The Pale Wolves
Chapter 1: Foundations of the Pack
Frozen, night wind howled around the three huddled, cloaked figures that stood around the top rim of the ancient burial tomb. They shivered vigorously from the cold and the anticipation of delving into the historic depths of the place below. The tallest of the three toed a rock off the edge and it bounced down the steps they were about to take.
"What do we expect to find down there," he asked. His voice was a bit deep and had a slight Nord accent. His grip on his cloak loosened slightly as he stared into the pit, the cold not as much of a factor to him as his two companions. His short cropped, blond hair was being tousled by the wind, his hood lying useless against his cape. He narrowed his eyes at the door, as if willing it to open by itself.
"Whatever it is," the figure between he and the third began, "it's apparently an object of great importance to our employer." His voice was almost silky and seemed to ooze a sense of near-arrogance carried by the Dunmer, or Dark Elves of the region.
"Well, lets get this over with," the third said, obviously an Orc by his height and the gruffness of his voice. "There better be something down there to kill. I didn't make this trip in the middle of the night just to look at some dead bodies." He stepped down onto the first step and continued with haste, the Elf and the Nord following close behind.
When they arrived at the door, the Orc stopped and glanced back at the Nord, expecting him to try the door. The Nord sighed and moved to the door. "Khazromal, when will you get over this irrational fear of things being behind doors just waiting to kill you," he asked, mostly rhetorically.
"Once I have opened every door in Skyrim to prove to myself there's nothing behind any of them," he retorted, a small chuckle to his voice. The Nord grasped the handle and turned, though to no avail. The door wouldn't budge. He tried again, this time pushing against the door with his shoulder, though the same result became of it.
"Move, Valerius," the Elf said. "Let a master handle this." He smirked as he elbowed the Nord out of the way. He placed his hands on the knob and began to mutter some sort of incantation as the knob began to emit a light that seemed to emanate from within the metal itself. Once his chant had finished, he tried the knob, but the smile on his features faded as quickly as the glow of the door handle. "Blast," he whispered as he dug into the pouch on his belt. He pulled out a small set of lock picks and expertly inserted them into the lock, his nimble fingers possessing a dexterity that neither of his companions possessed. After a minute of manipulating the lock, still with no positive results, the Orc began to tap his foot.
"Hurry up, Ilisian," he chided, his arms crossed.
"I'm trying, Khaz. This lock is better than most on tombs this age."
Khaz moved forward and stood just behind Ilisian to his right, near the middle of the door. He raised his foot and kicked swiftly outward, the bottom of his leather boot connecting with the center of the door. The lock broke free of the rotted wood of the frame and the entrance swung inwards, granting them access.
"I broke one of my picks," Ilisian sighed, looking up at the Orc. "You could have at least given we warning. I only have five of them left!." Khaz shrugged and took a step back.
"Not my fault you take too long to pick a lock."
Valerius stepped into the tomb, peering down the dark, stone corridor, which continued into the hill with a downward slope. He turned back around, his gaze falling to Ilisian.
"Light."
Ilisian sighed, clasping his hands together as he whispered another, less intricate spell. A small ball of light had formed itself in the palms of his hands, and when he opened them, It floated outwards and hovered just before the Nord's face, illuminating his path.
"Keep this thing lit," Valerius ordered forcefully, "I don't want it going out just before I reach a sink hole like last time," he concluded, turning to face the corridor.
The light was fairly bright, though it only illuminated five to ten feet before the trio. They advanced slowly down the hallway until they came to a torch sconce, in which sat a half-used torch. Valerius removed it gingerly and handed it back to Ilisian, who once again sighed.
"Why must I always be the torch bearer," he queried to himself as he grabbed the top end of the torch, the oil-infused rags quickly flaring to life.
"Because," Val began, "you don't use weapons if we get into a fight." He chuckled to himself as he drew the Iron sword out of its place on his belt. The metal sheen of it was in stark contrast to the dull illumination of his fur-and-leather armor which looked like it had been thrown together at the last minute before he walked out of this house, which it had been. It was stained and dirty with a few blood spots here and there from the last run-in with a 'toll collector' they had.
The little Bosmer had insisted they pay the toll for using 'his' road, and told them they'd have to turn back if they didn't pay the 'toll'. The 'little pipsqueak', as Khazromal had so affectionately referred to him, barely escaped with his life after the Mage's bodyguards had finished with him.
Their pace had quickened since finding the torch, a further distance had been illuminated as compared to the mage light Ilisian had used. They entered into a vast, high-ceilinged room with three tiers of shallow, horizontal graves had been dug, each occupied by bodies in various states of decay, ranging from pure bone to a few that had been entombed not more than a month before.
"I've never understood your peoples' reasoning for leaving your dead's bodies exposed like this," Ilisian stated, a frown of disgust appearing under his slightly upturned nose. "It seems very... primitive, if not completely unsanitary," he concluded his eyes wandering among the bodies of the deceased.
"And I can't understand why you wouldn't wish to look upon your ancestors," Valerius responded, saying no more on the subject.
The three stood in the middle of the room, looking around in amazement (and disgust, on Ilisian's part) before Khaz finally stepped out from the back of the group, his hand pointing to a large, dark hole in the wall.
