AN: First of all, I make no excuses for my behavior, this chapter is unbearably late. However, this is due to not one, but two beta's abandoning this project without informing me. Fortunately my mother stepped in and agreed to edit my chapters from now on. Hopefully this will improve both the quality of the story and the speed with which it is written.
Thank you for your patience.
Chapter 10
Dusty Bonewalkers
"During the ancient days, when dragons ruled Tamriel, many of Skyrim's Nordic population venerated them as gods. While their priests were given incredible powers, even the rank and file believers were blessed by their dragon overlords. Though many historians would use the term cursed instead. These 'draugr,' as they came to be known, were tainted with unlife. They would wander their tombs forever, doomed to a lonely existence of eternal service to their priests, until the return of the dragons. Considering there have been no dragon sightings in thousands of years, it seems the only danger the draugr pose is to unwary bandits and would-be-plunderers."- Excerpt from "A Local's Guide to Skyrim: Fourth Revised Edition." Written by Yander Bearclaw, 2E 234, current revision 4E 187
The spider moved first.
Spitting a wad of poison at Hammel, the arachnid scuttled forward with a chilling hiss. Throwing himself aside, the Nord felt the glob of venom fly past, splattering harmlessly against the far wall. Wrenched from his hand with the force of the dive, the ex-scout's bow slid away, spinning away into a distant corner.
Even as the ex-Legionnaire pulled a blade free, Clob was springing into action, launching three fireballs at the spider rapidly. While it managed to skitter out of the way of the first two, the third smacked directly into the beast's thorax. The scent of burning hair filled the air, while the giant arachnid began sizzling, but took little notice of the wound.
Ria dashed at the monster, a look on her face halfway between terror and anger, screaming war cries shrilly at the top of her lungs. Lashing out with its two front legs, the spider struck the Imperial, who despite her shield-block, flew back halfway across the chamber.
Clob narrowly dodged the flying woman, yet his concentration wasn't shaken in the least. The Orsimer sent another two orbs of flame at the giant creature, both striking it but doing little more than tanning its thick hide.
Both blades held firmly in hand, Hammel took the opportunity to inflect some quick damage. Dashing forward, he struck out with both weapons, aiming at the leg closest to him. He'd been a soldier long enough to know that striking the beast on its armored forelimbs would be pointless. The sensitive joints, on the other hand would prove ideal targets.
Slashing at any visible joints, the Nord was rewarded with a spray of stinking black ichor and a squeal of pain. With its good back leg, the beast slammed Hammel roughly in the face with a blunt limb. The former legionnaire tasted blood as his head snapped back, skull ringing. The spider had struck him with the force of a cart horse; the only thing stopping him from flying across the chamber like Ria was the poor angle of the blow.
Spitting out a wad of blood, Hammel struck against the wounded joint again, determined to sever it, if possible. The other Companion had clambered back to her feet, repeatedly jabbing her sword at the beast's midsection, with varying degrees of success.
Even as the spider lashed out at the two warriors with its legs, it shot another stream of venom at the mage, determined to stop his rain of fire. Raising a ward without a second's thought, the Orc calmly blocked the poison, reflecting it away harmlessly. Switching spells on the fly, the Orsimer responded to the attack with a lightning bolt. With incredible precision, Clob launched the bolt, blasting the arachnid across the face, scarring it and causing one of the monster's eyes to explode in a shower of dark gore.
The creature rushed forward, snarling in agony, barreling past Ria and Hammel to get at the Orc. The Nord fell to the ground as the beast shoved him aside. Biting ferociously, the spider sunk its mandibles deep into Clob's shoulder, snaring the mage. The mage roared in agony, unleashing a torrent of flame from one hand, directly into the creature's face; the other limb was useless, pinned to his side by the spider's powerful jaws.
Taking the opportunity provided by the beast's focus on Clob, Ria rolled underneath the arachnid and sunk her blade deeply into its soft underbelly. Hammel went to Ria's aid, hacking at the spider's limbs, picking a fresh target this time. Chopping at the uninjured leg with all the grace of a hurried butcher, Hammel was rewarded with the feel of warm blood striking his face. Both Imperial forged blades bit deep, crippling yet another limb.
Underneath the monster, Ria yanked her Skyforged blade free from the beast's underbelly, before ramming back into the creature's flesh with the force of an Orc berserker. Clob grit his teeth, maintaining the stream of fire despite the pain.
