult. "Alright, then," he replies to Finna. With practiced ease he climbs astride the shapeshifted Lunar. It seems he's got a lot of experience with traveling on the backs of steeds.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga quickly decides she hasn't stepped far enough back from Finna as she begins to change, and so she rectified this by a few more hasty steps backward, accidentally backing into Talis if he doesn't dodge her hasty retreat. Her eyes widen as Finna, adorable, mischievious Finna, turns into a giant beast that smells like wolves come from from a battlefield feast.

It is not adorable at ALL.

But it will work, she hopes, if she can manage to hold on. Needless to say, she'll be needing a bath after all this.

With a small sigh, Inga awkwardly climbs onto Finna's back, trying to figure out how to both hold on and hold the pendulum spell. That was going to be rather tricky. "Ah...if someone could ah...sit behind me that would be appreciated. I need to hold the pendulum," she explains. She really does need a beast of burden of some kind. Preferably once that can withstand many kinds of weather.

"Tch...well I don't know anything about this Dwemer, but I do know I could use a couple more goats and chickens so let us begin," she answers, then gives Finna directions based on the direction the pendulum is pulling.
Ainsley     Ainsley's response to Finna's transformation is surprisingly mellow. She's seen a lot in the Multiverse and since she was warned about it there really is no reason for her to be startled. She claps a couple times at the sight of it, and then floats up into the air and prepares to follow all of them. She can probably keep pace if Finna doesn't break into a full sprint.

    "I've smelled worse," Ainsley actually says, because she has. She really, really has. "That's up there, though."
Finna "Could make you regret not hitching a ride!" The Lunar boasts up to the floating Ainsley as she bounds across the land. No amount of holding tight to her fur seems to bother Finna in this form - the Great-Terrors are known for outright ignoring even being speared in the side - when the spears don't just snap against their flesh, that is. It happens far too frequently when people stand up to them...

    But she's bounding like mad across the snowy expanse, unbothered by the cold or the snow or the wind, following Inga's guidance easily...

    "But... passengers, this time!"

    Even so, she does pick up the pace to a bit faster than the creature seems capable of plausibly DOING. Easily hitting something in the range of forty or fifty miles hour and trying to counteract the periodic bumps and whumps in the ride by making most of it smooth, low, long leap-strides!

    Right out to the ice floes...
Nerevarine Talis considers switching spots with Inga, but before he can, Finna takes off. As the Lunar's paws beat a hasty path down the incline and across the icy way, he raises his voice to be heard above the whipping of the wind and the falls of her paws. "Hold on, outlander. I don't want to be picking you off the ice." With that, he can't help but be impressed with Finna's speed. He's never seen a steed of her like--and it seems as though they'll arrive within the hour, which is fantastic time for this place. The horizon bounces up and down, but Finna's efforts to make the ride comfortable keep it from being too distracting.

     Off in the distance there's an ice floe that seems a bit separated from the coast. Actually... an iceberg, really. It's got quite an impressive size to it. Inga's talisman seems to be pointing in that direction, for the time. If that's where Septimus is holed up, then Finna's pace should bring them to the nearest bit of coastline rather quickly.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga is not strong. While she's certainly ridden horses, never at a full gallop because she simply wouldn't be able to hold on. The movement of Finna at 50 miles an hour is just too much for her. She leans over, clinging with both arms, hands clutching the furr. Finna better remember the general direction of the pendulum, because Inga needs both hands not to go flying.

She glares at Talis when he tells her to hold on. "I AM BLOODY HOLDING ON!" she yells over the sound of the wind rushing by her ears.

When Finna slows, Inga sits upright again, looking extremely disgruntled and disheveled. She orients the pendulum again so they can follow it. "Please slow down Finna, I can't handle any more of that," she grumbles.

Inga takes in the scenery now, brow furrowing. "I come from the frozen north and I still do not know why anyone would willingly spend time out here," she comments.
Finna Finna does slow when the two passengers grouch, dropping to around thirty-five instead. "... Sorry, sorry! Easy to get carried away. Running's fun." She's also not used to being a mount...

