AN: Potema is gathering strength underneath the streets of Solitude, after Ayera and her Companions had disrupted the ritual in the Haafingar mountains meant to summon her. Now they delve into the catacombs below to seek out Potema to destroy her once and for all.
All the while, Orngeir awaits in his cell for the day he'd be let out to be executed. Yet, with Potema gathering her power and strength to close by, he is offered a chance at redemption he cannot reject.

The smell down in the chamber was overwhelming. Rancid stale air and wet moss was overshadowed by the biting stench of decaying flesh. Bile pressed against the back of Ayera's mouth. Pressing a hand in front of her mouth, squeezing the bridge of her nose, she tried to prevent herself from gagging. Even with her magelight illuminating the room, there were deep, black shadows just beyond its light's reach. They'd need more light….

Three dull thumps landed behind her. Erador, Sven and Fevuril having followed them down here as well.

"It's too dark here," Fevuril muttered.

"Should have brought torches," Sven sighed, drawing his greatsword from its scabbard. "But we will make do."

"Undead hate fire," Ayera said without thinking. "If you can find any unlit torches, we will need them."

"Should have thought about it earlier," Bjorn grunted, kicking a corpse to roll out of his way.

"To be fair," Fevuril interjected. "Neither of us has thought of anything."

Bjorn sighed, stemming two of his hands against his hips. "I guess this is normal for us? Charging straight into danger without a semblance of a plan?"

"Normal," Erador chuckled uneasily, pushing his way over to Ayera.

Magic light glowed in his hands, flickering unsteadily in his hand. With her hand still in front of her mouth, she saw the light touch bare bones to her feet.

"Archway? Door?" Bjorn asked, rummaging through his satchel. "I got flint stones just in case."

"Something…" Sven breathed out. "Well… if you see torches…"

"I think I found a way forward," Erador pointed to her left, his light shot up.

A broken section of the wall, collapsed stones littering around the ground. Shivers raced up her back, the light of the magic not breaching what lay beyond. This did not look old… recent. Just like the remains here. Who or what had made this hole? She doubted Potema had enough time to become corporeal…. No… Raised undead more likely or…

"Someone or something has been busy," Fevuril commented stalking over to the hole.

"Most likely undead," Ayera replied. "You've seen Potema raising the dead in the fort."

"No…" Fevuril shook his head. "This…

Erador kneeled in front of the heap of stones, turning one broken piece of stone in his hands. With a deep breath, Ayera summoned another light. Willing it to hover over her head, she gingerly stepped over a heap of fur.

"There are traces of a rune here," Erador suddenly said, tracing a finger in a swirl over the stone. "Fev, look for other remnants. We might see what it was used for."

Fevuril frowned and kneeled down next to Erador, using his staff for balance. "Hm, this could have been an elemental rune."

"What could have brought down a double reinforced wall?" Erador pointed behind him. "There are two walls forming one."

"Fire?" Fevuril mused. "Or storm, both can be used for explosions."

"So can frost," Erador added cautiously. "But I can't see any marks what element had been used."

"And what use would that be for us?" Sven asked, stomping over to the two kneeling around the stones. "As far as I am aware, we all know there are undead roaming around here…"

Ayera sighed and approached the farthest right corner. Where water and a trail of moss went from the ceiling to a crack in the floor. Water… there must be a crack somewhere to let it trickle down here. The closer she drew, a small dark shape melted out of the shadows that fled from her mage light. Looked like dark cloth, she tilted her head as she bent down to inspect it more closely. Neither tattered nor obvious signs of wear by the looks of it. Thickly woven, wool dyed in black in a heap. Out of place, her gut churned the longer she stared at it.

"Ayera?" Sven asked quietly, slowly inching his way over to her. "What did you find?"

"A cloak?" She whispered. "My gut tells me it is not from the bodies."

Sven winced. "It is too far away from the bodies."

"Yes," Ayera murmured in agreement, drawing her dagger from its sheath. "Don't touch it."

"Not dreaming of it," Sven huffed, but still took a step back. "Looks like there is something wrapped in it?"