The spider began to buckle; the process hastened as the warrior went from leg to leg, hacking away with almost religious fervor. The arachnid flailed its remaining working legs, but to no avail. Hammel knew the beast's pattern now and wasn't about to be struck again.
Ria decided that she'd rather be out from under the creature, and rolled away from it. The monster released Clob and collapsed in the dust where Ria had been a moment before. The Orc staggered away, good hand desperately clutching his mangled shoulder. The monster let out a pitiful squeak of pain, trying to rise again, but failed, unable to support its body with four ruined legs.
Hammel moved in front of the giant monster, planted his boot firmly on the creature's head and sunk both blades into its face. The tender flesh gave way and the beast shut its remaining eyes permanently.
Glancing backwards, he noticed a stream of green blood dripping steadily down the Orsimer's formerly pristine robes. The Orc had slumped back against a far wall, good hand clutched tightly around the damaged shoulder. Based on his posture, Hammel would wager a guess that the mage's joint was broken, no doubt infected with the deadly venom of the spider. Yanking his swords free in a spray of dark blood, the Nord moved to aid Clob. However, Ria beat him to it.
Pulling a healing potion free from her belt and uncorking it in one smooth motion, the Imperial handed it to him. "Here, drink this. I got it off one of the bandits; looks strong."
Taking it from her gratefully, Clob revealed his wounds to Hammel's trained eye. It seemed his suspicions were indeed correct; the green-skin's shoulder was mangled beyond recognition, ragged flesh hanging in strips, blood dripping down profusely.
Clob chugged the contents of the potion bottle quickly, before closing his eyes. Hammel didn't feel like watching the Orc's bones and flesh re-knit, an immensely painful process, so he approached the man tied up in the spider's lair. However he first returned his bow to its perch on his back. The weapon was a gift from Jarl Balrguuf, he wouldn't abandon it for any reason.
The death of the giant spider seemed to have greatly relaxed the man. Instead of flailing around screaming, like he had when the trio entered, he sat patiently in the webbing, waiting to be freed.
Upon closer inspection, Hammel realized that the mer was a Dark Elf, though an incredibly scrawny one. A thin, black beard covered his face in patches where it decided to stick, most likely out of a sense of pity. He was dressed in a combination of fur and leather like the rest of the bandits the trio had slaughtered their way through to get to the antechamber.
"Excuse me," he asked after looking at the ex-scout for a moment, "Would you cut me down please? I greatly appreciate what you've already done here, however."
The Dunmer's excessive politeness didn't go unnoticed by Hammel. "Who are you?" He responded tersely, returning one of his blades to its sheath. Taking a grip on a handful of webs, the Nord began sawing away at it with his remaining weapon.
"Arvel, Arvel the Swift," the bandit responded. "No doubt you slaughtered those brigands who left me for dead?" Hammel nodded, knowing full well that this 'prisoner' was, without a doubt, a member of the gang. "You're here for the claw I'd wager."
The former scout was taken momentarily aback. "What claw?"
"The golden claw, the one we…" Catching himself, the Dunmer rapidly back-peddled, "That is to say, the one they stole from the Riverwood Trader. I thought maybe you'd been hired by the proprietor to retrieve it?" Looking past Hammel at the still healing Clob, Arvel commented, "You certainly look the type." Shaking his head, while the Nord got one arm free, the bandit snapped back to his thoughts, and looked at the warrior. "Whatever you do, don't return the claw until we get the treasure! The claw is the key to the lock. Through the Hall of Stories, you'll find the loot! Get me out of here and I'll show you." His formally eloquent tone rapidly dissolved into incoherent babbling. This bandit, whoever he was, seemed obsessed and most likely insane on top of that.
"What do you think I'm doing?" the newest Companion responded somewhat shortly, freeing the Dunmer's other arm, "Give me a minute and I'll have your legs out." With any luck, this reward he's babbling on about will be the Dragonstone. The sooner we get it, the sooner we can leave this damnable tomb.
Slicing the bonds on the Dunmer's leg, Hammel stepped back as the Dark Elf fell to the ground. "Now, about this treasure?"
Arvel responded to the Nord's kindness by punching him in the face.
While the Nord had anticipated something like that would happen, he wasn't expecting it the second the bandit's boots touched ground. The action caught him completely off guard. The blow connected with his jaw, an area unprotected by his helmet, and staggered the ex-Legionnaire backwards a few steps. Belatedly, Hammel realized that his fallback had blocked Clob's line of sight, preventing the mage from frying the treacherous Dunmer like a slab of beef.
