The stones were cold and rough, even through the coarse fabric keeping Mortalmo’s flesh safely apart from their icy grasp. “...ever guide my hand, so that I do not stray from the path of truth and righteousness.” Mortalmo rested there for a few moments longer, huddled over himself, hands clasped tightly together as his eyes began to drift slowly open. His gaze meandered to the pile of furs and leathers he slept in the night prior, before sliding over to the small fire he’d lit, now nothing but ashes and a distant memory of warmth. The sounds of cascading rain from above echoed faintly throughout the dwemer complex. He rose from his little corner of the underworld then, and set about preparing for the day’s exertions. 

There was a certain bustling energy to the camp that irritated Mortalmo. Folk were rambling away to each other about the horse shoe they’d just forged, or the sword they’d freshly sharpened. Many made comments about the weather, some of them in jest but another good deal in lamentation. In a few, nerves bred chatter, and to most, chatter seemed to be contagious. It was as if they themselves were preparing to be lowered down into the bowels of the earth, rather than leaving the task to those with the courage and capability to see the task through. What right did they have to feel excitement? Any glories, riches or discoveries belonged to those actually getting aboard the lift. What right did they have to be fearful? Any danger faced would be dealt with by their betters. Mortalmo felt sick to his stomach, making no effort to hide his distaste for the pests swarming around him as he made his way towards the lift.

It was fortunate for Mortalmo’s already foul mood that he did not have to wait overly long for his regrettable menagerie of companions to arrive. He greeted Anifaire by way of a slight nod as she approached, and soon the others had found themselves collected nearby. Mortalmo listened with faint interest as Rhea laid out the procedure she hoped to follow during their time in the depths, before he found himself aboard the platform. He counted it a blessing from Auri-El that there was enough space for himself to stand a comfortable distance apart from the others in his company. He watched with boredom as the various floors passed by, incredulous. To an extent, the dwemer had managed to create quite the remarkable civilization, but where were they now to celebrate their past successes? They were punished by the gods for their hubris, and now the twisted falmer scraped and scrabbled throughout the halls the dwemer once so proudly strode through. Like maggots to a corpse. 

So the lift continued to inch its way deeper into the earth, until the point where it wasn’t, and the tediously slow vertical crawl had suddenly become a breakneck freefall. Mortalmo watched with something between horror and satisfaction as several less fortunate individuals found themselves tossed from the lift, even as his lips deftly and softly sent prayers up to his gods. 

Then the lift caught, and it seemed that Mortalmo’s time had not yet come. Rhea helpfully stated the entirely obvious as he peered out from the lift, watching some unfortunate fools pull themselves out of the water, even as the one known as Alim proved himself the greater fool by tossing himself into the current… willingly. Mortalmo clapped a hand on Anifaire’s shoulder, firmly but not suddenly, so as to keep from frightening her. “Take note, my lady. That one has clearly been tainted by the touch of Sheogorath himself.” 

A smile tugged at his lips then, his eyes continuing to peer into any corner and crevice that they could. The grin widened itself by just a slight more. Despite their unenvious position, despite the danger and uncertainty surrounding them from all sides, despite the many prayers that went unanswered by the gods… it seemed that perhaps, perhaps sometimes the gods rewarded the piety of their followers. The cat, after all, did not appear to be present.