User:Minor Edits/Skyrim: Ancestral Worship

Ancestral Worship

by Agni Falion & Calcelmo of Markarth
In collaboration with the Bard's College, the College of Winterhold, the Companions, and the Imperial Geographical Society

A tale of the Last Dragonborn

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Note: This is a work of transformative fan fiction based on the copyrighted works of a really cool video game development company that shall remain nameless. Feel free to correct typos.

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He's gonna get me.

Any day now. I know that when I finally see that blade, it will be slicing at my throat. He's all shouts and arrows, never once the blade since he got it. But it hangs there, mocking me. Glimmering, like it's winking at me. Mephala's Vampire. It's in my thoughts as I drift to sleep and as I snap awake. In between, it is all I can look at.

Dad said not to become a housecarl. Following this lunatic around, I know now he was right. It's like the crazy bastard is whispering to me in my dreams. "Any day now, Lydia. You'll see it any day now."

Maybe today.

Maybe NOW

Fredas, noon, 6th of Hearth Fire, 4E 201

ow! All your gold now, now, or yer both dead-uns!" shouted the bandit. He stood on top of a large tree which had fallen over in front a giant waterfall, bridging the gap on either side. A hundred feet below him, the water poured over craggy rocks and proceeded down another waterfall and then another until it eventually emptied into the White River. Dovah had insisted on taking this shortcut after seeing the fallen tree high above during their journey to Ivarstead. But as soon as they stepped onto the tree, they found themselves accosted by a bandit. A shivering, half-naked bandit.

"What are you planning to do, moron?" Dovah called out again. Both he and Lydia had bows at the ready. "You'll be dead pretty quickly if you don't let us by."

"Let us help you, friend," Lydia called out. Dovah cocked his head at her inquisitively. "He's clearly mad. Sheogorath would take notice if we killed him," she said quietly. More loudly, she called out, "Perhaps just a few of our shiny coins will be enough?"

The bandit seemed to calm down a moment, and for an instant Lydia thought she had succeeded. Then his head began jerking violently, like he was shaking her suggestion out of his mind. "NOW, NOW, NOW—"

Dovah sighed deeply and took aim. The arrow sailed past the bandit harmlessly, but it startled him and he jumped — right off the tree. The screams of the lost soul were cut short as he hit the rocks below with a crack, and his body was carried down the next waterfall, out of sight.

Dovah wordlessly put away his bow and began crossing the fallen tree.

"You didn't have to do that," Lydia wearily called out behind him. "I could've reasoned with him."

"Hmm? Right, right," Dovah muttered, his head down.

As Lydia reached the other side of the tree, she saw that he was reading the orders they had retrieved from one of the bodies of those who had attacked them the day before.

"I thought you would've learned your lesson about books and walking," she chided. "And you're not going to see anything different from the last ten times."

"I just can't get over it," Dovah exclaimed, but he put away the letter. "'Lord Miraak.' I have a nemesis! Who has nemesises? Er- nemesi?"

"Nemeses," Lydia sighed. "Why don't you learn the Tamrielic language before you go learning extinct magical ones?"

"Where is this place they set out from again?" Dovah asked, ignoring her question. "Soul shine?"

"Solstheim. Raven Rock is a port in Solstheim," Lydia repeated with exasperation. "It's a frozen waste of an island northeast of Skyrim of so little importance that mapmakers sometimes forget to include it."

"Sounds like you're anxious to go."

"I doubt either of us would be welcome," Lydia responded. "Mostly a bunch of Dark Elves up there these days, like the ones who attacked you."

"And who do you think they were?"

"Don't know. But Dark Elf assassins are usually part of the Morag Tong."

"The Mora who-what?"

"A guild of assassins, like the Dark Brotherhood. Except they only operate in Morrowind. Used to be a legal guild, before the Dunmer were nearly wiped out. Got banned when their leaders figured they couldn't afford to lose any Dunmer to assassins."

"But the guild kept operating?"

"Of course," Lydia snorted. "Business is booming, from what I hear. But it was always more of a cult than a guild anyways. They think murder is the only way to worship Mephala."

"And who's Mephala?"

"Oh, please..."

"Excuse me?" Dovah stopped, turning around.

Lydia could barely contain a sneer as she took a few steps closer. "You're gonna tell me you don't know who Mephala is?"

Dovah studied her a moment, cocking his head back. "It's my understanding that no one really knows who Mephala is," he said coolly. "That's kind of her whole... thing. But what I wanted to know is, who is Mephala to you?"

"Just a name," Lydia said dismissively. "Some family spirit some Dark Elf bastards pray to at night before they go murder other Dark Elf bastards." She gestured along the deer path they were following. "After you."

