The Elderly Scrawls: Skewrim — The Unmodded Truth

Sodas, the 24th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

After thanking the guard for looking after Bessie, and after Draloth had finished filling up the handcart with Foreshorn handcrafted wares, Kharla and the rest of the Dragonbore’s official representatives and support, including the Dragonbore himself of course, had Sprinted back to High Healthspa. The place being absent an inn, Thral took them back to the next-best place—the hot tubs. Or, to be more precise, the area around the hot tubs, which of course included the coldwater dips, one of which they’d narrowly missed on landing.

Master Arnie bowed as Kharla and the others approached the Academy’s courtyard doors. “Sky up, Ground below.”

Kharla handed Master Arnie the Trumpet, hoping it might help butter him up.

The Greatbeard’s eyes went wide. “Ah! You’ve retrieved the Trumpet of Jargon Namecaller. Well done. Master Barry will be pleased. His lessons start next week.” Master Arnie placed the Trumpet in one of his wide sleeves. “You have now passed all the trials. Come with me. It is time for us to recognize Thral formally as Dragonbore.”

Master Arnie led them into the main room. “You are ready to learn the final word of Upending Force, ‘Fah,’ which means ‘Far’.”

The other Greatbeards appeared and ginger-bearded Master Wilf projected the word ‘Fah’ onto the floor. Kharla and the others repeated it for Thral and then Master Wilf gifted his understanding of the word to Thral in a display of swirling colors complemented by rushing wind.

“With all three words together, this Shout is much more powerful. Use it wisely,” said Master Arnie. “You have completed your training, Dragonbore. We would Speak to you. Stand between us, on the ‘X’ there, and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greatbeards. But you are ready.”

Kharla led Thral to the X on the floor, took his warhammer to avoid any ‘accidents’, and then moved away.

The four Greatbeards surrounded the Nord and chanted:

“Kroy so eerr kloob!

Goo nech ir hin ridim un ayth waide!

Paydee ooch ahgoo rando aruh Blahdes!

Koveea vod drygy yai in oyair!”

I was unable to find a translation of this Greatbeard initiation chant, and Master Arnie chose not to share his own knowledge of its meaning more than to say it was the traditional words of greeting to a Dragonbore who had chosen to accept their guidance. The dragon language printed above is therefore phonetic only. For the actual words and meaning I suspect one would have to travel both time and perhaps worlds. But if anyone comes across a language that is, according to many, reminiscent of ‘valleys, daffodils, brass bands, male choirs, mining communities, knotwork, and leeks’ then do let me know.

“Dafyddkiin. You have tasted the Voice of the Greatbeards and passed through unscathed. High Healthspa is open to you, including a lifetime eighty percent discount on our services and products.”

Thral scratched his backside.

“Master Arnie, we need Thral to learn the Shout to defeat Alun, the one that downs dragons,” Kharla said as she gave Thral his warhammer.

“Where did you learn about that? Who have you been talking to?” Master Arnie turned to the other Greatbeards. “Was it one of you? Oh, wait, no it couldn’t have been what with the vows of silence and all….” He turned back to Kharla. “So who was it? My spa masseuse? Was I speaking in my sleep again? The massages really are so relaxing, I just can’t help myself sometimes.”

“No, we learned about it from the Blades,” said Kharla, thinking it perhaps better to let Arnie know of them rather than that Alun’s Wall had been found.

“Ah, the Blades. Yes. Always meddling. Mark my words—The only blades you need in your life are the ones that cut and shape a good beard and head of hair, Orc. The Blades are always interfering in things they don’t understand, leading the Dragonbore from the path of wisdom.”

Kharla folded her arms. “Can you teach Thral the shout or not?”

Master Arnie pulled on one of his gray curls. “I will not even mention its name, for the Dragonbend Shout is too powerful.”

“It’s called Dragonbend then?” asked Draloth.

The other three Masters stared at Master Arnie.

