Alik-rian Nights: Volume The First: Of Adamant And Beyond: Part 3: Secrets Of The Stormcrown.

Again the hour grew late and Greatpapa closed the story for the evening. I had been giving him my full attention, completely engrossed in the tale, and refused to let him end there. I tried to get him to continue, but he declined. The day had been long and would be longer come morning. I protested and grew angry with him.
I was weary and temperamental as only a small child can be. Needless to say, my Greatpapa had little tolerance for my imputence, and he threw me from his tent. Even my brother tried to offer me comfort, but I was inconsolable. I wept myself to sleep that night.
I woke after dawn, cold in my tent. The day had already begun for our troop and soon the city gates would be open; bringing coin and company. I had missed breakfast and could only find old tack to eat. Trying as I might to see my Greatpapa, he would not meet me all that day. My actions shamed me, and I fearsly regretted them.
Determined to redeem myself, I went from tent to tent trying to make myself useful. Perhaps if I worked well enough, Greatpapa would see me again. They were all glad to have me, though I don’t know how much help I actually was. That evening however, Greatpapa went into town and camped inside the walls. Once again, I wept myself to sleep. And so it was for a week and a night, until we struck camp to move to the next city, then for 3 days more.
Then, on the tenth evening, Greatpapa finally called for me. My diligence had not gone unnoticed, and he was far more tender than I had expected. He waited as I bowed down prostrate before him and offered my apology. Then he picked me up, set me upon his knee, and told me that he loved me. And so I wept once again.

Now that he had united the redguard, and they could offer the Aldmeri a solid defense, the Seprine returned to Wind Scour Temple to meet the Loremaster and begin the Psijic Endeavor. Much time had already been taken and the longer they delayed, the worse the situation became. The Seprine asked if the Loremaster had personally completed the Endeavor, a question which was met with much laughter.
The Loremaster was acquainted with the holy task and the principles behind it, but only a very few had ever actually completed it. First, was Sep himself at the dawning of time. Another was Fervidius Tharn of the Marukhati Selectives whose actions had caused the middle dawn. Next was Vivec, the former god-king of Morrowind. And most recently by Tiber Septim, who erased the jungles of Cyrodiil from time.
What was known of the Psijic endeavor had been passed down by the Chimeri prophet Veloth with additional information provided by Vivec. The Loremaster explained that the goal of the Endeavor is to reach a state known as CHIM. CHIM is the secret syllable of royalty; the fifth of the six walking ways to transcendence. One reaches this state when one comprehends that the world is like unto a dream and one finds that he can control and manipulate it in impossible ways. It is an ability and power beyond even the gods, but it comes with a great cost. When one fails to keep himself against the infinite realizations before him, one becomes zero, and is erased from the scroll of creation.
The road was a long one, with few who had blazed the trail, but it was not an impossible task and the Loremaster had the uttermost faith in the Seprine. There were three stages one must go through to complete the Endeavor. The first was knowledge of Self. A proper understanding of who you are is crucial when reaching the state of CHIM, for when one views the whole of the AE in the Great Tower, if one does not have an unwavering sense of self, one has a tendency to lose one within the glory of the whole and become zero. The distinction between the ‘I’ of the self, and the ‘I’ of the tower must be maintained if 1 is to be preserved.
With a wry smirk the Loremaster commented that the Seprine had already done much in this regard since the beginning of his journey. He had learned his core identity, tested his limits, and found that they are only imposed by himself to himself. There was still much to learn and do, but for now, it was enough to continue to the next stage; Universal Understanding.
In this step, the candidate needs to expand his awareness to encompass the whole of creation. One can only encounter the Great Tower by taking a sideward glance at the plane of reality, but it is not merely enough to comprehend the structure and solid-state form of the cosmos. One must also understand the depth of its history and all the movements therein. This allows for not only viewing the Great Tower, but also in perceiving the weave of the tapestry and in knowing which strands are the best to pluck.
As providence would have it, the secret to unlocking these mysteries had already been provided to them. Aldmeris, the lost homeland of the elves. Deep in history, when the world was new, a group of the Aedra gave up their divinity to preserve the mortal plane. They were called the Ehlnofey. They came to rest upon a world which was not our world, but still within our sphere. There were 12 such planets in creation, but this arrangement was not stable, and soon they lost their place in the heavens and fell to Nirn.
