A while later they arrived at Dustman's Cairn, panting slightly. Rorin resisted the urge to smack Farkas upside the head for letting his tongue stick out of the corner of his mouth while they ran. They stopped right before the drop, looking around. The sunlight drove tiny needles of pain through Rorin's eyes, but he focused on the rush of his blood instead, excited by the prospect of a fight.
"K'avir," Farkas called softly. A low whistle from down in the Cairn was their answer. The Redguard was standing next to the ancient door, looking almost bored. His tunic was splattered with fresh blood, though none of it seemed to be his, and as they walked down the stairs, Rorin could smell that the blood was from a sabre cat. He made no comment, but waited as K'avir pushed open the ancient door and slipped inside. He and Farkas followed quietly.
"Looks like someone's been digging here, and recently. Tread lightly," Farkas warned. K'avir nodded, silver eyes practically glowing in the dim light. Rorin pulled his hood off and made sure his hair was tied back properly. The whole place stank of death. As he lowered his hands, he caught K'avir's gaze for a moment, and felt the hair on his neck stand straight on end. The man's eyes were wide with what seemed to be excitement, and his pupils had elongated into serpent-like slits, making his face look almost inhuman. K'avir broke the eye contact and unsheathed his swords. Rorin shivered, but he and Farkas followed suit.
The three men descended the stairs into the first room, quiet footsteps echoing slightly against the dusty walls. A stone table sat in the middle of the room, illuminated by the coals from a brazier that had been tipped over. K'avir walked confidently into the room without looking around and crouched to pick the lock on an old chest to the left of the table. After a moment, Rorin heard a click, and K'avir lifted the lid, taking a bag of gold and a pair of fur gauntlets from the inside. He pocketed the items and stood.
A dull thump sounded as Farkas kicked over one of the draugr lying on the floor.
"These are definitely dead," he grunted, looking at the lifeless corpses, "But there's bound to be more that are a bit more… lively." He turned to K'avir. "Be careful around the burial stones ahead, I don't want to be hauling you back to Jorrvaskr on my back." K'avir smirked, teeth glimmering in the flickering torchlight, and he cracked his neck. Rorin snorted at the man's cockiness, then turned as a cold draft blew in from the end of the room. The hall turned out of sight just beyond the opening, but Rorin could smell dust, silver, and the musty scent of death. K'avir headed toward the hallway, swords at the ready, and the other two men lingered behind him.
"Can you smell the silver?" Rorin growled to Farkas. The other man paused to spit before answering.
"Yeah, I do. They're here somewhere. Just be prepared." Rorin nodded. They climbed down the stairs and turned a corner to see K'avir standing in a doorway, still as a stone. A sudden rushing sound poured through the hallways, emanating from the tall man. For a fraction of a second, Rorin thought he saw darkness spread out in front of the Redguard, then he noticed three spots on the wall glowing with a red aura. The light faded, and K'avir strode purposefully into the burial room, kicking loudly at a mummified corpse on the ground. Almost immediately, clicking and grunting issued from all around the burial rooms. Shuffling sounds told them that draugr were moving in their direction. Rorin tried to move forward, but Farkas grabbed his arm and held him back.
"Let's see how the whelp performs," he muttered, an excited glint in his steel gray eyes. Rorin turned to look through the doorway. The shuffling sounds grew louder, and K'avir turned to his right. With a silent snarl on his face, he leaped forward and out of sight. Brief clashing sounds followed. A moment later, he ran back past the doorway and out of sight again. Decayed vocal chords let out an awful, grating screech then were swiftly silenced. K'avir jumped back into view and slashed violently at the last oncoming draugr. The creature blocked him and retaliated, hissing in fury. K'avir hissed in response and punched the hilt of his scimitar into the draugr's face. The creature fell back, dropping its battle axe, and K'avir's sword sliced through the dead flesh of its neck. Rorin watched the headless corpse drop to the ground, raising a small cloud of dust at K'avir's feet. The Redguard turned, wiping his swords on his pants.
'Thanks for the help,' he signed, one eyebrow raised. Farkas shrugged.
"Eh, you didn't even need us," Rorin said, walking through the doorway to survey the damage. "Let's keep moving though."
They proceeded further into the dungeon, fighting draugr as they appeared. K'avir was extremely skilled with his curved swords, killing the undead creatures with apparent ease. Rorin and Farkas trailed in his wake, finishing off anything that he left alive.
Eventually they reached what seemed like a dead end.
"Spread out and look for a switch or a lever or something," Farkas commanded. "There's gotta be one here somewhere."
They spread out. Rorin went to investigate a suspicious looking pattern on the wall while the other two moved away from him toward the other end of the room. Turning away from the stones, Rorin saw K'avir walk into a small alcove in the wall, intent on something he couldn't see. A second later, a metal gate rattled down, effectively trapping the Redguard. Snorting with amusement, Rorin and Farkas walked over to the trapped man. For someone with no escape, K'avir looked remarkably calm. Rorin thought he saw the man slip a finger through the solid metal, but he blinked and the illusion was gone.