    Finna eventually comes to a halt at the shores and crouches down so people can get off, though... "Uhhhh. Wow. guess it's time for more shapeshifting."

    Once people are OFF... she goes leaping towards the icy floes and just DIVES INTO THE WATER.

    About ten seconds later... something BLACK resurfaces. A black... triangle. A big darks hadow... no, as she rises up it's quite clear that there is now an ORCA in the water. Though only partially. In a moment the creature sort of erupts up onto the thick ice floes.

    "You're gonna get wet either way," chirps the creature - which only the sharpest here may realize still has white, triangle markings and fuzzy tufts where fox ears might be... but only the sharpest...
    "And I can say exactly why. At least for the Haslanti. We know our lands. We are safe in our lands from predation by the Guild or the Realm. There's riches when you know where to look. ... Literally up in Diamond Hearth. On the very EDGE of the world, but sometimes the Wyld brushes through and turns some of the ice into diamonds that we mine..."
Ainsley     Ainsley does not have an easy time keeping up. She just follows along in the general direction that Finna is going when she loses track of the enormous shapeshifter and climbs in altitude just so that she isn't left behind, which has the problematic effect of making the air much colder and severely hampering her ability to think. But her heating pads are keeping her conscious, if not happy, and so she keeps on trucking, so to speak.

    When they get to the water, and Finna shifts again, Ainsley says, "There is NO way I am riding anything in arctic oceans," just leaving them to imagine how quickly the lizard might die from such a plunge. "It was this way, right?" And then she starts floating in the direction of the distant ice berg.
Nerevarine When all the excitement's over, Talis dismounts easily enough, offering a hand to Inga to help her down. He then chuckles. On his own, the joruney would've taken the better part of a day, but Finna's made short work of that. Ainsley, meanwhile, for however much the cold has been bothering her, has been a real trooper. Maybe there's something to this teamwork thing after all.

     Now that they're just a short swim away, he ponders what to do for a moment, before Finna solves that problem for him. The distance would've required a swim of perhaps two minutes seconds, which would be fine in more temperate waters but lethal in the Sea of Ghosts. With Finna's size in her current form, she can easily bridge the gap just by a short jaunt.

     "You're a boon in this frozen place," he says appreciatively. He steps onto Finna and waits to be ferried over to the frozen landmass. This close to it, even on the coastline before finna reaches the iceberg, everyone can see that it is the right place. For one, Inga's talisman is pointing right at it, and for another, there are signs it's inhabited. A dingy lies tethered to the shore, and a few feet away from that, there appears to be the top rung of a makeshift wooden latter. "I'd say you're right about that," says Talis in agreement with Finna, watching Ainsley hover overhead.

     "Nords don't have much patience for eccentric old scholars. Especially not after what happened to Winterhold. Everyone thinks the mages are responsible. I'd /also/ say this looks like the right place." The elf nudges the edge of the ladder.
Inga Freyjasdottir When they finally stop, Inga is relieved. If her hair wasn't white already it might be now. That was easily the most terrifying ride she'd ever had. She take's the offered hand from Talis, sliding down and taking up her walking stick. "Thank you," she says, turning again to Finna.

Inga has known Finna for a relatively long time, pretty much since she came to the multiverse, and she had never seen Finna shapeshift like this. From fox to person plenty of times, but an ORCA?! The wisewoman's eyes widen, carefully keeping her mouth closed to stop her jaw from dropping. "That...is very impressive Finna," she comments, then looks down at her pendulum. Get wet? She sighs heavily. "Guess there is no help for it. What is he DOING out here? At this point I'm almost hoping we find his body," she grumbles uncharitably. It is a good thing Ainsley could levitate! Grumbling all the while, Inga wades into the water and grabs on tightly to Finna after sticking her walking stick into the small pouch at her belt. Small bag, big stick. Magic is wonderful. Needless to say, she gasps when the cold water envelopes her. "Too bad you can't transform into a boat," she grumbles.
Finna It's indeed a short ride, though Finna makes a point of SPRAYING A JET OF WATER FROM HER BLOWHOLE just to aggravate Ainsley. Thankfully, only the fringes of a mist may even remotely threaten her.