"My guess is that way," he said, heading for the archway at the back of the chamber. Ilisian quickly grabbed a hold of the Orc's cloak and, quite forcibly, pulled backwards, almost knocking the Orsimer onto his behind. Khazromal yelped in surprise as the Dunmer quickly stepped in front of his companion.
"Do you not pay attention to where you're stepping," he asked angrily. He quickly picked up a small chunk of stone, which seemed to have fallen from the ceiling, and tossed it a few steps ahead of himself. The unmistakable whiz of darts filled the air before them as fifteen tiny barbs whizzed through the air and clinked harmlessly against the stone across the hall. Khaz merely stared, dumbfounded, at the spot where his foot would have tread, if not for the keen of of his comrade. "You owe me," Ilisian smirked as he strode, torch in hand, over the pressure plate of the trap and into the next hallway. The other two followed, now fully aware of their footfalls.
The passage continued to wind downwards and curved to the left and ended in a small, wooden door, just a bit smaller than the one found at the entrance. The Elf twisted the knob and the door swung open, easily, into a small chamber with a black, stone tomb in the center. The room was barely ten feet by twelve feet wide, but the three pushed in together around the sarcophagus and stared down at it.
"This must be it," Valerius started in wonder, "the tomb of Calundren the Wise."
"And inside is our prize, gentlemen," Ilisian finished, his hands running greedily along the top of the coffin. "Lets nab this necklace and get out of here."
"Agreed," Khaz stated, his hand moving to grasp the top as well. "This place creeps me out."
They three grabbed the lid and lift-pushed it off, the heavy stone crashing to the floor on the other side. They stared down at the corpse before them. It looked at least two centuries old, and was adorned in fine, silken, black robed, black suede-leather shoes, a centuries-old sword, a large, golden necklace with a medallion and a small gold and onyx circlet adorning the head.
Khazromal almost immediately reached for the necklace before his hands were slapped away by Ilisian.
"You have no thoughts of self-preservation, do you," he asked, staring at the Orc as a father would a son while scolding him. "Can you not see there is something off about all this?" He gestured to the necklace. "This was too easy. Nothing stopped us. A piece of jewelry owned by a man this influential and powerful would have some sort of ward or charm placed on it." Khaz merely grunted and backed away from the coffin and leaned against the far wall, arms crossed upon his chest. Ilisian once again reached into the pouch at his waist and produced an almost identical necklace and held if aloft as he stared at the medallion around the cadaver's neck, as if appropriating the weight. He nodded to Valerius, who moved to the spot at the head of the body and slipped his hands underneath, feeling for a clasp. When his fingers had found it, he nodded again and Ilisian quickly lifted the necklace and placed the other on the same spot. Valerius undid the clasp, removed the chain and quickly re-latched the replacement around the man's neck.
They stood back after their work had finished and stared at the body for a moment with bated breath. When nothing happened after several moments, they all three released their breath and heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
"You see?" Khaz said, his chest puffed out in pride, "I knew nothing would happen." He chuckled heartily before a thump echoed from within the chamber they had recently vacated. It was followed by another and another, and before long, a long, low, drawn out groan emanated from the room and echoed down the passageway into the room they now occupied.
"Drauger," Valerius whispered out loud. "The guardians of the tomb" He stared at the entrance for a moment. "They came alive to protect their master, even in death," he finished. "I never knew they existed. I always thought them a myth," he exclaimed. "There had to be at least a hundred of them out there," he continued. Khaz jumped forward and slammed the door shut.
"Get the lid over here," he demanded, pressing all his weight into the oak door. The other two took a second to realize what was going on, but they quickly hoisted the lid up and over the coffin. They lay it across the door, width wise, and stepped back, the Drauger nearing the entrance.
"What do we do now," Ilisian cried, his hands raking his head and tugging at his long, black hair. "We're trapped with those things out there. There's too many for the three of us," he said, beginning to sob.
"Val," Khaz said after a moment. "Can't you turn them? Make them flee?" Val sighed at the Orc, slowly shaking his head. "I know how if there were one or two, but that many, I'd be overrun in a moment." Khaz opened his mouth as if to say something before he angrily sputtered " Then what are we to do, starve in here? We can't just sit here an-"
His speech was cut short as a faint, purple light began to surround the body of Calundren. It slowly seemed to rise into the air, tendrils of light wrapping themselves around his limbs and torso. It rose a good three feet above the coffin before settling itself on its feet, the strange purple-white light seeming to come from the corpse itself. It clasped its sword tightly in its hand and slowly turned to face the unfortunate trio.
"You have got to be kidding me," Valerius said, his eyes glued to the newly-risen Drauger. He readied his sword and held his shield aloft whilte Ilisian's hands seemed to cloak themselves in flames. Khaz lifted the great ax he carried and the three squared themselves off with the new foe, though it didn't move. They stood, waiting for the normally aggressive undead to make the first move, but for several seconds, nothing happened.
"What's going on," Khaz asked, daring to look at the other two. "Why isn't it doing anything?"
"Because Dar'Miisa hasn't told it to," said a heavily-accented voice from the back corner of the room. It was then a dark-cloaked figure stepped out from the shadows, hid hood pulled high over his head. He almost seemed to materialize out of nothing.
"Dar'Miisa can help. Dar'Miisa knows many things, and Dar'Miisa knows the way out."