"Are you okay? You look pale. You can barely open your—"

"After you," Lydia repeated forcefully.

With a final concerned glance, Dovah continued along the path, and Lydia followed. "So you don't think, as someone concerned for my security," Dovah called back with a hint of sarcasm, "That it's worth checking out an enemy who knew exactly where I would be before I even did, and who sent assassins to greet me?"

"I think that was a lucky guess which won't happen again," Lydia retorted. "And if they do find you again, they'll be dealt with."

"Says the woman who they would have killed if it wasn't for a bunch of small-town guards."

"If I die, so be it," Lydia declared angrily. "That's my job. But you can bet I'll take my killer with me. And you have more problems to deal with here in Skyrim."

"Right, like that," Dovah said, pointing into the trees. Lydia squinted, just barely making out an ancient Nordic structure built into the side of the mountain. Light was flickering out from the arrowslits in front.

"What, a light? You call that a problem? If we stop at every ruin along the way, we won't retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller until next year," Lydia pointed out, though she followed her thane towards it.

"So what?"

"So, there are dragons to kill, that's what," Lydia persisted.

"The Greybeards don't seem to be in a rush," Dovah replied sardonically. As they got closer, he crouched down in the brush, drawing his bow, and Lydia followed suit. Inside the front antechamber, all they could see was a slim, blond-haired man sitting by the fire. He seemed to be crying.

"Why so glum, friend?" Dovah called out.

The man nearly fell off his bench, and his iron armor clanged as he ran to the entrance. "Who's that?! I'm armed!"

"Dovah. I'm armed, too. Behind me is my housecarl, Lydia, also armed. We all have many arms."

"A housecarl, you say? Oh, by Kyne you startled me," the man called out more calmly, but he kept his axe out. "What business do you have here?"

"None. But I'm really sick of every person I meet out here attacking me, you know what I mean?" Dovah called out, walking forward slowly with his arms out. "Well? You know what I mean? Can you and I agree to break that trend right now?"

"Y-yes, I guess..."

"Good," Dovah said, stepping closer into the light. "Now, let's talk about you."

"My name's Golldir. There's a necromancer around here—"

"I want to focus on the crying," Dovah declared matter-of-factly as he brushed past Golldir and took a seat by the fire. "It's fascinating. I've never seen a grown man cry who wasn't, just, gushing blood. Care to explain?"

They all got settled around the fire as Golldir got started. "It-It’s the necromancer, you see. He's in the tomb doing gods know what with my dead relatives."

"Ew!" Dovah laughed. "You don't think he's—"

"Stop!" Lydia commanded. "It's the man's family."

"His name is Vals Veran," Golldir continued, struggling to compose himself. "My family has never really seen eye to eye with him and he has finally gone off the deep end. He's gone in to defile our family tomb by using our ancestors for his filthy Dark Elf necromancy."

"Another Dark Elf? I'm starting to get a bad impression of them," Dovah mused.

"My aunt went in after him, but she hasn't come out yet and I'm afraid to go in by myself," Golldir finished, lowering his head.

"... You, you let your aunt go in there alone?" Lydia breathed.

"I'm not proud of it," Golldir sighed, his voice breaking. "I'm terrified of that place and Aunt Agna knows it. My Da locked me in there in a drunken rage when he left us... three days in there eating the offerings left for our dead before Aunt Agna found me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry..." Lydia responded. "Well, it's clear what we have to do."

"Wait," Dovah stopped her. "Why did Aunt Agna go in there? It's crazy."

"To stop Varen!" Golldir exclaimed, standing and grabbing his axe. "And I should've gone in there, too!"

"Still, why do you care about stopping the necromancer?"

Golldir, aghast, backed away from the fire. "What?!"

"What do you and your Aunt Agna give a damn about your relatives' corpses?" Dovah asked. "They're dead, right?"

Lydia had had enough. Before she even knew what she was doing, she was standing in front of Dovah, and her iron gauntlet was swiping across his face. He fell backwards off the bench with a grunt of pain.

"Family is what matters, it is all that matters. It's all we get, you selfish bastard. Don't you ever belittle that!"

Dovah stood up, brushing himself off. "Better than 'my Thane,'" he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Stay here. You're not well."

"I'm fine," Lydia spit out. "Perhaps you're the one who should stay here. Have another ale, my Thane."

"Please..." Golldir broke the silence. "I'm going in there, right now. But please... please help me. I don't wanna die."

Lydia kept her eyes on Dovah and held an arm toward the door. "After you."

