A/N: Well, it's been a while... three weeks, in fact. And in that long time, I only got seven reviewers. This update might well have been a lot quicker if some more of you had got off your lazy arses and helped my motivation by giving me more reviews.
Nachosforever: Ah, I get that 'mook' thing now. And while I wouldn't call the Blades 'expendable', they are ready to die for the Emperor and yes, they are footsoldiers. And I don't see why Gorgoth would hire Imperial Battlemages. He has no reason to trust them like he can trust Selene, and for him trust is important. Besides, he has all the firepower he needs.
Underpaid Critic: You're right, those two different types of torture DO vary greatly and require different approaches. Gorgoth is an expert in both. And you WILL see the information-gathering method in future. If the Blades got into a war of attrition, they would definitely lose. That's why time is so important here.
Just remember... more reviews. I want them.
Chapter Thirty-one: Cleansing
The sun had barely crested the horizon when Gorgoth started waking the others. He wanted to be well away from Sancre Tor by sunset. Having grown used to late nights and early mornings – some through military life, some through travelling with him – the squad was up and ready within minutes. The fire was kicked out of existence, bedrolls were rolled up and placed on horses, and weapons and armour were donned. Breakfast was hastily snatched while on the move. Some ate little, not wishing to fight on a full stomach, whereas some ate more, desiring energy for the long fight to come.
"Not all of us may come out," Gorgoth told them as he attached his last saddlebag to Vorguz's saddle. "You know this, obviously; the same is true for every battle. But we are going into this one half blind." He gave each of them a quick glance before hauling himself into Vorguz's back. "Remain watchful. We will not fail." The way he said it indicated that they would not fail because he would not allow it. Not waiting for any response, he motioned them forward before booting the stallion into motion.
It did not take long before the outer walls of what used to be the fortress of Sancre Tor appeared through the trees. As the tree line ended, the group rode out and beheld what had used to be a holy place, a site of pilgrimage for many. Now it was a derelict ruin with a pervading atmosphere of darkness. The air seemed chilled, and there seemed to be a lack of bright light despite the clear skies. Broken walls of dark stone stretched out of sight, with many areas crumbling into piles of rubble. Weeds and vines cracked the stones in numerous places, slowly tearing the once-proud walls apart. Shattered pillars dotted the area, jutting out of the earth like broken teeth. Decaying battlements loomed over the dead fort, their jagged, gaping windows revealing only nothingness. Skeletons pockmarked the hard ground, some old, some newer. Every single one had died violently. The stench of death was everywhere, and in every shadow there seemed to be some new terrifying danger eager to claim the lives of these new victims.
"Be on your guard," reminded Gorgoth as he dismounted. Vorguz and Astakh – Lurog's Wrothgarian stallion – were the only two horses not to seem unnerved by their surroundings. "I expect there to be a number of undead on the surface. Keep your weapons and your eyes ready."
"What about the horses?" asked Aerin, soothing the jittery Firebrand by rubbing her neck. "Won't those undead find them?"
"Not if they stay behind my cloak of illusion," responded Gorgoth, tying Vorguz to a nearby pillar. "They will be unseen by all except me or someone extremely proficient in Illusion magic." He motioned for them to tie their horses nearby while making sure the immediate area was secure.
"I don't like this place," grated Ilend, looking around cautiously as he stepped away from Javelin with his hand on his sword hilt. "It's bloody unnatural. Give me a proper enemy to fight any day, not this... feeling of being watched." The Imperial irritably scratched the back of his neck.
"The evil of the Underking is far-reaching, it would seem," observed Selene, casting a Detect Life spell and looking around. That spell would be useless for detecting undead, but it would be reassuring to know that there were no mortals in the area either. Saliith had scaled a nearby wall to look around the area.
"Looks like the entrance to the lower levels is down there," he called, pointing at a distant door near a broken battlement. "No enemies that I can see, just a load of bones."
Gorgoth nodded and stepped back, focusing his attention on the spell he was casting. Tendrils of light green Illusion magic curled from his outstretched palm, spreading over the area. The light seemed to warp and abruptly the illusion slid into place, hiding the company's horses from view. The ground appeared completely empty. Gorgoth surveyed his handiwork for a few moments before grunting and motioning for everyone to follow him. He took Blood King off his back and held it in his right fist as he advanced across the barren ground. Saliith had barely opened his mouth before two daedric shortswords appeared in scabbards on his sword belt. The Argonian closed his mouth and nodded his thanks to Gorgoth, drawing one of the summoned weapons. His preparations were swiftly emulated by the rest of the squad, and for a few moments the rasping of scabbards filled their air. Gorgoth led the way towards the entrance with Lurog bringing up the rear.
Everyone was on high alert, so they all heard the skeleton approaching. It appeared from behind a pillar, a battleaxe clenched in one hand. Such a heavy weapon held in that way would have overbalanced it had it still been alive, but the necromancer doing the reanimation had obviously known their work well, as the skeleton hefted the weapon effortlessly. The bare bones were loosely covered with scraps of what had once been chainmail before age and combat had taken its toll. It made a low hissing sound and shambled forward a few paces before Aerin's arrow splintered its skull. Normally resilient against arrows, the sheer penetration and power of Trueshot's enchantment meant that the undead minion collapsed to the ground, just another heap of old bones.
"More approaching," announced Gorgoth, his powerful voice cutting through the steel air, though his tone was as emotionless as ever. There were indeed more skeletons clambering over walls and rising from the ground. "Give yourself room," ordered the warrior-shaman, turning to stare the the nearest skeleton to him, a particularly large example wielding a warhammer. The skeletal structure looked Orcish. "There are not many of them. Divide and conquer."
Not looking back to see what his comrades did, and confident that at least some would cover his back, Gorgoth stepped forward to meet his undead assailant. It had started a swing with both hands, the warhammer's heavy head cleaving through the air towards the Orc's skull. Gorgoth felt the shock running through his entire body as he firmly stood his ground, blocking the attack with Blood King's haft. Sliding the mace down along his enemy's weapon, Gorgoth tore it from the skeleton's hands before spinning and slamming Blood King's head into its chest. The air seemed to warp slightly, a black pulse spreading from the point of impact before being lost in the blink of an eye. With its ribcage and spine falling apart, the skeleton was propelled through the air until it hit a wall with such force that the stone cracked. The ancient bones, however well-preserved, stood no chance; they disintegrated into dust.
