Two:
Bleak Falls Barrow
The path up the mountain wasn't steep, but it was damn cold, and Auriel tucked her hood a little more around her head as she wished for a cloak of some sort. Had she realized she would head up, she would have bought one from Lucan...
She settled for muttering a few choice Aldmeri curses against the cold as she made the upwards trek. Luck was on her side, though it didn't seem so at first; a small group of bandits had been manning the crumbling watch tower, and one of them had a very nice fur cloak that she was not above pilfering for her own warmth. It was a good choice too, as the farther up she went, the colder it got.
An icy wind blew snow into her face, and she hissed a little at the bite of it as she rounded the rocky spire that separated her from the barrow. It was slightly more intimidating up close, but the presence of bandits took away from her chance to contemplate the weird air the barrow seemed to give off.
Fortunately, bandits were not fireproof. Nor did their armor do much to protect them from her arrows. She'd had over three centuries to perfect her technique; she was no Bosmer, but she knew how to use her weapons of choice, and she was not afraid to kill those who got in her way.
She was a little uncertain about entering the barrow, and was markedly surprised to see the ceiling soar far above her head. She hated enclosed spaces, and had no doubts that this one would get like that soon enough, but for the moment, it wasn't so bad.
It wasn't much warmer inside, but it wasn't so bad. At least the worst of the wind was blocked out, and there was light to see by through the openings in the ceiling. The two bandits at the head of the stairs were easy enough to take out; one tended to die quickly with an arrow through the throat, after all. Their little chest was hardly worth the effort, but extra gold was always nice.
Absently she wondered what would become of the skeleton key she'd gotten from the Daedric Prince Nocturnal. She also wondered what would become of the Gray Fox's hood, two of her favorite items over the years. As she stealthed her way farther into the barrow, she wondered what might become of her.
There wasn't really a lot to be found in the first part of the barrow. The bandits had effectively cleared it out, and likely sold most of it. Where, she wasn't sure, but that was the best bet. Oh, there were a couple of things she picked up, but on the whole, until she reached the first puzzle door and watched a bandit off himself by not solving the puzzle first, it was pretty empty.
Once the bandit was dead she stepped delicately into the room and looked from the pillars on the floor, to the heads carved on the wall. And snorted.
"I though Nordic burial puzzles were supposed to be difficult, she said, moving to set the pillars correctly. "I could solve this puzzle in my sleep."
Once she was certain the pillars were aligned properly, she reached out and yanked the lever. No darts shot her, and the door opened willingly enough. It was in good repair for an old barrow. The room beyond disappointed only a little. It had treasure, but it also had irritating skeevers that disliked interlopers. And from the way the following tunnel dripped webs, well, it wasn't hard to believe there would be spiders in the ruins as well.
She grimaced a little and pressed on. Fire would take out the spiders. Hopefully.
Her sharp ears heard someone calling out for help as she passed down the tunnel, brushing cobwebs out of her face. She wasn't terribly inclined towards being helpful; she'd killed several bandits, and so far there was no sign of the claw. Perhaps she should have gotten close enough to eavesdrop on the chatting pair at the top.
Ah well. It was too late for that now.
She hadn't expected a spider quite that large, but it went down quick enough, as most spiders did. And behind the spider was a Dunmer, a dark elf, trapped in webs. Auriel straightened a little as he badgered her for help.
"How, I wonder, did you get yourself caught up like that?"
He grimaced.
"Does it matter? Just get me out of these things!"
"Do you have the claw?"
"Yes, the claw, I know how it works! The markings, the claw, the Hall of Stories, I know how it all fits together! Cut me loose and I'll show you!"
She cocked her head slightly; apparently this bandit took her for another of the group. He couldn't have been more wrong, and she wasn't about to enlighten him.
"All right," she said after a moment. "I'll get you down."
And before he could protest, she lifted her hands, and lit everything on fire. She tried to make it quick, since he undoubtedly had the claw on him, and she didn't want it to melt, only sparing a small sniff of distaste as he screamed.
She found the claw all right. To her surprise, it wasn't even warmed. The journal was less fortunate, but enough of it remained for her to figure out that the claw itself was the key to this door in the Hall of Stories. Whatever that was. Undoubtedly she would find out soon enough.
The halls beyond the spider's lair were full of something Auriel had only read about in her studying prior to entering this cold northern land. Draugr. They were almost kin to zombies, though they did not ooze the way those undead did. They lit up almost as fast as skeletons did with their old, dusty bones, and at first they seemed entirely too simple.
Up until she found one that used magicka. She was forced to dodge the ice that would otherwise have coated her, pinning her to the floor, and countered with a fireball that blasted the draugr to pieces. Then she spent the next five minutes muttering a variety of curses against her Thalmor superiors that had thought sending her here was a good idea.
The tomb ended up connecting briefly to a cavern, and she paused there to rest and rebanadage a few of the wounds she'd gained. Forcing restoration wasn't her idea of a good time, even though it likely would have helped. She just didn't have the space yet to safely try. Bandages would do, and a short rest later she moved on.
