I would tell you that everything got better after that, but then I'd be lying,

I spent three weeks alone in the wilderness, living only on fish and plants. I kept away from Riften and Shor's Stone, away from people as much as I could, as much as it was possible.
Of course, that made me very ill, and my addiction just made it worse.
The Mask…I had grown to fear that it had been crafted by Sheogorath himself. Madness…

I had started talking to myself. A lot. But then again, who else is there to talk to when you've shut yourself off from the world?

I travelled by the moons; the halves, fulls and news of Secunda. I don't know why. Although, it did help me keep track of the days.
Slowly, I made my way across The Rift. I would have avoided a lot of trouble if I had travelled by the roads, but I had grown too used to solitude, and whenever I'd take the Mask off, I'd be in the middle of a forest or cave—or even a river one time—anyway. And since my only weapon was an iron sword, I regularly found myself running away from Sabres or Bears—or anything at least half my size.

I thought I was doing well on my own, but the problem was, I wasn't alone. By the end of the second week, I had the strangest feeling I was being watched, being followed. And was I?
Well…

I woke up one morning with my pack emptied and my sword in a puddle of water. Not exactly what I needed; my sword hadn't seen a grindstone for Gods know how long, and rust had begun to eat at the edges. My pack also had my last healing potion and a whole bunch of plants I'd been collecting. Not that I'm any good at alchemy, but I'd use them from time-to-time.

And the Mask? Well, I'll get to that.

I was eating flowers for the next couple of days. Not exactly every Nord's dream, but it was better than the grass. In its own way.

My sword had become practically useless. I swung it at a Skeever and it snapped in two. I had no food, no potions, no weapons and no support. By the fourth day I disregarded my stalker; I had convinced myself that I was alone, that it would be ok to let my guard down. Ha!

Three days later I was knocked on the head by something hard.
I woke up in a camp on some mountain in The Rift. My head was ringing, and all I saw in the night was the campfire and a man in a sleeping roll across me. I fell asleep instantly.

The next time I woke up, however, it was broad daylight, and I had a bowl of potato soup laid by my head.

I lifted myself warily, looking around for the figure I saw last night.

"Sleep well?" I looked to my right and saw a man sitting on a chair not far from me. He smiled. "You had quite a fall."

Fall? I reached for the back of my head. A sharp pain stung me at the touch.

"Easy there." He said, moving towards me. He opened his hand, a warm golden light materialising in his palm. "Just lay still." Not long after, the spell enveloped me, and in an instant the pain had disappeared.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He held a hand out, and I took it cautious. It took about ten seconds for me to realise he was in Stormcloak armour.

I smiled. My father was a Stormcloak soldier. The smile faded.
Was.

I spent the day with this man—Valmir. It wasn't too bad. I mean, he was the first person I had seen in weeks; it was a pressure relief.

He was a bit strange for a Nord, though. He wore the Armour well, but I don't think he did it wholeheartedly. That and he was twice as tall as me.

He explained to me that he had been sent there to retrieve an artefact, something crafted by our ancestors long ago. What it was, I had no idea—he'd change the topic whenever I'd ask. But there was only so much time…

The next morning, he asked if I could help seek out the artefact. Without thought, I agreed. It would have made my father proud to aid the Stormcloaks.

I just wish I had better judge of character.

We spent hours discussing the temple Forelhost not far from our camp. He showed me sword techniques and ways to sneak past any possible danger, preparing me for inside.
He made it sound so easy.

By about midday he led me to the door. He explained the interior of the structure one last time, and gave me a new sword and pack.

I studied the door as he searched for the keys. It had an elaborate design, one that could only have been crafted by an Ancient Nord.
A sense of pride ran through me.

"Ah!" he said. "Here it is!"

I turned around not only to see the keys in his hand, but a note with the stamp of the Dominion fall out of his pocket.

I frowned.
"What's that?" I asked.

He swiftly picked it up and pushed past me to the door.

"Nothing you should be concerned of."

I shook my head. It didn't really matter to me.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, giving view to an eerie, abandoned barrow.

"You're on your own from here, friend." He said, clapping my back. "Be careful in there."

I looked at him one last time and nodded. He closed the door as I entered.

-o808o-

The place is a damn labyrinth.

I took Valmir's advice and went through it slowly, but most of the quarters were ruined and empty, I had met a dead end twice and gotten lost a thousand times more.

It saddened me to walk through the corridors. I couldn't help but wonder how beautiful the place must have been before it decayed.

I entered a room with beds. It was…nerving. Some of them still had bodies on them, stripped to the bone. One of the beds had poison vials on the posts. I walked over and examined one.

Empty.

I looked at the poor skeleton that lay before me.

Although I felt a pang of guilt, I couldn't help but laugh; mother had always warned me not to sleep in.

But now, she too was asleep, resting for eternity.
I couldn't see her if I wanted to.

I pressed on.

Forelhost was too empty. Valmir had briefly mentioned some…Dragon Cultists, Draugr.
There weren't any. Or so I thought.

Eventually, I reached another room. This one was different; it seemed to be some sort of refectory. A large table was in the centre, two alembics placed just past the middle of it. On the long side of the table was either a throne or an elaborate chair, I wasn't too sure, but on it was a lady, an Ancient Nordic Sword through her chest.
On her lap was a note:

Froda, do not deter the other alchemists from their work. Your views are known to me and we shall have words about them shortly.

-Rahgot

I folded the note up again and put it on her arm-rest. Poor Froda. Killed for her opinion. But then again, I didn't know what it was.

Sighing, I studied her armour. Torn and decayed from years of being unused (or from Rahgot?), it still retained its beauty. I looked around. There were other dead bodies. Their armours were fairly similar, changed only size and perhaps style. I moved to another body.
It was beautiful.

I hadn't seen an Ancient Nordic item since Otar had been stolen.

My fingers ran along the armour—from the shoulder-pads to the gauntlets. I traced the tips of the fingers with my own. Not many armour types were crafted with such detail.

I suppose I had gotten too infatuated with it—the hand closed around my wrist. At first, I had thought that I bent it myself…before the eyes opened.

Forgetting all the sword techniques I was taught earlier, I yanked my hand back and screamed.

It wasn't the only Draugr sleeping.

I have no idea in which direction I ran, but I had never been so afraid in my life. I passed many rooms and chambers, some I had seen more than twice.

I barged in through a large wooden door and shut it behind me. I fell against it, listening for footsteps or unsheathed swords. I heard some, faint and distant, but they disappeared quickly. I sighed in relief.

Behind me, a Claw Door opened, scraping the floor as it did. I turned around, and saw something I never expected to see.

A Dragon Priest.
Behind him a group of Draugr, and in his hand Otar.

They didn't look happy to see me.

Stendarr preserve me…

I am so sorry for the long wait.
Between life and problems with my account, it's taken me ages to get this up. Also, school's back, but I promise I won't abandon this Fic.
Feel free to review or leave a comment.

IV