"Ha! Why should I share my treasure with you?" the bandit cackled, clearly showcasing his mental state, before dashing down the tunnel away from the trio and moving deeper into the barrow. He seemed unconcerned with the darkness around him, or the fact he was moving into unknown territory. His sole objective seemed to be getting his hands on the treasure he'd been babbling on about earlier.
He isn't getting very far.
"Runner!" Hammel shouted back to his followers, while simultaneously slamming his second blade into its sheath. Dashing down the tunnel after the bandit, the Nord threw himself after Arvel. Ria shouted something at him, but he blocked her out. It was time for hunting; he had no intention of letting this thug get away with sucker-punching him.
Arvel's Swift moniker was clearly given with good reason; the Dunmer had a sizable lead, setting a blistering pace down the darkened tunnels, maintaining balance despite the hallway's downward slope. While the bandit may have been fast, Hammel doubted he could outrun an arrow.
Slowing his pace long enough to withdraw his bow, the ex-scout made sure to keep Arvel in his sights.
The chase hardly fatigued him.
He'd run at his current pace far longer, across swamps, tundras, and deserts. While he couldn't move much faster, he knew Arvel couldn't outlast him. Unfortunately for the Dunmer, Hammel didn't have time for a long pursuit.
The tunnel was starting to level out, a set of iron doors stood closed at the end of the hall, promising the beginning of the burial chambers. The Compaion's hand went for his quiver, feeling the feathered tips of his arrows as Arvel put his shoulder to the doors. They flew aside with an echoing crash. The Dunmer barreled into the room. While moving, Hammel nocking an arrow; the upcoming chamber seemed as good an opportunity as any to cripple this bandit.
Flying past the door, Hammel saw Arvel nearing the other end of the burial chamber. Directly across from the Nord was a winding tunnel, leading into the next set of burial rooms. If Arvel got into those tunnels, an arrow shot would prove difficult. The warrior didn't want a full length chase throughout the Barrow, in case more monsters were lurking. He couldn't focus on both his chase and combat. This little race had to end.
Dropping to one knee, the Nord pulled his bowstring back to his ear, looked down the shaft and released. The arrow soared across the chamber with deadly precision, striking the Dunmer in his unarmored calf. The arrow punched clean into the limb, lodging itself firmly halfway through it. Shrieking in pain, the bandit found his leg suddenly failing, and collapsed in an undignified heap.
Unfortunately, his momentum carried him into one of the burial slits, slamming into the body interred within. Corpse and brigand tumbled to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs.
The chamber was simply designed, looking no different from many of the others the trio had passed. What made the burial chamber unique was the numerous man-sized niches carved into the wall. Each was occupied by a body, pristinely laid out, but suffering from various stages of decay. Some were little more than skeletons, others, gray husks, but with the majority of flesh and muscle attached. The body Arvel acquainted himself with was one of the latter. It also didn't appear particularly fond of him.
The corpse staggered to its feet, groaning with surprising vigor. Arvel looked up at the undead with mounting horror. The bonewalker gazed around the burial chamber for a moment, as if sizing up its surroundings, before noticing the pitiful whelp at its feet.
The brigand's attempt to crawl away was both pathetic and useless. He'd barely managed to get half a body length before the corpse grabbed him. Lifting the squirming Dark Elf up by his neck, seemingly without effort, the bonewalker stared into the bandit's eyes with its own. The undead's were a milky white, containing no pupils and making no movements. After staring at the brigand for a moment with its empty gaze, the creature snapped Arvel's neck one-handed, letting his corpse fall to the floor. Stepping over the remains of the now late Arvel the Swift, the dead man set his eyes on Hammel.
Without hesitation, the Nord drew and launched another arrow. It struck the creature in the chest, digging deep. It also seemed to have no effect whatsoever since the undead shrugged it off, apparently without even noticing it. While it strode forward, a second arrow joined the first, then a third. Finally, Hammel's forth shot launched a shaft directly into the monster's brain, shattering the skull. The creature collapsed, looking almost as lifeless now as it had to begin with.
"Draugr!" Hammel muttered aloud, staring at the body he'd just dispatched. Morbidly, he looked at the four arrows sticking out of its body like a pincushion and did some math. The numbers weren't promising for his quiver.
