She had meant to go farther than she actually did. Darkwater Crossing or maybe Windhelm, even. Instead, though, Adaria thought perhaps she could still see the faint outline of Riften off in the distance as she paused on a hill overlooking the terrain that surrounded the capital of the Rift. Dusk had already fallen. Night would draw its ebony cloak over her soon, bringing with it all sorts of nasty things, and she was far from any suitable place to camp. Not that she was unaccustomed to cold, sleepless nights leaning against a tree or boulder, afraid to dose off for fear of a wolf or dragon or, worse yet, a vampire to stumble across her path and find her a fitting appetizer for its nightly meal. It was just that she preferred the relative safety of a bed in a nice, warm inn. An inn like the Bee and Barb, perhaps.
The thought of a certain obnoxious mage crossed the woman's mind and she vehemently shook her head as though that would somehow shake the thought out of her brain. It didn't, though, and she couldn't help but wonder if Marcurio had made it back to Riften safely. Not as if he couldn't take care of himself. Master of the arcane or no, he had held his own against a dragon, and that said something, at least, about his ability to survive. And then, of course, there was also the fact that she had given him, very literally, all of her potions. If he couldn't make it from the region around Shor's Stone back to Riften with all of that to help him, he was a hopeless cause anyway. Not that the thought was any more comforting to the nagging little voice in the back of Adaria's head, though.
She should have made sure he made it back safely. Especially since there were dragons about. But then, would he have been any safer with her? Not only was she the Dragonborn, which was like walking around all of Nirn with a giant target on the back of her head, but she also had a dragon soul…a powerful and unruly side to her that made her more beast than human. It would not be tamed and it certainly would not be controlled. At best, it could be caged. No, Adaria had learned long ago that the dragon side and the human side of her soul would never live in peaceful coexistence. She had tried. And she had learned the hard way.
Well, what was done was done.
Quietly Adaria turned to head north, but she paused when the sight of a campfire caught her eye, flickering in the distance like a star fallen to earth. It would be a good half-hour walk, she guessed, and there was no guarantee the camp's occupants wouldn't be hostile, but a fire was a fire. She had no axe to chop her own wood or matches to get a fire going, and gods help anyone within her vicinity if she tried to start a campfire with her dragon breath. Who knew, but she might burn down all of Tamriel before she got that fire put out. She had shared a camp with some hunters before. Perhaps she could do that again.
As she walked, Adaria allowed her wild senses to test the forest around her. Night creatures sang their lullabies to each other as she walked, torchbugs glowing like floating lamps in the growing dark on either side of her. The sky was clear tonight, and stars shone brightly like gems on navy blue satin. She could smell the earth, feel the cool night breeze brushing against her bare skin, nearly taste the sweetness of some nearby wildflowers. There was sound, and yet there was silence. She almost missed the chatty mage she had known for little more than 24 hours. Not that she would ever have admitted it.
A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, and instinctively Adaria's free hand flew to the hilt of one of her swords, her sharp dragon eyes scanning the darkness for any nearby enemies. The wind shifted ever so slightly, bringing with it the scents that wafted down from the camp she had been headed towards. And that was when she smelled it: blood. Human blood.
A shot of adrenaline coursed through her veins as the scent hit her nose, and almost subconsciously she could feel her feet picking up pace as she followed the smell. A few minutes later, the tree line fell away and Adaria blinked in the light of a lively campfire. Three dark forms slunk around on the outskirts of the camp, and they stopped and hunched down when Adaria came into view.
Immediately, the woman dropped everything she carried on the ground and drew her two swords as the creatures, she could tell they were wolves, came around toward her, growling and snapping in an almost rabid fashion. Bolar's Oathblade glowed with an unnatural light in the flicker of the nearby campfire as it bit deep into one of the wolves' necks. Adaria swerved as a second snapped at her right arm, and she drove her other sword deep into the creature's chest, the dark blade protruding through the other side of the wolf's body. Almost as if in the same move, however, the woman pulled her sword out, slinging a trail of wet crimson through the air as she spun, kicking the third wolf in the chest to stun it before driving the Oathblade through the creature's skull. The blade speared the ground, pinning the thrashing body between metal and earth, and Adaria didn't move until the body stilled.
Once she had made certain that all three wolves were dead, Adaria turned to the camp before her. It looked like a war zone. Pools of blood darkened the hard-packed earth and smeared crates and bags with a stain Adaria knew would never come out. The fire still burned strong in the pit that had been dug for it and the blood was still fresh, too, so the woman was quite sure that whatever had happened had happened not long before. A quick scan of the area revealed no signs of human life. If anyone had survived, they would likely be hiding in the forest by now.
