Role Playing Fan Fiction ❯ Conjure It At Your Own Risk ❯ Mountains ( Chapter 7 )

The following morning found the light a little too bright. A dash of Healing and that hangover cleared up instantly. Sophia was sleeping next to the firepit, which she’d stocked and lit a fire in at some point during the night. The smoke drifted up through the gap in the roof. This place needs a chimney, and more shingles to seal in the heat for the coming winter. I’d probably have to make that myself, knowing the technology present here.

I really don’t want to climb the world’s tallest mountain. What are the alternatives? I could ignore the summons, possibly making an enemy of the Greybeards, and they know about Shouting, which is useful magic few people can do. The answer is obvious.

I gathered some food and my fur cloak and woke up Sofia. Out through the gates and across the waterway, past the farms and back up to Riverwood, then some wolves and the standing stones, then up to Helgen on the road, then around the ruined fortress because I could hear that some bandits had moved in, then up the mountain road. A short time later I saw a road sign for Orphan Rock, and then signs and smells of wood smoke from what is probably a Stormcloak rebel camp. Further up the mountain road and I finally reached the pass, shivering in my fur cloak. The road goes between some cliffs and winds around. Near the pass is some cave entrance. Outside the entrance is some chewed human bones in a wheelbarrow and the stink of vampires.

Note to self: immolate that place when I am stronger.

I descended the pass, Sofia following full of complaints about her nipples, stories about the men she’d taunted, the sex she’d had with random Nord strangers in the pub, and the new itch she’d picked up as a result. I’m still reasonably sure she’s a demi-goddess, probably daughter of that prince of wine, Sanguine. It would just make sense. At the bottom of the grade the road smoothed out and mountain goats frolicked on the path. This was fine, right up until some wolves attacked and killed the goats. Then the wolves turn to examine us. I put an ice spike into the slow one, and Sofia ran after the faster one. I picked up the skins and meat from the downed animals and used the spell I’d been working on to cure the hides, which also repels fleas, ticks, lice, and other bloodsucking vermin. Then I put together a fur cloak for Sofia. Naturally, this was the warm side of the mountain, sheltered from the weather.

A short walk later found an abandoned alchemist’s shack just off the road. No front door. No back door. A bed and some bookshelves. I went in, examining the supplies collected on the shelves, collecting them for myself after reading the eager notice in the journal about visiting some cave with bears. That almost certainly ended as lunch. Why are people so ready to commit foolhardy acts in Skyrim? They must realize the danger, right? Or are they just so blinded by ambition they stop thinking?

The garden outside had some useful herbs and an apothecary table, so I mixed a few things and then we were on our way, more cloves of garlic tucked in my satchel. Need more salmon roe and Nordic barnacle. I can pay for some decorating in my house.

We were attacked by a giant spider, killed with an ice spike in the head. A bear, also ice spike, some wolves, using fireballs to send them shrieking away, and finally arrived at Ivarstead across a nice bridge. Considering all the animals that try to eat you getting there I am surprised the town exists. There was a decent sized lake leading from the outlet by the town towards the East. Signs indicated that was the way to Riften.

It was late afternoon so I opted to get us a room at the inn and cook up those lamb chops for dinner. Sofia was grateful, accepting a single Black Briar mead with dinner and not requesting any more.

We went to bed early, and rose with the dawn. It was cold, and a couple men were standing by the lower bridge, beyond the lumber mill talking about their hesitance to climb the 7000 steps.

“I could take that for you,” I offered generously. I was going there, after all. It did not look that heavy. Just dried meat and fish, wrapped in oilskin.

“Just place it in the offering chest out front of the doors,” he explained. I took the package and placed it securely in my pack. Sofia and I wore our fur cloaks and crossed the bridge, spiking a bear, then some giant spider. Then it was climbing. More mountain goats being annoying on the trail bumping into my legs. I reached the next switchback and found a hunter praying in silence at one of the shrines dedicated to Kynareth.

Further up I sensed a larger predator. I cast my flame atronach. The beast attacked. So did Sofia. It was a white sabertooth tiger. The atronach set it on fire repeatedly. I nailed it with spark to weaken its attacks, then put flame down its throat. Its eyes finally slid shut from inches away. Okay, that was exciting. I breathed hard to get myself back under control. I skinned it and cured the skin with that fine white fur on. Around another switchback we encountered a tundra wolf. More ice spikes and another pelt to the collection. Might make a nice white knapsack.

Further up the stairs the trail opened up into a snow-covered wide spot, trees on the upslope and another one of those tablet-shrines ahead. I read it. Another claim of greatness. I headed over a low ridge of stone and noted the sound of one of those ice elementals getting angry, which activated my Ocatos series protections.

“I see it,” promised Sofia. She went pelting off to kill it, her typical bloodthirsty approach to wildlife asserting itself. A few moments later I heard the noise of it dying and Sofia returned, handing me a cloth with some hissing ice wraith fangs.

