Alik'rian Nights: Volume The First: Of Adamant And Beyond: Part Four: Echos Of The Past

The trip to the Ayleid ruin was not a long one, but it was fraught with danger for it was deep behind the front lines of the Aldmeri invasion. What he discovered however was that if he took off his armor and donned peasant garb, he could pass relatively freely past the elvish patrols.
Once in the general area, it took him some time to locate the entrance to the ruin. Four thousand years of overgrowth had ensured that nearly nothing remained of the once proud metropolis. Eventually he located a cave which acted as the entry hall for the main parts of the city underground.
Both the Ayleid and the Dwemer were known for building their habitations deep beneath the surface of the land, but make no presumption that they hold any similarities. Dwemer cities are finely crafted and straightforward in their design. Their tonal architects studied for their entire lives to be city planners and everything they constructed was precise, efficient, and otherwise fairly spartan.
Ayleid cities are far more strange and majestic. Elegance was a virtue of theirs and everything they built was utterly magnificent. But they were also a sly and deceptive people. Throughout their halls they installed secret passageways and hidden traps for the unwary. This city was no different in that regard. Furthermore, the Ayleids here had gone through an intense and extended period of invasion and attack during which they had strengthened their walls and barriers a thousand fold.
He went through the twisted and confusing halls cautiously. More than once he encountered a mystical force blocking his path which stung as lightning and prevented further intrusion, yet these were only the first line of defense. As he penetrated ever further, traps, spells, and fiendish creatures of the deep hindered his progress more and more. But through cunning, fortitude, and abilities unique to his person, he was able to enter the city itself.
What he found inside however, shocked even him. So dense were the city’s defenses, that even the spirits of the ancient Ayleids had not found sufficient seams through which to escape. Many of the ghosts were feral and grew enraged at the sight of their first intruder in millennia, while others were so broken and worn from the impossible span of time that they had become faceless and unmoving.
Still others were active and would speak and tell him their tales. They told him of their once great empire, of their error in worshiping the Daedra, and in the slave rebellions. They also explained how they had built up the defenses when the invaders came, but lamented how strong they had made them. After only a few short, horrific years, the city had tried to surrender, but even they who had crafted the fortifications were unable to pierce through them. Slowly they either went mad, slaughtered each other, or starved.
The Seprine was reluctant to share the purpose of his coming, but to a few of the nobler spirits, he made a confession. Much to his astonishment, the ghosts were remarkably receptive to his course of action, for it was the Great Welkynd Stone which empowered and reinforced the city’s defenses. Were he to remove the stone, the great barriers which held them in for uncountably long years would dissolve, and they would be free.
But fear gripped them even as they spoke, for the stone resided in the hallowed circle in the exact center of the city. This was the realm of the king and was a place of terror and rending. The lord of the city had been a devout Daedra worshiper and time had left his zealotry and zeal undiminished. He had resisted when the people had come begging him to surrender. He became angry with them, and slew the multitude in his wrath. But as the years muttered past in agony, his might had grown and grown and grown as he consumed the souls of the population, ever hungering for more power.
The spirits warned the Seprine to abandon his task. They well-deserved their suffering and torment, for the crimes they had committed during their lives were of the most unspeakable abominations. Though many had repented, their punishment was still just. There was no call for one such as he to lessen or save them from their condemnation, and surely his own soul would be forfeit were he to face the horror of the kings' ire.
But the Seprine was undeterred and steadfast in his resolution to acquire the stone. With reluctance, the spirits showed him the path to the hallowed circle. He journeyed through the gates into the expansive courtyard, formally a cultural and mystic lighthouse of the Ayleid civilization. Though he could see nothing, his ears could still faintly detect the voice of the king whispering through the dead and rotting remains of a once beautiful garden.
The ancient monarch found hosting a visitor after such a terrible span of time brought him much amusement. This was the first living creature to venture into his grasp in thousands of years. Ever his hunger intensified as the Seprine grew nearer to the center of his power. If he could take possession of the living host which was now entering his midst, he could weld the might of the Welkynd Stone once again, escaping this dire prison to return the darkness of his venerated Daedric Lords to the whole of Tamriel as he conquered the continent in their name.
The king spoke poisonous promises to him and tested his skill with foul Daedric beasts. Before long, the Seprine came to the center and found the stone upon an altar surrounded by a fountain of blood and water. The king of the hall appeared before him and asked a final time for him to surrender his will.
The Seprine declined and immediately a thick veil of poisonous vines and ivy encompassed the stone. The king attacked viciously, but the Seprine held him off. Soon the evil shade realized that this was no common mortal which had invaded his castle. This intrusion would require much sterner force. He summoned an army of dremora to join the fight, but as with all dealings with Daedra, it proved to be his undoing.