    Finna's playful, not careless.

    She also speaks through the blowhole during the short trip. "Nice to be appreciated. Don't normally play mount, but this is NO kind of weather to be wasting your stamina on. Cold kills fast. Everyone holding on okay? -- no. Not a boat. Don't think I could carry two people, one in armor, flying either..." Although she's now pondering the viability of adding wings to her current form...

    Would that work? would it be enough?

    It might.

    In either case, upon reaching the ice and everyone disembarking she leaps up out of the water and... lands nearby as her usual fox form, shakes off water like a dog at ridiculously high speed.

    "Very weird place to set up camp... nobody comes out here. Nothing grows here. How does he even cook his food? Catching fish can't be enough... magic?" Or maybe he makes trips back to town, but...

    Finna's not so sure.

    She bounds for the latter, aiming to sniff first and head in second.
Ainsley     When they do eventually reach the place where Septimus seems to be, Ainsley comes in for a landing and frowns down into the ice berg. She frowns silently until she decides, "Nothing to it but to forge onward," and she draws her longsword in preparation to fight things and floats on down, not bothering with the ladder since that would only slow her down. "I hope he is coherent enough to explain what is going on," she mumbles, not sure if she should rely on the hope that he hasn't been turned into a raving lunatic by the isolation and the cold and his own thoughts.
Nerevarine The ride is short, although Finna's little water trick seems to irritate Talis more than Ainsley. The sudden jet of watter musses up the mohawk on his helmet, which he quickly takes to fixing. He steps off without much trouble, finding himself pondering Inga's question just as much as the wise woman herself. "It's not unusual for wizards to be reclusive. I knew one that lived in a mushroom tree."

     Looking around, he makes some observations after Finna makes hers, concurring with her. "The boat seems to imply he makes trips back to town," guesses Talis. He points out a dusting of snow covering the boards of the dinghy. "Probably buys in bulk, then comes back and tries to make it last until his next trip. Urag said he'd been gone for months."

     Ainsley takes much the same approach that he would, in the same situation--namely, jumping right in. He's not far behind her, either. Without bothering to sniff like Finna does, he just rides the rails down like a medieval fireman, his boots hitting the hard ice with a thud.
Nerevarine First and foremost, the smell. It smells, surprisingly, of books, with the distinct smell of burning pitch, also. Seems the old man's got a lit torch down there. There's also a faint, metallic smell. Brass, maybe? All of it is set over the backdrop of the harsh cold and the salt of the sea. These are the things the curious Lunar will smell. Should she decide to join the others, she'll see what they see.

     And what do they see? If it were possible to carve a hovel from an iceberg, this outpost would certainly fit the bill. It seems Septimus has used magic to make himself a little hidey-hole. There's the odd bit of furniture, a chair, a bed, a table, an old trunk, and a bookshelf here--the essentials, for a wizard. A torch burns steadily near the entrance, providing light while also being safely ventillated. Aside from all of that, it's really quite threadbare save for one, quite notable addition.

     In the corner of the room there is, lodged in the ice, an enormous brass cube covered in runes and intricate, no doubt moving parts the nature of which can only be guessed at. Circles, especially concentric ones, seem to be a motif here, and whatever this object is it is clearly miles ahead of the technological progress of Nirn and yet... somehow also appropos. "A dwemer lockbox," says Talis matter-of-factly. "The biggest one I've ever seen. Whatever's in there must be quite worth the effort of locking it away."