Hair standing on end, she poked the fabric. The tip of her dagger hit a hard object wrapped up within. Shudders like crawling insects raced up her arms, as she stilled in her movement. Staring at the cloak in front of her, frozen in place, her mind started to race what could be hiding in there.

"You were right," she whispered horrified, dagger shaking in her hand that hovered right over it.

"Nothing good," Sven swallowed. "Let me."

Slowly she pulled her dagger back, clutching it tightly against her chest. Sven carefully pushed his sword underneath a fold and lifted the first layer. The cloak fell away easily like sand running through the cracks of fingers.

Folds slid away revealing a small object:
A small horn.

One she had seen a lot in the Jarls' courts: a war horn from which a Jarl would drink from at feasts, ceremonies or sometimes on important court days. Balgruuf had one similar to this. Whiter, made of ivory from a Mammoth's tusk with runes carved into its steel. However, the one gleaming in her magelight was made of a shimmering stone. Smokey grey stone, smooth with star like glinting along its surface while amethyst coloured veins flowing through it. Gemstones were inlaid in the tip of the horn, throwing back the blue light hovering above it.

She swallowed heavily.

"A war horn," she said. "This one is fit…"

"For a Jarl," Sven finished for her. "Or… even for a High King…." He trailed off, face blanching in horror at the realization just as he said it.

The two of them exchanged a look. As richly made as this was… it would make sense. Could only be it! She had never seen Elisif carry a war horn with her. Not when she had first met her, nor after. Never had been there, no one had asked where it was during the feasts. But… how could a horn like that disappear? Wouldn't it have been buried with the High King? No, this could not be the truth.

"How would Torygg's horn get down here?" She asked, shaking her head. "I…

"What did you guys find?" Bjorn's voice interrupted them and they flinched.

"Don't startle us like that," Sven hissed.

"Calm down," Bjorn shot back. "Why are you all up in twists over a war ho…" he stopped as he finally saw the horn properly. "Shor's bones… This is Torygg's horn!"

"War horn?" Erador asked quietly behind them.

She turned to look back to see Fevuril leaning over to whisper into his ear.

"How do you know this is Torygg's?" She asked Bjorn, whose eyes were blown wide in terror.

"My father once took me to the Burning of King Olaf when Torygg was still alive. I remember seeing this horn in his hands!"

"Stendarr's…," Sven groaned. "Whatever it is doing down here… it cannot be good."

"A good question," Fevuril chimed in. "What is it doing down here?"

"Could have been stolen?" Erador suggested, his hand settling comfortingly on Ayera's shoulder.

She leaned into the touch as he knelt down next to her. A deep frown was on his face while he studied the war horn.

"From his tomb?" Ayera asked. "We'd have heard about it by now if his tomb had been robbed."

"Or…" Erador mused. "They are keeping it quiet. Not to panic the population?"

"Honestly?" Fevuril said, carefully poking the cloth with his staff. "From what I have seen from the Jarl, she would have used this to denounce Ulfric as a grave robber."

"Maybe it happened not too long ago," Ayera said, turning to look to the others. "After the Stormcloaks took Whiterun. If word got out that potentially a Stormcloak had gotten as far as Solitude to steal the war horn, I cannot imagine the riots."

"Riots?"

"The guard who let Ulfric escape was met with open scorn when he was led to his execution," Ayera answered. "Now with Ulfric so close?"

"A closed city, anger and tensions running high," Bjorn huffed. "Since we have Stormcloaks here, they will use it to…."

"Overthrow Elisif and make the capital fall before Markarth potentially," Erador finished grimly for him.

"Maybe that is what the spy is planning?" Ayera said, standing up, not wanting to be anywhere near the horn. "What better than undead roaming the streets?"

"If that were the goal," Bjorn sighed. "We do not know anything."

Ayera let out a breath. "Doesn't feel right to leave the horn here."

"And who would carry it?" Bjorn asked, eyebrow raised at her.

"I will," she offered tentatively. "It being down here is no coincidence."

Bjorn's shoulders dropped. "Let's hope it is not."

"I think Ayera is right," Erador chimed in, bending down to pick up the horn. "We should carry it with us just in case."