"Did you say draugr?" Clob asked, sounding slightly out of breath. The Nord turned to see the orc and Ria, both looking a little worse for wear. The mage's beard was plastered to his face with sweat, and he seemed far paler than before. Considering how much blood he'd lost, Hammel was impressed with the Orsimer's hardiness, but expected little else from an Orc, even if he was a mage. Ria's war paint had run, but otherwise, she looked chipper as ever.
The mage reached into the front satchel on his robe, withdrawing his small notebook and quill. Sparing a quick glance past Hammel, he observed the fallen undead on the floor. "Extraordinary!" he breathed, scratching a few notes rapidly into his little book, "I hope you won't mind letting me study it a moment…"
"They might," Ria responded, pointing past the Nord at the wall-slits. Turning with a feeling of dread, the newest Companion heard the unmistakable sound of old bones creaking as five more draugr clambered out from their burial shelves. Rotting beards and ruined armor was the only proof that these monsters had once been proud Nord warriors. Unlike the draugr Hammel had previously dispatched, these undead warriors were armed. Each carried an axe or blade forged in ancient designs, the likes of which hadn't been used in thousands of years. Despite their ancient appearance, the weapons looked capable of easily cutting through a man's flesh.
The lead undead, a short man as wide as a door and with a knotted beard reaching down to his bony knees, pointed right at Hammel. He howled some gibberish in a tongue that the ex-legionnaire didn't understand, and then rushed him, ancient axe drawn. Clob was already throwing fireballs as the Nord fired off a quick shot with his bow, striking the bearded draugr in the forehead. The monster's head snapped back, but his advance didn't slow. Two of his fellow dead flanked him, each determined to get a piece of Companion. Throwing aside his bow, Hammel drew both blades, crossing them across his chest to form an X shape. "Come on then," he murmured, looking the dead in their unseeing eyes. The lead draugr's head snapped forward again, returning to its normal position, as if to meet the challenge. One of his backing minions was struck with an orb of flame. The orc seemed to have already made short work of his first opponent. Breaking away to battle the Orsimer and with Ria tied up battling the other independent bonewalker, that left the leader and his lackey for Hammel.
Striding forward purposefully, the lead draugr swung his axe at the Nord. It was a slow strike and one the warrior easily dodged and countered. While the dead man may have been moving slower because of his recent reanimation, he was still unnaturally tough. The Companion's sword pierced undead flesh, punching clean into its torso. The monster hardly seemed to notice, instead striking with its axe again. Ducking the blow, Hammel countered with a quick overhead slash, neatly decapitating the draugr. The ex-legionnaire kicked the falling body into the other onrushing dead, staggering the bonewalker's progress.
Leaping forward, swords in hand, the Nord easily dodged a crude downward strike, sliding by his opponent. As he went, the Nord hacked at its leg, removing the limb below the knee. The undead stumbled, caught off guard and off balance by the sudden removal. Rising while simultaneously striking upward, the warrior neatly bisected his opponent's head. The risen corpse collapsed, even its unholy life not strong enough to survive a wound of such magnitude. Shaking the gore off his blades, Hammel glanced back at his followers. "Everyone in one piece?"
Ria didn't answer, she simply gave a smug grin, boot planted firmly on the back of her fallen enemy. "I appear to be so," Clob answered, casting a wayward glance at the ash piles at his feet. Apparently, the mage had left little of his opponent, leaving reanimation impossible. It seemed he'd battled his fair share of undead before.
Interesting…
"Anyone else feel like facing us?" Ria bellowed confidently, arms held apart in a "bring it on," gesture, a mile-wide grin stretched across her face.
"I'm sure there will be plenty more draugr to challenge us, Ria,"the Orc responded casually, once again fishing into his haversack for his notebook. "Unless my information is incorrect, I understand that Nords bury in mass."
"You aren't wrong," Hammel responded, bending down to investigate the rapidly cooling remains of Arvel. The bandit had mentioned something about a claw being the key to great treasure. He highly doubted the now deceased would flee this way unless he had it on him. While the Nord wasn't sure if it would come in handy, he didn't want to leave this area without it in his possession, whatever it was.
