Mage (A Skyrim Fanfiction)

Chapter 26: Black Dahlias

I stood alone in a field of black dahlias, staring up into a starless sky. My skin glowed a pale, muted white, casting a dim pall of light over my surroundings. I gazed out into the seemingly endless expanse of flower-covered leas stretching into oblivion. It could almost be called a beautiful sight, in its own bizarre way, if not for the sickening 'perfume' emanating from the flowers.

Their aroma was nauseating—the stink of rotting flesh and fetid, old blood poorly masked by a slightly stronger note of burned frankincense. This pungent odor hung heavily in the air, so thick in concentration it almost hurt to breathe. The area smelled akin to a poorly maintained burial ground. The stench of the place was a reminder that all was not what it seemed.

As nothing had actually happened to me while I stood mutely in place, I decided that I ought to get the inevitable over with and began to walk aimlessly forwards, no actual destination in mind as I waited apprehensively for the actual nightmare to begin. This was certainly a change of pace from having to watch my friend plummet to his death repeatedly, but it was a difference that I was not sure I liked. It was like my surroundings were a macabre calm before a storm of terror, and, if I knew anything about the Daedric Prince of Nightmares, she more than lived up to her title.

A lone figure appeared out of nowhere directly ahead of me, although they were too far away for me to be able to discern any telling features regarding their person at the moment. I broke into a light jog, curiosity momentarily overriding my sense of self-preservation, crushing the unpleasantly scented petals of the dahlias under my feet as I moved, nearly gagging as the smell grew stronger as if in response to my movement. Upon realizing who had entered this horrific dream world, I came to a full stop, hope flaring in my chest before it was promptly smothered by a closer look at their countenance. A cold chill ran down my spine as I looked upon them in dismay.

Helgír stood before me, his arms crossed and eyes blazing gold, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face as he stared at me, looking as if I had wronged him somehow. On his brow sat a band of dazzling, enchanted gold, decorated with the snarling visage of a dragon at its center, teeth bared and citrine eyes gleaming in an almost malicious manner as it reflected the light I cast. He was dressed in richly colored amber robes woven from shimmering silk, and he wore the garment's hood up, secured neatlyin place by the circlet he wore. Over this he wore an odd breastplate fashioned in the likeness of a dragon's scales from the same metal as his bizarre diadem,and he sported a pair of similarly designed spaulders and vambraces. The most striking part of this 'armor,' however, were the twin dragon heads that made up his pauldrons, one on each shoulder, facing outwards with mouths stretched wide as if frozen in the middle of a Shout and teeth that gleamed like razors in the dim light. From head to toe, he was golden, and less human than I'd ever had the misfortune to see him before.

This was not the man I had met on my way to Markarth. I became certain of it the longer I looked into his reptilian eyes.

Suddenly, Helgír began to speak, an expression akin to disapproval and weariness twisting his features as he stated in a voice far too guttural to belong to him, "Hi los mey, joor, wah sahvot hi aal filok nol rah. Nust fen drun hi wah kreh wah paar se niin.*"

I couldn't understand any of what he said to me, but the fact he was speaking in Dovahzul only further confirmed the fact that he wasn't-he couldn't be-himself. Nevertheless, I was greatly alarmed by this change and what it could mean in this twisted alternate reality, and, nearly choking on my words, I managed to stammer out, "I don't - I don't understand, I'm sorry. What was it that - that you're trying to say?"