Eduard Roliand entered the cave. He was shaking with excitement. After years of searching, he was within only a few feet of his prize.
The cave was as dark as midnight. Eduard quickly drew out his torch, lighting it with a simple Flare spell. He looked around in the sudden light.
It was magnificent. Truly magnificent. The room he was in was gigantic, thrice the size of any chapel in Cyrodil. He began walking toward the opposite end of the room, where his fabled treasure lay, undisturbed for decades, possibly centuries.
As he continued on his way, he heard a slow dripping coming from somewhere inside. It was no surprise. It had rained for three days straight, and was only just now starting to let up.
He almost slipped on a loose pebble on the floor, but caught his balance in time to prevent himself harm.
Finally, he found his way to the edge of the cave. There, on a stone table, lay what he was searching for. Finally, it was almost over. As his eyes set upon it, his heart skipped a beat.
It was a large black book, with symbols in both Ayleid and Dwemer on its front cover. As old as it was, it was in great condition. The binding was slightly torn in places, but, overall, it was brilliant.
His hand slowly reached out for it. One finger touched it, then another. He could feel power and confidence coursing through his veins as he grasped it. He held it up to the light of the torch.
Inside it was more Ayleid and Dwemer writing. He would have to translate it later. For now, he carefully put it into his small traveling bag, and headed back from whence he had come.
He noticed that the dripping was picking up. Eduard could not be sure, but he thought he could hear something scrambling around in the darkness. The cold fingers of fear began to slowly take a firm grasp on his mind.
He pulled out his dagger, looking around himself, fearful of what he might see. Despite his fear, nothing came. It must have been his imagination. He continued toward the door to the outside of the cave.
He reached out and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. Suddenly Eduard's heart sank. Fear latched on with a full grasp this time.
He heard more scuffling, and the constant dripping grew steadier and steadier, until it was all he could hear. He held up his torch as high as possible, and shouted, "Who's there? Come out here, you coward!"
His words were hollow. He was losing his mind from his sudden fear. The constant dripping was driving him mad, slowing his thought processes. He screamed.
He quickly took out the book, dropping his dagger. He tried to read what it said, but had failed to study enough of the language before coming here. He said a silent prayer to the Nine.
He began to sweat profusely, his fear was becoming uncontrollable. The dripping was louder and faster still, drowning his thoughts. He heard yet another scuffling noise, and screamed in sheer terror.
Suddenly, he heard a scream from someone else. He looked in the direction of the voice, and saw the silhouette of a man, black on black. The light from his torch reflected off of something, steel.
The figure was drawing the steel object upon him. In his last few seconds of life, Eduard saw that the man was wielding a dagger, and it was pointed upon his face. He also noticed the figure's eyes. He had no pupils; his eyes were a gray abyss, cold and lifeless.
Suddenly, death was upon him, and he was in the afterlife. The figure rummaged through the sack, and found the book. He scurried back over to the stone table, and placed it as it had been.
Then he retreated back to the shadows, eagerly awaiting the next poor soul to try and trick the gods.