The Ehlnofey were split upon the impact into two separate groups. The first group were blessed in that a large part of their world landed intact upon this one. They remained in this safehaven for many years. They called it Aldmeris, naming their holy capital the same and their people were the fathers of the elven race. The second were scattered all throughout Nirn, and they became the Wanderers who are the progenitors of man.
Now, as time passed, the Wanderers in their wandering came to find the lush paradise of Aldmeris where their brothers resided. They expected to be welcomed lovingly back into the fold, but their years in the harsh barren places of the world had changed them. The Aldmer did not recognize their siblings as such and refused them entry into their home.
Before long, a terrible, terrible war broke out between the two. No words can express the tragedies of that period, but a small glimpse can be fathomed. You see, once Nirn contained no oceans, and the land extended past all horizons. The ground itself was a casualty of their battle and soon all the lands of the Wandering kin were plunged beneath the crashing waves of the sea. There was only one Ehlnofey city the floodwaters spared, the capital itself.
The ring of mountains which were its walls were too high for the ocean to claim it, yet it still did not escape destruction. In their despair and grief, the Wanderers put a curse upon Aldmeris and it was swallowed instead by a sea of sand. The curse remains upon it to this day. It is none other than the Alik’r which rests at the base of our very feet.
The Ehlnofey were powerful and advanced far beyond any of the modern races of Nirn. Even Dwemer technology is infantile in comparison. While they could not save their city, they had but one artifact capable of granting access. It is known as the Stormcrown, and it was a weather control device of nearly divine power. Since then, there has been a procession of great leaders which had held the crown at various times throughout history. The latest was Tiber Septim himself, called Talos, which means Stormcrown in the language of the Ehlnofey.
After his conquest of Tamriel, Tiber Septim knew that anyone who held the Stormcrown would be able to wield a power too great and terrible to imagine. And so he locked it away in a secret place hidden from the grasping hands of lesser men. But. In the event that need should arise for it, he left a map which would lead a gifted leader to its place of rest. He gave this map to the Mages Guild, who kept it in the Archives in the guild hall in Stros M’Kai.

And so with instruction from the Loremaster, the Seprine proceeded to Abah’s Landing. He booked a ferry to the island and set sail. When he arrived and inquired as to the location of the guild hall, he was met with quiet, dismissive answers. Some dire situation was afoot, but none dared speak of it heavily.
He located the hall near the center of the island. Or at least, the remains of the hall. Upon entering the area, he found only a great hole in the ground which was an almost perfect half sphere in the sand. Searching through the debris strewn about the rim of the crater, he found some evidence of what had happened.
After the terror of the Oblivion Crisis the old Mage’s Guild had broken down into two factions known as the Synod and the College of Whispers. A semblance of peace had been maintained throughout the years, but it seemed that it was not to last. Each faction kept to a distinct and incompatible difference of philosophy and a war had broken out among the wizards as greed, power, and mistrust had bred within their ranks. Whatever had once been kept in the grand hall of Stros M’Kai appeared lost, yet hope was not something the Seprine could lose!
Returning to the harbor, he began to question the locals regarding the whereabouts of the mages of the former guild hall. Soon he came across an Apothecary who appeared to know more than she would say. Impressing upon her the urgency and importance of his mission, she finally explained that she would regularly meet at night with the apprentice of one of the mages, to “supply him with ingredients”. They were set for an appointment that very evening, and the woman agreed to allow the Seprine to accompany her.
That night was dark, moonless, and the air was heavy with dew and deep magic. The apprentice, named Mavar, appeared as from thin air precisely at midnight. He was not happy to host a visitor, and it took some further convincing for him to accept what the Seprine had to say, but Mavar was a patriot and the Aldmeri invasion had concerned him greatly.
He had never heard of the Stormcrown, but his master’s main rival was a man known as the Scribe. For years before the destruction of the guild hall, he had been sneaking relics out from the archives into his own private collection. There was a good chance that he would have the map, and as luck would have it, he knew a way to contact the Scribe.
