Post by Lamae Beolfag . on Jan 5, 2013 16:00:31 GMT -8
And the Gods wept for she is risen
Skuldafn was a miserable place. It had always had been, and Lamae held no delusions that it always would be – despite its beauty. Its sweeping arches, delicate filigree, shaded under the fingers of the mountain; clawing towards the sun, told a story of grandeur buried under the crushing weight of time.
It had been called the World Eater’s Eyrie when Lamae had been here last, and despite her eyes taking in the choking dust and wrinkling stone around her; she didn’t truly see it. She saw the beauty of the ages that had come before.
Sharp stones cut into her feet, the wounds healing nigh instantly but still leaving behind a bloody footprint – her dust-blood the freshest this place had seen in eons. Somewhere – in the rocky crags around her – an unclean bird squawked as it devoured the weakest of its young, as if it were practicing Lamae’s example. The Draugur recognized her, lowering their hefted axes and brandished swords, the Shouts they had prepared against the intruder dying on their rotted lips. They were stupid creatures, but even they knew.
The air was icy, as was Skyrim’s custom this far up in the mountains. The ends of her hair were lightly crisped with frost, though Lamae didn’t notice. Skuldafn could never dream of being as cold as Atmora. Skyrim paled compared to the Freezing.
“Bring me forth to His Grace. I would speak with the High Priest.” Her whispering hiss carried on the still air, and even though she had directed her command at nothing in particular, a Draugur bowed deeply, ushering her through the outer complex. The inside of the temple was even worse than she had imagined, yet Lamae kept herself in her past-life fantasy, remembering the glory of this place rather than its desolation.
They exited onto the terrace and before her, floating on some invisible nether-wind was Nahkriin, the High Priest of Skuldafn.
“Briinah (sister)…” The being croaked, its voice hoarse with age and decay.
Clasping her hands in front of her, Lamae gave him a cold smile. “Hio lost meyz dilon, Nahkriin. (You have died, Nahkriin)” A raspy, whispering laugh echoed from the skeletal mage, wrapped in his ruined, moth-eaten scarlet silks. Though Lamae looked little better, her black dress torn and in ruins.
Her gaze turning to the portal, Lamae’s eyes narrowed: “Zu zen tinvaak voth Ok. (I would speak with Him).” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Priest’s sunken, rotted features contort into a look of disdain. “Careful with those expressions, Nahkriin. I’d hate to have to kill you again…” Lamae lost all pretense of formality in the face of such blatant disrespect; her words lashing out in the common tongue, sharp and bloody.
Moving past him and up to the portal, Lamae held her hands out. “World Eater, greatest of his kind, Firstborn son of Akatosh, come forth. For we have much to discuss.” Her voice was a Shout, carrying over the portal, the crags and the temple.
He’d hear her. He always heard her…
STARRING:Lamae and Alduin | WORDS: 508 | OUTFIT: Clickie