Quietly, Adaria crossed over to a stack of crates that the occupants of the camp had set off to the side, and her eyes rested on a crudely-shaped shaft sticking out of the wood. Plucking the object from its resting place, the woman held it up to the light, and her sharp silver eyes narrowed as she stared it down. An arrow. A Falmer arrow, to be exact. She had suspected that the wolves were not to blame for the gory scene around her, but Falmer…
A shiver ran down Adaria's spine as she cast the arrow into the fire and scanned the area again. There were few beings in the world that she hated more than the Falmer. Vampires were bad enough, but at least if one was bitten, there was the slight chance of surviving and living on, even if one ended up living on in a less-than-ideal state of being. Dragons wouldn't waste time killing you either. At least death by dragon would last only a few seconds. But the Falmer…Adaria had seen what the Falmer would do. Torture chambers…flesh ripped from victims still shrieking with the last bits of the life that remained in them…poison and horrendous tools of agony scattered across stone counters, lying next to bodies that just as likely died from the shock of pain as from the poison. She had seen the piles of bones, too, evidences of what the repulsive Oblivion-spawn used to keep themselves fed. No, death at the hands…paws…claws of the Falmer was something far worse than Adaria would wish even on her worst enemy, and the thought of such pain was nearly unbearable. Other enemies would leave one with the will to fight to escape; the Falmer, however, would leave one only with the hope that death came quickly.
It was hard to pick up the hint of the Falmer stench mixed in with the smell of roasting rabbit on the spit over the fire and the scent of human and wolf blood watering the hard-packed soil beneath Adaria's feet, but at last she spotted the tell-tale signs of where a body may have been dragged off to the side of the camp, and she could feel every hair on the back of her neck tingling as she stepped into the darkness in search of the trail. Despite how much she hated the Falmer, regardless of how much she would rather have walked away and continued on to Windhelm, she had to see to it that the monsters were eliminated. She had always felt that way, ever since the first time she had laid eyes on the pale, goblin-looking creatures. It was something of a fatal flaw of hers. Almost had been several times. Could yet be, too, if she wasn't careful.
The moon had climbed high in the night sky when at last Adaria managed to track the Falmer back to their lair in the hills outside of Riften. The stench that wafted up from the cave's depths made the woman's stomach roil, but she swallowed hard and cautiously stepped inside, following the rough-hewn path down into the bowels of the earth, which was the only suitable place for Oblivion-spawn such as the Falmer to lurk.
To her left and right, familiar glowing mushrooms bathed the chamber in an unnatural luminescence, providing just enough light for Adaria to avoid running into walls, but not enough for her to easily spot any traps that might be hidden along the path. And the Falmer loved traps. Almost as much as the ancient Nords, if the hundreds of crypts she had stumbled upon were any indication. Still, though, at least the Falmer traps were easier to spot. It wasn't as if the big black claws that swung out at unwary adventurers were easy to hide. Adaria could usually predict where traps might be placed. And then, of course, there was always the odd trap sitting out in the middle of the room…in plain view…in a lighted path. The Falmer might be vicious little bastards, but at least they were stupid. Most of the time.
The soft padding of feet caught Adaria's ears as she came to where the tunnel ended in a large, open room, and quietly she pressed her back against the wall, sliding over to the opening and glancing out. There were no trip wires, as far as she could see, so she shouldn't have to worry about traps, but there were two Falmer warriors pacing the room beyond. Not that she couldn't take care of them. Regular Falmer were no match for the power of an angry Dragonborn.
Brandishing her swords once to test her grip, Adaria sprang out from hiding, bolting toward the two twisted creatures currently standing side-by-side in the light of the glowing mushrooms, and her lips pulled back into a snarl as they turned to look at who was approaching. The two Falmer warriors hardly even had time to snarl in reply as the woman buried her katanas hand-guard-deep into the creatures' chests simultaneously. She didn't even slow down as she yanked the blades back out, the sound of snapping ribs echoing through the empty chamber as the swords ripped clean of flesh.
She didn't stop until she reached the opposite end of the room, spinning around to be sure there weren't any other enemies hidden in the shadows. There were none, however, and quietly Adaria took in a deep breath, trying to steady the dragon soul that fluttered triumphantly inside her. She had to stay focused. Dragons were powerful in battle, but the bloodrage that seemed to consume them didn't always work in their favor. They tended to miss faster, stealthier enemies, and she couldn't afford to let that happen.
Now certain that the room was clear, the woman turned and continued further into the cavernous lair. For what it was worth, the place seemed to be rather empty. A Falmer here, a chaurus there, but nothing of particular note. Perhaps the people at the camp had merely been very weak. Merchants and common travelers were not always well-equipped to handle ambushes by even the most simple of Falmer.
