the bridge on fire.

[nehnahlmey]

[It begins with a question, as all tales do.

It begins with a dovah perched on high rock, slipping out of his invisibility spell to question a passing Dovahkiin.]

You lay waste to creatures far above your capacity. Why waste your efforts on these...bounties?

Comments

[dovahfahdon]

[ He slips his axe into the belt at his waist, brushing gore off his bracer as he does so. A bandit camp, eight stubborn and murderous Nords, dead within the amount of time it had originally taken him to read the bounty.

A hand is pressed through his damp hair, likely mussing it, and he--

There is a dragon in front of him, vertical and northeast, and it's-- Legendary, is it not? And that dull pattern of scales and skin, familiar, that was--

"Ah, would you suffer me to watch, Lord of Dov? It is but mal laan, a whim."

...That dragon, that Dovah, that watched while Alain and Delphine tore down a dragon who had recently risen to the skies. When Alain had finished the Legendary dragon had been gone.

And now it was here.

He edges backward, right hand loosening the leather he had just tightened around the axe, while his other hand begins to glow in the telltale sign of spellcraft.

Perhaps he may yet die today, but it is not a fight that would be easily won.

...He would like to think that, at least. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[...Oh. How disappointing. The man would reach for his weapon and his spellcraft as every other existence had in the near and distant past when he could answer Nehnahlmey's reasonable query.

The dragon produces a sound, crossed between amusement and boredom.]

Drem, Dovahkiin. [Peace and stillness.] I find no amusement in an altercation between us.

[dovahfahdon]

[ Dovahkiin. Alain has not decided if that is what he is yet. ]

...Even so, you may still strike.

[nehnahlmey]

And lose the chance to indulge my curiosity?

[Now, why would he do that?]

I think not.

[nehnahlmey]

[It proceeds to skills of stealth. Of watching a particular mortal from the safety of an innate power.

He watches a passing Dovahkiin enter a cave and a few days later, come out of it.

From nowhere in particular, Nehnahlmey thinks to question him.]

What incentive does a hole in the ground hold that you would spend days in its depths?

[dovahfahdon]

[ Alain gasps at the clear air, panting lightly at the upward climb from the depths. The draugr were only fodder before the might of the Dragon Priest, and Alain had struggled to an inch of his being to come out the victor.

The chests in the tomb held values, some more to his liking than others, but the at moment, Alain relishes life more than any treasure. He takes in another breath, wincing as cracked ribs expanded, and set his heavy bundle down to press at the bandages on his opposite arm. He would need to go to a temple unless he could learn further methods of healing and--

The man jolts at the resounding voice, weapon out and shield cast before the question is completed. It's possibly impressive, especially when coupled with the way his will is forcing a perfect stance against the pain in his leg. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[If the dragon noted the injuries, he does not say. He only emerges from the dark of the trees to consider the man a short distance away.]

Impressive. To stand at battle ready before I finish my words.

[dovahfahdon]

[ He is wary, defensive from pain and days of grueling battle. The dragon is recognized, but the stance does not relent. ]

I want no trouble from you. We both should be on our way.

[dovahfahdon]

[ Southwest of Whiterun, there ia a shrine to Boethiah. One in which her followers had become ecstatic in seeing a stranger fight off a dragon, slaying it at the base of the cliff. Alain was invited up to rest, given nourishment, before being taken to the Daedric Prince's shrine.

...Who requested a companion's death in return for her favor. Alain begged leave, and retreated down the mountain.

He doesn't even register the dry bones he passes as he comes back down. His thoughts are for the blade in his hand, dark and glistening.

He turns it; it absorbs the light of the sun instead of reflecting it. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[There exists a barbaric aspect to the consuming nature of Dov, one that serves to fascinate and sicken Nehnahlmey in equal measure. He's never tried it, and he likely never will, but watching as it unfolds is something he will do without rhyme or reason.

And he had. From the vantage of the cliffside, he had witnessed the Dragonborn slaying a dragon and taking his soul into himself. Then the man left, drawn away by the lure of security from Boethiah's followers, and Nehnahlmey went to examine the bones of his kin.

