Gyros, Dwemer, Bloodings

Ilyanas Tomb of Doom

Serana’s diligent fingers pried open the Dwarven Sentinel Master’s chest plate, revealing the whirling gyro I sought. This would be exactly what I needed to transform my ebon dagger into a daedric blade.

“Let’s check the sentinel’s two rooms back, remember? They were inanimate? I don’t think we checked them carefully.”

“You can carry that gyro just fine?”

“I’m a vampire just you Isabella. Don’t insult me.”

“Not me,” I laughed quietly. Serana’s presence on this mission had certainly introduced a level of finesse that my daedric ax may not have appreciated before. It was the new spells the girl was casting. Nothing that purred by the power of cogs and gears was invulnerable to lightning.

We made our way carefully, unsure if once-conquered machines could recreate themselves. If they could, my patience in divining a way out of this oily nightmare might be put in check. But like Serana…

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