Elder Scrolls: Pocket's Deep, Dungeon's Deeper

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Half of what she said seemed like utter nonsense to the skirmisher. Even as a journeyman to another school he could only bow briefly as she blew more smoke up his rear than an atranoch that enjoys.. Well, the posterior playing.

"Fine." A sudden submission once more as he scowled momentarily. The added angles only casting more shadows on his face.

"I'll have a smithy smooth it over and make sure it won't fall apart.." As she offered it he accepted it. Seeing her magic performed meant he knew what concealed its damaged form. Gloved fingers felt the bends and cracks just below the magically concealed surface. "Needs work." Was his grunted addition. Said after that was a short component, eyes looking down its length.
 
"But it'll do, won't it?" Sylvie asked. "I doubt you'll find another mage for miles, not in Skryim."

The College of Winterhold was best left a mystery in the eyes of most inhabitants of the realm. They feared what creatures lay beyond the guarded, less heavily than liked, walls. It was the only proper structure which remained after many great wars, to the great dislike of just about every Nord in Tamriel. Magic was tricky business, and to those unwilling to learn or listen to the wise minds of the College felt they were better off. Sylvie would have to disagree, her bias coming from her being a student there.

"Unless of course, you fancy a trip all the way to the College."
 
"It'll have to do." Was his curt reply with a brief glower before relenting with a sigh, retiring the sword to its oiled cloth to keep the elements off of it during his travels. It was a long way to Solitude.

Mention of the College made him raise a finger to waggle it back and forth. "I'd rather not bother Savros with something as mundane as one meager treasure.. Now.. If you know where I can find one of Kagrenac's tools.. Then we can discuss this a bit better." Red eyes seemed to leap into life at mention of the Nerevarine's lost weapon.

"I hunt for Keening. The blade that made three mortals into gods!"
 
Sylvie had to think a moment to recall the weapon he spoke of. It was old, legendary, and many scholars believed it wasn't even real. What did this man know that others didn't, she wondered, or was he simply on an endless chase for a blade which only existed in pieces now?

"Keening?" She scoffed. "Good luck."

She returned to the ever so exciting job of stoking the fire with her stick. The flames licked at the edges of the woods, and sent sparks flying into the dimming air. Keening. She hadn't heard the name in years, and hardly knew a thing about the blade besides the fact that it had been used to slay some sort of god.

"All it probably does now is drain a bit of your stamina, it's old magic." Sylvie frowned. "But, old magic is always the best, from what I've learned. Harder to get rid of."
 
A brief scoff was all it earned her when she decried such a weapon as mundane and weak. Even his mediocre skills could create a blade that could weaken someone, not much, but the same effect. Still it was a bit humbling, and his shoulders did slump a ways that perhaps this endeavor wasn't going to get him very far.

"Perhaps. But we all chase something. Even a dog will chase his own tail from time to time." Not the best reference, but then again he wasn't a scholar, so it's not that he truly cared for it much.

Chill wind blew like a frost giant's breath, drawing himself closer to the fire by only a few inches. As if he was being stealthy with it all. "Pray that the weather doesn't worsen.. I'd rather not be sleeping inside that barrow." Another adjustment of his cloak and a half-turn to let another part of it soak up the radiating fires warmth. Even going so far as to toss a few sticks onto the crackling blaze.

"Is it simply your duty to destroy ancient enchantments? Or do you do it for fun?" An honestly curious question.
 
"You can sit by the fire you know, no harm in sharing the heat." Sylvie motioned towards the flames. He seemed reluctant to sit any closer, and the invitation might mask her intentions to see his face a bit more closely, to gauge his reactions when they spoke to each other instead of guessing.

His question caught her somewhat off guard. It wasn't exactly a quest of hers to rid the world of every enchanted blade, as some proved their worth to their masters in times past. Others, such as the blade in their possession, had devilish enchantments placed upon them, only meant to harm anyone who met its steel.

"It's a part of my research at the college." She said rather ambiguously. "I cannot go into detail about what my colleges and I are studying, but if you must know anything at all, no, it is not my duty. Nor do I do it for fun, as I find no real joy in having to break such powerful magic."