How long she had been in the lair, Adaria wasn't certain, but after killing at least a dozen Falmer and a pair of chaurus, the woman at last found herself standing outside a very familiar pair of doors. Dwarven doors. Of course. Because one could hardly have a Falmer without some sort of Dwarven construct nearby. Though this lair couldn't exactly be considered "Dwarven ruins," it certainly had been used by some sort of Dwemer in times past. The doors were heavy, as usually Dwarven doors were, and fairly tightly sealed. No doubt, she could expect trouble on the other side.
Quietly, Adaria sheathed her Blades sword and pressed her now-empty hand against one side of the door. For a moment, the door held fast, but at last it began to open inward, and a moment later, the Dragonborn found herself staring into a shadowed room. A solitary fire burned at the back of the room, silhouetting a pair of bodies spread out across two stone tables, their limbs bound to their deathbeds by iron clasps. The smell of rotting flesh mingled with the stench of multiple Falmer and the slight bitterness of poison. Adaria had to keep herself from vomiting when the scents first hit her nose. The place smelled like death itself.
Gathering her nerve, the woman stepped past the doors and into the room, her eyes scanning the shadows.
Click!
The woman jumped back as her foot pressed down on a pressure plate in the floor. The sound of gears grinding together caught her ears and she spun around as the doors slammed closed behind her. Quickly, the woman rushed back to the doors, pushing on them, hoping that they would open, but to no avail. Damn it! Falmer traps, she had expected. Dwarven traps…well, she ought to have expected those, too, but she hadn't.
An all-too-familiar snarl caught Adaria's ears, and she dodged to the side as an arrow struck the spot where her head had been. Drawing her second sword, the woman spun around to face her enemy, but her gut twisted into a knot when she realized what she was up against. From one corner of the room, Falmer archers drew crude arrows back against stained bowstrings. Other Falmer – a dozen, maybe – came at her with swords swinging.
"Fus ro dah!"
One Falmer warrior stumbled to the side as several of its companions went sailing back against the far wall beneath the force of the Dragonborn's Shout. Adaria raised up the sword in her left hand, blocking the attack of another of the Falmer warriors who had escaped her Shout, then promptly thrust Bolar's Oathblade deep into the creature's gut. Instantly, the woman then swerved, putting the writhing body between herself and the archers as arrows sang through the air, embedding deep in the dying Falmer's back.
Quickly, Adaria kicked the Falmer off her blade and spun, slicing off the head of another of the creatures. An all-too-familiar clacking sound caught her ear, but she dodged too late, and a split second later she felt the sting of chaurus poison as it burned where it fell on her bare arms. A sizzling crack echoed through the room and Adaria yelled in pain as bolts of magic electricity shot through her body.
Her throat still dry from the Shout, the Dragonborn threw up her swords as a Falmer warmonger bore down on her, black chitin armor glistening in the dull light of the fire behind it. Steel clashed against chitin, and the woman stumbled back against the wall behind her, trapped between the warmonger and the unyielding stone surface. The creature almost laughed as it pressed in toward her, its putrid breath puffing against her sweat-bedewed face.
A feral snarl slipped through Adaria's clenched teeth and, lifting one booted foot, she launched a powerful kick at the Falmer's knee, throwing it off balance long enough for the Dragonborn to pull back the Oathblade and drive it deep through the creature's skull. She turned then, attempting to pull the blade out of the Falmer's face where it was lodged, but a moment later a searing pain shot through her left shoulder as an arrow found residence in a small chink in her armor left by the dragon's teeth earlier that day.
Instinct made her release the Oathblade as she reached back and yanked the arrow out of her flesh. Another splash of chaurus poison doused her neck and cheek in liquid fire, and with a roar, Adaria leapt forward, driving her remaining sword through the deadly insect. Its pinchers snapped up at her as it struggled to get free from the blade that pierced it, cutting at the woman's injured arm before going limp.
Just then, the sound of a clinking, hissing machine started up off in the far corner, and as the remaining Falmer warriors bared down on her, Adaria spotted a Dwemer centurion pulling itself from its resting place, steam spewing as ancient gears ground together.
Damn it. This was Hermaeus Mora's fault. It had to be. No one told a daedric lord to shove his false promises up his ass without reaping their due reward. This must be hers. Or maybe it was Nocturnal for all the thieves Adaria had hunted down and killed in the name of the jarl. Or…well, it might also be Vaermina. Adaria had wiped out all of her remaining priests and then subsequently drunk an entire bottle of wine while she watched that priest of Mara, Erandur, effectively destroy the daedric prince's means of fun. Yes, thinking about it now, Adaria was quite sure that all of Oblivion had rallied together for this one grand finale. Perhaps they thought to watch her slowly get hacked to pieces. Well, she had defied them before. She would do it again.