There was nothing left, when he looked it over. Nothing but dry bones.

Hours pass, and the man is traveling the path away from the shrine, where Nehnahlmey rests near the base of the cliff. He speaks, despite reservations.]

Who shall you sacrifice? Whose life will you claim with that blade?

[dovahfahdon]

[ Distracted as he is, this time, the fourth time he has heard this dragon's voice without wanting, Alain does not start. He pauses on the pathway, eyes for the blade alone. ]

I may or I may not. Either way, there less than few that fit its criteria.

[ None, actually, if taken in the normal generalization. There are none cared for, but some that would follow.

Follow to their demise? He would have to consider if that was the right course to take. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[What a curious answer.]

And what manner of existence would you call 'companion', joor?

[His tail twitches in anticipation.]

[dovahfahdon]

[ He has exchanged a dragon for a dragon.

He thinks this dumbly as he rolls backward, attempting to escape the beast. General dragons had become nothing to him, blood dragon presented not a challenge, and frost dragons he was beginning to become used to. Perhaps he thought those were the only dragons sent to him, or sent to the wilderness of Skyrim to seek out whatever they willed. Perhaps he had not thought that an elder dragon would find him, and tear down upon him with deep laughter.

That was not to say Alain proved himself helpless. He struggled, perhaps valiantly. The elder dragon was bleeding from a number of wounds, and a lucky catch caused the tear now seen from one wing. Blood poured into one of its eyes from a cut above, and likely that partial blindness was assisting Alain now.

Even that assist, though, is not enough. Alain bleeds from twice as many wounds, and his meager potion stock had been emptied long before this moment. A sword had been broken, a mace emptied of its enchantment, and his armor was nearly anything but. An elder dragon, he thinks, crouching and seeking out options wildly with his eyes. Not even ancient, revered, or legendary. This is not even the strongest of beasts, and it would be the one to down him.

He finds himself wishing for that day two months prior, to continue speaking with that strange creature rather than this fate.

A gout of flame pours out, and Alain is nearly not quick enough. The fire catches his side and he drops against his own will. Again, he forces himself to roll backward, out of the range of the flames.

This battle is over and he is only prolonging it. He knows that now. It's nothing of nihilism or self-pity. A little bit more, in any way, and he would have possibly been a match. More skills, better spells--more practice at his spells so a healing spell would be quicker to cast, or an atronach would come with speed to his bidding. The elder dragon wasn't allowing him any chance of casting, and Alain was going in blind, relying only on his weapons. A pure warrior Alain Ebon is not, but he is not so arrogant to think of himself as a battlemage. Either way, he supposes the distinction lacks meaning anymore. ]

"Daar los Faal Dovahkiin?"

[ The creature laughs vibrantly despite his wounds, before continuing on. Alain tries to move forward, to fight to the last, and his knee, the tendons half-severed by a too-sharp talon, refuses him. Alain drops to a kneel and the creature laughs again, the deep language throbbing through.

...Even if you say that, I won't understand, he thinks idly, and wonders how much blood on the earth is his own. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[There has been no exchanges since they've last spoken, no more curiosities to lay bare. In the past two months, Nehnahlmey has watched the object of his focus from the shadow of the trees, the distance cliffs afford, and the absolute cover provided by his innate power. There is searching, seeking, a mind-numbing attempt at understanding, and still, the dragon cannot come to terms.

Nothing is being made apparent. Nothing reveals itself as the truth.

Nothing except the mildly foolish endeavor the Dragonborn undertakes.

The elder dragon is one remembered in passing. Another supporter of Alduin, it is the first of its kind to approach Alain, and from the course this battle takes, it may as well be the last. Alain has fought with his all, enough for commendation, but the elder dragon has an edge that cannot be denied. This is the end for one, that is certain, and Nehnahlmey--

Loss is not something entirely known. He is unwilling to entertain the concept at this time.

"This is The Dragonborn?"

His kin laughs. It is incomprehensible, he says, that this thing downed his brethren. He sees the struggling man and continues, It is better for you to kneel. The dragon moves to strike the mortal with one last snap of his jaws, and Nehnahlmey intervenes. A part recognizes his choice is anomalous, virtually unknown to his pacifistic nature.]