Master Arnie released the curl he’d pulled and it sprung back into its coiled shape. “Oh dear, a slip of the tongue. Sorry.” He turned back to Kharla and the others. “But I cannot teach it to you. I do not know it. None of us do. And even if we did know someone who might know it, such as Poorthorax our leader, we would not tell you.”

The other Greatbeards stared at him.

Master Arnie looked deflated. “Oh dear, I did it again, didn’t I? Maybe I should have taken the vow of silence too.”

“You said that if we retrieved the Trumpet we could meet your leader,” Kharla reminded the Master.

“Yes, true, but first I must teach Thral the Shout that will give you a spot of good weather on the way up to our leader, Poorthorax, who dwells on the peak of the mountain.”

“I think we can deal with a bit of bad weather after everything else we’ve been through,” said Kharla. She was growing impatient with all the delays.

“I’m also concerned Thral might nearly be at capacity with all these Shouts,” Draloth added. “Why can’t there be one word per shout rather than three? And he’s still got to learn this new one…this ‘Dragonbend’…”

“Just show us the way and we’ll manage,” Kharla added.

“Yes, all right, I see your point,” Master Arnie said somewhat defensively. “It’s just beyond the hot tubs. You’ll see a stone gateway with no wall. Not to be confused with the iron gate with no wall in the courtyard. Just go through the gateway and the path will wrap around the top of the mountain until you get to the peak. It’s not too far. Grab yourself some furs from the staff at the hot tubs.”

***

The six of them made their way up the mountain, their heads buried in their furs. The air was thick with snow as the wind blew it in great clouds. They had to shout to be heard. Master Arnie was right that it wasn’t a long distance, but it still took them an hour due to the weather and the difficulty of walking in deep snow.

As they turned the final bend they saw a Weird Wall before them upon the very peak of the Thrill of the World. As they stopped, a great gray dragon descended, landing not far from the Wall, and looked at them. They all reached for their weapons.

“Bo ree dah. Good morning. I am Poorthorax. Who are you? What brings you to my munith…my mountain?”

Again the voice of the dragon reminded Kharla of valleys, daffodils, brass bands, male choirs, mining communities, knotwork, and leeks. “You are Poorthorax? You are the leader of the Greatbeards?”

“Ha!” The great gray dragon laughed. “They didn’t tell you I was a dragon, did they? Master Arnie never tells anyone that small fact. He has a twisted sense of humor, I think. I am, nevertheless, as my father Mackintosh made me. As are you”—his huge eyes shifted to Thral—“Dafyddkiin. Tell me, why do you come here? Why do you intrude on my medication?” He coughed, lifted a claw to his mouth, and downed a large bottle of something pink. “Bad chest, sorry,” he wheezed and then shook his head in disgust. “Ewwww…why does medicine always taste so disgusting?”

“We need to learn the Shout that will defeat Alun,” said Kharla.

“Amuneth. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed at our first meeting. By tradition the eldest speaks first—that would be me, by the way, by a long shot—and who exactly are you?”

“I speak for the Dragonbore!” stated Kharla

“Can he not speak for himself?” asked Poorthorax.

“Well, no, not very well,” explained Draloth. The dragon looked at him. “Oh, I’m the Dragonbore’s marketing director.”

“I see,” said Poorthorax. “Well, we’ll skip that part then. So...you have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a duh nol…a mortal. Even for one of the dragonblood. What would you ask of me?”

“Can you teach Thral the Dragonbend Shout?” asked Kharla.

“Ah, yes, I expected that would be your question. You would not come all this way for tea and a chinwag with an old Dafydd. No. You seek your weapon against Alun.”

“How did you know we would seek for this weapon?” asked Eilgird. The dragon looked at her. “Er, I represent the Jarl of Whiteruin’s interests in the Dragonbore.”

“Well, Eilgird, what else would you seek? A ride? Haha! No, Alun and Dafyddkiin return together—although the latter with a lot more companions than I foresaw.”