It led back to the tomb finally, and she spared a few minutes wondering what the place must have looked like when it was first constructed. Nothing like now, clearly, with tree roots making their way in and places collapsing under the shifting weather, but still. It was worth pondering, at least a little.
There was a moment where she realized she was heading deeper in when she could have turned back after getting the claw, then had to admit that the bandit's words had intrigued her. Something beyond the Hall of Stories was worth finding to him, and that generally meant treasure at the least. Money could finance her trip back to Darkwater Crossing in comfort; a carriage, food, and available inns would be nice, if a bit overt.
Deeper into the barrow she went, past more draugr and traps. It was actually quite fun to lure the draugr into a patch of oil and light it up. Clearly the creatures were not known for their brains.
A part of her that still loved delving into ancient mysteries and ruins was taking in everything she could see; Nordic architecture had held up well over the years, even if she couldn't understand what was carved on the walls in the Hall of Stories. Other than being covered in spider webs and mired in dust, they were still clear, and she blew off a bit of dust in her curiosity. It made her miss the old Ayleid ruins of Cyrodiil. They had been so very beautiful, if terribly lonely.
The door at the far end was something worth studying as well. Suffused with carvings in the stone and a trio of moveable rings above where the claw was meant to go, she wondered at the meaning of it, and turned the claw over in her hand. Three images were imprinted on the underside, and she cocked her head a little, then smiled.
"Put the combination on the key, but not the location," she murmured thoughtfully. "Clever."
She altered the rings accordingly, then inserted the claw with care. A twist left, then right, and there was an audible click. She pulled the claw back as the rings rotated until all images were similar, and the door started sinking into the floor. The air the rushed past her was chilled, but fresh, indicating there was another way out of this place.
The cavern beyond the door opened up abruptly, shafts of late evening sunlight pouring down into the area. Water rushed about in small streams, as she carefully moved forward. There was a curved half way of some type blocking one of the waterfalls, near a closed stone casket. She was cautious, but when nothing more than a few bats presented themselves for her inspection—she ducked reflexively, but otherwise was unafraid—she carefully crossed the small stone bridge.
The wall with its carvings drew her in. There almost seemed to be words there, not that she could read, but words that spoke to some part of her. The same sort of feeling as when that black dragon had roared while she lay on the chopping block.
It was a small series of carvings that she rested her hand on. The meaning proceeded to run her down like a runaway horse, and she dropped to her knees in surprise as her vision blurred and her ears rung.
"...Fus," she whispered.
The word did nothing, but then, she sensed she was missing some component that would make it activate. Whatever it was had to wait, however, as the coffin behind her was practically blown open and out climbed a draugr wielding a sword that glowed blue with enchantment. It was also markedly stronger than the ones she'd faced down in her travels through the barrow, and she was forced to dodge quickly before she could retaliate.
And that dodge left her open for an unexpected attack.
Fus.
The very air slammed into her, sending her staggering back across the stone to fetch up against the wall she'd so recently left. Her blue eyes went wide as it properly registered... that was what the word could do, if properly keyed. She just had to find the key...
But first she had to end this fight. The draugr might have been tougher and stronger, but it was still slow and couldn't dodge terribly well. Fireballs worked wonderfully at immolating the issue.
The draugr had an interesting number of things on him. Though she was no swordswoamn, preferring her spells and her bow to anything else, she picked up the blade that the creature had been using and fastened it to her hip; if nothing else, she could sell it. The oddly carved stone with writing on the back and what looked to be a map on the front intrigued her enough to stick it in the pouch she'd removed from the dead mages body. Like most mage-made things, it could hold an extraordinary amount of items before it became too heavy, and she was not above taking advantage of it while she needed it.
The path out led her to a lake, afire with the colors of the setting sun. She frowned thoughtfully, then sat down on the rock and started to contemplate. She had to get to her dead drop, a tomb in Ivarstead, before much longer. Orders were likely waiting, as well as money. Or, if nothing else, instructions. Maybe information.
But she was starting to get the nagging feeling that maybe something had gone wrong. The Thalmor she'd signaled should have insisted that she be turned over to them for questioning; instead she'd been told to rescue herself. As if they'd wanted her to go to the chopping block.
No, that was nonsense, she decided after a minute. She had worked tirelessly for the Isles and the Thalmor for over a century now. They would not have abandoned her. Perhaps it was standing orders for any spy... but then, why tell her to signal if not to get pulled out of the worst of the repercussions?
Lightly she drummed her fingers on her knee, then consulted her memorized map of the area. The Thalmor Embassy was not the place to go; that was politics and useless to her at the moment. She needed to find a way to send word to one of her superiors. The dead drop in Ivarstead was her only course of action in that case. They often enchanted the drop, briefly, to allow the passing on of messages, and that would be of great use to her.
First though she needed to rest, and eat something. And then deliver the message to the Jarl of Whiterun, since that should only take a short while.
She nodded firmly to herself and got to her feet, dusting off her knees. She would return the claw, rest at the inn, and then make her way to Whiterun. And then from Whiterun to Ivarstead.
And hopefully, nothing else would happen.