Letting out an enraged battle cry, Adaria leapt forward, ripping Bolar's Oathblade out of the Falmer warmonger's skull before bolting toward her oncoming foes. She ducked as two Falmer blades simultaneously sang above her, then turned and slashed both of her swords outward, bracing herself as she felt flesh give way and bones snap. Two arrows shot toward her, one bouncing harmlessly off her dragonscale armor, the other wedging in her right knee. The woman stumbled as the pain exploded through her leg, but she only slowed down for a minute, hacking and slashing her way toward the archers on the far side of the room.
As she neared them, the archers threw their bows to the side in favor of swords, but in the time it took them to draw their blades, the angry Dragonborn had already crossed the room. Quickly, Adaria threw herself forward, stabbing one Falmer in the gut and cutting off the head of the other before it could get away.
As the Falmer's head skittered off to the side, there came a heavy thud from behind, and Adaria turned only in time to meet with a face-full of scalding steam. The woman threw up her arms to shield her face, leaving her front wide open, and a moment later she heard a sickening series of snaps as one of the centurion's arms slammed into her chest. The metallic taste of blood wetted the Dragonborn's tongue and she stumbled backward before falling to one knee, her arm pressed against her chest in an effort to ease the sickening pain.
Damn it, but where was that mage when she needed him? Adaria might have laughed at herself, if she even knew how to laugh and if she had not been in so much pain that breathing itself was difficult. Where was the mage? Back in Riften, no doubt. Back where she had told him to go. Because she didn't want or need a follower. She didn't want or need him. That was what she had said, wasn't it? That was how she had acted, for sure.
Adaria dropped her Blades sword to the ground as the centurion started toward her again, calling up a weak healing spell and rolling to the side before the machine could do any extra damage. The warmth of the healing spell suffused her body, easing some of the pain but certainly not doing enough to keep it from reminding her that she had probably just broken every rib in her chest, and punctured a lung while she was at it, only a moment before.
The centurion stopped in place when Adaria rolled out of the way, and steam rolled in all directions as the machine began to turn. For all its strength, Adaria noted, these machines were vulnerable in that they could not move very fast.
Gathering all the energy and willpower she could muster, Adaria shoved herself to her feet and flew at the Dwarven centurion, aiming for an open spot where the red glow of the dynamo core could be seen flashing between gold-tinted gears. Bolar's Oathblade slipped lightly through the mechanism, then jolted suddenly as the gears caught on the blade and ground to a halt. The centurion jerked at the sudden stop, causing Adaria to lose her grip on the sword. She fell backward, landing heavily on her back, and before she could move, the centurion fell backward. The woman let out a piercing wail of pain as a jagged metal piece on the machine's arm broke through her armor, digging into the soft flesh of her stomach as the body of the machine landed on her left arm, steam singeing the bare skin.
For a moment, Adaria lay there, completely winded and crippled with pain. Then, slowly, she pushed the centurion's arm away from her stomach and slid her arm out from underneath its body. Thank goodness for the dragonscale armor, at least. Though she was certain the metal had punctured flesh, if the crimson river flowing toward her leg was any indication, at least it wasn't as deep as it might have been. She wasn't sure how badly injured her left arm was. It hung limp at her side, red with blood so that she couldn't tell what was burned and what wasn't.
For a moment she sat there, watching the glow of the healing spell in her good hand through one open eye. The other eye, she kept squeezed shut, a feeble attempt to ignore some of the pain. She could feel her energy draining out of her body, and a moment later, the light of the healing spell flickered out. No more majicka. She was on her own now.
Quietly, Adaria glanced toward the doors, which were still closed. Most likely, the way to open them would be with some sort of lever. She turned her gaze to the rest of the room then, and she could just make out the shadow of a lever on the far side of the room.
Of course it would be all the way across the room.
Half limping, half dragging her beaten and bruised body to the opposite end of the room, Adaria grabbed hold of the lever with her good hand and pulled.
It didn't budge.
She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She didn't know how. Instead, the woman whimpered as the pain surged up and down her body. Already she was seeing spots. She didn't know how long she could go before she bled to death, and there was no way her meager knowledge of healing magic was going to keep her alive if she didn't get out soon.
Just then the lever groaned, moved slightly, caught on rusted gears, then slid the rest of the way. The doors across the room swung open, and Adaria collapsed against the low stone wall beside her. She had to move. She couldn't stop, couldn't go to sleep even though she so badly wanted to. She would head for Riften, if she could make it that far. It was fairly close, if she remembered correctly. Fairly close, yes, but as Adaria sat there, with the fire burning at her back, her own shadow flickering between the silhouettes of the two maimed and lifeless bodies on the stone tables, close didn't even remotely seem close enough.