Cicadas, the 23rd of Lost Speed, 4E 201

Kharla drew back, knowing full well that there was nowhere to go. Even if she could scramble back up the drop, she’d be pierced with a dozen arrows before she got to the top. As she reached the struggling Thral and Hugraven, the Nord saw her danger and span around with a powerful twist of his body so that he now faced the foul creature that called itself Boutiqua, but still his arms were trapped.

“Not so easy to break my embrace, eh…pretty boy?” The Hugraven pushed its head toward Thral’s chest as it spoke, teasing him as if it were his lover, one of its feathers tickling Thral’s nose.

“Fohs Goh!” sneezed Thral.

Kharla fell to the ground at the force of the Shout. With a squawk Boutiqua the Hugraven hurtled away, its long arms and legs flailing wildly in the air as it sailed out over the river. The wooden walkways heaved, tents blew over or flattened, Foreshorn were tossed away like ragdolls as woven baskets, handmade candles, bone-carved jewelry, wood carvings, and various embroidered items flew through the air.

When all had settled, Thral picked up his warhammer and rested it on his shoulder. “You all right?”

Kharla nodded and stood. The entire Craftspire fair seemed to now be floating downriver. The remaining few Foreshorn on the stone platforms looked on in amazement and then fled.

“That second Word of power for Upending Force really took it to a whole new level, didn’t it?” said Eilgird as Kharla and Thral reached the top of the steps. “It would be very useful for crowd control back in the Whiteruin Hold.”

Usborne looked stunned. “I’ve never seen anything like it! To live and see a Dragonbore in action is truly a privilege.”

Draloth was picking up some of the handmade items that had blown their way. “These should sell well,” he muttered as he piled them together.

“Come,” said Darleen. “Let’s go find this Temple.”

“But shouldn’t we tidy this all up first?” said Ti’lief, looking back at the flattened tents and overturned tables.

Inside, they were confronted by three Foreshaven who must’ve heard the blast and come to investigate. One of them was taller, bigger, and with strange beady eyes.

“Birdbrain!” warned Darleen as the other two Bretons attacked and the Birdbrain flapped his arms and rose toward the cavern roof. Eilgird and Darleen made short work of the attackers. Then the Birdbrain started hurling fireballs at them and they all dove for cover, except for Kharla who aimed her spear and took the flying Breton through the chest. He crashed to the ground with a small tweet.

“Right,” said Darleen. “Let’s press on.”

The cavern led to a passageway at the far end that opened up into a small gorge, the darkening sky staring down from above. They made their way up some stone steps on the right-hand side of the gorge to a small area with three small turnable pillars about the height of a child. Each had three different symbols about its top.

“Fascinating,” said Usborne. “This is certainly ancient Blade architecture. The entrance to Ski Haven Temple must be near. Now what are these symbols?”

“That one looks like Thral’s autograph!” joked Mell, pointing at a glyph that looked like a straight vertical line with a squiggle at the end.

“So it does,” said Eilgird after pulling out her journal and looking at where Thral had signed his autograph.

Thral laughed.

Kharla rolled her eyes.

“Well, it’s worth a try,” said Usborne. “My back’s a bit stiff these days. Can someone turn these pillars for me?”

Kharla and Darleen turned the three pillars so that the ‘autograph’ symbol faced forward on all of them. As the last pillar turned, a stone walkway fell down to their left, spanning the gorge, and narrowly missing Ti’lief’s tail.

They walked across it and through a fissure in the rock to a room with a floor covered in pressure plates.

“Some of those plates have that same symbol on them,” said Draloth.

“Yes,” said Usborne. “I think it must be the symbol of the Dragonbore. That chain over there on the pillar likely disables the plates. Who’s the most sure-footed?”

Draloth pushed Ti’lief forward.

“Ah, good, a volunteer,” said Usborne enthusiastically.

Ti’lief scowled at the Dark Elf.

“Now remember to only step on the plates with the Dragonbore symbol,” Usborne said to the Cat.

“What happens if this one stands on another symbol by mistake?” asked Ti’lief.