“Well, do you know it?” asked Kharla.

“Sorrowfully, no. It cannot be known to me. Your kind—duh nol yon—created it as a weapon against the Dafyydd…the dragons.”

“So how can we learn it?” asked Kharla.

The dragon nodded its huge head. “All in good time. First, a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Boo’m?”

Kharla frowned. “We need to stop Alun.”

“Yes. Alun. The elder brother. Gifted, grasping, perfectionist, bossy, rigid, difficulty with authority, resentment, over-competitive, a sense of entitlement, patronizing, always taking the best food from the table first, and troublesome as is so often the case with firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alun?”

Kharla gripped her spear tightly. “Because no one bests an Orc!”

“Well, that’s a fair point,” said the dragon. “But I thought you might have mentioned the prophecy that says only the Dragonbore can stop Alun.”

“That too,” added Ti’lief. The dragon looked at him. “Ti’lief. Anti-thief and cleaner.”

Poorthorax raised a scaled eyebrow and turned back to Kharla. “But prophecy tells what may be, not what should be.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that,” said Draloth. “Surely that would be just like guessing.”

“What I meant to say was that just because you can do a thing, does not always mean you should,” Poorthorax clarified.

“Well, clearly,” said Draloth.

The dragon sighed. “Do you have no better reason for acting than destiny? Are you nothing but playthings of tuhn ged… destiny?”

“Well,” Draloth began, “that would depend on how you see our agency. Is it all predestined or do we have choice?”

“Elusive is destiny, even to us who ride the currents of Time,” Poorthorax uttered thoughtfully.

“I thought Elusive was the Jarl of Solicitude?” asked Ti’lief.

“That’s Elusif,” said Eilgird.

“Your language. It can be so confusing,” muttered the Khapiit.

“Alun believes he will prevail,” the dragon continued. “And with good reason. He is no fool. He began as the wisest and most far-seeing of us all. But you have indulged my weakness for lollygagging long enough. Now I will answer your question.”

“At last,” Mell muttered. “This is beginning to get boring.” The dragon looked at her. “Oh, I’m Mell, a light mage.”

“Ah, then I would choose you if I were to allow anyone to ride upon my back!” Poorthorax smiled.

“We did that joke already,” said Eilgird.

Poorthorax looked deflated. “Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Thrill of the World, all alone?”

“Because your jokes are old and really bad?” Mell offered.

“No,” said the dragon, “because this is the most exciting mountain in Skewrim. Here the ancient A Cappello, the first mortal winners of the Voice and some notable runners-up, brought Alun to battle and defeated him.”

Mell perked up at the word ‘exciting’.

“Using the Dragonbend Shout?” asked Kharla.

“Yes and no. Yeah ah nah. Alun was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to…defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonbend Shout to cripple Alun, almost fold him in two and bring him from the skies. But this was not enough. It was the Elderly Scrawl. They used it to…cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

“How did an Elderly Scrawl help?” asked Draloth.

“The Elderly Scrawls are artifacts from outside time. They do not exist, but have always existed. They are...hmmm…fragments of creation. They are known to you for their prophecies. Yes, your prophecy comes from the Elderly Scrawls. But this is only a small part of their power. There are also some rather delicious home recipes recorded on them.”

“So the ancient Nords sent Alun forward through time?” asked Draloth.

“Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. I knew better. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when.”

“How does this help us?” asked Kharla.

“Time was…shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alun. If you brought that Elderly Scrawl back here…to the amsair-anav, the Time-wound…With the Elderly Scrawl that was used to break Time, you may be able to…cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonbend from those who created it.”

“And where is this Elderly Scrawl?” asked Eilgird.

“Beats me,” said Poorthorax. “How would I know? I’ve been stuck up here for thousands of years. I’d suggest traveling to the College of Wintercold. If anyone in Skewrim would know, it would be them.”

Kharla sighed. Another quest. Another wretched quest.