My scales shivered along my spine, bringing a cold chill down my back. Ebony armor concealed me behind layers of shadow, becoming invisible to the unwary. I jumped from shadow to shadow in the dark dungeon, avoiding traps and unnecessary encounters with Dragur. My silver sword of fire warmed my hand, not only from holding it but from the enchantment within its heart. I knelt next to a tripwire which was connected above to a jug filled with fire. A Dragur was pacing in front of me, splashing into a pool of oil. I smiled. This Dragur was as good as dead. I pulled the wire with my sword, the enchantment burning it instantly.
A large crack sounded through the corridor, followed by the shattering of the fire-filled jug. The fire spread through the oil like lightning. I watched as the Dragur ran, crazed and the fire ate through his body, consuming everything. The Dragur fell, ravaged by flames, to the ground, now scorched by his attempts at finding his attacker. I proceeded on to the door that the now dead Dragur once guarded. I peeked open the door, seeing nothing. I opened the door all the way, moving to the side. Suddenly, a yell pierced the silence, echoing throughout the cavernous room. Dragur burst from their crypts, the thumps of their lids colliding with the floor. The voice, still bouncing around the room, changed into something more like a war cry.
A woman burst from the doors opposite me, an elf by the looks of it. She held a sword not unlike my own, and a bow and arrows across her back. She charged in, slicing at Dragur left and right. I just crouched their like an idiot, watching her cut down one Dragur after the other. Finally, I found my wits, left behind in the sudden chaos. I charged in, drawing another sword from my belt. This one was a steel sword of ice. Great combination, I know. It's effective though. My swords flashed through the crypt, slicing, stabbing. I twirled, jumped, and rolled to the middle of the room, where the elf had made a standoff. I stopped in front of her, backstabbing a Dragur that she was battling with.
"What are you doing here?" I yelled at her, bringing down another Dragur.
"Getting a Shout." She replied.
What? How could she be looking for a Shout? I'm the Dragonborn. She put her sword away, turning to me. I pushed my sword of ice to her neck, feeling the cold go right through me to reach and consume her warm as well. She gasped as the sudden cold crept up her neck.
"Where you being sarcastic?" I said. She scowled, then Shouted at me. I ducked into a roll, pushing under the Shout and righting back up next to her. The Bosmer was leaning against a pillar, her foot tapping against the stone floor.
"That's impossible!" I shouted at her. (Not magical dragon talks, just normal shout. What? You take me for a barbarian?)
"No, that's called a Shout."
"You can't do that!"
"I've never been one of rules…"
"That was a Shout!"
"You don't have to shout when you say it, you know. The name itself is pretty self-explanatory."
"But…I'm the Dragonborn!"
"And I'm the Dovahkiin. Nice to meet you!"
What is with this elf? She's so… annoying! I could Shout her aflame, but… I didn't. I don't know why, I just didn't want to kill her.
Dragur littered the ground, but most of them were in a pile. Anger… Gone! I Shouted fire onto the bodies, igniting them in bright colors. "Ooh! I saw some skeevers back there- we can roast 'em! They're actually not that bad if you don't mind eating decayed feet, but-"
Is she talking about eating skeevers? That is one Bosmer not right in the head.
"Will you shut it?!" I snapped. Gods, she can talk all day! Her ego fell; I could see it on her face. She didn't say anything else, which was good though she seemed to take an interest in the burning Dragur. She moved to sit by one, almost consumed by its host of flames. "Well, there are two names. Dragonborn and Dovahkiin. Maybe it's more than just a translation issue. Or maybe Fate realized the world was going to Oblivion with me, because I told Arngeir he could shove his prophecy up Mehrune Dagon's-"
"This is insane." I said, continuing to pace through the burning Dragur. "I betcha Sheograth is enjoying this." She cackled, falling to her back.
I stopped pacing, watching her.
"This isn't funny. Why are you here anyway?" I asked, looking her over. She had no armor, and only a bow and a sword. Well, the sword was Dadric so it probably had a mind of its own. Would explain why she would have no armor.
"Uh…I read about this place in a book, so I came out of my self-imposed hibernation and made the trek. Which, was a very long trek. Riften is pretty far away…"
"All that for a book?" I demanded. She sat up and shrugged, still looking at the burning Dragur. He was nothing but ash now. Only a few embers glowed from inside.
"You?" She asked, looking to me now.
"I'm helping the Jarl of Whiterun. His wizard, something-or-other Secret-fire, hired me to get a tablet. So I'm getting it."
The Bosmer got up, stretching. She then flashed me a grin.
"I'm Athe."
"Nyt." I responded. My tail swished back and forth. I could tell she noticed that I wasn't born in Blackmarsh. I was born here, in Skyrim. Most people thought I was from Whiterun, but I was actually from Winterhold.
"By the way…" The Bosmer said, trailing off. She rummaged through the bag at her hip. She found what she was looking for, holding it out for me to see.
"This is your tablet, right?"
Gods! Who is this Bosmer?!