Clob was murmuring to himself, scratching away in his notebook. Ria stood guard, blade clutched firmly in hand, looking nervous, despite her best efforts to the contrary. Ignoring both of them, the former scout instead focused on the task before him. The bandit's pockets proved uneventful, empty of anything that might possibly be a key. However, after flipping him over, the Nord discovered a small knapsack attached to the corpse's belt. The bag was sealed shut, closed with a small lock. Hammel's inability to find a key didn't delay him for long. Drawing the Kiss, the Nord slashed Arvel's satchel open.
Various contents spilled out. Half a sweet roll, several dice carved from animal bone, a few septims, and a roll of paper. However, two specific items drew Hammel's attention. One was a journal, clearly written by the bandit himself and worth reading through. The other was far more curious than a simple diary. A small replica of a dragon's foot, made entirely from solid gold came rolling out of the bag, landing curiously lopsided. Picking up the unusual object, the Nord turned it over, looking at it from all angles. While the top portion of the claw was made with meticulous attention to detail, down to toenail length, the bottom was instead composed of three different animal shapes. The beasts were crudely formed and, if he was right, a moth, bear and owl, three animals not uncommon in Skyrim. Pocketing the curiosity, the Nord tossed the journal at Clob.
"Here," he stated as the green-skin caught the book one-handed, "See what you can make of this. Once you're done, let's pack up. I want to get this stone and get out."
Clobnak gro-Grogork did not respond. Instead he began flipping through the book in total silence. After a moment, he spoke, "It is good that you recovered this journal. I'll explain why on the way." Stashing the diary within the confines of his haversack, the Orsimer stood to his feet, "We've wasted enough time in this foul tomb."
"The Nord's do craft compelling architecture," Clob observed casually, despite his earlier comment, gaze firmly latched on the chamber's walls. The trio had battled their way through several other swarms of draugr, encounters as tedious as they were simple. The bonewalkers were no match for the superior weapons, movements and teamwork of the adventurers.
Still, the undead had slowed their progress to a crawl. By all accounts, Bleak Falls Barrow was one of the smaller tombs in Skyrim, but that didn't mean Hammel wanted to spend more than a day in it. He had plans to rest for the night in Riverwood before traveling back to Whiterun. The journey down the mountain to the hamlet wasn't one he intended to make at night.
After what felt like an eternity of exploring but couldn't have been more than a few hours, the band finally reached the Hall of Stories. Clob's beacon of mage light illuminated the entire chamber clearly enough for the wall carvings to be read. Like all tombs of great warriors, the stories told were of someone's mighty deeds. They showed a warrior, Hammel assumed was Denbar, slaughtering many foes, both man and beast, plundering great hoards and claiming numerous women. Like everything else about the tomb, the Orsimer seemed fascinated with them.
"How intriguing," he murmured, running a green hand across the ancient carvings with an expression of reverence on his face. "These people never cease to amaze me…"
"As happy as I am for you," Ria responded a little tersely, the difficulty of the quest starting to grate on her nerves, "I want you to help us with this." The petite Imperial and the ex-scout had crossed through the Hall rather quickly, moving towards the final resting place of Denbar, the cruel. The only problem was the rather large stone door blocking the path. It was circular in design, yet large enough to easily block off the actual burial chamber itself. The obstruction was split into three portions, each stacked atop the other. On each portion of the door was one of three different animals carved into the stone; a moth, a whale and a bear. Finally, in the very center of the door, was a small disc of gold with three small pressure points carved into it. There was no obvious handle or other means of opening it.
"The door? Yes, I was anticipating this." The Orc closed his journal, replacing it with the one he took from Arvel. "According to the Dunmer's notes, the Claw, this golden contraption recovered from his person, is the key to unlocking the door. May I see it?"
Hammel withdrew the Golden Claw, handing it to the Orsimer as he approached the door. "I think I see where you're going with this…"
Clob nodded, "I was puzzled at first However, the answer became plain to me after I studied the item. On its underside," the mage flipped the Claw over, showcasing the carvings on the bottom, "the animals carved here, owl, bear and moth, are exactly the same as those carved onto the door. This cannot be a coincidence."
Striding up to the door, while the others look on, Clob began spinning the portions of the door. Interestingly, each individual portion moved smoothly on its own, the discs spinning smoothly. "These puzzle locks require the correct combination of symbols to be displayed before the key can be inserted."
"That's just swell," Ria pointed out, ramming her longsword back in its sheath dejectedly, "except we don't have the combination."
Hammel stroked his goatee a moment, pondering the question. "I think we do." Ria flashed him a look suggesting that she questioned his sanity. "The bottom of the claw has the symbols arranged bear, moth, and owl. If this claw is the key, like Arvel said, that would be the door's combination."