Two more skeletons rounded a nearby wall and charged for Gorgoth with uncanny speed. The warrior-shaman merely raised his left palm and blasted both of them apart with chain lightning. A stray skull flying over his shoulder with half of it caved in told him that Lurog was making himself known to the enemy with his usual gusto. Turning, Gorgoth observed that most of the skeletons were now nothing more than useless piles of bones, their second death ensured by the dispelling of the necromantic magic holding them together. Aerin was critically looking over arrows she'd recovered from two of them, inspecting the arrowheads before deciding they were undamaged enough to be reused and returning them to the quiver on her shoulder.
"If this is the only resistance we'll be getting, then this place isn't living up to the hype," observed Saliith, running appreciative eyes over the edge of his daedric shortsword. It had chopped through the tough bones like they were paper.
"Never get complacent," growled Lurog, looking around for any further threats. The last remaining skeleton was being cut in two at the spine by Gnaeus. "Complacency kills. Always be on your guard. Never underestimate your foes."
"Ya sound like Gorgoth," commented Aerin as Saliith muttered something under his breath.
"I am not the source of all the wisdom in the world, Aerin," rumbled Gorgoth. He jerked his head to the side. "Keep moving. Time is a luxury. And remain watchful; Lurog is right."
It only took a few more minutes to reach the entrance to the catacombs beneath the fort. A few stray skeletons were dispatched by Gorgoth's fireballs, but there was no other resistance. They all knew, however, that there would be far more danger than this down below. The heavy wooden double doors were reinforced by steel, but it had long since rusted away to almost nothing. They creaked and groaned as Gorgoth and Lurog heaved back on them, slowly sliding them open. Light penetrated only so far into the ruin, revealing bleak stone walls and crumbling floors. There was no light coming from within.
Gorgoth took the first few steps into Sancre Tor, a dazzling globe of light appearing above his head to light the way forward. Cobwebs and old bones crunched under his heavy boots as he motioned for the rest to follow him. "The path appears to be linear," he told them, his deep voice echoing off the walls. "Remember that not everything will be as it seems." He started off deeper into the catacombs, following the one direction available to them with Blood King clenched in his right fist. Selene watched their rear, conjuring her own light.
The single passageway stretched on for a while, taking them down into the earth. Chilled air and the stifling atmosphere made the catacombs even less welcoming than the surface. The cold light of the spells did nothing to make the old fort more welcoming, but they did mean that any attack would stand out. For now, the only sound was heavy breathing, the clanking of armour, and the crunching of various substances underfoot. From time to time, what sounded like a distant, howling wind reached their ears, as if they needed any reminding that this fort was unnatural.
After five minutes of no-one speaking, Aerin almost jumped out of her skin when Gorgoth's rumble tore through the silence: "There are likely to be ghosts or wraiths around. Leave them to me. Even daedric or silver is of limited use against them."
"Rather you than me, big guy," muttered Aerin, shaking her head and unconsciously half-drawing an arrow to test the bowstring before edging slightly closer to Saliith. The Argonian had both his summoned blades drawn and ready for use; his yellow eyes never lingered in one place. If Gorgoth was to be believed, attacks could come through the walls in this place.
A few minutes later, Gorgoth held up a clenched fist to stop them before edging slowly around the next corner. He grunted. "Ghost up ahead," he told them. "Move up, but do not attack." The rest of the squad moved slowly around the corner to find the massive Orc walking slowly up to a silvery, ethereal figure. A naked torso floated several feet off the ground, short emaciated arms stretching out towards the warrior-shaman with its long claws of fingernails seeming eager to find his throat. Blank, dead eyes were locked onto the Orc's amber eyes; it was hard to tell which were the colder. Gorgoth reached out and brushed at the ghost with his free hand. The shimmering cloud billowed, spreading apart before dispersing completely, leaving nothing behind.
"Illusion," snorted Gorgoth. "A good one. There is a lich in here somewhere." He turned his head slightly. "Selene, are you capable of defeating a lich?"
The half-elf's eyes were still fixated on where the illusion had been. Gorgoth's words brought her back to reality with a start. "I... think so," she muttered, her voice lacking confidence. Gorgoth said nothing, merely motioning them onward once again.
After a few more minutes walking, the passage finally opened up into an unremarkable room. Four pillars held up the roof, and were in various states of decay, but the danger of the roof caving in was secondary to the four wraiths waiting for them. Everyone scrambled back into the passageway, seeking cover from the deadly spells that the undead would soon be throwing; the sole exceptions were Gorgoth and Selene, who unleashed their magicka without a second thought. The wraiths barely had time to react before lightning danced between them, their second stay on this plane of existence coming to an abrupt end.
"Move up," growled Gorgoth. "If they did not know of our presence beforehand, they certainly do now. The longer you stay in a ruin like this, the stronger the opposition becomes." Without waiting for a response, the Orc led them off in a brisk jog, the clanking of his armour echoing down the passageway.
It didn't take long for another room to open up, slightly less bleak than the first, with various statues and pillar long since fallen into disrepair. A skeleton stood in the centre of the room, its blank eye sockets watching Gorgoth as he signalled a halt. Gorgoth noted with interest that it wielded an Akaviri katana and a shield in the design of the Blades. On its head was a helmet that had stood the test of time far better than the rest of the ruin. It hissed a challenge. "Lurog, take the left. Ilend, go for the right," commanded Gorgoth as he walked slowly forward, directly towards the undead Blade.
The skeleton's head whipped round and it launched itself at Ilend, who had been creeping around its flank. The Imperial barely got his shield up in time to block a slash with substantial force behind it, powerful magic making up for the complete lack of muscle on his enemy's frame. Ilend darted forward, shield in front of him, forcing the skeleton back before aiming a stab at its head. With uncanny agility, his opponent simply flowed around the attack and once again slashed at the swordsman's torso. He threw himself backwards, and it was his momentum in the other direction, combined with the effectiveness of his chainmail, that left him with bruised ribs instead of being gutted.
As Ilend staggered backwards, attempting to regain his balance, Gorgoth moved in, directing a mighty overhead cleave at the skeleton's skull. It span to meet him and blocked the attack with its katana. Where a normal weapon would have been shattered by Blood King's enchantment, the ancient katana seemed to resist the immense force, so the undead Blade merely stumbled backwards. Before it could recover, Gorgoth's left hand darted out and grabbed the spinal column just above the pelvis, picking the skeleton up and throwing it behind him, where Lurog was ready to smash it to the ground with most of its old bones broken.
"What in Arkay's name was that?" spluttered Ilend, glaring down at the fallen Blade. "I've never seen a skeleton move like that before. What kind of-" Gorgoth cut him off.