He instructed the Seprine to meet him outside of town at dawn, and as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished. As the morning sun rose in the east, the apprentice returned with another individual. As it turned out, Mavar’s twin brother was the apprentice of the Scribe. Both brothers were very unhappy with the conflict which had broken out between the mage factions, but still they remained loyal to their masters.
After explaining the situation, the Scribe’s apprentice, Ahmahec, agreed to take the Seprine to him, but only in exchange for a promise that the Seprine would do everything within his power to heal the wounds between the Synod and the College of Whispers. It would be no easy task, but one which he might be able to accomplish. Thus agreed, the two apprentices offered their farewells to each other warmly. Their differing philosophies kept them apart, but brothers they still remained.
Once they had gone their separate ways, Ahmahec lead the Seprine across the island to a small cove which was the hidden entrance to their lair. It was warm and well-kept inside, and despite the small space, the place was filled to bursting with strange relics and artifacts of history. This was no amateur’s collection, but the most prized and powerful items taken from the mystical archives of the entire province!
The Scribe himself sat in a small office off the main room where he would meditate and absorb the power from his store of precious antiquities. He had felt their coming and without raising his head from his volume, he called out to ask what object of great magnitude had his apprentice brought before him. It was not, of course, a what, but a who. Shocked by this announcement, the Scribe leapt to his feet and demanded to know what the meaning of this intrusion was.
The apprentice tried to explain, but the old sage only listened for a few moments before coming over to inspect the visitor himself. He looked in the Seprine’s hair, measured his arm, and peered into his eyes before coming to realize whom he was standing before. Shezarrine!
The Scribe surely knew the seriousness of the person standing before him, and with fear upon his countenance, he asked what our Scarab had come seeking. And so the Seprine confessed the purpose of his errand. He had come for the map to the location of the Stormcrown.
In quiet horror, the Scribe asked if he knew the incalculable destruction of which such a thing was able. The Scribe could see hesitation on the Seprine’s face, and he further asked for what purpose was he looking to gain such a terrible device, to which came the answer, Aldmeris.
“Aldmeris exists?” the Scribe questioned aloud in wonder. This was suddenly more than he could bear, and he took a chair to sit in. He explained that the Stormcrown was an artifact from the Old Ehlnofey. The Aldmer had created it in their war against the Wanderers as an ultimate weapon and harbinger of paradise. It was a terraforming device with the power to alter the landscape of an entire world. With it, the Aldmer killed the wanderers to sink the oceans of Nirn.
It was to no avail however, for they were a hearty people and would not easily be overcome. A great hero of men arose and captured the Stormcrown from the Aldmer. With it, the old legends say, he destroyed the great city of Aldmeris and wiped away the last remains of the Old Ehlnofey. Finally, the Aldmer would speak peace, and per the terms of the agreement, the remaining men and mer would leave the continent which had been their home, forever.
Now finished, the Scribe sighed a heavy sigh. With reluctance, he stood, went over to the wall, and took out a piece of parchment. He came back over, looking deep into the Seprine’s eyes and said that while he did not know much about his character, if this map could be said to be intended for any one man, it was intended for one such as he.
Taking the map, our Scarab looked upon it and the riddles it contained. The language was old, and certainly not one which he could interpret. He asked the Scribe about it and got back a resigned chuckle. It was written in Dwemeri. As it turned out, he and other scribes before him and long worked out the answers to its secrets, save for one.
The crown was in the ancient capital of the Rourken Clan of Dwarves after which the whole province had been named. Volenfell. Tiber Septim had locked the crown deep within their vaults, but knowing its resting place was futile. There was a key which was necessary to open the vault, but it had been lost to time. The map contained a clue, but a complete answer was not known.
The running theory was that it was a reference to a prominent adventurer in Hammerfell called Ashaana from around the time of Tiber Septim. It was believed that they had some form of interaction and that he had given the key to her. What became of her he was not sure, for he had not studied that subject personally, but he knew that she had written a set of memoirs which may have contained the location of the key.

