Dear Diary,
For some reason - I don't even want to know - the tomb was full of people when we got there. Mostly alive, but we took care of that.
As we stepped inside, we heard the noise of a fight: a group of shady mages were battling some bandits. The logical thing would be to wait it out and finish the stragglers, but, well, Dragonborn. Says it all, really. And for once I was inclined to agree. No good can come out of a bunch of people who decide that a resting place is a good place for a fight, especially if one side's necromancers and the other robbers. Before we charged in, the Dragonborn shared with me a new type of drought he had made, something to boost resistance to magic. Growing up as a Nord, ice magic was nothing more than an early taste of winter for me, but extra defence never hurt anyone, and those fire spells looked like they hurt. The droughts don't taste of much, but they seem to imbue your skin with a tingling warmth, and I emerged from the battle a good deal less grilled than I normally am. I've heard of ointment to cure burns after they happen, so I suppose it makes sense for there to be a potion that stops burns. Huh.
In addition to a bunch of bloodied robes, my backpack is now full of magic books and staves. He'll most probably sell the lot to Farengar, though I've noticed him keeping a couple of the stronger ones in his own inventory. Summon-something or other. It's etched down the sides in big letters, which is very helpful. Apparently, the staffs don't need any sort of knowledge or magical aptitude to use. You just point and something happens, I guess, like swords that you don't even have to swing.
I'm surprised at the ease at which we navigated the ruins. Jurgen had plenty of space to himself; the tomb went on for a considerable depth and distance. Even so, the Dragonborn walked on with cool confidence. There were Draugr about, but they proved no match for us, breaking into heaps with a single blow. Rather, it was as if he had been expecting them, with that unassuming way of his as he walked up to the sleeping skeletons in the wals, making sure they stayed down. Might he have been a grave robber in the past life? Maybe, maybe not. I'm not willing to entertain the thought just yet.
"Let's just say I have a guide," he told me, as if he had read my mind.
It's probably some hidden map or magic of the Voice. It has to be. He's obviously never been here before, having only just heard of it from the Greybeards. It's the only explanation why he could have known about the room above our heads as we walked in. He did some jumping and climbed up a few broken pillars, Hurr'd (the fast moving Shout) his way across on to a ledge, and when he came back, he was several hundred septims richer, with a sparkling rock that I recalled to be a soul gem.
Anyhow, we went on. There was a gate unlocked only by pressure plates, which I couldn't activate no matter how hard I stomped, and then a room with flame traps and pressure plates and spiders. Honestly, Jurgen, if you wanted company, make friends with your own kind in the Netherworld. Don't drag us down just because you're looking for a chat.
All right, so I'm not the nimblest maiden around, and those scorch marks on the Dragonborn's back may have been my fault, but I stand by the defence that it's Jurgen's fault for installing the traps, not mine. Got it?
Anyhow, after the harrowing journey, we reach the pedestal only to find a note, saying that someone's stolen the horn before we could.
What.
Yeah, so the Dragonborn took it much more calmer than I did. Because I was boiling mad. Who wouldn't be? I risked my neck (and the Dragonborn's) with those freaking fire traps for nothing! Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if the mages were put there by the same person who took the horn, just to mess with us!
"This is getting us nowhere," muttered the Dragonborn in a completely neutral voice, which is the closest to him being angry that I've ever seen him - not at all. "Okay, hold on, we're getting out of here. Close your eyes and count to fifty."
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, as any sane person would.
"Go on, do it. And stay here," commanded the Dragonborn, trotting out.
It's funny, now that I come to think of it. In those fifty seconds of darkness, I never once thought that the Dragonborn would leave me behind. Then again, I was pretty distracted by the smell of musty tomb and my rage. At the end of the fifty counts, when I opened my eyes, my head swirled, like that one time when I ran around in circles fifty times for a dare as a child. I realized that I was kneeling in grass, and my face was warm from the sun shining down on me. Some ways away was the trickle of a river, and a cool breeze was kicking dust down my neck.
Somehow, the Dragonborn had got me out of Uestengrav and at the foot of Riverwood.
Trust me, I don't really sound like it here, but I was stunned beyond measure. In fact, I still sortta am. Accepting that it even happened at all is an uphill battle with my logic, but I think I'm winning. Go me.
"The note said that person holding the horn is in here," said the Dragonborn. "If you're ready, we can go."
"Wait. How did you..."
Without answering, he lumbered off, but not before visiting the general goods store and cutting down on the mountain of loot I was carrying.
I told him I wasn't feeling too good, so he went and got a room for me at the inn. He said that the person, Delphine, also planned to meet him there so it's all good. Mmm, yes, when I've gotten over the implausibility of what just happened, I'm going to go over and give her what she's got coming for wasting my time.