"Even the King of Worms himself cannot achieve something of this nature," he rumbled, peering closer at the pile of bones. A slight shimmering around the skeleton, coalescing into something more tangible, alerted him to another possible danger. "This is something else entirely," he mused as the form took shape in front of him.
Within seconds of forming, the ghost of what appeared to be an Imperial Blade had several weapons pointing at him as he looked around with a confused, vague gaze. Gorgoth merely straightened and held up a hand, stopping his comrades from attacking the spectre. "Who are – who were you?" he asked the dead Blade.
The ghost's blank eyes fell on Gorgoth and the apparition's mouth opened, apparently struggling for words before finding a method of communication. "I... I was Rielus, loyal Blade of Emperor Tiber Septim." His voice was weak; it was reminiscent of leaves rustling gently in a distant breeze.
Gorgoth nodded as though he'd been expecting this and motioned for his companions to lower their weapons. "What happened here?" he asked, motioning to the area around them with the head of Blood King.
Rielus shook his head, obviously dazed by his forcible ejection from his skeletal host. "It feels like.. an eternity that I have been dead," he whispered. "I was... we were... the Underking's taint must be removed." Drawing himself up, Rielus suddenly acquired a sense of purpose. "The oath must be fulfilled. We must cleanse the taint. Follow me." He walked through Gorgoth – who felt a slight chill, nothing more – and headed towards the passages leading deeper into the catacombs.
Ignoring the confused glances of some of his comrades, Gorgoth fell in behind the ghost with Blood King at the ready, following Rielus deeper into the fort. His light seemed to pass right through the spectre, who despite seeming almost tangible left no shadow. The warrior-shaman tried asking a few questions, but they were met only with silence. Two wraiths were dispatched by fireballs without missing a beat. One other ghost, upon sizing up the threat of the approaching intruders, retired quietly back through the wall to let them pass without resistance.
Without warning, the passage opened up into a large, cavernous room. The group emerged from one of several identical hallways, all leading away from the centre of the chamber. A stone platform, suspended from four pillars, rose out of a pool of dark, stagnant water. There were steps leading down from the platform away from them, leading into a murky blackness. Rielus halted. "That leads to the Tomb of the Reman Emperors," he sighed, gesturing at the steps.
"That's where we're going," replied Gorgoth, starting forward. Rielus held up a hand.
"It is what we were sent to cleanse," the Blade whispered. "The Underking's taint is strong. You will not get past. Unless I and my brothers fulfil our oath..." his weak voice trailed off and he slowly walked towards the platform. Gorgoth did not follow him.
"So... what now, big guy?" piped up Aerin.
"From what I can gather..." Gorgoth shook his head, tapping his canine as the ghost of Rielus descended into the tomb, fading from view. "He had comrades. Together, they might be able to break the taint sealing the tomb."
"It's a big place," observed Saliith, looking around the large chamber. "Could take us days to search it all."
"Time we don't have," growled Gnaeus. "Got any plans, greenskin? I seem to remember that you might actually have half a brain on you, which is more than what most of you boneheads can boast about." Lurog muttered something under his breath about senile old men. "I heard that!" snapped Gnaeus.
"We split up," commanded Gorgoth, ignoring Gnaeus's usual provocations. "There look to be three other hallways leading from this room. A squad goes down each one and looks for those Blades. Release them. They know their way back if Rielus is anything to go by."
"That's easier said than done," remarked Selene. "We have no idea where this place goes, how deep it is..."
"I am aware of that," retorted Gorgoth. "If this was easy, we would have won the war by now. I have no time for complaining or whining." Taking a few steps forward, the warrior-shaman looked slowly around the chamber. A wraith, previously unnoticed, turned its head towards him. The Orc casually brushed it aside with lightning. "Gnaeus, Aerin, and Saliith, you take that path to our left." Those named peered in the direction of his outstretched finger before heading off towards the passage. "Aerin, if my assumptions are correct, your arrows can destroy liches," Gorgoth told her. "Use them sparingly." The Bosmer raised an eyebrow and looked down at Trueshot briefly, her respect for her weapon rising even more.
"Ilend, you and Selene take the nearer passage to our right," ordered the Orc. "Lurog, it's you and me for the last one."
"Just like old times?" asked Lurog, a small smile on his face as he was reminded of their work together as mercenaries, and before that, as commanders of cavalry in the army. Ilend and Selene disappeared down their allocated passageway.
"Old and new, it seems," replied Gorgoth, switching to Orcish. The warrior-shaman hefted Blood King before leading off in the direction of the far hallway. "This time, however, we face those who have already died. We face spirit and bone, not flesh."
Lurog snorted. "Our maces make short work of skeletons," he claimed, holding his own long steel example in his right hand. His shield was strapped to his left forearm and was ready to be brought up within an instant.
"Indeed. I'll handle the ghosts and wraiths. You focus on the skeletons. Take point; I will have your back."
Lurog had barely moved in front of his old commander before the passage twisted and they were both confronted with five skeletons standing in a ragged line with weapons at the ready. Lurog bellowed a war cry that shook the dust from the crevasses above them and charged at the undead, his shield batting aside a longsword while his mace hammered down through a skeleton's collarbone. The entire ribcage shattered on one side, and the skeleton was freed from the magic binding it to this plane of existence.
A skeleton twisted around and aimed its battleaxe at Lurog's exposed rear, only to find itself flying in several different directions as Blood King smashed through it. Gorgoth turned and caught another skeleton's scimitar in the palm of his hand. His gauntlet suffered a small dent, but the Orc was able to capitalise on his opponent's loss of balance and sent its skull flying down the corridor at high velocity. Lurog kicked aside another of the falling pile of bones and closed in on the last skeleton, absorbing two swings of its longsword with his shield before kicking it in the shin. Hissing as the ankle bone cracked, the undead warrior was unable to respond in time before the Orc slammed his mace into its chest. Grave dust and broken bones were scattered over the pitted stone floor.
"They would probably have been a harder fight had they been alive," observed Lurog as they continued onwards.
Gorgoth nodded. "It depends on the necromancer, largely," he grunted. "These were probably raised by the Underking. He would have used up a lot of his powers by creating the curse on the four Blades and sealing the tomb. Not much energy left for the automatic necromancy spells that afflict every adventurer that falls in this place." A light began shimmering at the end of the passage. "Prepare yourself," he warned.
The wraith finished coalescing and sent a frost spell as wide as the passageway towards the two Orcs. Gorgoth quickly stepped forward and absorbed it before unleashing chain lightning from his left hand. The wraith faded from view before the danger reached it, and the lightning instead took a chuck out of the wall, shaking the catacombs as the sound of the impact boomed throughout the halls. Motioning for Lurog to follow him quickly, Gorgoth set off towards the large room at the end of the tunnel, keeping an eye out for the wraith reappearing. Long years of undeath had given it wisdom.