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

The trail and its many stairs went around the shoulder of the mountain some distance. Down, back up, around and around. Another tablet of poetry with some pilgrim staring at it in contemplation. I read it briefly, then went on. A long staircase toward a big spur of rocks. Sofia came up beside me, breathing hard. We were up above 11,000 feet, I’m sure. I think the top of the mountain is probably 14,000 feet. There are taller mountains on Earth, but Earth is weird. This place doesn’t get many earthquakes, else all those stone castles would be piles of ruins.

That was when I spotted movement.

“Troll. Top of that rock spur,” I announced, pointing. “I’m going to try a spell. Let me try it before you jump in the way, okay?” Sofia looked annoyed at this order, pouting.

“You better hurry up. My nipples could cut glass,” she volunteered.

Fireball is an upgrade to firebolt, which is a ball of fire based on the Flame spell. Enhancing the effects with sticky explosion magic, giving it the magical equivalent of napalm, this is something I already know how to do. I started the cast, building up the power, concentrating it, creating a containment spell, and guidance. Unlike the locals, guided spells seem to be really unusual. The locals point and shoot. They have no idea of fire and forget, or guided missiles. I do though. For all my oppai loli glory and deaged Breton maiden-shape, I am a full fledged Wizard. I fired the spell, it leapt towards the troll, accelerating smoothly, growing in size and radiant heat adding a sheen to the rocks as suddenly ice jumped above freezing point, and then impacted the troll. I would pay good money for a photo of its expression.

I hate trolls. Every maiden hates trolls. There are no female trolls, or rather female trolls are so rare they don’t matter. Trolls reproduce by raping women until they become pregnant, then the baby tears its way out of the mother’s womb, eating her dying body. I have seen what happens to women captured by trolls. It is a horrific way to die. You will forgive me if I don’t care about their ecology. My spell impacted on the trolls’ white fur, absorbing into the body the very essence of fire and igniting its flesh in a form of transmutation, its flesh to fire, its fats to flame, its bones into magnesium, and very soul into flame. The monster screamed out over the mountain, howling as loud as the dragon had over Helgen.

“Wow. You know spells like that?” Sofia commented, observing as the troll turned into a pillar of flame. I watched it crumple to the ground and its soul filled a gem in my pouch. We marched forward, noting the smear had been perched in a fine location for ambush above the trail. I read another tablet, another fragment of poetry and faith for Kynareth. We continued down, around, back up and eventually the squat fortress of the shouters came into view. I noticed the big bound chest in front. I lifted the lid, put the food package inside, and allowed the lid to clump shut.

“So, now what?” Sofia asked.

“Inside.”

There followed one of those clicheed old monks demanding I prove myself so I shouted them off their feet. This suitably impressed them so they taught me another word of the shout, a new concept. Apparently proper shouts have three words for strength and balance, magically speaking. Naturally, dragon shouting is soul magic, which father has rare understanding of how to use. Injun Joe knows quite a bit about it, called the Dineeh, back before the Anasazi went evil and got wiped out by the Pueblo and Navajo, killed to the last perverted black magic practitioner. They had me prove the new word by knocking down three illusions of monks cast to appear above the floor in the central chamber. Then it was time to go back out into the storm, which was howling with a fresh blizzard.

“Great. My nipples had just started to relax and it’s back out into the snow. You sure know how to have fun, boss,” complained Sofia.

I followed the Greybeard out into the courtyard. The others came as well. The one that spoke English… or Nord I guess, explained about a new word of power, called Whirlwind Sprint. One of the monks breathed the word onto the ground like a rune. I read it, soul magic again. The monk emitted some soul magic to activate the word in me so I could use it. Eventually I’m going to learn how to do that without needing soul magic. Probably some meditation trick. The soul is infinite, after all.

Then I ran through a gate while shouting the word for sprinting. And I ran really fast. Then Arngeir told me I need to visit a tomb and get a horn from inside and bring it back. Naturally this was far across Skyrim in the marshes near a place called Morthal. Sounds dreary. We slept the night with the monks in a shivering stone area, where their snores resonated the building. The only heat was from open braziers. Where they got the charcoal I don’t know. Not many trees at this elevation. We rose early and returned down the trail, blessedly clear of monsters and wolves trying to eat us.

“Thanks for doing that. Here’s some coin for your trouble,” said the man I’d helped the day before. He gave me a big bag of septims. It was nearly a thousand. I grinned.

On return to Whiterun I used the gold to pay for upgrades in my house. I also mixed some more Waterbreathing potions and sold them for big money, which got Breezehome full upgraded, then I went to talk to the blacksmith about building a wood stove and a chimney so I could seal off the roof vent and make the place warm in the winter mornings. Winter was coming hard and fast, after all. This was merely fall weather. Winter would mean feet of snow on the roads, making them impassible to wagons and not worth the effort on foot. The bears would hibernate, but the wolves would be starving and attack that much more aggressively. I restocked with food cooked in my new kitchen pot and announced our next journey to Sofia, who rolled over on her bedroll to stare at me with one bleary eye.