Ayera sent him a smile which he returned. Lifting her cloak, she took the horn and started to tie it to her belt.

"So…" Fevuril started, his staff glowing at its tip. "We march through that?"

"That hole?" Bjorn asked. "Of course. Do you see where else we could go?"

Fevuril shuddered. "Right…."

"Be ready to fight," Erador whispered while drawing his sword.

No one answered, only their footsteps echoed all around them as they approached the hole cautiously. The horn hung heavily at her side, her dagger in her hand while her magic pooled in her gut. Listening, waiting for any sign of danger. Slowly they walked towards the wall. The three mage lights hovering gently over the crack. Blue light illuminating the stones, yet the darkness beyond bore down on it.

Just like a dungeon. Always dark… she took a deep breath. With a flick of her wrist, she sent her light floating inside. The other two followed, just as they reached the hole.

In front of them stretched out a corridor. Unlit torches were in the scones that lined the walls. Damp, wet air hit her nose as soon as she stepped through the hole. Water splashed in the distance… moss grew down one torch scone, while spider webs coated the rest. Her hair stood on end the further she walked in. Nothing moved, no sign of life except for the spider webs. Their lights hovered below the ceiling, circling forward to the end of the corridor.

"Do you think you can use one of the torches here?" Erador asked quietly.

"If they are not too wet," Bjorn replied just as quietly.

Ayera looked behind her, seeing Bjorn approach one of the lesser webbed up scones. That was when Erador caught up with her, grabbing her free hand. She squeezed back.

"It is far too calm here," she mumbled.

Erador sighed, keeping his eyes over her head to the front. "It is…."

Bjorn wiggled at the torch, the rust eaten iron flaking off at his efforts until the torch snapped out of its hold.

"Does not seem too wet," Bjorn assessed holding the top of the torch more into their light. "Sven, can you hold it while I light it up?"

"Sure," Sven agreed, shifting his sword to one hand.

A few hits on a flint stone later, the torch had a tiny yellow flame flickering on its tip.

"Could be more," Bjorn shrugged. "But this will make do."

Sven handed it back, his sword back in his two hands. "Now… we should mark this corridor? To get back potentially?"

"Not sure how," Ayera admitted, looking around. "Do you have chalk at hand?"

"No," Sven grimaced. "We will have to make do."

She turned around, looking towards the end of the corridor. "I wonder why torches have been mounted here."

"Maybe this is not a tomb?" Fevuril mused. "The old city records talked about a fortress that had been carved into the cliff side."

"What else did these records say?" Bjorn asked.

"From the time…" Fevuril sucked in a breath. "From before Potema, but after she was struck down, the access to it had been sealed away as Potema has used it to hide away while her army of undead fought on the surface."

"Hence why the chapel of Arkay was built on top of it," Ayera realized. "For all the divine seals keeping Potema contained."

"She died in here?" Sven asked.

"Can't say," Fevuril shrugged. "History texts were sparse about her death, but this… this should be the fortress that became her tomb."

"A whole fortress…," Bjorn squeaked. "I… this might take a while!"

"Not if we hurry," Sven grunted. "Not keen on staying here for longer than we need to."

"You and me both," Erador remarked, flexing his right hand. "Did you see a rough outline of the fortress in your reading, Fev?"

"No," Fevuril shook his head. "The blueprints were destroyed after it was sealed away as far as I know."

"Damn," Bjorn muttered, inspecting the growing flame on his torch. "Not that we have other options right now anyways."

"Do you still have the chalk?" Fevuril turned to Sven then. "You know, how we got through High Gate?"

Sven frowned deeply, one hand shooting into a pocket. "I cannot guarantee that it had survived since then."

"Chalk?" Erador asked. "To mark where we had been already?"

"And potential ways out," Ayera added. "Good idea."

"We once went into a barrow," Fevuril said then. "Old, from the time of the dragon cult. A woman contracted us to help her retrieve a scroll from there."

"Where?" Ayera asked, frowning slightly.

"In the Pale," Sven replied. "Near Dawnstar, on the shoreline towards Winterhold."

"High Gate?" Ayera asked, eyebrows shooting up. "I have heard of it, but never gone near."