During the firefight, the living cage protecting the stone was lit ablaze and before long had crumbled into ash. Without its veil, the Seprine was able to collect the Welkynd Stone from the altar, and as he did so, great power went out from the city. The king screamed in agony and anguish as the energy of the stone drained out of him; the dremora returning to oblivion as it went.
Fragile, but enraged, the king attempted one final curse, but alas, it was futile. The Seprine had beaten him, and for the first time, he was afraid. The souls whom he had trapped there would not treat him kindly.
Finally free of their long prison, the spirits of the city came to the Seprine in thanks and good tidings. They gave him of the riches of the city and blessed him in his future adventures, then vanished to the realm of lost shades.

And now, with the Great Welkynd Stone in hand, he left the city and made towards the High Mountain where his mentor awaited him. It was time for him to face his destiny.
When he arrived, he gave the Welkynd Stone and the Stormcrown to the Loremaster who had already set up a shrine. The skies were clear as crystal and he could see the landscape for miles upon end; everything resting in perfect stillness. Putting the items upon the shrine, the sage spoke an invocation to Magnus. A blinding light, like liquid fire, shot forth from the stone and struck the Stormcrown with a holy blaze.
Abruptly the winds started to move and circled around the peak. Storm clouds formed a cyclone above them as the energy transferred between the two sacred artifacts. They became filled with terror as lightning and thunder surrounded them.
It took only a brief time before great power shown forth from the Stormcrown and the Welkynd Stone lay completely exhausted. The Loremaster took the mystical helm and turned toward the Seprine. “Take it!” He said, forced to shout above the sound of the maelstrom.
So the Seprine donned the mighty Stormcrown, taking upon himself its power. It was warm, like a living thing, and far lighter than one would expect. Moreover, it fit him perfectly, as if its makers had tailored it specifically for him. “Extend your hand! Command the storm!” The Loremaster instructed.
The Seprine therefore stretched out his arm, and in the instant he did, there was a crack and a boom. In totality, the mighty roaring winds broke their course, plunging down the mountain with the force of a thousand hurricanes. The wave front obliterated every obstacle, be it tree, bush, or boulder.
The unrelenting gusts finally met the Alik’r and the shifting sands of the desert erupted into the sky. A cavity formed in the earth and expanded at an unimaginable rate. The winds blew the entire weight of the countryside into the air, and the dust covered the whole province.
The sun dimmed, as if eaten by lions, obscuring everything in sight. Finally, a break in the cloud formed a tunnel leading deep down the side of the mountain. They looked and beheld upon the bedrock, magnificent structures appearing through the mist. It was the lost paradise city of Aldmeris!
Though elderly, the Loremaster was overcome with awe and started down the path through the storm. He incited the Seprine to hurry, for their time might be short. As they descended, they looked upon the city and marveled at its breathtaking elegance, for it was unlike anything that had come after. Indeed, some of the architecture even seemed to defy belief or explanation.
It was a city of glass, as of enormous sheets of rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. The polished stones were without seams and the metalwork was of the purest gold and platinum. Even the streets were like a silvered mirror.
The layout of the city itself was a set of great circles with eightfold symmetry. Within each of the eight spaces gathered around the center, was a circle which matched the greater circle, and within the spaces of that circle sat another, so that each circle was a reflection of the circle before and after. They were like the spokes of a wheel, and wheels within wheels.
It was only as they neared that they began to see the imperfections of the ages. While many towers stood tall, as if scraping the sky itself, others lay fallen in the streets and much of the glass had become cracked and broken.
Though impossible winds blew fiercely high above, now that they had entered the city, the air was eerily still. They could still hear the roaring gale blowing upon the height, but it was distant and muted, like the walls themselves were resisting the sound. What little light was able to reach them had left everything in a deep gloom, but still the colors were vibrant and fearsome.
Though the winds had blasted away most of the dust, it had still left many sand-dunes piled in the streets, with more sand sifting down slowly from on high. The Loremaster warned that they should be careful, for he could see the outlines of ghostly figures moving and staring from around corners and in the balconies.
Even in the ancient deadness, there was still danger. This was one of the deep places of the world, where few mortals e’er would wander. It was a lair of sand demons, monstrous worms, and horrid insects. The city was not pleased with their presence, and they could feel the magic in the air of impending sadness and doom.
As they slowly made their way through the shattered and empty husks of shameful history, the Loremaster explained how the Blades had once hailed from distant Akavir and had kept much forgotten knowledge of the Ehlnofey. It was they who had once led Tiber Septim here to Aldmeris. It was in this place that he learned of his own heritage and identity as Shezarrine, and where he had learned the secrets needed to craft the Mantella and the totem used to control the great brass golem called the Numidium.
They came at last to a great building which stood at the center of the circles. It was high and mighty with many ornate carving and reliefs upon all the walls. This was the place they were seeking. The Loremaster came up and touched the wall to examine it.
