An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty Two

A peaceful return trip to Winterhold ensued after the group said their goodbyes to Falion. Eventually they all convened within the Midden to see what was going to happen. Standing before the Oblivion Forge, S'maash looked at the mount whereupon the sigil stone once sat.

"It does not appear as though the greater sigil stone will fit properly," Brelyna commented after gauging the stone's design.

It was true. The new gem was closer to being diamond-shaped with rough edges and much larger than the sigil stone. With a shrug, S'maash held the glowing, red jewel over the circular pedestal. To their amazement—as if the forces of magicka themselves took control—the stone hovered eerily above the pedestal. It spun slowly while bobbing up and down.

"Well, that's something. What will you do next," Zolara asked.

All eyes were on the dark elf; he took the fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan and placed the obsidian-like jewels inside the offering box along with the daedric heart gem.

"You...might consider taking a step back before I do this," S'maash suggested.

After heeding, they observed him use the lever. For a second, nothing happened. Uneasy glances passed. Then, a gentle hum came from the greater sigil stone.

As its glow amplified, the stone spun faster and faster. Rays of red light danced across the group's faces. A final blast of blinding red ensued. Then, the light and the humming died out. Atop the Oblivion Forge sat the Heart of Lorkhan; it was a crystalline, beating heart of red and black. An unnerving echo left them all silent. It was alive.

"You've," S'maath started speaking, but a violent tremor ensued.

The event demanded everyone's attention. A purple flash of light came from behind them. When they turned, their eyes grew wide in horror, their mouths agape in wonder.

A veiny mass of purple tentacles writhed all over itself. Many eyes watched from an oblong and expressionless face. Razor sharp teeth grew every which way from something resembling a mouth. Hermaeus Mora appeared in true form and filled most of the space behind S'maash and friends.

"Excellent," the daedric prince's voice was different, a gurgling and guttural groan rather than the breathy echo. "You have completed a portion of your quest, young elf. Now, you will return full circle. Where your own heart lays, and deep beneath the fires, you will travel.

"S'maash, S'maash, you will place the Heart of Lorkhan where it truly belongs, in the chest of the God of Tamriel, in the center of Mundas," the deardic prince ordered. "Now, a final gift for my servant."

Hermaeus Mora's words were incomprehensible. S'maash was going to ask a question, but the writhing mass of slithering tentacles vomited the gift of which it spoke, a set of red, crystal gauntlets, not unlike the Heart of Lorkhan.

A second tremor ensued, causing dust and debris to fall from the ceiling. Hermaeus Mora vanished in an eruption of purple light. Still in shock, everyone kept their eyes on where the daedric prince had been, except S'maash, who bent down to take the faceted gauntlets. They were more than beautiful; they were utterly resplendent.

A flash of pain broke through S'maash skull. Ringing assaulted his ears. He dropped the gauntlets and doubled over. A voice erupted inside his head.

"How dare you! Blasphemer, you have caused me once more to lose my hold in Tamriel. Curse you and your kind, dark elf," Azura blared.

With the pain gone and her link broken, S'maash realized his friends were trying to help him stand. "I'm fine. Azura just cursed me for creating the Heart of Lorkhan," he huffed.