“You must be kidding,” she importuned.

“Hey, the Greybeards want their Horn, so we’re going to go and get it. Then bring it all the way back to the top of that mountain. Isn’t that going to be fun?” I announced sarcastically.

“I know you’re older than you look, but that expression you made just now has me worried,” Sofia complained. I let her clean up and get a hot meal in her before we left.

Walking back towards the Honningbrew Meadery, then across the bridge and past a couple farms the road crested and went past a watch tower. Something appeared to be going on there. Three bandits came pelting out of the tower and attacked. I put them down with ice spikes to the guts, which dramatically lowered their enthusiasm. Sofia just stared, holding her sword as the bandits, one a woman, came to a stop, sliding across the ground dead. A guard ran up behind them, looked at the dead bandits, looked at me, touched his helm with respect, and returned to his post, just leaving the corpses there.

“If you want anything off them, help yourself,” I said. She retrieved a few coins off each. Being a bandit has poor life expectancy but there’s still a fair number of them. We continued.

“Ooohh, bother and befuddle!” decried a jester in a red costume. His wagon is disabled, a wheel off. The bored horse stood there, eating grass. The wagon full of a huge wooden crate. The gist of the situation required me to speak to the farmer nearby and convince him to fix the wagon so this loon and his dead mother could move on. His soul was black as night. The crate reflected pure evil. I blinked at both, then set them on fire, really hot fire. The horse sensibly ran away, but the jester screamed and screamed, and the box howled like a captured vampire or worse. I kept up the flame. The guard stared with horror.

“That was a really bad man,” I said to the guard. “I’m a thane to Jarl Balgruuf, by the way. This is thane’s business.” He stared at the black crater still smoking and hissing in the sunlight, pool of molten slag puddled beneath.

“Right,” said the guard and turned away. I went about my business.

Some wolves, ignited. A giant spider cooked inside out. A frost wraith, lit on fire. The crossroads directed me left, so I killed more wraiths and spiders before approaching a stone fort in the narrow section of the pass between mountains. There were bandits. I summoned my flame atronach and we walked past the structure. A man appeared and tried to shoot me with arrows. The atronach lit him on fire. Good shooting. More men turned up and were lit on fire. Eventually they kept their heads down, promising retribution. We rounded the bend on the road once more, igniting a couple more spiders and I noted the road was going the wrong way. Crossing open country was needed. I cast a snow-shoe spell on my feet, then on Sofia as well. She found this quite interesting. We approached some kind of hunting lodge and found some unfriendly religious zealots who want to destroy everything in the nevernever. Ambitious, beyond reason. I thanked them for their time and we skirted the mountain, finding some elk, then the entrance to a temple infested by more bandits. They were attacking a woman in armor, who cut them down easily. At some point the death rate for bandits should actually convince people to pursue steadier employment prospects.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, only slightly interested.

“A friend of mine stole the boss’s sword, now they’ve all gone crazy. Fight them if you dare, but I’m out of here,” she promised, storming away in a huff. The bandits had a few coins, a sack of salt, and some rabbit haunch, which I passed to Sofia. She sniffed it, then threw it away. We continued. Down the slope we met the main road again, where an ice wraith attacked. Foosh, burn, hiss scream, and two more ice wraith fangs for my potions ingredients.

Next were some bandits who finished off a mage, then charged at us. Sofia surged forward with glee cutting down two men and a woman, getting herself covered in blood, grinning madly.

The mage had a spellbook on giving speeches, which I read, and some potions ingredients and potions. Apothecaries, like me. We continued onwards and found a mine, with a smelter. Not much to recommend it except for the butterflies which apparently loved this place. There was a strong upwelling of mana here, so that was right. I asked about the tomb we were looking for and got several different answers. The best one was “ask at Morthal”. So we followed the road, encountering a thief I threatened into running away, a spider, and some guy with a nasty skin condition that puked green poison on the spider, actually killing it. Shortly we found a signpost heading downslope for Morthal.

“Are you the dragonborn!?” demanded a whiny voice, hiding behind a white Cthulhu mask and yellow robes.

“You are but the deceiver. The real dragonborn comes. All shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!” the other cried. Then they attacked us. Sofia put a sword through the summoner, ending their flame atronach a mere second after it arrived. The other started firing basic flame at me from a staff. My shield held it off easily, absorbing the magic. After a moment of this an arrow poked out of the cultists’ head and they dropped dead.

“They just get weirder all the time. First time in Morthal? There are warm beds and ale at the inn,” offered the guard. I picked up a fallen piece of parchment and read it. Something about stealing a ship with magic, going to Windhelm, then finding the dragonborn, kill them, return, great reward by Miraak. Great. Another enemy.

I went to the inn. Asked about the tomb. The innkeeper marked my map with the spot, mentioned the danger of necromancers and vampires in the marshes, and to be careful. I opted to get us a room for the night. We ate, suffered the terrible singing of an orc bard, and got plenty of sleep.