Even though the Scribe didn’t know much, the Loremaster would surely know more. However, upon returning to him, the Seprine received grim news. The Loremaster knew a little about this adventurer, but not much. The books were in a series of 10 volumes, the set was something between an autobiography and a memoir. He had personally only read numbers 2, 5 and 6.
The picture of who this person was, was not very complete, but he knew enough to get the Seprine started. Volume 2 resided in the great library of Gilane, where none but the most elite scholars studied their arts, volume 6 was in the hands of a private collector from Lainlyn, and volume 5 had once rested in a museum, but thieves had stolen it a number of years prior.
Using this information, he began his search. The Library of Gilane not only contained volume 2, but also knew rumors of the locations of the 1st, 7th and 8th volumes which he was also able to collect. The private collector was a little more difficult. Since he had met with the Loremaster he had also collected the 3rd volume, but he was loath to hand over his copies.
A promise to return with the completed set eventually persuaded the collector, and furthermore, he knew the locations of yet another volume, the 9th. Once he had those in hand, he was able to track the 6th volume back to the thieves' guild, and from there was able to locate that copy, as well as the 4th. Then using the information in the other volumes, he was able to find the 10th and final book.
Now that he had the complete set, the story could at last be told. It seemed that the adventurer had been a young Redguard woman, a mercenary, at the time of the Imperial Conquest. She had captured the attention of young Tiber Septim, and over the course of the invasion of Hammerfell, they formed a deep “friendship”. After the invasion however, the Emperor needed to lead his campaigns elsewhere, and she remained in Hammerfell to continue her adventures, of which there were several.
She never forgot him, and so many years later, after the start of the 3rd era, Tiber returned to Hammerfell to seek her assistance. Together they plunged the depths of the great dwarven city of Volenfell and hid the Stormcrown in one of the strongest Dwemer vaults. Its pass code was a series of tones which they fashioned into a music box. This was the key they were seeking.
The box remained in her possession the remainder of her life, and passed to her daughter as an heirloom of her family for all time. Lastly, the books contained the location of the plantation which she had planted in her elder years. Perhaps this place would contain a clue to the current whereabouts of the music box.
When he arrived, he discovered that the plantation was still within the family of Ashaana, even after all these many years. It was now under the care of a young girl, whose family plague had taken some years prior. The music box had passed from mother to daughter since that time, and its secret had been kept cozy and warm upon the hearth.
This girl was wise for a child not yet in her teenage years. The box was a strong reminder of her parents, but after explaining his need of it, she gave it to the Seprine freely, so with it he might save them from the tyranny of the elves and restore Hammerfell’s place within Tamriel.

The road ahead would be far more difficult than his previous adventures. Luck had been his ally when he visited Fang’s Lair, and he had been able to bypass most of the fortifications. However, Volenfell had been the capital of the Dwemer in the province, and would be able to withstand a mighty siege. He would prefer a quiet entrance, if such a path could be found.
The Seprine was clever, and soon found a path. What he found inside surprised him, especially as he descended ever deeper, for the halls and passageways carried up the sounds of music from the deep. The volume was deafening; the melody discordant and always changing.
The sound of it rang throughout the whole of the city and he could see strange happenings in almost every room. For you see, dwarves base their power not upon light and life, but on sound and music. The very halls through which he was now passing had been precisely crafted by the great Dwemer tonal architects to heighten and preserve such harmonies.
After he followed the sounds to their source, he discovered the Dwemer hard at work upon an impossible looking machine generating the bellowing. Across the way stood a great door standing proudly against the engine. At various crescendos, the apparatus emitted a wave of force which crashed fruitlessly into the door, the excess energy spilling out into the city.
No sooner than he had evaluated the situation, when a Dwemer in regal robes entered the chamber and began shouting at what the Seprine assumed were locksmiths. This was surely the vault in which the Stormcrown had been hidden. It was the only reasonable explanation for them needing to break into their own strong room.
Before long, the dwarven governor forced the workers to shut down the machine and retire for the time being. Seizing the opportunity, the Seprine stole quietly into the room. The floor was an elaborate array of lines and color, but in the center was a small space which seemed to be the locus of the chamber.
