Dovahkiin

Morbul Shatterstroke used his heavy claymore to brush away the cobwebs separating him from his goal, a strange artefact coveted by the Greybeards of High Hrothgar.

He strode through the passage he'd created and gazed in wonder at the monolithic dwemer constructs within. Steam roiled high above him, even after thousands of years their machines still functioned. But any automatons he'd encountered lay cold and still, having lost power long ago. Some however, those that resided closer to the heart of the ruin, were still very much alive.

The artefact, a glowing metallic sphere, hung suspended in mid-air above a pedestal in the centre of the room. Morbul took several steps toward it and stopped as the floor shook beneath him. The whirring of machines fell silent and a series of muffled bangs echoed throughout the chamber. He hefted his weapon, taking comfort in its weight, and flexed his massive biceps.

"Dovahkiin," a voice rasped, seeming to come at him from every angle.

Coffin-like slabs of stone began dropping from the walls, revealing gaunt, desiccated figures within. One by one their eyes began to glow with a fierce blue light and they emerged from their shadowy tombs.

"Draugr," he breathed. But what were Draugr doing in a Dwemer ruin?

The nearest Draugr loosed a keening wail and came at him with an obsidian cleaver. Morbul roared and swung his claymore, bisecting his enemy from shoulder to hip. The rest of the ancient nords saw the fate of their comrade and stalked in. Morbul cut them down one after the other, his sword hewing through limbs and necks like a hot knife through butter. He was somewhat thankful for the lack of gore, the bodies of his enemies had been exsanguinated long ago when their flesh mummified.

When the mutilated bodies of his enemies littered the ground around him, Morbul resumed his grim march for the pedestal. He was about to reach out and claim the artefact when a deafening roar had him throwing his hands up over his ears.

From the steam above descended a massive skeletal figure with wings that spanned the length of the room. The skeletal dragon stretched its talons and snarled. Atop the dragon rode a Draugr Lord, identifiable as such by the spiked crown it wore.

"Dir Nu Tafiir," it barked in the ancient language of dragons.

Morbul gritted his teeth and swore.

The dragon reared back, a sweltering ball of flame forming in its maw.

Morbul charged.