     "Ahh, Septimus was not expecting so much company. But you are quite right, Dunmer." The voice of an old man, made hoary by harsh winters and harsher knowledge, rings out, and attention is drawn to one Septimus Signus, alive and well. His eyes look too awake, almost crazed, his beard far past the point of any grooming's ability to keep it in check. He wears dark robes with gold trim, and a hood that slightly conceals his face, only for the flickering light of the torch to make shadows dance across it. "When the top level was built, no more could be placed! It was... and IS, the optimal apex... heehee..." ...yep, he's a little... eccentric.
Inga Freyjasdottir "I'm only j-j-joking," Inga shivers, soaked and freezing. Wool is so heavy when wet. It is even more difficult for Inga to move. A little fire would be welcome, but she wasn't sure she had the control yet to just...hold onto a ball of fire. With a sigh, Inga removes her wool cloak and lays it down on the ice. Its so heavy with water she can't move. The wool dress goes too. "I am fairly sure this won't kill me, and if it does at least I'll go somewhere warm," she says, taking up her staff to plunge forward. No sign of frost bite of hypothermia here. Just a cold, water logged witch.

Among things Inga never wants to comtemplate again is how Finna can talk out of a blow hole. She's pretty sure she wants to forget that weirdness forever.

Inga looks to Talis, scoffing. "Remote I can understand. I lived somewhere remote. This is ridiculous. Must be something interesting here worth study," she comments.

Looking down the ladder, Inga is thoughtful for a moment, remembering Wuyin throwing Riva off a roof...

She jumps.

She lands softly, almost seeming to float down. She seems surprised when she comes to the bottom. "That...is interesting," she remarks quietly, then follows the others further inside the hidey hole in the iceburg.

The hovel is oddly cozy for being inside an iceburg, but still an uncomfortable place she wouldn't relish living--though, in all honesty, its better than Kingsmouth. It is /so/ difficult to sleep with the sound of flesh eating zombies outside. At least here it was quiet. Aha, and the man was alive! Inga nods to him. "Greetings," she says, then follows Talis' gaze to the lockbox. She approaches it, head tilting slightly in curiosity. "A lock box? Strange looking, isn't it," she comments, then looks back to Septimus. She is much more likely to learn anything useful by studying him and the threads of wyrd that surround him than by studying an object she knows nothing about.
Ainsley     Ainsley's face goes from a grimace to bright surprise when she realizes what they've walked into. She takes a look at the enormous lock box first and stares for several seconds longer than she probably should. In fact, she doesn't even seem to acknowledge Septimus' presence, despite the party coming her for him. Instead, she carefully approaches the structure and rests her hand on it. Her eyes shine and she starts scanning the script, trying to get an idea for what information it's supposed to convey. She doesn't bother asking. She's just... curious.

    "I'm glad you aren't dead, that would have been a cruel end to this journey," she mentions, reminding that she is still in the conscious world. But she is stuck in the state that all real wizards have... supreme and all too dangerous curiosity. "What could this possibly be holding? They could not have wanted it found, if it was frozen this deep in the ice..." Yet she is too aware of the perils of things like this to easily fall into the same pit of mad knowledge that Septimus clearly has.

    "..."

    She steps back from it, and looks around the ice hovel. All of sudden she seems very nervous. "It is labelled like opening it would invite great danger," she tells the others, "I can /feel/ the intent the creators left in their writing. This should never be opened. It should be buried back under the ice, if we get the chance." She looks at Septimus, her serious frown returning.

    "Did you call us here?" she asks him directly.
Finna Hmmmm! no dangerous smells. So Finna bounds in after the group, trotting along on the icy path merrily as anyone could imagine, coming to a stop only when Septimus is in view and staying low, out of sight.

    In fact, as the others are talking up a storm and listening to him, she's sliiiiiinking around him, and it''ll be quite an endeavor to pay mcuh attention to her... as if attentions simply slide off her for this brief period unless razor sharp focus is managed.

    The effect dwindles once she reaches her destination: Ten feet behind Septimus. Prime real estate to prank him once he's done saying anything useful. For now though she waits and listens...
Nerevarine "Old Septimus has need of you, yes..." The old wizard takes notice of Ainsley and Inga's curiosity, and smiles, tapping a finger to the solid wall of ice. For the present, he is unaware of any mischievous Lunars. "The ice entombs the heart. The bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur. To harness it is to know. The fundaments. The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me. Ah, but an Elder Scroll... an Elder Scroll gives insight deeper than the deep ones! To bring about the opening." It seems the scholar wants everyone to find him one of these Elder Scrolls.