Usborne frowned. “Something very unpleasant I should think.”

Ti’lief stepped up to the first plate.

“And watch the tail!” said Draloth.

The Khapiit turned and gave him a hard stare.

“You can do it, Ti’lief!” said Mell.

The Cat moved cautiously forward, one plate, then another, then a third. On the fourth, he wobbled a bit and everyone went “Ooh!” but he recovered and everyone gave a sigh of relief. Even Thral seemed engaged as he munched into an apple he’d found somewhere. Then the Cat-man almost stepped on the wrong plate and everyone went “Ooh!”. Then he pounced forward on his front paws, and then on his back legs across a complex span of plates, somersaulted across several more in quick succession, and then handwalked the final stretch before flipping back to his feet.

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“Now that’s just showing off!” complained Draloth.

The Cat smiled and pulled the chain. All the plates went down. The room had been secured and the sound of another walkway falling filled their ears.

“Well done,” said Usborne as he and the others passed the Cat and left the far side of the chamber through another narrow tunnel that led to another walkway spanning the gorge, leading higher and to yet another tunnel, then up some steps, and then through to a large roofless chamber with a large stone head in the wall at the far end.

“This is it, I’m sure!” said Usborne. “So well-preserved, too.”

“Just like you,” said Mell.

“Well, thank you, my dear. That’s very kind of you to say so,” the old man replied.

Darleen frowned at the Breton.

“I’m reading this book that says that giving compliments can make you happier,” Mell said in a lowered voice so that Usborne couldn’t hear.

“Who’s this handsome chap, then?” asked Eilgird, indicating toward the big stone head.

“Roman Sorrydill, if I’m not very much mistaken,” said Usborne. “Forger of the Sorrydillic Empire and the man who established the armor style of the Legion.”

A large chest sat on the floor in the middle of the room and Draloth lost no time in exploring its contents. Beyond the chest, and in front of the big head, a black circle sat on the ground.

“Very interesting,” said Darleen. “But how do we get in?”

“Ah,” said Usborne, looking at the circle on the ground. “That would be where the ‘blood seal’ comes in, no doubt triggered by...well, blood. The blood of the Dragonbore.”

“Thral?” asked Darleen. “Come here.” She unattached one of her knuckle blades from her belt. “Hold out your palm.”

Thral stepped back.

“Um,” began Kharla. “I don’t think Thral likes sharp things, especially things that might cut him…” She turned to Usborne. “Does it specifically mention blood or will other bodily fluid work?”

Usborne raised his eyebrows. “Well, I guess it’s possible. I can’t see any harm in trying…”

“Exactly what did you have in mind?” said Ti’lief. “There are ladies present!”

“Thral, try spitting on the circle,” said Kharla. She heard Ti’lief sigh in relief.

Thral spat on the circle, bits of apple mixed in. A grating sound filled the chamber as Roman Sorrydill’s big stone head swung back to reveal stone steps leading upwards.

“The Dragonbore should be the first to have the honor to enter the Temple after all these centuries.” Usborne presented the way to Thral. “I know it’s kind of narrow but I think you should just about fit.”

They all followed Thral up the steps, Mell providing the light until a great square stone door barred their way. Thral carried on, pushing the stone door open with both hands. It swung inward with a groan to reveal yet more steps leading up, this time wide enough for two or three to walk abreast. They reached the end of the stairs to find yet another flight leading higher, up and up into the mountain fortress that was Ski Haven Temple. Finally, they emerged into a great chamber.

“The architecture is stunning,” said Usborne as Mell’s orb scattered into a hundred balls of light to light up the vast area. “Bas-reliefs almost entirely intact. Stonework that could rival anything in Skewrim!”

The carved walls and pillars stretched up to a great ceiling above, perhaps the height of twenty Nords. More steps led upward toward the back of the chamber, but it was the structure that sat to their right, past the great tables in the center of the chamber, that got everyone’s attention. A huge wall carved with pictures and glyphs and a great dragon at its center.