"Yes that was the one!" Fevuril moved his wrist, sending his light floating over to the archway in front of them. "The lady wished to retrieve a proof of her Nordic lineage. Competent mage, not a College student though as far as I was aware."

"Was she a Nord?"

"Definitely was," Bjorn shrugged. "Even said she was from a settlement in Eastmarch."

"Surprised that a Nord with such a lineage would be a competent mage," Ayera replied with a shrug.

They had reached the archway at the end of the corridor then. Their mage lights twirled through the archway into the small room beyond. It was a staircase leading down to the right, its steps disappearing into inky darkness. Freezing cold sank over her arms, settling down into her gut. She faltered in her steps.

The whole corridor, the steps leading down… it felt like it was breathing. Someone was watching them, invisible, eyes gluing to her skin everywhere. Another shudder and she drew her arms around her stomach underneath her cloak. Air had become freezing, burning in her lungs. Ice-cold, her eyes started to burn too.

"Shor's bones," Bjorn's breathy curse broke through, his teeth audibly chattering against each other. "How is it this cold?"

Ayera looked to Erador who had drawn his fur collar tighter around his neck, his green eyes roaming restlessly all over the walls. Searching for where the bone chilling cold was coming from. His pupils were blown so wide, his jaw clenched so tightly she swore she could see a vein popping up on his temple. Flight response…. Shivering, she looked back to the stairs leading into the blackness.

"Bloodkin, I knew you would return."

Purple light veins flashed up on the walls. Ayera jumped back, slamming into Erador's chest, his arms slinging around her, steadying her. Stones were glistening with the purple pulsating, drawing down the steps that now glowed in the light. More veins appeared, further and further away from them and down the steps.

"Who….?" Sven whispered, horrified, metal shrieking as he drew out his greatsword.

"Potema," Ayera whispered back. "She… she can speak openly now."

"She has become as strong during the ritual," Fevuril muttered thinly. "This is bad… she must have been fed sacrifices…"

"We need to go back," Bjorn suddenly determined. "We are way in above our heads… we need to alert the guards! The army!"

"No, you are alone."

Ayera whirled around, just in time to see a purple-blue sheen snapping into existence in the arch that had lead them to this staircase. Trapped…

"What?"

"A barrier," Fevuril gasped, hand pale where it clutched his staff. "Powerful warding magic… I do not have the tools or the ingredients to dispel it."

Sven groaned, took a deep breath and then said in a determined tone: "Seems like she wants only us to deal with her. Ayera," he looked directly into her eyes. "Is she meaning you when she says 'Bloodkin'?"

Ayera threw a quick look with Erador. For support and he tightened his hold on her in response.

"She is," she answered. "Back when we fought the necromancers in the fort, she talked to me in my head."

Bjorn's mouth fell open, just as Fevuril flinched violently. "What?"

"I…," she had to take a deep breath. "She was born of the Dragonborn Emperor lines, she has the blood of a Dragon. Just like me."

"I see," Sven grunted. "Maybe…" he frowned and looked to Fevuril. "Would having a blood connection help?"

Fevuril pinched his mouth, seemingly in deep thought. "Maybe when we confront her? A blood connection could open up a vulnerability for Potema we would never have otherwise."

"I do not like this at all" Erador whispered into her ear, then, too quietly for the others to hear him.

"Me neither," she turned her head, her mouth hovering close to his. "But we have no real choice now."

A brief kiss was pressed to her temple. Then he released her and she turned around to face him. His eyes were downcast, deep in thought, to where his hands laced through hers.

"Do you hear her?" he grimaced. "You know…"

She shot him a small smile, squeezing his hands back. "No, I do not hear her."

"I doubt she will," Bjorn said. "After all, she can talk to us all directly now."

"Let's not start speculating," Sven hissed. "Whatever happens, Ayera tell us when she speaks to only you."

"Of course," she replied, looking back to the stairs. "Let's just get moving."