Gorgoth stopped short of entering the room and peered through the doorway, which had long ago been deprived of any door. Several wraiths were drifting around, as were a few ghosts. Bones tapping on stone were indications of patrolling skeletons. There were no zombies in sight. Bone lasted longer than flesh. Lurog flicked a stray shred of what used to be a finger bone off his mace head.
"You'll destroy the spectres while I deal with the skeletons?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.
"That's the plan." Gorgoth laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, covering him with protective magic. Lurog raised an eyebrow. "You probably won't need it. But some of those skeletons might be stronger than they look. And a few of those wraiths might get spells off." Lurog nodded and rushed forward into the room, charging towards the nearest skeleton. Gorgoth advanced more slowly, identifying each wraith or ghost as he raised both hands.
Lightning leapt from the Orc's fingertips, multiple bolts striking out and tearing into the ghostly apparitions. Many didn't have time to react as they collapsed into pools of ectoplasm. Some sent spells back at the warrior-shaman, but he'd already cast a powerful resistance spell, which was augmented by his naturally resistant Orcish blood. He shrugged off their spells and continued scything them down. Some attempted to flee by fading into the walls, only to find the walls ripped apart around them by Destruction magic. The sense retained by the skeletons allowed them to identify Gorgoth as a dangerous enemy – even more dangerous than his comrade currently ripping their ranks to pieces – and so started off towards him in their shambling run. Some were blasted apart by his magic, while others collapsed as his own necromancy undid the spells that held them to their second life. Only one reached him. Stepping forward, a single blow from Blood King tore the battle axe out of its hands and gave him the opening he needed to reduce it to dust.
There were only two more skeletons remaining, and they had to be careful when moving; the bones littering the floor could cause them to slip or stumble. Lurog eyed them cautiously. These two were the best of the opponent's he'd faced, and blood was already running down his face from a gash on his scalp. It had been a strong blow, to get past Gorgoth's magical shielding; Lurog had been lucky he'd been moving backwards to avoid the axe. Blinking the blood out of his eye – he couldn't wipe it with those two hovering – he stepped forward and bashed his shield into the weapon arm of one. Kicking its legs from under it, the Orc rapidly stepped back to block the swing of the other. The longsword rattled against his shield but left no impression on the well-forged steel. Lurog pushed forward, forcing the skeleton back, before withdrawing and swinging his mace overhead. His opponent attempted to dodge, but the heavy head moved too quickly and the skeleton crumpled as most of its ribs were shattered. Lurog whirled and kicked at its comrade, sending it back to the ground before ending it with a strike that cracked its spine in two.
Gorgoth wandered over to tap the wound on Lurog's head. Blue healing magic illuminated the Orc's face briefly before it closed up. "You're not collecting scars, are you?" he asked.
Lurog smirked, wiping the blood from his face. "Any fool can cut himself and then boast about how he won the scar," he rumbled.
"Like that snivelling Breton runt whose ears I nailed to the door of the inn?" recalled Gorgoth as he patrolled the room, peering into crevasses and shadows. There was occasionally a splash as he stepped in a puddle of ectoplasm, or a crunch as his boot crushed a stray bone.
"I seem to remember the innkeeper not being very happy about that," sniggered Lurog, grinning as the fond memory came to him. "Dralasa wasn't very happy either; she'd wanted another ten minutes of flirting at least."
Gorgoth levered open a chest after unlocking it with Alteration magic. "She found someone else to have fun with," he commented. He scooped out a few coins and shoved them into his wallet before closing the chest. "Move on," he commanded. "I see a corridor just over there. Take the lead."
"I wouldn't mind having Dralasa here right now, if I'm honest," murmured Lurog as he wiped grave dust off his mace while entering the passageway. "I missed those one-sided Destruction contests you two had."
"One-sided in that only she cared, you mean," snorted Gorgoth. While he hadn't cared, Dralasa Helas certainly had, and the Dark Elf was good enough with Destruction for it to have actually been an even competition a lot of the time. That fact made it even more odd that if her talent for that particular school was removed, she'd be weaker than an apprentice mage in terms of expertise. "Well, we might see more of her later. I told her she could find me in Bruma."
"Yeah, and you know how mad she is," smirked Lurog. "She'd love to be at the centre of all this." He stopped talking as two skeletons up ahead noted their presence and moved to attack. The two Orcs advanced side-by-side; the corridor was wide enough to allow them both to work effectively together. One skeleton advanced ahead of his comrade, launching himself at Lurog with his claymore slashing down in an overhead cleave. The warrior simply forced the blade up with the edge of his shield and jabbed the skeleton's lower ribs with his mace head. Gorgoth flattened himself against the wall in order to let the other skeleton's thrust slide past him before tripping his opponent and bringing Blood King down on the back of its spine. Lurog finished off its comrade with an upwards attack on the groin that shattered the skeleton's spine.
"I haven't seen any more undead Blades yet," observed Lurog as they continued onwards.
"They'll be around," responded Gorgoth. "I doubt you'd be able to mistake them for any of these examples of poor workmanship. The blanket necromancy spells never have the best quality."
"If you say so," muttered his companion. Lurog sometimes resented the fact that he had no magical ability at all, but he always buried such thoughts; as Gorgoth had told him long ago, there was no point in regret. "More skeletons up head," he warned as they turned a corner. "Ghosts and wraiths, as well. We've certainly got a lot of good fighting here."
Ilend grunted with the effort as he wrenched his sword free from a skeleton's skull. Sweat and a few trickles of blood poured down the Imperial's face as he wiped the back of his gauntlet over his eyes. The chill of the ruin did nothing to alleviate the heat his body was radiating after fighting near-continuously for ten minutes in full chainmail armour. After a few seconds, his breath stopped coming in ragged gasps and settled to a more normal pace, though still deep and fast. Blood was matted in his hair, marking where a skeleton had got too close. He had healed that wound himself; no point in draining Selene's reserves any further.
"I don't see any ghosts rising from these," observed the half-elf, unconsciously sweeping her hair out of her face as she leaned on her glaive. Unusually for two people just involved in heavy combat, neither of their weapons were bloodied, though chips in the steel of Selene's blade indicated where it had met the tough bone of skeletons.