"I have deduced as much," the mage respond, locking the owl into place. "This theory should be tested." With precise hand movements, the Orc arranged the other two rings, matching the pattern perfectly with the claw's. "Now, if you would be so kind?"
Clob stepped aside, flashing a hand at the door like he was some kind of professional greeter at a fancy tavern and passing Hammel the claw.
Placing the golden object snugly into the door's center, the Nord was rewarded with each toe fitting, quite smoothly, into the various notches. Gripping the Claw by its handle, the warrior twisted it to the left.
There was a rumbling noise, vibrations running over the floor that each could feel through their boot soles. With a screech of stone on stone, the door descended, slowly into the floor, leaving the path clear.
"Ingenious, these ancient Nords," Clob stated with a tone of respect. "I feel that, perhaps, they could have challenged the Dwemer in creativity."
"Wow!" Ria breathed in awe, staring past the duo at the tomb beyond. It was certainly an impressive view. Beyond the door lay what appeared to be a small cave. An opening in the ceiling allowed light to stream down from above, bathing the whole cavern with a warm glow. A river ran down its center, splitting off at several points. A waterfall roared down the far end of the cave, almost deafening those in the enclosed space. Several pines grew to towering heights underneath the daunting ceiling. In the very center of the massive underground hollow was a raised platform, lovingly carved from the solid rock. It was easily the size of the entrance chamber at the beginning of the Barrow, with a massive curved wall rising behind it. At the very center of the platform sat a sarcophagus carved out of the rock it sat upon. Chests and other gifts surrounded it, given to the keeper of the stone by admirers and those who feared his wrath.
"I can't believe he was right," Hammel stated calmly, "That smug bastard was right!" He glanced over at Ria, "Don't tell him I said that."
The Imperial smiled, continuing to gaze around the miniature forest.
Clob stabbed his quarterstaff into the ground, making frantic gestures with both hands. A small glow emanated from between them, forming into a small strand of clear energy. The bolt zipped across the chamber, halting before the sarcophagus. "According to my clairvoyance spell, our prize is contained within the tomb."
Drawing his bow, the Nord began his journey across the cavern, crouched in an attempt to avoid any possible threat. He might not have seen any so far, but that didn't mean there wasn't any. He could hear Ria and Clob moving faintly behind him, keeping quiet as well.
Bully for them.
The cavern contained an unnatural chill, just hanging in the air, Hammel couldn't explain it, but it wasn't helping his nerves. Nothing had yet to approach him, but somehow that just made it worse. It was the waiting, the gods-awful waiting.
He was nearing the stone platform when he heard it, something in the back of his mind. Faint chanting. "Do you hear that?" he whispered to his companions, head cocked back slightly over his shoulder.
"Hear what?" Ria responded tersely, painted face looking nervous. "I don't hear anything."
"It's right there," he responded, straining his ears to hear the sound clearer. It was voices chanting, in a language he couldn't understand yet sounded oddly familiar, like he should remember it but couldn't. As if he had all the pieces to the puzzle but couldn't put them together. Shaking his head didn't clear the noise, and the closer he got to the platform the louder it became.
Clearing the rest of the cavern without another word, despite the chanting in his head, the Nord hoisted himself up onto the platform. The sarcophagus sat, surrounded by its wealth. Despite its plain nature, it radiated pride. Much like its occupant, the tomb had withstood the test of time.
However, Hammel didn't notice the piles of coin, or gems or even the sarcophagus itself. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the curved wall behind it. Now that he was closer to it the chanting became louder, more prominent. It was impossible to ignore, the sound, drumming away at his mind. He couldn't quite explain it, but it seemed to be originating from the wall.
Carved into the wall were numerous strange hieroglyphs. Like the voices in his head, there was something eerily familiar about them. Even as he glanced at the unknown language, the letters started glowing, blue light illuminating the ancient carvings. Almost without thinking, he slowly began walking towards the wall.
"What in Oblivion are you doing?" Ria hissed, trying to keep the disdain out of her voice.
Hammel didn't hear her, he was enthralled with the letters, with the shapes. Something about them demanded closer inspection, more attention. Like a puppet on strings, the Nord moved forward, taking it all in. Standing nose to stone, he stared at them, giving the letters his full attention. One of them, a simple collection of curves and lines stuck out to him, worming its way into his mind, it felt powerful to him, in a way he couldn't explain.
