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The pickaxe continued to make that cracking noise against the wall as it swung back, then forth, then back, then forth, in tiny, small movements, seemingly stuck in an infinite cycle of picking away at the rock before it. I continued to stare on, caught in this loop, and I didn't mind, I knew it was my job, my life, I lived here in a mine, I was a moleman, away from civilization. I would have been sweating heavily if it weren't for the hundreds of pounds of ice surrounding us and the freezing winds coming in through the entrance. Every now and then, sometimes, when I had a free moment, I'd go outside and look out at the cliffs and rocks and hills of ice and hard rock surrounding us, frozen water laying for off in the distance. We still didn't wear much clothing, and at the moment I simply wore my tunic, the cold air easily passing through it, my own body heat, plus the heat I was given from hard work, fighting against the cold winds of Mother Nature as I continued to pick and pick away in hopes of finding iron, in hopes of becoming rich, in hopes that what Thorgar had told us was true.
I continued to stare and stare and stare on at the rock before me, my eyes small spheres surrounded by black grime. Grime. In a mine, the grime and dirt would cover you, even if you were in an ice mine, the grime would settle in the crevices of your skin, in the folds of your body, in the hollow of your cheeks, in your hair, behind your ears, on your clothes. You never exactly knew what time it was in the mine, and even outside it was hard to tell when there was no sun, only ice. Thorgar had said that somewhat nearby, far, but still somewhat nearby, were mages, the kind from the stories and tales, mages that could teach you their ways if you had the coin. I remembered when I was a boy, when I still saw sunlight daily, hearing about knights and chivalry, wondrous tales of swords clashing and sparks flying. We didn't see much chivalry of violence down here in the mine, except perhaps a harker outside or something. Once we even had to fight a sabercat, but that was our fiercest opponent we'd ever had. Every now and then we'd go hunting, but our prey was usually easy to kill, and we didn't run into too many harkers or sabercats, so our life was a peaceful, quiet one.
I set down the pickaxe, sweat finally starting to trickle down my bumpy, hard skin. I wiped my palm across my forehead, and when it came back, it was covered in black dirt. I sighed and leaned against the handle of the wooden platform I stood on, stepping over my bedroll. My name was Gunding. I'd never had a wife or children, although I was already a grown man, a bit out of my days of youth, my hair scraggly and messy, covered in dirt, but I managed to keep my jaw bare, we had razors and knives to shave. I rubbed said bare jaw and cheeks as I looked around. Thorgar continued to work, and I could hear Badnir cracking away at the ice deeper in the mine. Thorgar and Badnir were somewhat well-armed, plus an Imperial guard patrolled around the mine. He was a silent fellow and I didn't speak to him much, as I was also a silent fellow, but him and Badnir seemed to get along. At the end of the day, shivering from the freezing cold of the outside world, he would share a few words with Badnir, laugh, then strip of his weapons and go to bed, keeping his armor on to stay warm, as we all tried to do. He carried an Imperial sword, while Thorgar carried a battle-axe, and so did Badnir. I merely carried a dagger with me, as did Angvid, who I have yet to mention.
Angvid was probably my closest friend, a man a bit older than me, yet in the mine the wrinkles show on us all and we all look ancient. Angvid was always the skeptic of our small group, the one who doubted Thorgar's plan to get rich, although Angvid was never one to abandon us, he was loyal, he stayed in the mine and picked away at the rocks no matter how much he thought we'd never find iron that could make us rich. He talked of this now and then when the day was over and he and I sat down at a table, drinking cheap mead out of our metal cups, passing the flagon back and forth. I was always a bit silent on the issue, and I think Angvid was glad of this, glad he had someone who he could talk to who could just listen to his problems rather than complain of his own, or of his own views. I never really talked of my views on Thorgar's plan because I was always neutral, I didn't know whether we'd find iron or not, but this was our life, living here in the mines, and I didn't mind, I'd always follow my friends wherever they decided to go, no matter what their cause. I say friends because we are not blood, but we are definitely family.
My eyes turn to the side to look at the entrance, hearing boots coming down on the ice. It doesn't feel like it's quite time for the guard to come in yet, and Badnir and Angvid are in here, but as I said I'm not the philosophical kind of man, so I don't wonder too strongly about who it could be.
The figure comes into view, a man of medium-height and strong, strong build. He's a Nord, and the dirt has settled as strongly as him as it has on us, black circles of grime surrounding his eyes. Strong laugh lines surround his mouth, but they look old, simply marks of happier times that can't be washed away. The odd thing about the man, though, is that he is most definitely rich, as I can tell by his armor, the likes of which I have never seen. His torso armor is black, intricate designs covering it, sculpted beautifully, and on his back are deep, red, glowing sockets. He wears no helmet, his hair a dull, light brown, nothing beautiful, but he looks like a simple man. Could he be a thief, who stole the armor from someone? On his back, strapped to his armor, is a gigantic sword, glistening in the reflecting lights of the cave, a greatsword, and a magnificent one at that, one that looks to be crafted by the gods.