"None of them were a big enough challenge," responded Ilend, grunting as he rose from his crouch. The small room they were in was now littered with several collapsed skeletons and a few puddles of ectoplasm. They'd both lost count of how many similar rooms they'd cleared. "That's a relief, at least; if even a quarter of these skeletons were as good as that Blade, we'd both be dead by now."
Selene sighed and rubbed her eyes vigourously. One of the ghosts had hit her with a debilitating spell a while back, and she still hadn't fully recovered from the sudden exhaustion. On that occasion, Ilend had been glad to find that his longsword worked as well against ghosts as it did against skeletons. She shook her head to clear her vision and took a potion from her belt, gulping it down and feeling a slight tingle as her reserves of magical energy were restored somewhat.
"We should keep moving," urged Ilend. "Who knows what kind of intelligence they have? I haven't seen a wraith appear out of a wall in front of us yet, but that's not saying it won't happen." The battlemage nodded in agreement, and the swordsman needed no further encouragement. He moved off immediately, walking quickly down the next passageway, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that wasn't made of stone. Selene's light was powerful and illuminated a large area with its stark green-tinted glow. They'd need it.
"How big is this ruin?" wondered Selene as her head swivelled from side to side. Ilend reminded himself that until recently, her entire life had consisted of one tiny island and its inhabitants. "There must be hundreds of undead down here," she continued. "I doubt we can-" Ilend cut her off.
"There were hundreds of Daedra at Kvatch as well," he snapped. "And before you say there were more of us then, you're worth at least twenty of my old comrades in a fight." The figure was probably higher than that, but the Imperial couldn't bring himself to fully trust her battle knowledge yet. She had experience of Oblivion, true, but of little else. "Besides, we don't have to fight them all. Just enough."
"I hope so," she muttered. Her head snapped up. "Wraith," she warned, hurling a fireball as the spectre silently coalesced in front of them. It missed as the wraith flowed to the side, instead impacting on the wall. The explosion rocked the entire cavern, throwing both of them off balance as a sheet of flame engulfed the wraith and everything within ten feet of it. Chunks of melting rock pelted them, pinging off their armour and singeing their hair. Shielding his eyes, Ilend straightened and squinted down the passageway as the flames faded from existence. The wraith was gone, along with large chucks of rock, replaced with a steaming crater and deep gouges in the wall.
"Did you have to make it so... powerful?" asked Ilend, scratching the back of his head.
"Just... wanted to be sure," muttered Selene, not meeting his eyes. "I hate wraiths." Ilend opened his mouth before closing it again, deciding not to ask. "Come on, we can jump over that crater without using magic."
Easy for you to say, in your lighter armour, growled Ilend to himself as he stepped back to get a sufficient run-up. Shaking his head, he sprinted head down towards the crater, leaping over it and landing in a sprawl on the other side. He recovered quickly and was back on his feet within seconds with his sword at the ready. Selene landed slightly more gracefully a few moments later. "Next time..." Ilend paused. "Next time, just use lightning. Got it?" He didn't wait for a response before leading them onwards.
It didn't take long for them to reach the next room. It was larger than the last few, cavernous, with numerous pillars holding up the roof. A handful of statues, none of which had more than half their sculpting left, dotted the chamber. Incongruously, a bright purple magical flame burnt in a large stone bowl, providing illumination but doing nothing to alleviate the cold. A few wraiths were floating around, and Ilend could count four skeletons, none of which seemed to be equipped as a Blade.
Selene immediately strode into the room and slammed the haft of her glaive into the ground. The entire chamber trembled, forcing Ilend to grab a nearby statue to maintain his balance as the skeletons fell to the ground, frantically attempting to regain their balance. Turning to regard the threat, the wraiths were predictably unaffected, until numerous fireballs burst from the tip of Selene's still-grounded weapon. Two fireballs each homed in on a wraith. One dodged in time; its two companions in undeath did not.
As Selene turned to engage the remaining wraith, dispelling her minor earthquake, Ilend regained his footing and charged towards the skeletons. He cut down two before they had fully recovered, only to be knocked back by the claymore of the larger one as it found its feet. Blocking its second attack with his shield, Ilend pressed forward and forced it back before stabbing blindly past his shield. He felt a jolt as his blade severed the skeleton's spine. As his opponent collapsed, breaking in two, only a swishing in the air warned Ilend to duck. The undead warrior's axe missed the top of his head by inches as it stumbled into him. He elbowed it in the ribs and kicked back, fortunately connecting with its knee. A sharp snap informed him of success as he span and decapitated it. The skull bounced twice before rolling to a halt against Selene's boot.
Arching a mildly amused eyebrow at the grinning skull, the half-elf kicked it aside. "If only daedra were as easy to kill as this," she muttered.
"If you asked Dagon politely, I'm sure you and him could reach an agreement," retorted Ilend sarcastically. "Come on, focus. It only takes one unnoticed wraith to take you out, and then I'm pretty much fucked." The Imperial was well aware that he simply couldn't do much about the spells that wraiths and ghosts threw at him; there was only so much dodging a man could do.
"Which is why we should take a rest for a few minutes," suggested Selene. "I'd rather not use up another potion, but that last wraith knew its stuff. Hit me with a spell that leeched out a lot of my magicka."
Ilend nodded. He could go on fighting for a while yet, but a breather would do him good. The swordsman sheathed his weapon and walked over to a wall, sliding down into a sitting position. Selene joined him, leaning her glaive against her shoulder as she drew her legs up to her chest and dispelled her light. "Don't let your guard down completely," warned Ilend as his eyes adjusted to the less intense light offered by the purple flames. "If we get surprised, we might just join that lot." He gestured at the scattered bones.
"Yeah, I've got spells ready to throw," reassured Selene. She angrily swept loose strands of her golden hair back behind her ear. "How do you keep this out of your face?" she questioned.
Ilend smirked. "A bit of combing does wonders," he told her, removing one of his gauntlets and rubbing at some of the rapidly drying blood staining his black locks. "Besides, I wore a helmet for six years. My hair is used to it."
"You're not wearing one right now."
"Lost my old one at Kvatch. Haven't had time to have a new one made, and I don't like the pre-made ones at Cloud Ruler. None really fit me." Ilend idly fumbled for a nearby hip bone and casually chucked it across the room. It hit a pillar and bounced to the ground. The Imperial suddenly laughed. "How the fuck did I end up doing this?" he chuckled, shaking his head. Selene glanced at him sideways, worry in her eyes.
"Weeks ago, I was just another Kvatch Watch Sergeant, with no problems other than the occasional drunkard and some banditry." Ilend raised his head and smirked again. "And now look at me. It's absurd. Gone from upholder of the law to some displaced swordsman on a revenge mission." He sighed, his breath escaping slowly. Selene tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder, being at a complete loss as to what to do. "Well, at least I have a life to go back to after this is over. How many others from Kvatch can say that?"