He then took the music box out of his pack, wound the mechanism tight, and let the tune sing forth. The sound it made was crisp and quiet, yet seemed to resonate through the area with the power of a woman’s glare. The song was brief and simple, but had elegance and majesty.
As the anthem finished, the great stone doors of the vault split open with naught but a whisper. The room inside was as a perfect cube and contained such vast riches as to be completely unspeakable. But in the center resided a small raised platform upon which rested the Stormcrown.
Quickly and quietly as a mouse, he approached the podium and beheld the glory of the helm. It had the hue of white electrum, shined like a mirror, and the reflections were that of a prism. Upon taking the crown from the pedestal, a folded scrap of paper fell from inside. It was a letter written by the first emperor himself!
It explained how the Ehlnofey war and other use in ancient times had long ago drained the crown of its once unimaginable power. It was naught but a bobble and a useless artifact now. Yet there was still some hope, for some power could still be returned to the crown. It seemed that Tiber Septim had once used the spirit of Wulfharth as a source of energy and with it had earned himself the title of Talos.
Lastly, it warned of the incredible power of the crown and beseeched any who found it to allow it to rest undisturbed unto eternity. Evil once had command of the crown and had nearly destroyed the world. Should evil find it again, we would not survive its wrath.
With his prize now in hand, the Seprine knew he mustn't dally, for the dwarves could return at any moment and the letter’s warning would surely come to pass. As he turned to leave, he found it already too late. They had discovered his presence and the guards would soon be upon him.
The path from which he had come was already blocked, and it would not be long before all other avenues would be as well. He ran as long and as hard as his mighty body could carry him, slaying soldiers on his left hand and on his right as he passed. The blood of his enemies was as the sweat from his brow.
Suddenly, a massive tone sounded through the deep and the passage before him collapsed. He tried another path, but another pulse sealed that one as well. It would not be long before the falling rocks would trap him, or else utterly crush him beneath their weight. With another crash like a thousand thunders, the wall beside him shattered and exploded, knocking him flat.
To his great astonishment however, the gap in the wall had opened a way into a cave. Perhaps this was his escape? He charged headlong into the grotto, not caring if it would lead to the surface. Anywhere was better than where he had been.
The thunderous soundings of the Dwemer machines followed him for a time, bringing rocks and boulders down from the ceiling, closing passages and opening others. But as he got ever deeper into the system, the sound soon began to fade.
He was lost for a time, but the freshness of the air gave him hope of seeing the sun again. Following the coolness of the breeze as a guiding spirit, he pressed ever on. It felt as an age, but eventually a glimpse of light announced his impending return. He was weary from the ordeal, but with haste he returned to the Loremaster to seek his guidance.

He arrived in Wind Scour Temple shortly thereafter and told his mentor of what had transpired. This was a setback to be sure, but not an insurmountable one. Before long, they developed a plan which should return the Stormcrown to potency.
There once had been a great race descended from the Aldmer who had maintained a number of traditions and technologies from the Old Ehlnofey. They were known as the Ayleids and the fall of their great empire had been one of the opening events of the first era. They were an intensely magical society with strong connections to Daedra worship. At the center of each great city was a construct known as a Great Welkynd Stone which acted as a magicka source for the whole population.
The Ayleid Empire in its heyday stretched from Cyrodiil to Highrock with a number of ruins within the eastern parts of Hammerfell. During the Alessian Slave Revolts, the rebel armies had ransacked many of their cities and laid them to waste, yet there was one settlement in Hammerfell of note.
This city had survived the terrible siege, though it was held captive for more than two decades. They stood strong against the attackers indefinitely, never breaking, never surrendering. So strong were their fortifications in fact, that no one ever came or went from the city ever again. Presumably, the residents all starved during the course of the campaign, and after more than 20 years of silence, the attackers simply left.
To any mere mortal, the city's defenses were impenetrable, but of course, the Seprine was no mere mortal. Since no one had ever been able to enter, explore, or loot the city, it’s Great Welkynd Stone should still be inside. At least theoretically.
Time was short, so the Loremaster instructed him to acquire the stone while he made preparations to restore the crown and access Aldmeris. Once he had gathered everything, the Seprine would meet him upon a certain High Mountain along the edge of the Alik’r.