"Hello, there, traveler," I call.
The man looks up at me, his face dull and blank, as ours are.
To the side, I see Thorgar turning around, his face brightening as he spots a visitor. I can tell he must be thinking that our mine has finally become famous, that people are finally starting to come to see The Whistling Mine and all its wonders.
"Ho, there!" he calls out, putting on a cheerful face, never failing to be the advertiser of our home, changing from the sullen, yet hopeful, leader of our small group, to the jolly jester, "Where do you come from?"
"Nowhere. What do you have for sale?" the man asks, looking directly at Thorgar.
"Uh, well, I'm afraid we don't sell anything, sir, but you most definitely may mine here, as long as you pay for it! So I suppose we sell iron!" Thorgar says.
The man nods, and looks up at me again. He stares at me for a moment, then looks back at Thorgar and says, "Thank you."
Thorgar nods happily and says, "Anytime!"
I watch as Thorgar turns around, ready to get back to work, satisfied that he has attracted a customer. The man in the wondrous armor lifts his hand up to his own shoulder, clasping the handle of his greatsword.
"Hey!" I shout.
Thorgar starts to turn around, but the man's greatsword is already out. Thorgar's eyes widen, and he reaches for his own battleaxe, but the greatsword begins to swing towards him.
"NO!"
The greatsword slices into Thorgar's neck, blood spurting out immediately, and it continues, not even sawing into it, just slicing through it like knife through a stick of butter. Thorgar's eyes go blank as the greatsword reaches the middle of his throat, blood spraying onto the face of the attacker, and then the greatsword passes through.
Everything is silent for a moment. The man is silent, Thorgar is silent, silent forever, and I am silent, my body frozen, my eyes wide, staring at Thorgar. He stays on his feet for a moment, and you can see the red line through his throat, blood seeping out, his mouth open, his eyes permanently staring ahead, and then his head starts to move backwards, and the line opens, his throat a tree stump, blood spurting out, lines and lines of twisting meat inside of the stump of a neck, and then Thorgar's head falls off, the sound of it thumping against the ice floor seemingly the loudest sound you'd ever hear, his body soon following procedure, slumping down and hitting the ground.
"NO!" I scream, breaking the silence.
The man in the armor looks over at me, his face still dull and blank, his greatsword coated in bright red blood.
I vault over the barrier of the platform, landing on the ice floor, blinded by sadness and rage, the tears already pouring out of my eyes. I'm stupid for trying to take him on with my dagger, but I don't think about that, all I think about is killing the man who killed Thorgar.
"NO!" I scream again, a sob breaking through, as I pull out my dagger, clenching it tightly, and wipe away the tears with the sleeve of my other arm.
The man remains silent, unmoving. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Badnir entering the scene, his mouth falling open as he see's Thorgar, then me.
"Gunding, no, don't!" he shouts.
I charge anyway, my fist glued around the handle of my dagger.
The man leans back, opening his mouth, then throws the upper part of his body, forward, shouting foreign words loudly, so loudly, louder than a person should be able to speak.
Something massive hits me, like a blizzard, punching me straight in the stomach, the wind knocked out of me and far, far away, the punch throwing me into the air, at least three feet, and much more back. I feel the back of my body connect with the wooden structure, pain flaring through me. I close my eyes as the punch stops when I hit the ground, and I hear cracking all around me, wood cracking. I open my eyes for a moment, just to see darkness, light somewhere below, and then all the wood collapses on me, covering me. The pain from the punch and the fall is unbearable, and my mind tries to pull me into unconsciousness, its grip strong, but I still remain somewhat awake.
"You bastard!" I hear someone shout. Badnir.
The clashing of swords follow, but only for a moment. Next, I hear Badnir grunt, and then the familiar slice that I heard when the sword connected with Thorgar's throat. I hear Badnir cry out, the cry turning into a moan, then a sickening sound that I can tell is the sword being pulled out of Badnir's still-alive body, then one more slice, and I know Badnir is gone.
I hear the sickening sound again, and then the same cry that Badnir made, except this time coming from the man. Silence, for a moment, then the sound of a weapon being pulled out of flesh, then a slice. I hope so strongly that the man is the one who the final slice went into, but I know it's the Imperial guard, and that the guard must have snuck up on him, but the man was too strong to be downed by one stab.
More silence, then footsteps, which trail off into the outside world, then silence, and I know that now I'm all alone. Completely alone.
I let the darkness take me.