"I... know how you feel," Selene told him hesitantly. In a way, she'd lost more than him; almost everything she'd ever known had gone. "But I'm not sure if I have much for me outside this... war."
Ilend stared at her intently for what seemed like a long time. "You're right," he said finally. "But..." he shook his head angrily. "No time to dwell on the future," he growled. The Imperial dragged himself to his feet and offered a hand to the battlemage. "Come on, we've got a battle to fight; worry about what comes after when you get there. If any of us get there."
Selene hesitated for a second before grasping his proffered hand and standing, putting some of her weight back on her glaive before releasing his hand. "Let's hope we all do," she sighed. Ilend nodded in agreement and led off, drawing his sword. Selene hefted her glaive and followed, once again summoning her light.
A doorway led into another, smaller room that looked much the same as the old one; the statues were in more advanced stages of decay, and there were no purple flames, but mostly it was the same old ruin. Ilend and Selene spotted the lone inhabitant at exactly the same time."Take him from the left," ordered Ilend, himself moving towards the right of the undead Blade that was now leering at each of them in turn. Its blank eye sockets seemed to be gateways to a blackness darker than that of the darkest night.
"Wouldn't we be better off if I just blasted him with a few fireballs?" asked the battlemage, breaking 'eye' contact with the skeleton.
"Yes, it would be," grated Ilend from behind his raised shield. "Go on. I was just getting out of the danger zone by circling around to his right."
"With pleasure," muttered Selene as she threw out her left hand. A fireball blossomed from each fingertip, streaking towards the Blade as it turned to face the bigger threat. Small dark clouds seemed to form around the skeleton's forearm as it held up a hand. This cloud grew and expanded, sucking in the fireballs without a trace. The Blade lowered its hand and kept up its calm gaze as though nothing had happened.
"What the f-" Ilend was cut off by the Blade spinning and sprinting towards him. The dai-katana it was wielding in both hands darted for his skull with unnerving speed. Ilend barely got his shield up to block in time, and the force of the blow shook his entire body as he staggered back. The Blade attacked again, only to be thwarted once again by the broad Skingrad shield. Sensing danger, it span and parried Selene's slash before replying with a jab of its own that left a shallow cut across the half-elf's stomach. An instant slower in her dodge and she'd have been gutted. Ilend charged in to attack, only to have his attack foiled by the skeleton twisting its arms behind its head and blocking his swing without even looking at it. Seconds later, Ilend was flying over its head, having been grabbed and thrown with strength that was incomprehensible for something without any muscle. The breath was knocked out of him as he landed heavily, but Selene charged the skeleton and bought him enough time to regain his footing.
The undead Blade watched them silently as they regrouped, both beginning to pant from the exertion. The skeleton before them had no such mortal weaknesses. Selene tried a few bolts of lightning, but they, too, were absorbed by the ancient, mysterious magic that the Blade wielded. Ilend forced his impatience down; impatience could kill. " Occupy it while I get around to its rear," he told Selene. "Use your range against it."
"Easy for you to say," muttered the half-elf. "I think it can understand us, you know."
Ilend merely shrugged in response and started sidestepping around the edge of the chamber, always keeping the Blade in sight. Its eye sockets swung from staring at Selene to him and back. The half-elf approached cautiously, glaive held in one hand like a short spear. As she surged forward and swung, the skeleton was ready, ducking under the whirling steel pole and slashing up at her chest. The air was forced from the battlemage's lungs as the dai-katana impacted on her chainmail; if she hadn't stepped back, the attack would have penetrated. Ilend took the opening and charged forward, smashing his shield into the skeleton's back and crashing down on top of it.
Selene stepped forward uncertainly, unable to do anything as Ilend frantically attempted to pin down his opponent. The Blade simply slipped out of his grasp and slammed its fist into his chin, the force of the blow stunning him and sending him flying over its head and across the chamber. Selene got her opening and rushed in, stabbing down with her glaive and luckily slicing through its arm just below the shoulder. Hissing in what appeared to be anger, the skeleton rolled free, tearing its right arm off in the process. Unable to handle a dai-katana effectively with just one arm left, it fell back under Selene's assault, struggling to contain the sheer reach of the glaive. Blocking one attack by the blade, it was unable to recover quickly enough to prevent its dai-katana being ripped from its hands by the haft of the weapon as Selene spun it. Seconds later, the glaive's sharp end was buried in its skull.
Ilend was groaning and pulling himself slowly upright, rubbing his chin. "Bastard had a punch on him," he snarled. "And bare knuckles bloody hurt." Selene gripped his elbow and helped him to his feet, staring into his eyes long enough to be satisfied that there'd been no lasting effects. "Might want to get that cut healed," observed Ilend, straightening and poking the gash running across Selene's stomach. She grunted; in the heat of battle the pain had barely been noticeable, and it was still easily ignored now; it wasn't deep.
As she healed herself, Ilend frowned and took a few steps towards the fallen skeleton. A glow told him where the ghost was coalescing into a coherent form. He sheathed his blade and waited, letting his shield drop to his side. Selene stepped up beside him to watch, typically leaning on her glaive like it was a walking staff. Both stayed silent as the shape settled into the form of a transparent Redguard, his features anonymous behind his Blades armour. He looked around him in confusion, his blank eyes struggling to focus on the two mortals in front of him.
"My name..." the apparition paused, apparently finding it hard to use his voice after centuries of dormancy. "My name is... was Casnar. One of the Emperor's finest. We were sent to..." his voice trailed off as he appeared to remember something. "The taint must be cleansed!" A note of urgency entered his weak voice and he turned without a glance backwards, walking back down the passage they've come from. Ilend and Selene exchanged glances, then followed him.
Gnaeus relished the jolt that ran through his arm as he chopped a skeleton's spine in two. After thirty-five years of sitting on his arse doing nothing, it seemed that whoever was in control of his destiny seemed intent on throwing all the combat he should have had in those years at him at once. He was glad of such an opportunity; he'd missed the thrill of battle. As the two halves of the skeleton in front of him crumbled to the ground, the old Imperial span in time to catch another undead warrior's broadsword with his own. He punched the skeleton in front of him, snapping its skull back and opening it up for the same attack that had destroyed its companion mere seconds ago.
