An Adventures Job is Never Done
Frigid ice, frozen tightly to decaying skin, made it difficult for the once mortal to breath. But he had gotten used to the feeling years ago. Numbness had over taken his swollen, rotting body. He barely felt the pain of dying as the ice continued to skin its icy claws into him, slowly, inch by inch, taking its sweet time. He knew not what kept him alive it this tiny iced over cave. He cared not to know. Something were better left unknown.
His sunk back eyes, glazed over by a layer of ice, were forced to look at the same reflective slate of ice. Day in and day out he watches as he slowly rotted away. Now, he was nothing more than a pathetic sack of mostly decayed flesh and shattered bones. Only his face and the front side of his torso was free from the claws of the ice. And jutting from his chest, a sword.
In between him and the reflective slate of ice, a pile of ashes sit frozen over. He could barely remember a time when those ashes weren't frozen over. A time when he had the strength and energy to free himself from the claws of the ice, though he never did. A time when he dared to hope that Hircine himself would come drag his soul into the Waters of Oblivion. He had betrayed his Lord. But this pile of ashes was dead. Dead as his hope to ever again see the world outside his tiny ice prison.
The sound of dull thudding caught his attention. He couldn't see the entrance to the cave, but he could feel the ice shake around him. Clearly someone, or something, was attempting to force their way inside. Ice crackled and shook violently as the frozen over cave entrance was shattered.
A golden blade was all that he saw with dry blood coating the handle. He recognizes the blade as a Dwarven sword. A cold wind filled the tiny cave for the first time in years. A young Nordic woman entered the cave, her hands and feet wrapped with thick leather strips, a black robe hung loose from her shoulders, a Dwarven bow were slung to her back along with a quiver of Orcish arrows, on her right hand she has on a single ebony ring with a single ruby set in it, around her neck hung a golden necklace, and a ebony circlet, with a set of three rubys set in it, sits upon her over grown dark brown hair.
He felt his breath get caught in his throat as her cold blue eyes glared daggers into him. For the first time in years, he felt something else other than loneliness and the cold. He felt fear, anticipation and, interestingly enough, happiness. Hircine himself had not come, but Hircine had sent someone to send his soul to Oblivion. No longer would he suffer at the hands of Nature, now he would be sent to Hircine for his sins.
She slowly made her way over to him, standing before him on top of the frozen pile of ashes. She held her Dwarven sword out, the tip sitting in between his eyes. He let a smile grace his face, feeling the skin on his face tear as he did so.
"Send me to Hircine for my sins…" He managed to utter, blood dripping from the many tears in his face. The Nord woman said nothing, only pushed her blade into his skull. He felt no pain as the blade sunk deeper into his skull. He saw flame erupt from her blade as his world faded into darkness.
The Nord woman sighed watching the man fade into nothingness. She knew not what the man had done to anger Hircine, and she did not want to know. Something =s were better left unknown. She holstered her blade, felling her bones crack in pain with every movement she made. She kept telling herself that she needs to wither go into one of the main holds to get a Cure Disease potion or make one herself. She was just to lazy to do so. So she continued to suffer with the effects of the Rockjoint disease.
She walked outside, leaving the simple Iron sword stuck in the half frozen man, and breathed in deep. She could smell rain in the distance, and the dark clouds above her confirmed it. It was going to rain, most likely sooner than later. She pulled up her hood and began her decent down the ice covered mountain. Hopefully there were no more Ice Trolls lurking about. Those creatures were tough to kill and a pain to avoid when sneaking about an ice covered landscape. And she prayed to hircine that there was not a dragon flying about. She was not in the mood to deal with anything that evolved real effort.
She coughed as cold air attacked her lungs, causing her body to shutter in pain. She really needs to get a Cure Disease potion somewhere. She was tired constantly, wanting nothing more than to return 'home' and rest. Her 'home' being Greenspring Hollow, a wonderful hunting ground where some hunters before her hand set up camp. But she could not return to her home and rest. No, she had to return to Hircine's Shrine and then head to Windhelm, for many a reason. She was one for fighting for her country, her homeland of Skyrim, but unlike Jarl Ulfric, she doesn't mind having the other races living in Skyrim. Skyrim was home to all, but she did not want to under the control of the Aldmeri Dominion. Tolas was one of the Nine Divines, no matter what the Elves thought. And she had slight greisen's with the Imperial Army after Helgen.
She coughed again, heating herself with a fire spell as she felt the first of many raindrops to come. The ground began to shake slightly as she made her way along the ice covered path. An Ice Troll was nearby. Damn. A loud roar of thunder rolled across the sky as she saw in the distance a dragon flying in her direction. Damn. Rain pelted down as the wind picked up and whipped about the icy path. She groaned and coughed as her bones began to throb. The shaking in the ground was getting worse, meaning the Ice Troll was heading her way.
She unholstered her blade, gritted her teeth, readied her Thu'um and charged head first towards Ice Troll that had come from around the corner. She prayed to Hircine and Tolas that she would make it out of the icy mountain alive as she heard the dragon above her roared, fire swarming around her.
Thrse Asensvedottir, the Dragonborn, professional Hunter and well known Adventurer. Her job was never done. And she loves her life, no matter what was thrown at her. When she has lived her last in this mortal world, she will have many stories to tell at the grand table that sits in Sovngarde.