Fus Ro Dah!

[The Thu'um slams into the elder dragon's side with the force of a storm, enough to send him flying into the open space, placing distance between the predator and his intended prey. Nehnahlmey sheds his cover as he steps forward, revealing himself to the open for the first time in months.]

Your laughter would have more meaning if Dovahkiin could understand it, Zeymah Zok Zind.

[Brother Most Triumphant. Triumphant no more, if Nehnahlmey has his way. The dragon turns to Alain, eyes unfathomable.]

I have bought you time, Alain Ebon.

[Do not waste my gift, is the unspoken.]

[dovahfahdon]

[ Perhaps he is already dead.

Perhaps he is yet dreaming, for a shout came from a different source, and Alain still expects his demise. Expects this newcomer to aid the elder dragon, but that dragon is knocked away from him, flying back, and what manner of creature could unseat an elder dragon so? Ah, perhaps a legendary dragon--

...That dragon.

The huge beast steps forward as if he had been there all along, and calls to the struggling creature in the distance. It is the most basic of corrections, but Alain feels something at it. Feels something more when the grey-purple beast swings his head to Alain, and speaks without mocking.

Alain gives the creature a look lacking comprehension, empty and lacking of all life, then he moves. Alain Ebon, who has prioritized his own survival over many, continues to move.

He struggles to his feet and his knees hold him. The hand mace is dropped to the ground as both hands glow gold. Moving them together, that color envelopes him, and he feels his knee knitting, feels the ribs under his broken armor mending. Another cast would do him better, but his magicka is put to other purposes. Alain Ebon prioritizes, and slips a ring from his pocket onto a finger. He had only just found this, but here it would be tested more fiercely.

He breathes, as the elder dragon rises, as it roars something incomprehensible at the legendary dragon nearer to him. Breathes and focuses on strengthening his reserves of magicka, because this is a spell recently learned and--

And he does not cast healing or shields, nor oakflesh or flames. Alain conjures, with the utmost of care, a frost atronach, and the ring on his hand glows hot, pulls power, and a second one is pulled into being next to the first. Heaving, chest moving, he watches as the atronachs stomp to their target, as their ice battles the dragon's flames. He watches from a distance, gaining his strength, letting his magical talents battle for him.

He sways once, but does not fall. A crack signifies the fall of an atronach between the elder dragon's teeth, and Alain twists his hand, casts again, sends them forth. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[Alain moves as he deems fit, fixing what keeps him to the ground before taking fate into his own hands. He slips on an artifact, a ring unrecognized, and begins to cast his spells uninterrupted. Nehnahlmey watches with his unfathomable eyes, slipping from his gaze once to regard his fallen kin.

The elder dragon rises, dazed in his steps. He then screams the words Nehnahlmey had expected to hear before he even touched the Thu'um.

It is largely uninspiring.]

Tahrodiis mey! Alduin fent mindok se hin--

[Nehnahlmey cuts into the words with his own, a beat before a duo of frost atronachs (Impressive.) storm his doomed brother. They beat and stomp on their target, ice meeting fire in a final dance.]

Alduin shall know of nothing. You are already dead.

[dovahfahdon]

[ The temple had proved itself home to a Draugr Deathlord, a harrowing creature who nearly tore Alain's conjured atronach to pieces. The small room it was housed in held no artifacts, but it did hold a large chest full of valuables. Alain filled his pouches, and moved to leave.

Arcwind Point held this temple, and beneath the cliff it rested on, a Word Wall, and likely a dragon. Alain stepped to the cliff cautiously, hoping to view the adversary before it sensed him.

...Instead he sees the legendary dragon that has been his shadow, perfectly crouched on the wall like any other. The beast stares upward, and Alain realizes far too belatedly that the creature's eyes are compound.

The wind blows against him where he stands, and Alain stares in return at the creature.

Shall he fight this one for a syllable of sound? Alain thinks not. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[Arcwind Point is his, truth be told. At the very least, Nehnahlmey has served as the guardian of the Word Wall at the base of the cliff. Served being given lightly, as no actual work is required. The reclusivity of the area naturally keeps the outside world at bay.