Looking around after severing its spine, Gnaeus noted that the melee was over; Aerin was grimacing as she wrapped a strip of cloth around a deep gash on her forearm – she was rationing potions – and Saliith was wrenching his sword from where it had embedded itself in the wall after he'd stabbed a ghost. According to the Argonian, fighting incorporeal enemies with normal weapons was completely different due to the complete lack of resistance offered to the blade, yet tears and slashes appeared in the undead all the same. As long as they all died their second death, no-one cared how it happened.
"How long have we been down here now?" asked Aerin bitterly as she finished tying her rudimentary bandage. "Two hours, three?"
"Doesn't matter," snorted Gnaeus, casting a contemptuous glance at the Bosmer. "As long as we've got a job to do, then we do it. At least you're smart enough to be saving your arrows."
Aerin cast a sidelong glare at the Imperial as she brushed the loose strands of her auburn hair out of her eyes. "That's because there's nothing ta use em on," she growled. "Skeletons are hard to hit and they just go right through wraiths and ghosts." She sighed and shook her head. "How's the burn, Saliith?" she asked the Argonian.
"Hurting, but manageable," reported Saliith shortly. A wraith had sent a powerful frost spell at his leg earlier, and the weak potion he'd chosen to use had only been strong enough to reduce the resulting burn, which had afflicted his skin as well as his scales.
"Enough wasted time," grunted Gnaeus, jerking his head towards the doorway on the far side of the long chamber. After hours of fighting through the ruin, the rooms and passageways were all starting to look the same, with their grey stone walls and broken architecture. "Come on, lizard, get up front. Don't expect this old man to do all the work." Saliith moved into the lead without complaint. The ex-hermit had made it quite clear that any complaints in their current situation would result in a blade in the gut. While Saliith was almost definitely a better warrior then him, at the moment they simply couldn't afford to lose anyone.
"Five skeletons," warned the gladiator moments before charging at them with both swords raised. As he expertly took apart two of them, Gnaeus blocked one's battleaxe before kicking it in the pelvis. The flesh may have decreased the vulnerability of that position, but the skeleton still staggered back in an effort to stay balanced. Gnaeus simply moved in and decapitated it. Aerin had engaged the skeleton wielding the smallest weapon, a mace, and was dancing around it as it unsuccessfully attempted to hit the flighty Bosmer with the heavy weapon. Darting to its rear, she sank her shortsword into its spine, forcing it all the way through before twisting it free, snapping the undead warrior's back in the process. The last remaining enemy stood no chance against the combined attacks of Gnaeus and Saliith and fell quickly.
"Why couldn't we have a spellslinger with us?" grumbled Aerin as she peered into the shadowed corners. "They'd have made this so much easier..."
"You clearly can't count," snorted Gnaeus. "We only have two competent mages. There are three groups. Never did think you had much of a brain."
Aerin shot him a heated glare that might have weakened the knees of a lesser man. "Ilend can cast a few spells when he has to," she told him angrily.
Gnaeus, deliberated, then finally chose to dignify that statement with an answer: "Yeah, I'd love to see him attempt to cast his way out of a paper sack," he observed. "Face it, girl; your bedwarmer would be laughed out of the Arcane University even if he showed up with a dozen rings of fortification magic and the Necromancer's Amulet."
Aerin's furious rebuttal was cut short by Saliith. "Skeletons inbound with two ghosts," he warned, taking up a position next to the doorway with both shortswords at the ready. Gnaeus joined him on the opposite side, while Aerin stood further back. The first skeleton to lurch through the doorway was tripped by Saliith. Aerin immediately pounced on it and stabbed it repeatedly until it stopped moving. The next two skeletons stood better chances and bought their comrades time to get through before being killed. Gnaeus and Aerin immediately leapt at the skeletons, drawing them away from Saliith who was attempting to close with the ghosts while avoiding their debilitating spells. He succeeded in reaching them and slashed at one; there was no resistance to his blade, but a deep gash still formed in the ghost's ethereal torso. A distant, hissing scream pricked Saliith's ears as the ghost wailed its last lament and melted away into ectoplasm.
As Saliith turned to deal with the last ghost, Aerin and Gnaeus were attacking the last skeleton, who seemed to be a cut above the rest, wielding its claymore with agility and precision. Gnaeus was already bleeding from a cut on his thigh, so it was Aerin doing most of the legwork, darting around and attracting the skeleton's attention so Gnaeus could attack its flanks. They eventually wore it down and gifted it with a second death. The old Imperial grimaced and tore a potion from his belt. "Three left," he grunted before swallowing the contents. His tunic had bloodstains in two other places where he'd been wounded in past fighting. The fighting was taking its toll on all three.
"What are the chances of some of the others catching up with us?" wondered Saliith as he fingered a new, less serious burn on his forearm.
"Don't even think about it," growled Gnaeus as he peered through the doorway. No approaching enemies. "If they join us, that's a bonus. Assume we're on our own until we find that bloody ghost. Now move up." The Bosmer and the Argonian fell in behind him as he led off. The passageway was darker than most of the similar corridors they'd traversed thus far, so he kept the pace slower than normal, occasionally running his free hand along the rough stone walls.
The corridor split up ahead. One doorway led to a dead end where the ceiling had caved in, while the other led to a stairway leading deeper down into the catacombs. Upon descending it, they found themselves in a room looking largely the same as the rest of the ruin. The three of them entered cautiously, heads swivelling to cover all the corners of the room. Because their guard was up, the undead Blade waiting just behind the doorway did not gain the element of surprise as it leapt for them. Saliith rasped a warning as he met the Blade's katana with both his shortswords, stepping back to contain the skeleton. He got the edge of its shield in his ribs for his trouble and staggered back, winded.
Aerin stepped between the two to stop the Blade gutting her friend and in return got the katana effortlessly dispatching her guard and cutting deep into her chest a few inches below her heart. Kicking the stunned Bosmer off its blade and ignoring the blood splashing over its white bones, the skeleton turned quickly to fend off a determined attack by Gnaeus, who found himself comprehensibly outfought by the stronger, quicker undead Blade. As Aerin weakly wrenched all her remaining potions from her belt and started twisting off the caps, Saliith rejoined the fight. Unable to defend against two warriors at once, the skeleton went on the offensive, swinging violently at Gnaeus and slicing the old man's shoulder open. It turned quickly to deny Saliith's exploitation of the opening and so escaped with only a few chips missing from some of its ribs. The Blade's riposte knocked one of the shortswords from Saliith's grasp. Spinning across the chamber, the weapon clattered into the floor and slid along the stones until the hilt hit Aerin, who had just finished downing her last potion. Fully healed, the Bosmer snatched the daedric shortsword, threw it back to Saliith and rushed back into the fray.
