An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

At the courtyard, before the College of Winterhold, four adventurers met for a most daunting task. A chilly wind blew errant snowflakes as dark clouds obscured the sun. The statue of Shalidor appeared to stand in approval as it loomed over the small group.

"I'm so glad you made it, brother. Having you by my side fills me with confidence," S'maash cheered.

"It's my pleasure to be here. I could never pass up a chance to stride through the planes of Oblivion," S'maath admitted.

"This will be a most dangerous quest," Brelyna remarked.

"A profitable one, to boot," Zolara added, comically.

"I see why you needed a seasoned warrior, brother," S'maath said in jest.

"Yes," S'maash chuckled. "Let us make last minute preparations then. To my room." Once inside, he asked, "Do we need any enchantments?"

"No," Both Zolara and Brelyna announced.

S'maath stood smiling. He still wore the glass armor his brother had enchanted during their previous journey.

"I do not require anything, but you do," S'maath proclaimed.

"How so?" the younger elf asked with raised brow.

"I have brought you gifts."

From a large, travel trunk, one everyone had eyed previously in wonder, S'maath produced an ancient set of armor. It was eggshell white with hints of beige. The bony equipment was ominous in appearance.

"Bonemold armor," S'maash asked.

"Aye, even the fine nords of Skyrim have nothing so...terrifying," S'maath commented.

"Where did you get this," S'maash asked while running his hands over the individual pieces.

"Ilteriel crypts."

It was their ancestor's armor. S'maash saw one more piece in the trunk, a beautiful, elven, great sword. Its golden hue and feathery filigree was sublime.

"You robbed our ancestors' grave?"

"Not robbed...borrowed. S'mael was the greatest warrior of our bloodline. I have my equipment, and it will one day lay ensconced in my own burial chamber. Should either one of us live long enough to have children, they may one day borrow my armor, and I will be proudly looking down upon them."

S'maash smiled as he shook his head. "Then, I shall have to enchant this."

"By all means, take your time," Brelyna offered.

S'maash took the new equipment to the arcane enchanter and set himself to the task. In a fashion similar to his current equipment, he bestowed enchantments to fortify his new sword and spell style of fighting. Of all the pieces, the helmet was perhaps the most terrifying. S'mael's old helmet was designed to resemble the head of a dragon, or rather the skull of one. Upon completion of his task, the enchanter nodded to the group.

"Off to DartwingCave," Zolara said.

Clamor of cheers ensued. The group left Winterhold for their next adventure. After some travel across the paved road, they cut down a beaten trail. From there, it was not long before they saw the entrance of their destination through a blustery snowstorm.

DartwingCave's interior was laden with ice. The short, round, entrance chamber was bedecked with tapestries. The dark cloths portrayed the necromancer's symbol, a skull surrounded by hands. An unseen source of lighting made it an easy journey into the cave's deep. At the center of a large room stood Falion.