"Fus," he murmured under his breath, letting the word roll off his tongue. Oddly enough, nothing extraordinary happened, he wasn't sure why, but the former legionnaire had expected something would.
"If you're done staring at walls," Ria responded exasperatedly, her nervous energy finally working its way to the top, "we need to get this stone and get the…"
Her words were rudely interrupted by the coffin exploding.
Exploding wasn't really the correct term; instead the lid flew off with the force of a giant's swing, smashing to bits against the celling. Rising from that sarcophagus, blade in hand, was Denbar the Cruel.
The undead hero looked much like the draugr the band had been dispatching for the past hour or so, albeit in much better condition. Most of his skin remained intact, though it had greatly paled, with skeleton and sinew clearly visible at several points. His famous dark plate-mail remained intact if both rusted and falling to pieces. The graying remains of a once proud beard clung stubbornly to his chin. Quickfrost, his famous longsword, waited patiently in its master's hand to spill blood across the stones.
The undead hero gave one look at Clob before shouting something unintelligible. Most noticeable was the massive shock wave that ripped away from the monster's mouth, launching Clob head over heels and across the room. It seemed their new foe could use the voice.
"Spread out!" Hammel shouted, going for his bow, "Hit him from behind!" Ria responded instantly, dashing around the chamber. The mage on the other hand, was a bit slower in his reaction, considering the impact his body made with the walkway.
The lurching corpse of Denbar didn't seem impressed with his trio of opponents. Even after Hammel placed several arrows in his chest with lightning speed, the draugr seemed more annoyed than anything.
Ria flanked around, lashing out at the undead warrior with her blade. Skyforged steel bit deep into unfeeling flesh, severing a hamstring long forgotten. Denbar wasn't pleased with this development and slammed his fist backward into her face. The young Imperial's head snapped back with the force of the blow, blood gushing from her nose, leaving red streaks down her pretty face. The Companion snarled through the pain, brutally shield-bashing Denbar in the face. The draugr was forced backwards onto his wounded leg, and into another volley of arrows. The steel-tipped points punched cleanly into the long dead hero's back. Throwing the bow aside with a growl, Hammel drew both blades, charging forward with mad abandon.
Clob had staggered to his feet, eyes smoldering with orcish bloodlust. Roaring with rage, the mage sent three small orbs of fire towards the long dead hero. Each impacted with a small burst, sizzling long dead skin. Denbar turned his gaze away from Ria towards his new opponent. Raising a hand, the undead Nord unleashed a cone of extreme frost from the palm of his hand. The chilling effect took place almost instantly. The Orc's green skin quickly dulled with snow almost instantaneously forming on his long beard. Despite the pain, the mage held on, tusks quivering and eyebrows freezing, responding with a cone of flame.
Despite being assaulted on all sides with fire and steel, the dragur refused to surrender quietly. With another shout in his ancient tongue, Denbar sent Ria across the room, smashing her into the word wall Hammel had been so fascinated with. Pivoting on his injured leg, Denbar swung Quickfrost at the Nord's neck, forcing him to duck. Despite the thickness of his iron helm, the ex-scout felt the blade's magical chill dancing across his scalp and down his neck.
Launching a rapid series of blows, the former legionnaire tried desperately to bring the large draugr down. Each strike cut deep, each seemingly ignored by his foe. Clob's stream of fire seemed to be wearing him down and his concentration on Hammel prevented him from sending more frost at Clob.
Ria returned to the fight, shield first, hacking away at the dragur's lower back. The might of the three determined warriors proved too much for the legendary tyrant. He didn't so much collapse as he fell apart. The combination of blows and strikes took their toll. Denbar fell into several pieces before them.
In the moments that followed only heavy breathing was heard, as each adventurer came to grips with their survival and victory. Hammel recovered first. "Clob, burn this body to ash, I don't want Denbar rising again," he ordered, sheathing both blades with a flourish. "Ria, give me a hand searching this tomb. I want that Dragonstone found, and quickly." He glanced around the chamber cautiously, "I don't want any more surprises.
"Quite right," Clob agreed, rubbing his hand together in an attempt to force some feeling back into them. "I've had my fill of tombs this day."
Despite himself, Hammel found himself agreeing with the Orc.
AN: Thank you all for your continued support despite this delay. It is greatly appreciated!