Sylvie stoked the fire as she had been doing all along, her eyes stayed focused there this time as she contemplated her answer. Such old and powerful magic needed to be respected, and she was in essence going around destroying such enchantments. He may have seen it as obtrusive, rather than helpful.

"I only wish to keep such power from the hands of more corrupt men." Sylvie explained. "The college already has enough negativity about it, I'd rather spare them another dance about a blade in some tomb being dangerous."
 
He murmured his response about not being closer to the fire, something about being warm enough at his distance. What he didn't let leave his lips was the fact he kept his eyes just off the crackling blaze so he'd not be blinded to anything around them. Even a quick glance up took the stars a few moments to come into view. Billions of holes in the aether, leading to who knows where.

"Is it the duty of the College to police these things?" Narivar asked, ever undaunted in his curiosity to get an answer, even at other's expense. "It seems a silly task when any necromancer can enchant a stick that makes a man burst into flames or freeze the marrow in his bones." A coy smile took over his features for a few seconds.

"Foolish of me to question other's motives." His gravelly voice replied, shrugging it off as though all of it was such a trivial matter. "Not when I kill and plunder in my hunts." Hircine would be proud. That managed to draw a laugh from himself as he adjusted how he was sitting while rummaging for something beneath his cloak, a few clinks of something metallic, something coarse rubbing against the side of the bag.

Soon he produced a strip of dried meat, taking his time to idly tear pieces off with his teeth and chew. "Do you ever run into trouble with the local law?"
 
"The local law fear the college more than they hate it." Sylvie said quietly, the crackling of the fire almost covering up her own voice. "Of course I have."

On more than one occasion Sylvie had been put in irons as she awaited reprieve from the college. Guards from every stronghold feared the magic the mages were capable of, and with her questionable side quests to disarm local enchantments, it made her a prime target for jail time. Although, she never really did anything illegal. If a family refused to give up a blade, Sylvie would leave them with scrolls instead, and an invitation for the college to return. Very rarely did they reply, but even that kind of methodology didn't warrant any arrest in her opinion.

"They don't understand magic." She said. "It's powerful, beautiful, and a mystery to every Nord in Skyrim. They'd rather condemn me for being the odd one out, a scapegoat for problems they have. I don't mind. The college eventually bails me out once they catch wind of what the guards are up to."

She pulled her hood around her face as a rippling cold front moved though their small base camp.

"I'm sure you run into more trouble than I."
 
"Of course the superstitious buffoons don't understand it." He quickly agreed, thumping his knuckle against his armored knee. The sound low and a little loud, showing a tad more conviction than he originally wanted to let on.

"Still, every Jarl has a court wizard either way. It's not a bad spot, but you rarely see a Nord in that position. Usually it's a mer of some renown."

The cold wind made him draw closer in on himself beneath the cloak, but still he kept his distance from the fire. On occasion his eyes roamed out beyond it's lit edges into the moving tree line beyond and occasionally to the sky.

When a single streak of light crossed the vast night sky a grin formed. "Make a wish. Piece of Aetherius just fell." The idea of such a childish notion made him chuckle. Still a dry and gravelly sound, but honest nonetheless.

"Maybe you should wish for less poking from the guards. Know I do."
 
"Wishes don't mean much unless there's some sort of magic involved, isn't that right?" Sylvie smirked. She didn't much believe in the power of a falling star, or many of the Gods for that matter. As a Nord, and that of a proud Nord family, she was supposed to have put her strength into Talos. Even he had abandoned her many times before in the dark.

If she wanted something done, she'd have to do it, there was no force in Skyrim which might change her mind any time soon.

"Get some rest, Narivar. I trust you won't have run off in the morning?" Sylvie raised a brow towards the strange new face. The light from the fire cast tall shadows across his features. For an instant he would appear less threatening, when the shadows mingled with his dark skin, but a moment later they were back along the edge of his jaw reminding her that he was indeed a stranger.

"I travel for Windhelm in the morning, perhaps we'll find something about your Keening."

She laughed quietly. It probably doesn't even exist.
 