     "The bane of Kagrenac AND Dagoth Ur...?" Talis thinks as to what that could possibly be. He himself used Kagrenac's Tools to destroy Ur. And Kagrenac built the tools to harness the power of... Realization. "No," he says flatly. "First of all, an Elder Scroll is worth a lot more than 50 septims. And second of all, if you think this thing is hiding /that/, you're sorely mistaken. Sorry."

     "Oh, indeed! Oh, but it does! My lord told me so. The Heart. The Heart of you and me, the heart of a god. I have devoted my life to the Elder Scrolls, but their knowledge is a passing awareness when compared to the encompassing mind of divinity. The Dwemer were the last to touch it. It was thought to have been destroyed by the Nerevarine, but my lord told me otherwise."

     "I AM the Nerevarine, and I DID destroy the Heart, two centuries ago in Red Mountain. For once, what people 'think' of me is true. What does your /lord/ have to say about that?"

     Septimus titters. "Poor wayward child of Indoril. Among men, Septimus is clever, but next to the dullest Dwemer he is an idiot child. And even the Dwemer had their limits, did they not? No tool, no matter how brilliant its make, could hope to--"

     Talis is already on his way over to the lockbox, ignoring Septimus pointedly. He brandishes his ebony mace and strikes a blow against the hard shell of the contraption. The mace strikes true, sending a vibrating ringing throughout the hovel but not inflicting so much as a scratch upon its surface. Snarling, the elf readies a bolt of flame in his hand and sends it crashing into the cube. This, too, has no effect, save for sending Talis into a sulking anger. "Whatever's in there, it is NOT the Heart of Lorkhan," he asserts.
Finna Finna struggles to not YELP when Talis goes violent against the great big artifact. What she does instead is flinch back...

    "I don't know a THING you're talking about!" Sayeth the fox. "... But there's no doubt... whatever's in that... must be very powerful. Or valuable. Or dangerous. All of those. Why else lock it up in a box and keep the key.... who knows where?" She pads forward... pacing back and forth to look it over....
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga's eyes lose focus as she lets loose the leash on her sight and sets it free. The threads of fate open up to her, reaching hungry fingers, threatening to overwhelm immediately. And oh, she could become lost in those strands for days, weeks, years...there's a mind that has seen things beyond his ken. Cracked open, scrambled, over filled. But Inga is careful, holding herself back, anchoring herself against the tide as she gently plucks the strings of wyrd, reading the tapestry without delving too deeply.

When she comes back to herself, she frowns, filled with pity for him.

Inga turns toward the others, sobered by what she saw. "The secrets of the universe," she answers Ainsley. "Or at least, he thinks so. Something that mortal minds are not made to understand. Fills you like a horn of mead but keeps on pouring," she comments, reaching toward the box then withdrawing her hand before she touches it.

Good thinking, because Talis decides to hit it with a mace. Inga winces at the sounds it makes, stepping back. This conversation raises many questions, but they are not likely to be answered now. Perhaps it is Talis' wyrd she should be spying, but if she can avoid prying, she would. Sometimes the visions give her no choice, but if she had the choice, she would respect his privacy.

She does, however, expect answers. "This is more complicated than you thought I see. Perhaps you might explain when we are not all freezing," she comments to Talis.

As for Septimus? She frowns, thoughtful. What could be done for him?
Ainsley     "Wait."

    Ainsley throws up her hands, having found something in Septimus' chatterings that caught her attention like a hook on a hungry fish. She steps up to him, and looks him in the eye. She looks very seriously at him and asks, "Who is your lord?"

    "Who told you about the Heart?"