Writing and images filled the whole surface with the history of the world, written in the language Ehlnofex, which few can recognize and fewer can read. The Seprine asked about the contents, which his mentor read aloud. (Author’s note: The following is as literal a translation as possible. Words with multiple or uncertain meanings are within parentheses)
In the beginning (are/was/were) the (Tone/Tones), and the (Tone/Tones) (are/was/were) with God, and the (Tone/Tones) (are/was/were) God. The two Tones were there in the beginning. The Tones intermingled, and in their harmony, a Melody was formed, but there was as yet no chorus to sing of Her.
As the Melody played, a New Sound was heard. The music AKA sang gave rhythm to the Melody. A Second Drum then began, and a perpendicular rhythm was born. With the sounding of L’KHAN, the harmonies took the form of an infinite choir. Much of the choir sang together to form the 12 harmonies that resonated through the (theater/arena), while much else separated to sing their own songs.
As they played, L’KHAN was found to be a sour note, and his music spoiled the Melody. Soon the harmonies began to fall and all became a deafening noise. Such as it was until only the 8 and the 1 remained. The chorus of the 8 gathered and they sang the 12 harmonies together, but still the beat protested. The fork of Adamant was struck, but still the beat remained.
The 8 fold choir sounded against the Second Drum, but he resisted them. L’KHAN sang that his music was not sour, that the (Anti-Phonos) had taken the Melody away into the deep, to the Great Fork that rings in the beyond. The Second Drum rang that only in concert with AKA could the (Anti-Phonos) be put to rest. But no (Anti-Phonos) was known to the 8.
Therefore, they took the beat from the Second Drum and cast it down to the (theater/arena). Those that sang in tune with L’KHAN were also cast away. Because of all this, the song had lost much of its sweetness. So we Muted Ones cast and struck new forks, and only with their everlasting ring will our song remain to sing.

And once all this had been read, the Loremaster finally began to understand. The vile elves planned to deactivate the Towers, or forks, which held together the borders of reality. The Great Fork was the Great Tower of CHIM. He reasoned that since the prophecy of the Elder Scroll had led them here to learn this information, then he could only assume that they could trust it.
Lorkhan must not have been lying! Somehow, there was an Anti-Phonos outside the universe which was making it unstable. That therefore was the solution. If the Seprine could reach CHIM and the Great Tower to silence the Anti-Phonos, then the universe would no longer require the Towers to maintain its existence! This was his destiny.
But, said the Loremaster, he wouldn’t be able to do it alone. He would need the assistance of Akatosh if he were to defeat the Anti-Phonos. But, said the Seprine, Akatosh had set him upon this path and had told him that the power of the Dwarves was suppressing the Gods, which was why Akatosh had given him his own heart.
Once he spoke those words, the Loremaster was aghast. Our Scarab had neglected to mention that fact. Then as the sage assimilated this information, it began to dawn upon him the magnitude of meaning this carried. The timeless battle between Akatosh and Lorkhan was an archetype of a battle waged at countless times and in countless ways throughout all history. It was a battle without end.
But if now he, who was blood and bone of Lorkhan pulse with the beat of Akatosh, then the harmony was one. They were a united whole, the fullest expression of both. A double mantle. The Loremaster than looked upon his pupil in wonder. This was no mere Shezarrine. He was a new creation. He was the catalyst of Enantiomorph. A sacred city, bereft of double. ANUDHOME. The sum total of existence. SCARAB AE AURBEX! The final distillation of sub gradient. The New Man.
And as the Loremaster’s wonder, delight, and awe ever reached higher climaxes, a Dwemer arrow appeared suddenly in his throat. The Seprine tore around to find a band of Aldmeri scouts had followed them into the city. His rage and wrath was indescribable, and he slew them without hesitation or mercy. Then with a cry of agony and tears, he came back to the body of his mentor.
He was not yet dead, and was holding his neck to keep back the torrent of blood. His breath was ragged and wet, yet he still dared to speak. As he died, he gave the Seprine his final charge. The last step of the endeavor was love. But not just any love. A selfless love. Agape. A love not for one’s own sake, but for that of another. He said to summon his love and know that all is like unto a dream. The song is a dream! Go therefore to the Great Tower. Silence the Anti-Phonos, and restore the world. And with his last breath, he reached up and stroked the Seprine’s face and called him his god.
Few have ever heard such a cry of grief which passed the Seprine’s lips. But even as he clutched the empty corpse, he knew that more Aldmeri would soon be upon him, so he stood and left. Through tears of rage and mourning, he looked up at the mountains which surrounded the city and saw thousands upon thousands of elvish troops making their way down.
Those he met as he ascended the High Mountain were eviscerated instantaneously. Once he reached the peak where the altar still stood, he turned back and watched the Aldmeri fill the city. He stretched out his hand and calmed the winds which held the desert aloft. And so the sands fell; burying the city, the army, and his friend.