He is perhaps one of the few dovah to successfully guard a Word Wall while maintaining his other interests.

In the present, however, Nahnahlmey simply waits, crouched on the wall with something like lazy possessiveness. He gazes up at the man peering down, the man he followed to this place, no emotion revealing in his compound eyes.]

Have you come to end my life, Dovahkiin?

[dovahfahdon]

[ The words jolt him from his impassive stare. His hands shift, fingers touching palms. His pupils dilate, pale eyes shifting dark. ]

No. Never, I think.

[ Is what he says softly, only enough for the wind to bring to another's senses. ]

Instead I find myself in need of proving gratitude.

[ For what transpired three weeks hence. ]

[nehnahlmey]

[It comes in repeats. A creature stalks a mortal for days upon days without letting his presence slip.

He watches a passing Dovahkiin enter a cave and a few days later, come out of it.

But here, Nehnahlmey takes to irritation, not curiousity.]

It has been an eternity and a half, Alain, since you first entered that cave.

[dovahfahdon]

[ He is not surprised why is he not surprised-- Unlike the last time he was accosted on the outside of a cave, Alain barely shows he has been inside of one. Other than the bulging packs at his sides, one would think he had went for a casual stroll.

He pauses for a beat to take note of the dragon. Then sighs and continues walking. ]

I don't recall asking a dragon to wait for me.

[nehnahlmey]

[No surprise graces Alain's features, no wounds mark his person, and Nehnahlmey stares openly. The man is getting better at his trade.

The dragon follows after a beat, crawling forward to match Alain's speed.]

Yet, here I am. Saraan hin daal.

[Awaiting your return.]

I could have lay siege to Solitude during your absence.

[dovahfahdon]

[ Alain Ebon has been on a quest.

In order to gain a dragon's wisdom and secrets, Alain has traveled all over Skyrim. It is a multi-part quest, something in which the dragon had expressed thoughts of regret over, but Alain has done such quests before. In this, there was nothing utterly new-- Except, perhaps, that none of these parts took place underground.

Alain has gained a hargraven's feathers, a farmer's mace (in exchange for a bushel of giants' toes), an ancient dragon's bones (which are only valid from a dragon not yet revived), a mammoth's tusk, a daedra's heart, gossip from the mouth of the Nightmother's Keeper, a gem from the belt of the Thieves' Guild Master, and a tuff of fur from the Circle's elite.

The last has been a fang of a vampire. The dragon requested a Daughter of Coldharbour's fang, but relented a beat after, wondering if there were truly any left. A Volkihar vampire's fang would substitute, and Alain has learned the difference between the common mobs and their elite peers.

Grasping at his still semi-frozen arm, cursing the strength of their spells, Alain makes his way to the crumbled ruins that have served as their meeting place. Alain has had to turn in each as he went, a task of which Niall claimed would take years.

Alain has gained all to the last within seven months.

This he tosses in front of the dragon with no politeness left. He's gained a decidedly more relaxed front in his annoyance--in learning the dragon's dualistic nature of spoiled child and wise miser. The latter has kept Alain interested--the former has had him near-spitting obscenities.

He inhales past the pain of frost. ]

There. Your last task. It is finished.

[nehnahlmey]

[Nehnahlmey would attest neither cruelty nor boredom is responsible for the nature of his requirements. He is, truth be told, in need of fulfillment--whether from the items themselves or the meaning within them. He is, truth be told, only delaying the inevitable.

The creature has yet to know what exactly he wants from a man. Why he hopes to shirk from that understanding through distraction, by hiring the aforementioned man and then observing the performance from afar. Perhaps he is merely fulfilling his function--to watch life as it passes him by.

Except it passes entirely too quickly, and seven months into what should be innumerous years, Nehnahlmey watches as a pouch containing a Volkihar vampire's fang land on the ground before him. Is rendered speechless for a moment at the declaration given.

For a moment. He stares at the man called Alain Ebon and his 'frostbitten' arm.]

Truly?

[dovahfahdon]

[ In a sharp beat of anger, Alain's eyes narrow. ]

If you do not trust me, see for yourself.