"Seems strange comin from a Mage." He replied with a quiet scoff of disbelief. Jaded as he was to the world he struggled to hold on to some childish beliefs, if only to remember lost friends and his ancestors. "To each thine own." It sounded like a quote from a book.

A quick and repetitive readjustment had him finally sitting, spear sticking up through the folds of his cloak. He was using it to lean on. "Bitter cold that bites the bones." Briefly his nose flared and he took song inhale. "Smells like rain." Then he drew his hood over his cropped hair, one more precaution amongst hundreds. "I'll be here."

It'd soon grow hard to tell if he was awake or simply silent. The hood covered his eyes and before long his breathing grew long and deep. Each fall of a branch or patter of a single water drop had his angled features scanning the surroundings before dropping to his Nordic acquaintance. Even then only lingering briefly.
 
Sylvie didn't sleep much, for fear her new friend would run off in the dark with the blade. There were still small traces of magic left in the steel, something she'd wanted to rid entirely, but the blade would have been destroyed in the process. So it went, she supposed, that everything would work out in the end somehow. Narivar would get his pay, and the blade wouldn't be entirely cursed.

When she woke in the morning, she was surprised to find a thinned layer of snow on the ground. It had been raining just before her eyes closed, and now every bit of the ground was either muddy or partially frozen over. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but the scene didn't change.

Good thing I've still got this fur...

She stood to stretch, and turned to see if her companion was where she'd left him. "Narivar?"
 
Sleep was a blessing of Namira that night for the Dunmer skirmisher. No dreams troubled him and nothing stirred him from his rest once it set in deep as the Sea of Ghosts.

When the sound of the stranger, no, momentary ally, crossed his ears it made him give a slight jerk.

Ice fell from his hood, a quick shake of his head brought the rest of it sliding down off the cloak like a drop of ale on an oiled table. Even his boots gave a soft crack as he slowly rose from the thin sheet of ice as if powered by some Dwemer mechanical device, slow and in one gentle motion.

Soon a quick flip of his head threw the hood back, revealing the bleary eyed dark elf, giving a slight wince at the sudden sheen of white everything seemed to have over it. Soon a grimace began to form as his lips gave the smacks of a mouth dry from the night's air. "M'ruttin' 'ere, ya' swit. Wha're you wantin'?"

He wasn't a morning mer to be sure.
 
"Aren't you a pleasant in the morning." Sylvie teased. "Come on, it's bright enough, we should head to Windhelm, get your coin."

She almost wanted to offer to take him back to the college with her, see if he wanted to at least read about Keening somewhere. Of all the libraries in Skyrim, theirs was most likely to contain any information on the blade. Then, he could lay his curiosities to rest, and if it became more than that, Sylvie could offer to have it disenchanted. It'd be a win for someone, but, perhaps Narivar wouldn't much like her taking away such old magic.

So long as it stays out of harm.

"I'll be heading back to the college when we're done." We, she thought, when had it turned to that? "Maybe I'll pull out a book on Keening, to satiate this curiosity you've got going."

She smiled, and pulled herself to her feet all in one fluid motion. Her pack was small, and already put together, the last thing Sylvie needed was the blade, but Narivar looked unlikely to give it up now that he had possession of it.
 
All her cheerful morning quip would earn her was a slight smear and a grumbling about the cold and how they made joints ache compared to the temperate lands of his home. Still he made good on gathering his own things.

The blade went tied by its hilt to the side of his pack and dangled idly there before the rest of it went onto his back. An idea of visiting somewhere that was made of stone and known for its cold nights didn't do much to warm his thoughts either that was for sure.

"You keep talking of it as if it wasn't real." Was his first coherent words a few minutes later as he moved about to warm himself a bit more. "And if you think I'd allow you near it with your magic, keep dreaming... Collectors would want your scalp if they knew you went around damaging ancient artifacts." It felt like he was repeating himself, but if that's what it took he'd say it a few more times.

None had stayed in his way of the blade for long. Surely this one nord would be no exception to that standby.
 
"There's been no record of Keening in, well, decades." Sylvie shrugged her shoulders. "And I'm not damaging every single sword I find, just the ones that could cause some harm."