Dovah finally broke off his own glare as he walked to the door. "Well, Golldir, I guess we'll both be helping you search the big bad tomb for Auntie Agna..."

here she is." Dovah said pleasantly, pointing to the bloody body by a door as he entered a chamber.

"No!" Golldir cried, running to the body and cradling it. "Aunt Agna! Talos, why didn't I go in with her?"

Dovah seemed about to respond, but Golldir's wracking sobs gave him pause. He just stared at the scene, a sad, curious look in his eye.

"She was... she was a tough one," Lydia offered. "And brave. Must be a half-dozen dead draugr between the entrance and here."

"So..." Dovah began, looking around the room. It was a small chamber, with a door to their left. On the other side of the chamber was another tunnel. "Where do we go from here? Where's this Varen?"

Golldir wiped his eyes and suddenly threw himself ineffectually at the heavy wood door. "He's barred the door," he growled. "Gods only know how he's... defiling the bodies of my ancestors in there!" He turned around, his eyes furtively racing across the room. "Agna once told me there's a secret room deeper in where they buried disgraced members of the family. Maybe that will get us into the main chamber..."

Dovah pulled his bow back out. "Well, let's go find him..."

here he is," Dovah declared as he entered the main chamber of the tomb. Two flights of dusty brown stone stairs rose up above them through three tiers of sarcophagi-lined landings. At the top of the stairs, a slim, red-haired Dunmer in black robes stopped his work at an altar and spun around to face them.

The Dunmer squinted his eyes at the intruders. They were bruised and bloodied to varying degrees, as Aunt Agna had only cleared about half the tomb. The Dunmer smiled as he recognized Golldir. "The dead should be made to serve the living," Vals Veran called down to him. "Not the other way around!"

"I'll return my ancestors to Sovngarde!" Golldir yelled furiously, sprinting forward. "And you with them!"

"Sovngarde is a myth, you s'wit!" Varen sneered, flicking a hand down at the coffins below. "And now you can join your ancestors in service to me!"

Lydia and Dovah, who had started after Golldir, paused and stood back-to-back, bows at the ready, as the sarcophagi began thumping. As they opened, chaos took hold, and she was forced to focus on the enemies in front of her. But he's gonna get you, Lydia.

Lydia watched Golldir charge up the steps, and let loose her arrow at a draugr in his way. She heard the twang of Dovah's arrow behind her. Any day now.

Another arrow fell into place, and she took aim at the closest draugr charging toward her. It fell before her, and she could hear another twang from Dovah's bow. Maybe today.

FUS RO!

Several of the draugr to her left fell backwards under the force of Dovah's deafening Shout. She unleashed another arrow at a draugr to her right, then dropped her bow, unsheathing her sword. Maybe now.

As her hearing returned, Lydia just barely detected the scrape of a sword coming loose from its sheath behind her.

Maybe right NOW.

"Yeeaargh!"

Lydia found herself face to face with Dovah. Between his wolf helmet and his inscrutable bushy blond beard, all she could really see were his eyes. His wide, green, astonished eyes.

Between them was her sword, sticking into his chest. Blood was already dribbling out from his armor.

"Why?" he rasped.

Lydia's head slightly shook back and forth of its own accord for a moment. Dovah swung a fist at her, and everything went dark.

ydia came back to reality with a cough. Her head was pounding, and she could taste and smell the iron of blood. Looking around, she saw was the bodies of draugr littering the dimly lit, dusty floor of the chamber. She was right where she had been when—

"Oh, gods, no," she breathed.

"Up here!"

Lydia bounded up the steps until she reached the source of the voice. Golldir was crouched next to Dovah, who was motionless and bloody on the floor. Not far from them was the body of Vals Veran, only recognizable from his hair and robes.

"He was amazing," Golldir seethed, grabbing his wounded arm. "He took on all my greatest ancestors, and gave me the chance to avenge them. But one of them must have gotten the drop on him early."

"No," Lydia croaked. "He… I got confused. Startled. He was behind me, and I…"

"By Talos, you did this to him?!"

"I didn't mean to…"

Dovah coughed blood, struggling to raise his head. "No. I gave it to you. Remember? After the vampire. My fault—"

Golldir coaxed him back down. "Rest easy, friend. What is it?" He put his head down close to Dovah's mouth for a moment.

"What did he say?" Lydia asked weakly.

Golldir raised his head. "He said look at your sword."

Lydia slowly looked down at her hand. She hadn't even realized she was still gripping her sword. Her black, blood-soaked sword.

Lydia screamed in horror and let go, and the walls echoed with the clang as the Ebony Blade struck the floor.