    Believing Talis over Septimus, she instead moves on to the 'this old man is being manipulated' possibility. And that means they need to know who is behind this, and why they would send an old man to retrieve a magical artifact that is, by the account of someone RIGHT HERE, already destroyed.
Nerevarine Septimus, unfortunately, is the one who answers Finna first. "Ahh, hidden one, the Heart is the all, it is the everything. Love and hate, war and peace. Spiders! Ebony! When the god Lorkhan tricked unbeing into being, his heart was carved from him and left upon the earth as punishment. The Tonal Architect Kagrenac, in his brilliance, sought to use the Heart--but how exactly has been lost to time."

     "He probably blew himself and all of the other Dwarves up, like most people without respect for things they don't understand." The elf's helmet sufficiently conveys his disapproval of Septimus. "The Tribunal, the /real/ Tribunal found it after that. They used it to elevate themselves to godhood, but so did Dagoth Ur. The Tribunal reigned as benevolent and loving gods for thousands of years, but Dagoth Ur was a madman and a blight upon our people. Over time his strength increased, while that of the Tribunal dwindled. Everything came to a head two hundred years ago, when I..." He stops. "When I... destroyed it and..." The elf grips his mace hard enough for the leather grip to audibly creak. He relaxes his grip and sighs, but says no more.

     Septimus speaks up, in the silence. He laughs an unhinged little laugh at Ainsley. "Ah! A clever one. The Argonian is clever to ask this of Septimus. The Daedric prince of the unknown. Hermaeus Mora. I thought there were no secrets left to know. Until I first spoke to him. He asks a price -- to work his will. A few murders, some dissent spread, a plague or two. For the secrets I can endure. In time, he brought me here. To the box. But he won't reveal how to open it. Maddening. Old Septimus called you here to bring him the opening!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga listens, taking it all in, though she doesn't have all the background knowledge to understand in full. However, she does understand the crux of it. Gods playing with the lives of mortals. Men driven mad. It is an unfortunate danger of too muck knowledge, she knows it well enough.

When Talis' grip tightens on his weapon she reaches out to stay his arm, momentarily afraid he was going to lash out.

Perhaps unwise, in retrospect.
Finna "Hoho... sharp mind. A little bit on the odd side, but so are most people who speak with gods and spirits." She would frown, were she capable, at hearing this god demands murders, dissent, and chaos here and there... and peers hard at Talis, who seems stalwartly in opposition to what the man claims.

    "... So either it wasn't destroyed... someone maybe fixed it... or whatever's in there is something very like it?" She posits the possibilities. "A lot can happen in two hundred years!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga gives Finna A LOOK.

She's not wrong though.
Ainsley     By the time Septimus is done explaining, Ainsley reaches up to rub at the sides of her head slooowly. Her skull isn't built for the temples that humans have, shaped differently enough that it's a strange gesture. She just seems frustrated. "And you didn't think for a second that perhaps you were just a starving soul he was feeding for his amusement," the lizard woman says, "That he isn't helping you in the slightest. You're a damned slave! No, worse, a pawn!" And she actually physically shoves him by one of the shoulders.

    "Rot in here for all I care. I hope you never find a way to open this box, and die screaming for the answers your master will never give you," she says, and then she turns to leave. She has no intention of waiting for the others or helping Septimus. This is completely disgusting to her.
Nerevarine Septimus is a bit startled by Ainsley's sudden shove. "Do not speak such evils, or you will bring them to life! Perhaps the heart is dead. Perhaps not. Perhaps something greater yet occupies its same spot. Septimus does not know, but he knows he can know. An Elder Scroll may pierce the veil and rinse the dirty shadows!"

     "Ainsley, /wait./ He's just going to find more adventurers if we leave," says Talis, suddenly quite beleagured. "I can't risk the Heart being in there. If one person knows about it--even a doddering old fool, and /especially/ a Daedric Prince, it has to be destroyed."

     "Destroyed! Moved! Do what you will, Nerevarine, but all places are near, cosmically speaking."

     "Or moved," he concedes. "Even if I killed him, which he rightly deserves for spreading plagues, Mora will just find someone else to toy with. Let's open the box, destroy whatever's inside, and be done with it."

