User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 72

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4th Era 171, 7th of Second Seed, Pyandonea
Orthendar watched the young Sea Viper walk up the hill. He didn't like imposing his knowledge on the man, but hopefully it would prevent any accidents. It also had the side effect of toning down his cocky teenager attitude. The ghost smiled. It had been many, many years since he had exibited that same attitude; the belief that you know practically everything, until it is shown that you don't. He knew his mother had been particularily gratefull when his attitude mellowed as he grew up.

His smile faded as his thoughts returned to the present. Orghum planned to conjure a powerful storm and send it to Summerset. He already had one of the ingredients (the Briarheart) and two organizations were looking for the other: the Mammoth tusk powder. He remembered his time as a Sea Viper. Both ingredients were exceptionally hard to come by, being from a province all the way up in the Northern tip of Tamriel. With the war now on with the Aldmeri Dominion, ships from Skyrim - or, at least, ships bearing goods from the province - would be rare, especially since they'd have to pass through the Dominion's territory. Perhaps Headmaster Orghum would never get the other ingredient needed for the spell. Still, on the chance that he did get it, Balasian and Curwe would be in danger, even more so than those storms that had lashed Summerset's beaches twenty years before, which had also been a product of the Hydromancers. That time it had been graduates of the guild, urged on not so subtly by Orgnum himself. He chuckled. Orgnum knew it would be folly to send troops. You can't harm storms. There was magic to create them, but there was no known way to dispell them; everyone, including the most powerful Thalmor mage, had to wait until it dissipated.

Also, indirectly, it proved the utter lies about the Dominion's "restoration" of the moons after the Void Nights. If there wasn't magic to dispel storms, then there sure wasn't magic to bring back something as Aedric and celestial as the moons, Secunda and Masser. What horse dung. The Khajiit believed it, though, and pledged themselves to the Dominion. He shook his head. Since the Khajiit were especially dependent on the moons, it was even more important to them than anyone else. Still, he remembered those two years quite clearly. The nights had been especially dark, since there had been only starlight to travel by. Since the moons were connected to Lorkhan - as at least one theory went - their two year absence may have been linked to the "dead" god's displeasure. He was also known as the Nordic god Shor (amongst other differing names across cultures) and was supposedly living out his "afterlife" in his paradise of Sovngarde, the heaven for Nord warriors.

He shook his head again, his hair swishing. Back to the present, he told himself. Talking and deep, scholarly conversations were one of the few pleasures he'd retained as a ghost. He often spoke to a member of the Liberators for the mere pleasure of it. That was one of the reasons he was known to everyone. He certainly knew more people nowadays than when he was still flesh and blood.

Orthendar sighed. For the past 71 years it had been a mere gesture, rather than an act of letting the air out of the lungs. He turned his face to the sky, seeing the sun shine down, but not feeling the warmth of the rays. He needed to go and tell Balasian about Orghum's activities, instead of standing here lost in thought. Closing his eyes, he meditated on Balasian and Curwe's cottage and disolved his ethereal body further, telleporting himself across the land and water to his destination.