Fevuril shivered, but nodded jerkily with a last glance to the shimmering ward that mocked them. Slowly, apprehensively, they approached the first few steps. Their footsteps echoed around the stone walls. Purple light threw a dim light forward, their magelights barely managing to penetrate the gooey darkness a few feet in front of them. Bjorn's torch flickered before extinguishing entirely. His heavy swallow was far too audible, his fear palpable even when he made no sound. Her dagger out, grip tight on its handle, she steadily moved down the steps. Faint purple glows led further and further down… down into the increasing cold that stood still in the stuffy air.

For a felt eternity, they descended those stairs, further and further down. How far down did these go? How deep were they already in the Cliffside of Solitude? The further they went down the seemingly infinite steps, the louder her heartbeat became. Her skin had grown numb, her lips frozen shut…. Water dripping down filled the silence then, yellow light flickering over the purple sheen on the ceiling and walls. Their blue orbs' glows spread… more steps illuminated and… another corridor opened up in front of them.

"How far down are we?" Bjorn whispered, small and faint, the extinguished torch still clutched tightly in his hand.

"I'd rather not know," Sven muttered back, his throat bopping up and down. "She just…"

"Extinguished my torch like that…," Bjorn breathed out. "Fev… what does that mean?"

"Erador? Isn't this what you were able to do?" Fevuril asked, eyes wide open in deep seated terror.

"Yes," Erador replied, re-adjusting his grip on his sword. "Let's…."

A gnarl was ground out suddenly from the darkness. Laughter rang out. Blue flames like eyes shone up, more gnarling, the grounding of bone against bone, metal ringing out… Torches flared to life all around. Undead surrounded them, each clutching a weapon their hands.

Too many… Ayera took a step back, heart sinking as her eyes roamed over the – not a corridor but a large chamber – space that was filled with coffins. Some lids had been busted, others even completely missing. What was this…?

"You ants could never comprehend the power I hold!"

"Shor's…!" Sven's curse could never be finished, the undead shrieked, raising their weapons and rushed over to them.

Her dagger whipped up, slashing across a decayed face, ripping chunks of green-moldy flesh off. The undead, small, frail, ripped clothing hanging from its limbs fell to the side away from her. But then, Ayera was shoved to the side, a yell got stuck in her throat.

Erador had lurched forward, his shield smashing into the on-storming undead. Teeth clanged against the metal, sliding down.

"We need to run!" Sven yelled, yanking her back towards him. "They will overwhelm us here!"

Feverishly, she looked over the chamber as Sven charged forward, cleaving a hulking skeleton cleanly in half. More undead were crawling towards them from cracks and shadows of the spacious chamber they were in. It'd be a waste of arrows, she searched the ceiling… pots of oil. Somewhere…. Nothing. Damn!

"Where to?" Bjorn screamed, kicking an undead off of him. "I don't…"

"To the right!" Ayera yelled. "Fev! We need to…" She parried a bony hand swipe with her dagger, hacking the hand off its socket. "Runes!"

"Runes?!" He screamed back. "We'd blow ourselves up too!"

"Not now! Once we get into the corridor!" She pressed a flame into an undead's head, its otherworldly shriek ringing in her head before it burst into a pile of ash.

"Oh!" Fevuril slammed his staff into a skeleton, sending its bone scattering. "Uhh…. When?!"

"Now!" Erador bashed several with his shield, bones shattered under the force of his blow and slashed his sword sidewards. "Move!"

He stabbed a writhing corpse, flames licking the blade before it consumed the entire body. With a swift kick, he sent it falling back into a whole gaggle of them who as soon as it came into contact with it, burst into flames as well.

Sven grabbed her by the arm, yanking her forward. Past the burning pile of bodies with writhing, jerking limbs. Once past, he let go, slashing and heaving at the corpses marching towards them there.

"Ayera!" Fevuril yelled. "Set the ground on fire! We need a circle to cover our retreat!"

Fire already leaping from her hands, she thrust it on the ground. Willing it to stick to the stone and leap high. The onstorming undead did not stop, but as soon as, she kept feeding the flames until the wall of flames were high and near impenetrable, they touched the flame, they were immediately enveloped, burning to mere ash.

"Good!" Bjorn yelled over the flames' roars. "Hurry! We have reached it!"