     "To bring the opening one needs the scroll, but to read an Elder Scroll is to open the depths to the mind and cut one's length! How lucky for Septimus, for you, the Dwemer left behind their ways of reading the Scrolls safely. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach? 'Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept." Septimus seems quite fond of his rhyme, as he giggles unnervingly and claps his hands. "Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand. The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock."
Inga Freyjasdottir No doubt, he's crazy. No doubt he's killed for his god.

But so has she.

Ainsley is done with this, that's plain, but Inga has a bit more sympathy. She hopes she is different from Septimus, but realizes she could easily not be. She could be him. Driven mad by the voices of gods and wyrd and sassy bees.

Inga sighs softly to, nodding to Talis, listening to Septimus. He almost sounds like the bees at times. Riddles and vagueries. Comes with the territory, she knows. "Seems opening it will not be simple," she says, repeating his words over in her head, remembering...

But soon that is shattered. The contact with Talis pulls her into a vision. Her eyes rapidly dialate, losing sight of what is around her in the present to grasp at what has happened in the past.

It is only a moment, over quickly, but when she lets her hand fall there is a small tremor there. It isn't like watching a film. It is a full sensory experience. disorienting and unsettling. She looks up at Talis, eyes round as the pupils return to their normal size and the present returns. The color has drained from Inga's face.

She looks away, closing her eyes for a moment, chest rising and falling with a deep breath.

The vision are always so /nice/.

That's sarcasm.
Ainsley     That's a good point. So Ainsley throws up her hands in the air and turns to look at Septimus, glaring at him but realizing it's probably not his fault at this point. This can be blamed on worse things than a madman. Then she looks at Talis and back to the crazy old man. "Part of me wants to see what's inside of it," she admits, "And if we HAVE to open it to keep less savory sorts from getting at it, then fine. And... we can't just kill him, even if that would be enormously easy to do with all of us here."

    The thought did cross her mind. Dark. Probably good to know she isn't going through with that. "I'm only doing this because he would just find someone else, or his master would, and that's just... I am not sure I could stomach the tragedy of such a thing."

    As if Ainsley were accustomed to it, she turns to look at Inga, and then steps over to check on her with a silent and comfortable concern. She's seen this before and it doesn't surprise her all that much. "I guess we're going to Blackreach," she muses aloud.
Finna "... Iiiiii don't know what's in this thing or who any of these gods are or what they want... but what I can piece together? Our two-century-warrior here has good points! Worth investigating."

    From where she is... she leaps up on Septimus' shoulder and licks his nose just once. "Old man, old man, you've been out here too long. Mind will crack beyond repair if you don't go home, have some drinks, get some rest, be with friends.... going to burn out if you stay here week after week!"
Nerevarine "Old Septimus tires of the company of men, and much prefers the company of the transmundane! Perhaps in time the fox will glance sideways beyond the dampened fabric of the waking world. Time will tell. Septimus knows you can know." That... was certainly a response! Since everyone seems to be interested, at least for public safety reasons, he continues.

     "Two things I have for you. Two shapes. One edged, one round. The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But... empty. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know." Again with that weird turn of phrase.

     Talis accepts the trinkets from Septimus with a bit of a haze. While he doesn't have the gift of the sight, he knows something was affecting Inga just there. Looking between his companions, the elf passes them around to let everyone get a good look at each. Meanwhile, Septimus explains further.

     "Note the round shape. The deepest doors of Dwemer listen for singing. It plays the attitude of notes proper for opening. Can you not hear it? Too low for hearings?" He giggles again, then elaborates on the cube. "The edged shape... To glimpse the world inside an Elder Scroll can damage the eyes. Or the mind, as it has to Septimus. The Dwemer found a loophole, as they always do. To focus the knowledge away and inside without harm. Place the lexicon into their contraption and focus the knowings into it. When it brims with glow, bring it back and Septimus can read once more. These things you will take to Tower Mzark, into Blackreach, and these things you will use to know the knowings to start the opening!"

     "Did everyone get all that?" asks Talis flatly. Yeah, he might be over two hundred but he's definitely not above sarcasm. "I guess we should pack for a journey." He nods in agreement with Ainsley.