"Now look what you've gotten yourself into," Farkas chuckled. "No worries, just sit tight. I'll find a release." Instantly, Rorin suddenly heard a clanking sound and stiffened, turning toward the door that had opened in the wall.
"What was that?" Farkas said, drawing his sword.
Fifteen men spilled into the room, reeking of silver, and quickly surrounded Farkas and Rorin, who backed up against each other, identical snarls on their faces.
"Well, well, well, look at what we have here," one of the men said, pointing his silver sword at Farkas' throat, "A pair of mutts." The other men guffawed. "Killing you will make for an excellent story," the first man hissed mockingly.
"None of you will be alive to tell it," Farkas growled. He nodded to Rorin, and Rorin grunted in response. Both men dropped their weapons, then suddenly the sound of snapping tendons and tearing muscles filled the room.
The pain was abrupt and agonizingly strong. Rorin snarled as he felt his body contort violently. His armor disappearing as an itchy prickling told him that thick hair was sprouting all over his body. He shuddered painfully as he felt his face elongating, razor sharp teeth bursting from his gums. His vision widened and he snuffled, twitching a pointed ear as he briefly adjusted to the new smells and sounds. Massive claws grew from each of his fingers and toes, and he felt sharp tug as a tail erupted from the base of his spine.
Two huge werewolves, one white and one gray, howled in unison, then turned on the men, who scrambled to attack. The fight was short and extremely bloody, carnage flying through the air. K'avir watched with interest as the white werewolf grabbed a man, ripping him wide open before dropping him and swiping finger-length claws through the neck of another. Blood spurted thickly onto the stones. The gray werewolf snapped its jaws around another man's midriff and shook him like an oversized dog with a toy. The man dropped to the floor, neck lying at a disturbing angle. After a couple minutes passed, the fifteen men lay in pieces, strewn across the floor. The gray werewolf growled and loped off down the tunnel. The white one turned and took a couple steps toward the trapped man.
K'avir looked into the deep set red eyes and hummed to himself. In contrast to its bloody teeth and face, the werewolf's eyes seemed to be anxious, almost apologetic.
This explains why Jorrvaskr smells like dogs, when not one dog lives in the building.
The trapped man pressed his hand against one of the bars, feeling the metal give slightly. He stuck a finger through the solid iron again, feeling the strange prickle on his skin, still humming. The white werewolf snorted and took a step back, eyes wide.
Blood glistened on white fur as the werewolf Rorin shifted uneasily, ivory claws scratching against the stone floor.
"Grohiik mun," K'avir whispered, staring into the pale red eyes. The werewolf cocked its head, then took a hasty step back as the gate trapping K'avir slid up into the ceiling. For a second, K'avir and the werewolf stood, staring at each other, then Farkas ran into the room, fully human again.
"I hope we didn't scare you," he said, gesturing to Rorin, who was still staring at K'avir, blood dripping from his muzzle. One white ear twitched forward, the other stayed back. He spat a lone finger onto the ground.
'Not at all,' K'avir signed as Farkas picked up his sword. 'Who were those men?'
"The Silver Hand," Farkas replied irritably. "An organization dedicated to hunting those of us with the beastblood."
'Okay. What now?'
"We should keep moving, there's still the draugr to worry about, and more of the Silver Hand. They must've known we were coming." K'avir nodded, then looked at the white werewolf.
Rorin stiffened and let out a low whine, his body contracting. The thick hair disappeared, claws and snout retracted, and armor reappeared. A moment later, he spat on the ground, then picked up his weapons and straightened, wiping his mouth. He shot a very suspicious look at K'avir before muttering that he would follow behind the other two.
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and walls as the men made their way into the crypt. Both the draugr and the Silver Hand were more abundant the deeper they went. Rorin watched carefully as K'avir fought. The man's face was lit with a ferocious grin as he slashed at his enemies, undead and human alike, and although his foes did land an occasional blow on him, he didn't seem to feel them.
Countless enemies and a couple of locked doors later, they reached the final room.
"The fragment," Farkas hissed. K'avir stepped forward and lifted a piece of metal off a plinth.
Lids burst from several coffins around the room with an explosion of dust. Farkas and Rorin both swore. Draugr stepped from each of the coffins, and the three men found themselves battling an onslaught of the undead. As Rorin slashed dried flesh with his sword, he could hear some sort of chanting. Distracted, he dodged an oncoming blade too slowly and felt the tip of the weapon slice through the skin of his left forearm. Swearing, he swung his sword up and caught the draugr in the chest. The creature collapsed at his feet.
After several minutes of furious combat, the last draugr was lying on the floor, smelling strongly of dust and death. Rorin kicked one over and picked up the septims that fell out of its pockets.
"I'll meet you both at the entrance, that chanting sound is making me nervous," Farkas called, and disappeared through a hidden opening behind a coffin.
Suddenly, the volume of the chanting increased. Rorin turned and saw K'avir walking toward a thick, curved wall as if in a trance. Ancient writing was carved into the worn stone, and one word seemed to be glowing. K'avir stepped toward the wall, eyes fixed on the glowing letters, and Rorin watched in amazement as pale blue light reached out to surrounded the Redguard, illuminating the room and casting looming shadows on the walls. When the light faded, K'avir turned to Rorin.