Fevuril ran first, she shook her hand off the flames bursting from her palm and raced after him. An archway, with runes of dragons carved into it, loomed over the broad corridor she had discovered.

"That fire should hold them off for now," Fevuril panted, as they raced down the corridor, its torches flaring to life as soon as they drew nearer. "But not forever."

"If she doesn't run out of bodies…," Erador growled. "Just keep running."

There was death hanging in the stench underlying the stale air of the Solitude dungeons. Orngeir pushed his now too large robe's collar over his mouth and nose to ward off the pungent smell. Frowning, he stared at the flickering torch beyond his cell door. The hair on his neck stood on end, little electric shocks prickling along his shoulder blades. He buried himself further into the hay pile, trying to fend off the sudden frost hanging in the air. Something has changed. Whatever it was, it was of the magical nature.

Shuddering, he pulled out his hand, summoning the last dredges of his magicka to flow to the fingertips. Last time he had sensed this… this sudden shift in the air, the frost, the smell… had been when the Ritualmaster had initiated the summoning of Potema. All of that felt like a life-time ago now. Back when things had been less complicated and less… dark. Semeira had been still alive, teetering on the edge of running away with him. They could have made it… would have been gone long before the Dragonborn had killed her.

The small blue orb manifested in his hand, as easy as exhaling. Pulsing, with dark veins snaking through it like ink dissolving in water. He snapped his hand into a fist, squashing the sphere. For the summoning ritual, his blood had been collected to bind Potema as he had never before dabbled into necromantic magic by then. Apparently that had been enough to fulfill the "blood of innocents" stipulation of the binding process. Now he was bound to Potema as she was bound to him in some way.

Styrr had assured him that this meant that the cleansing ritual they were doing would be not as painful as it could have been. For once in his wretched, unlucky, life, Orngeir had laughed at the tiny shrapnel of luck granted to him. On his deathbed of his punishment, he'd be granted this shred of mercy.

Somewhere, somewhere close, she was gathering strength and had gained enough to manifest her consciousness. His gut wrenched and he coughed into the too large sleeve of his robe. Not good, that meant that she had enough power to weave her magic and sentience into the fabric of Nirn.

He had to… Well he had to do something! Just what? Who would believe a prisoner who was convicted on the charges of necromancy?! Frantically, he sat up in his hay pile, eyes roaming the corridor to find where the guard had sat down. The captain, Aldis, might listen to him! After all, he had seen what had happened in the cave!

Gingerly, he wobbled over to the cell bars, his legs no longer possessing the strength they used to have.

"What are you doing?" The guard's snide voice cut through before he could even wrap his hands around the bars.

"I…," his voice was raspy from the days he had not been using it and he cleared his throat before continuing. "Beg to speak to Captain Aldis."

The guard huffed. "And why should I comply?"

"It is urgent," he winced, remembering that he had been sworn to secrecy on this.

"What could be so urgent?" The guard mocked him, however he stood up. "Be glad we are not barbarians like you."

Orngeir pinched his lips. Barbarians… who was speaking? He inclined his head and retreated back into his cell. Any comments, snide or off-handed, would only get him no food for that day. Water yes, whereas the food would be just a hard bite of bread. Not that he had had worse. Living on the road before being found had been… berries, water… roots he could rip from the ground.

The door leading to the main dungeons clanged shut and he winced. As far as he knew, he was the only prisoner down here. Dangerous, immediate danger to the population… he would laugh, if his throat was not too dry, or if the cleansing ritual was not robbing him of any energy.

For a long time, nothing happened. Only the steady dripping of water somewhere in the distance. Then, the door slammed open again, two set of boots stomped closer. The guard followed by Aldis moved into the torch's light.

"Spit it out," Aldis' gruff command made him straighten out.

He jerked his head to the guard. Aldis' eyes narrowed, he glowered at him before barking at the guard to go up and to make sure no one would walk in on them.

"Potema?" He asked as soon as the door closed.

"Yes, I sense her."

"You will have to be more specific," Aldis remarked, crossing his arms. "What do you sense?"

"I sense her gathering strength, enough to leave marks on my magic…"

"What?"

"I… my blood was used to bind her," he explained, waving it off. "She is tied to me as I am to her."