“Shorn’s bones! Here it is! Alun’s wall…so well preserved..I’ve never seen a finer example of Early Second Era sculptural relief…” said Usborne as everyone approached it, one of Mell’s orbs hovering above it, its intensity increasing to light up all the panels along the wall.

Darleen sighed. “Information, Usborne?”

“No, definitely not an imitation. This is the real thing.” The old man walked over to the first panel in the Wall. “What we need to find out is some useful information.”

Darleen sighed again.

“Look, here is Alun! This panel goes back to the beginning of time when Alun and the Dragon Club ruled over Skewrim.”

The Dragon Club was a gentleman’s institution that held considerable sway over Skewrim politics in its day. One could only join if sponsored by another member. There were several perks to membership, including immortality (for Founding Members only), a complimentary staff, an elegant mask for the seasonal masquerades held at the Club’s ballroom, a finely furnished clubroom for relaxation and small talk, and the best catering available in Skewrim at the time.

Usborne moved to the second panel. “Here the humans rebel against the Founding and Honorary Members of the Dragon Club in the legendary Drag-on War—So called because it lasted far longer than it should have done, not because it involved dragons. It’s a common mistake people make.”

The old man moved to the next panel. “Alun’s defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. I must say, Mell, these lights of yours are quite splendid.”

Mell smiled. “Thank you.” She turned to Kharla and lowered her voice. “That’s what it said in the book. If you compliment someone they are more likely to return the compliment and then both of you are happier!”

Kharla grunted impatiently.

“You see,” Usborne started, “here Alun is falling from the sky. The Nord A Cappellas—winners of the Voice—are arrayed against him.”

“Does it show how they defeated him?” asked Darleen. Kharla had the same question.

“Patience. This isn’t easy to work out. The ancient Blades liked to couch everything in allegory, mythic symbolism, metaphor, parables, similes, obscure allusions, and most of all in parodies and dark satire.”

Thral sat down at one of the large tables and put his feet up.

“Yes, yes,” said Usborne, “this here…coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes—this is the symbol for ‘shout’ but there’s no way to know what Shout is meant.”

“You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alun? You’re sure?” asked Darleen.

“Yes,” replied Usborne. “Perhaps something specific to dragons.”

Darleen folded her arms. “So we’re looking for a Shout, then. Confound it!” She turned to see Thral at the table but addressed Kharla instead. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”

Kharla shook her head. “I guess the Greatbeards might know if anyone does.”

Darleen nodded. “You’re probably right. I was hoping to avoid involving them in this, but it seems we have no choice.”

“You don’t much like the Greatbeards, do you?” said Draloth.

“If they had their way, they’d have Thral do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and judge singing contests, or whatever it is they do. The Greatbeards are so afraid of their power that they won’t use it.” Darleen shook her head. “They’ve done nothing to stop the Uncivil War. Nothing about Alun. I think they’re afraid of Thral.”

“To be fair,” interjected Ti’lief. “Most people are scared of Thral.”

Everyone looked over to where the Dragonbore sat. Thral looked up and waved.

Darleen looked from Thral back to Kharla and the others. “Yes, well, perhaps. But these Greatbeards are afraid of the power of the Dragonbore. But there’s no need to be afraid. Think of Toby Septic. Do you think he’d have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Greatbeards? All I’m saying is, don’t let those Masters of the Voice up on that mountain rob Thral of his destiny. Only the Dragonbore can stop Alun. Don’t forget it.”

“We’ll return,” said Kharla. “See what the Greatbeards know about this Shout.”

“Right. Good thing they’ve already let you into their own little club. Not likely they’d help Usborne or me if we came calling. We’ll look around Ski Haven Temple and see what else the old Blades might have left behind. It’s a better hideout than I could have hoped for, that’s for sure. Toeless guard you.”

“Look,” said Usborne, now standing at the other end of the Wall. “The prophecy! The Blades with their distinctive longswords. They kneel, their mission complete, as the Last Dragonbore contends with Alun at the end of time. Are you paying attention, Darleen? You might learn something of our history.”

“Whatever,” said Darleen, walking deeper into the chamber. “I’m going to explore the rest of the Temple to see if I can find anything cool.”