She motioned to the sword on his back for reference. It was pointlessly enchanted to be far more powerful than the average blade, lucky for the pair though it wasn't a very good enchantment, otherwise they'd still be down in the tomb fighting draugr into the night.

"If Keening exists, I think I'd try to examine it before disenchanting it." She chuckled. "It's not entirely my business to destroy ancient artifacts, not if it's famous. Do you think I'd go looking for, say, Mehrunes' Razor and destroy that? People have been looking for the dagger, but I wouldn't destroy that blade, versus perhaps a simple enchanted bit of steel. It's different."

Some items simply held more importance than other, an opportunity to study.
 
"What would you rather a weapon have for enchantment? Flowers and healing? Weapons are for fighting. Any edge in combat is a boon." This would likely be another recurring argument with the nord if his inkling was in any way correct.

The idea of this single woman destroying a daedric artifact was laughable. Surely someone with more standing in the college wouldn't be doing such dirty work solo. "Mehrunes Dagon would have you maimed and killed for tampering with his blade. The only difference is Keening was used to garner more power than the Daedra.. On its own it's still a deadly weapon. But with the heart.." A quiet sigh escaped him like a dying breath as he stepped over a branch fallen into the path. Attention below made his eyes wander up to the gray cloudy sky.

"To wield such power. From mortal to a god.." He felt strong as a mortal mer, who could resist dreaming of having more?
 
Sylvie watched, as his eyes shifted into a look of utmost desire. She followed after him until her footsteps equaled that if his faster pace. Her body looked thick, wrapped in all the furs she carried, her pack slung lazily around her shoulders without a care in the world.

"That's why I do what I do." She murmured. "Men desire power beyond what they are capable of controlling."

Narivar desired Keening, that much was obvious in his red eyes. Who was Sylvie to stop him from obtaining such power though? They were from separate worlds, and perhaps he wanted to take it elsewhere and sell it. That only made her worries increase though. Keening, if it fell into the wrong hands, there would be trouble. Sylvie would much rather keep the blade in safe hands than trust it to anyone.

"What would have happened had I not done anything to that blade?" Sylvie asked cautiously. "Draugr might've come from their tombs to hunt it back down. If the man swung it, or so much as touched it wrong, what good do you think would've come? The same applies for Keening, if it even exists. How are we to stop such a force if it falls into the wrong hands?"
 
"Then let men destroy themselves as they are so want to do. It's so simple. Nature takes its course." He quipped as the twinkle left his eyes while the thoughts of the relic from a bygone age were pushed back in his mind. A shrug followed suite with a half glance at the woman.

This one was so full of questions it was almost annoying. Or perhaps endearing. No one liked a Mage that was quiet after all. Those were the ones to fear most.

"Draugr don't leave their tombs. It's a rare occurrence to see one by daylight even. If the man had died from misuse then who am I to stop that? Should I worry for every soul that can make a mistake? That's a fools errand if ever there was." Brows knitted together as he spoke on the subject, slowly thinking she fully intended to keep the blade from him.

"Keening isn't a weapon that can be wielded by mortal hands. It requires another relic to even hold it without it causing irreparable damage." Come to think on it. That would be quite the weapon if someone simply handed it to someone and told them to use it. "Even so. I don't plan on keeping it. It'll return to Morrowind."
 
It seemed Sylvie didn't know much about Keening. She'd have to read up on it once she returned to the college, and possibly beat the would be collector from adding to his trove. It didn't sit right with the Nord that a man, or mer, was so comfortable with letting 'nature' take it's course with potentially hundreds of lives.

"I would've rather not taken the chance and had them leave, don't you understand?" Sylvie tried in vain to persuade the Dunmer. "If, and it's a long shot, Keening even existed, what if you didn't find it? You say a mortal man could wield the power of a God, what then? I certainly don't want to find out what'll go wrong if the wrong sort happen upon this blade, which I still don't think has survived the years."

She jabbed her finger at him in part jest, and mostly scolding. Narivar wasn't thinking entirely through his plan.

"What would you do with it, simply sell it?" Sylvie asked. "What kind of war would you start, hm?"
 
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