"So…," Aldis frowned deeply. "You are telling me, Potema is out there, gathering strength…."

"Close too," Orngeir spat out. "Somewhere, I cannot sense where… but it must be in the city."

"By the…" Aldis stopped himself. "I will…"

"Captain!" The guard's voice came suddenly. "The priest…"

The priest… he must have found out somehow… or sensed it. Or his prayers told him. At least he was here, this might….

"Let him in," Aldis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Providing there are no further distractions!"

"Am I disturbing?" Styrr's voice floated down, the tocks of his cane on each step accompanying his footsteps.

"No, your holiness," Aldis sighed, shifting as to help the elderly man to sit down on the rickety small stool.

"I take it, you sensed her?" Styrr asked, far too calmly for what was going on.

"You did too?"

"My wards have shown some signs of breaks," Styrr lowered his voice. "She is gaining strength."

"And according to Orngeir here, very close too," Aldis pressed through gritted teeth.

"Indeed," Styrr confirmed. "Her catacombs lie underneath my chapel. If anything, she is gathering her strength there."

"So you are telling me that…" Aldis cut in between. "That you two knew about this and said nothing?"

"My wards are impenetrable," Styrr huffed. "This was sabotage."

"Sabotage?" Aldis groaned and gripped his head. "Who…."

"Doesn't have to be intent on letting her in," Styrr said darkly. "Yet the damage is done. I've come as soon as I saw that her catacombs had been breached."

"So, if they are breached…," Orngeir mused out loud. "She has access to the outside."

"I will get the Dragonborn…" Aldis began, but Styrr shook his head.

"The Dragonborn has decided to go ahead with her allies," Styrr said. "I have noticed them jumping in and ran to examine the divine wards… and then ran straight to you."

"Not good," Orngeir grimaced. "They'd be walking right into her trap."

"I will follow them," Aldis decided. "Will mobilise what men the legion can…."

"No man can harm her," Styrr spoke. "Only someone with a blood connection can. Ayera is of dragonblood, as is Potema. Your blood has been used to bind her. If we can channel this connection through a holy artifact, we would be able to banish her back to the realm of the dead."

"My essence…," Orngeir mused out loud. "I would have to die."

"Wait…," Aldis interjected. "I cannot just…."

"We might not have any other choice," Styrr pointed out. "Only through a sacrifice can we have enough power to fuel the connection to Potema enough to weaken her."

"And how would you even go about it?" Aldis asked, incredulous. "I cannot just let a prisoner die!"

"The cleansing rituals are known to be fatal on occasion," Styrr said tonelessly, already digging through his too overly large pockets of his priest robe. "You can say that this is the result of the ritual being too powerful for his condemned soul."

Orngeir bit the inside of his cheek. Condemned soul…. Yet… it would spare him the humiliation of public execution. Maybe, it would give him another chance at redemption. To be the reason why Potema could never threaten Nirn ever again. He was already a dead man walking. How and when now seemed to be in his hands now. Power over his own life… for once, for the first time…. Was he fool enough to not grab for this opportunity? His last act of his life would be the one of his own choosing.

"Now?" He asked quietly.

"Do you consent?" Styrr suddenly hissed, with a ferocity Orngeir had not expected to simmer within the old man.

"I…," he swallowed. His choice, his only choice he had some power over. "I do."

Aldis looked bewildered as the priest pulled out a small amulet of Arkay. However, Orngeir could sense the divine magic slumbering within it. It was after all used during his cleansing rituals…. Now it would be his redemption and salvation all in one.

"We cannot be disturbed," Styrr said to Aldis who seemed to stumble away, back into the darkness that led up to the main dungeons. "Do what you must, Captain of the Guard."

Liquid fire started to lick at his fingers, searing down to the finger bone. Bright, golden light flickered up, he fell against the bars, teeth gritted together.

"It will all be over soon," Styrr now stood right at the bars, his amulet vibrating and hovering just above his palm. "Take my hand…"

Orngeir felt his hand shoot through the bar, grabbing the outreached hand. His feverishly hot forehead pressed against the freezing bars. There was no time for regrets now.