The taller man's silver eyes had a crazed look about them, slit pupils needle-thin. He pulled back his lips and let out a guttural snarl, and Rorin froze where he stood, icy fear running down his spine. He didn't understand what was happening. Had K'avir gone mad?
As K'avir opened his mouth, liquid fire began to flow over his suddenly pointed teeth and down his chin, sizzling as it hit the floor.
"Bovul, mey!" K'avir yelled, throwing himself forward and shoving Rorin out of his way. "YOL!"
Rorin watched, almost in slow motion, as a billow of flame streamed from K'avir's lips, engulfing the oncoming draugr. The undead creature fell to the ground as a pile of ash.
K'avir turned to where Rorin was sprawled on the ground. He spat out a glob of liquid fire, then picked his way through the corpses and held out a dark, scar covered hand to the smaller man. Rorin pushed himself shakily away from the offered hand. As he looked up, he saw, to his horror, that the skin around K'avir's eyes had peeled away slightly, leaving something glittering underneath. K'avir raised his hands to his face, touching the silvery scales that were just barely visible at the corners of his eyes. He shook his head and offered the hand to Rorin again, who looked up into K'avir's face once more. The skin was growing back over the silver scales, and K'avir's pupils had returned to normal. Rorin hesitated, but decided to accept the offer, letting the bigger man pull him to his feet.
"So, you're not mute." Rorin said flatly. K'avir shook his head. "Why don't you speak then?" K'avir sighed deeply and scratched the back of his neck.
'I haven't learned how to speak proper common yet, and my mother tongue can be dangerous,' he signed.
"I'll say," Rorin muttered, staring at the pile of ash a few feet from them. "So, you can understand common?" He asked, turning back to the other man. K'avir nodded. "But you can't speak it?" K'avir shook his head, gold earrings swinging.
"Strange, but not as strange as that fire. How did you learn to project a Thu'um?" K'avir shook his head again and signed, 'It's a long story.'
"You'll have to tell me some time, it sounds like quite the tale."
Rorin swayed abruptly, and looked down at his arm. Crimson liquid was pouring from the cut in his forearm and dripping from his fingertips onto the floor.
"Ysmir's beard," Rorin whispered, trying to stem the bleeding with his other hand. His head was beginning to spin. Suddenly he felt the sting of several other cuts that he hadn't felt during the fighting, and he couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed them before.
Just as he was cursing himself for being slow and inattentive, dark, scar covered fingers entered his range of vision, coated in glittering light. They hesitated for a moment, and as Rorin made no move to stop them, they rested on the cut in his arm. K'avir's skin was extremely warm, and Rorin jerked in surprise under the touch. The fingers pulled back, but the healing spell had already worked. The pain was subsiding and the bleeding had stopped.
Rorin looked at the other man in surprise.
"Thanks. I, uh, didn't think that you were the type to practice restoration magic," he said, trying not to sound rude.
'It comes in handy sometimes,' K'avir responded, fingers moving deftly through the air. 'Now let's get out of here. We have what we came for.' Rorin started to move but K'avir stopped him.
'Please don't mention what happened here, I would like to avoid prying questions,' the man signed. Rorin nodded, and the two walked toward the exit.
As they climbed the stairs out of the cairn, Rorin considered the man in front of him. K'avir had seen undead, werewolves, and carnage in the crypt that day, and he seemed completely undaunted. He had shown no signs of fear or even confusion when two men had turned into beasts before his eyes and ripped apart several other men. He had slain numerous draugr without sustaining any injuries. K'avir hadn't even broken a sweat.
Slit-pupiled silver eyes flashed in his vision, liquid fire dripped to the ground and hissed. Rorin blinked away the image and shuddered. K'avir hadn't even seemed worried after flames had burst from his lips, born from a single word he had spoken.
Suddenly, his memory echoed with words his father had once spoken.
"Soul of dragon, body of man. Dragonborn, they call him, and fierce and wild is he."
When they reached the top of the stairs, K'avir loped away in the direction of Whiterun. Rorin watched him go. The Redguard ran with ease, long legs eating up the ground so quickly that he was out of sight before Rorin had time to blink twice.
He really could be the Dragonborn...
Any man who worked hard enough and for a long enough time could learn to project a Thu'um if he wanted to, but K'avir didn't seem like a normal man. The glowing lights, the eerie indifference, the silver eyes... Rorin hadn't heard of a new Dragonborn coming to Skyrim, but perhaps the news hadn't spread yet.
Farkas strolled up to Rorin, scowling.
"You took a while getting out of there. What happened?"
Fire flashed against Rorin's vision again and he shook his head.
"Another draugr appeared," he murmured, staring out into the cloudless sky. "It took me by surprise, and the new blood, uh, well he destroyed it very efficiently."
Farkas raised his eyebrows but didn't pry further.
"Anyway, we should head back; his ceremony will start soon."