Skyrim: Draugr Descend
Prologue
In slumber, in wait, angry lie the Draugr of Skyrim. Men fallen in battle left behind as their spirit did not reach Sovngarde, the hall of Heroes. They remain armed and prepared for battle for as long as they remain isolated. They often lie undisturbed, however, with the hand of the Empire drawing further North, many of the undesirables of Skyrim seek refuge and hiding in the catacombs of the dead. Bandits, Thieves, Deserters and Rebels all have begun to hollow out these tombs in search of treasure, magic or just to hide their loot and settle for a time.
However, not all are evil that visit the dead, for it is also the humble beginning of our hero. His responsibility is to tend to the outer tomb near his home, he keeps in clean and maintained and all in good order. His unremarkable tale is but a part of a much larger unremarkable tale for the Nords of Skyrim, but the world is changing and the parts to play change with it.
Chapter 1
Gylfis Hendir lived a simple life on the border of his village of Raven's Perch, in the East of Skyrim. He lived alone, with a great many books and artefacts he collected while on his works tending to the Tomb of Orthal, a great chamber for the dead. It was Gylfis' duty to ensure the tomb was well kept; the grass was cut, the weeds pulled, the path clear and the great door shut. Though the final criteria was not hard, the door had not been opened for a very long time, long enough that nobody who lives today remembers when it was different.
It was the height of summer, though it made little difference to Gylfis, it came every year and only seemed shorter the older he got. It just made the ground dry and hard, just as the frost of winter made it cold and hard. He was to work in the Tombs surroundings five days a week, two tandem days he had to himself. He had become an avid collector of books and scrolls and manuscripts and anything else that may hold a story or a secret. It was this passion for reading and knowledge that allowed Gylfis to accept his rather mundane life of repetition and labour, he would often be alone in his own imagination, thinking of great battles or treasure finding adventures. He wondered if any of the Draugr within the tomb would have had a story to tell. No matter, he knew he would never find out, the door was shut and would stay shut. But though he was fond of learning, he did not know everything.
Chapter 2
It was the evening prior to Gylfis' two days off, he had intended to read but found himself tired of the same material. He used to be excited by tales from across the sea, stories of Dragons and Witches, Wizards casting lightning and Warriors severing heads, but not anymore, now he longed for his own tale. But for now the only adventure he would find would be the short walk from his modest home to the pub. The Murder house, the name confused many but was aptly placed to be here in Raven's Perch. Gylfis headed inside and sat near to long fire and looked over at men drinking too much, women pouring too much for them to drink and children making merry where they should not.
A few ales later, Gylfis rose from his chair and steadied himself, drinking alone often renders one unaware of the pace they quench their thirst. He headed outside and back on the path home, illuminated by the still bright midnight sun, he was all but fifty paces away when he heard the strangest of calls. A foreign tongue to him, seemingly chanting and calling, Gylfis rushed closer to the noise, it was coming from near the Tomb, and he slowed as he approached. The chanting was louder now, faster too, Gylfis found himself on the ground crawling closer. He was frightened and mesmerized and excited all at once. He peeked over the rise and saw a figure in front of the tomb door, a man from the look of it with a hooded cloak and a staff in their right hand, then all of a sudden a great flash of light from the sky, a whirlwind of noise and power around the figure and then… Nothing. He was gone, vanished. Gylfis took a moment, he arose, and crept silently towards the figures former position, the air felt damper here, cold, even for Skyrim. Gylfis studied the great doors of the Tomb and could not perceive anything had changed, then a crack, then another, soon the whole door was coming undone. The very foundation of stone that created it was cracking and soon dust and air began fuming out at an alarming rate. Gylfis was blinded and overcome by the cloud of dust and dirt, it soon began to pass though and he could see the Tomb of Orthal was open.
Chapter 3
The commotion of the Tomb opening was enough to draw the whole village out. It did not take long for the guards to start cordoning off the area and sending people home, assuring the folk that everything was fine. Of course with tall the drink that had been passed around t would not be long before most of the village were sound asleep anyway. Gylfis too was sent away, his curiosity had peaked to an all-time high, and he rushed home to write down everything he had seen. If this was to be his great adventure he did not want to miss a single detail. He grabbed parchment and ink and his favourite quill and codified all of his memory of the night. He also gathered all the books he had about tombs and burials, about Wizards and anything that might reference what he saw. He had nothing specific to the Tomb of Orthal though.
He then turned his attention to the thought of the future, now the Tomb of Orthal had been opened what would happen? Would the Jarls men simply build a new door and a new Wizard would come and place a seal over it? Or would Gylfis Hendir of Raven's Perch be the first man in an age to enter Orthal and learn its secrets? It was clear to Gylfis of course. The time for his adventure had come.
Chapter 4
The night sun rose higher in the sky over Raven's Perch and no quicker did the merchants and tradesman open their doors for service as Gylfis Hendir sprouted in and began examining all their wares and goods. He searched the Trader for a good satchel and preserved foods, as well as extra parchment and ink to record his venture. He visited the potions mistress for elixirs of stamina and healing. He then found himself in need of some protection, Gylfis headed to the mineshaft on the other side of the village and found the Blacksmith heating his smelter ready to begin a hard day's work. Gylfis had never owned a sword, though like all boys he was well verse enough in using one, Nords were always adamant that those who lived in Skyrim should fight for Skyrim if necessary. Gylfis approached the Blacksmith and requested a Steel Sword and a leather helmet, he was met with an unsure stare from the smith. It was not often a regular towns-person requested arms, but nonetheless, Nords are not curious folk when it pertains to another's business so he simply parted with his simple creations in exchange for a few gold pieces and then went back to his smelter.
Gylfis was ecstatic, he was prepared now for his adventure. He did feel he had forgotten one thing though, a letter, it was likely he would meet unknown dangers in the Tomb of Orthal and he was aware he could be killed by some ancient trap or other deviant. He sat in his home and scribed a simple letter of intent, he placed it in an envelope and melted a wax seal over the back. It was time to leave.
Gylfis went the long way round, to the back of the Tomb. He knew these grounds better than anyone, he hid between trees and stumps away from the view of the guards. He came within just a few paces of the rear of a Jarls footman who presided in front of the Tomb, but Gylfis was guile and slipped passed unnoticed. He faced the great dark entryway of Orthal and took a second to ready himself, he stepped over the line of the old door and sudden felt like he was stepping through a waterfall, a rush of energy, invisible but present. Gylfis panicked and turned back to the footman who had apparently not noticed, Gylfis reckoned this must have been a 'Clear Curtain' a trick mastered by bandits to hide behind a one way sheet making a cave look empty from the outside. Gylfis took another step inside the Tomb, then another, soon he was a hundred paces deep and felt his adventure had truly begun.