A strong slash from Gnaeus shattered the skeleton's left elbow, and its shield clattered loudly to the floor along with most of its forearm. Capitalising, Saliith and Aerin both darted in and slashed at its spine, breaking it in two places. The undead Blade slowly toppled over and broke into several pieces.
"Been a long time since I've had this much blood on me that's my own," observed Gnaeus, glaring down at the blood, both wet and drying, that stained large parts of his normally brown tunic. He took a potion from his belt and gulped it down, sighing at the tingling sensation in his ruptured shoulder as the healing magic got to work. Saliith angrily tapped his scale armour, where the Blade's shield had left a small dent. Aerin was frowning down at the blood staining the front of her cuirass from where it had leaked from her severe wound, and realised that there was quite a lot of it. No wonder she was feeling a bit weak.
Movement attracted all their attention as the ghost slowly formed in front of them, standing where the skeleton had fallen. Gnaeus glared at him as the Nordic-looking spectre turned to face them. "Took you a while to give up, didn't it?" spat the Imperial.
"The fog... it is cleared," whispered the Blade, drawing a harrumph from the irritable old Imperial facing him. "The curse... it must be lifted. I must go." The Nord walked off quickly without ever glancing at the three mortals who'd just saved him.
"We save his wretched unlife and he doesn't even stop to thank us?" spluttered Gnaeus, staring at the ghost's retreating back. "The nerve. If I'd have known his manners were that bad..." he glanced at his two comrades, both of whom were trying and failing to hide their laughter. Growling under his breath, the Imperial rammed his broadsword back into its scabbard and followed the ghost out of the room. He was taking a different route to the one they'd used coming, but after centuries of roaming around, Gnaeus expected him to be able to find the shortest way back to the nexus.
After leading them through various twisting corridors and completely ignoring the handful of skeletons that the mortals following him had to dispatch, the undead Nord came to a long, narrow room and crossed it without hesitation, heading for one of several doorways at the far end. The mortals followed somewhat more cautiously, but there were no enemies evident. "Much more walking, and my knees are going to start cracking," muttered Gnaeus to himself as they increased their pace.
The fireballs came out of nowhere. They flashed through the air silently, curling around the corners of the chamber before streaking towards the trio, who had barely a second to respond. Saliith, the most agile, put all his strength into leaping out of the way, but even he was caught in the blast and thrown violently against a pillar. The wind was knocked out of him, so he couldn't even give voice to his pain as his ribs bent and cracked. Groaning, he struggled to his feet, wincing as various burns down his side made themselves evident. Gnaeus was lying still some distance away, his ragged breathing coming in gasps, while Aerin was deathly silent, with blood already starting to pool around her head where it had struck a pillar. The ghost of the Nordic Blade had long since departed.
As if to mock the wounded Argonian and his comrades, the lich slowly unveiled itself, standing in the centre of the room. Long-dead skin hung off decaying flesh and exposed bones as filthy hands curled themselves around a wooden staff. Robed in black, the lich slowly turned to regard Saliith with dark, dead eyes that somehow seemed even emptier than the eye sockets of skeletons. Cracked lips parted to reveal broken teeth as the lich whispered a few words in a forgotten tongue, its voice distant and malevolent. Saliith felt fear, greater than any fear he'd ever felt, in the Arena or otherwise. Turning and running for his life had never felt so attractive, but he set his jaw and stood his ground. If he was going to die, he would die like a man, not a coward.
Roaring in defiance, the gladiator dashed towards the lich, both swords drawing back to strike. The undead simply batted a hand at him in a casual motion. A fist of air slammed into Saliith, sending him flying into the wall once more, hitting it so hard he bounced twice before finally settling on the ground. As he struggled to recover, the lich walked over and span its staff in a vicious arc, catching the Argonian on the side of his jaw. He was sent sprawling onto his face, blood dribbling between his teeth. Toying with him, the lich planted its staff under him and rolled him over before sending lightning coursing through his body. The pain was too immense for Saliith to do anything, even scream, as his body writhed and contracted. A cruel smile spread over the lich's ravaged face as it ended the spell. The Argonian's breath was coming in frantic gasps, but he found time to spit out a few final words: "Get it over with, you bastard."
"Stay back," warned Gorgoth as they approached the chamber up ahead. "It is not going to be easy. I would rather not have another person to protect from a lich that I know nothing about." The use of magicka had been so strong that Gorgoth had detected it two minutes ago, shortly after releasing the ghost of an undead Blade, Alain. Leaving the Breton to find his way back to the nexus, Gorgoth and Lurog had immediately diverted.
"I understand. We've been in this situation before," grunted Lurog, leaving his mace loosely hanging by from his hand. He would be nothing more than a witness; against a lich, he had little going for him. Blood King had already been returned to Gorgoth's back; this battle would be fought with magicka, not with steel.
Gorgoth strode into the room and immediately sent ball lightning flying towards the lich, who was standing over Saliith, seemingly ready to deliver a killing blow. Gorgoth's attack forced it to teleport out of the way, reappearing on the far side of the chamber. Instantly, Gorgoth knew he was up against a powerful force; even for a mage of his power teleportation to a point that hadn't been predefined by a Mark was difficult and very costly. Several fireballs exploded from the glowing tip of the lich's staff and homed in on Gorgoth, who ignored them: they would impact harmlessly on the shield that he'd created around himself.
Raising both hands, Gorgoth sent crude fireballs from one while sending more complex Mysticism magic from the other. The Dispel magic he was wielding would dispel any magic it came into contact with, such as any shields or resistances the lich would have active. His enemy reflected the fireballs, but could do nothing about the Mysticism, which was splitting up into numerous threads, each one deadly to a mage. Gorgoth ignored his own fireballs flying back at him and sent yet more magic at the lich, feeling his reserves noticeably draining faster as he sent multiple Silence spells at his opponent. Unable to defend, and already low on magicka, the lich hissed in rage as its main weapon was taken away from it. Snarling, it lowered its staff and sent a stream of fire towards the warrior-shaman, a futile gesture of resistance. Several bolts of lightning shattered its rotting body.
As Lurog entered the room behind him, Gorgoth focused on what he'd been ignoring so far. Paying no attention to the scorched, cracked stones below his feet – his shield hadn't spared the area around him from the lich's spells – he instead hurried over to his three fallen comrades. Saliith was struggling to rise to his feet and clearly wasn't in danger of immediate death, so Gorgoth ignored him and settled into a crouch next to Aerin. Her left arm had been severely burnt, along with parts of her face, and her skull had been cracked open on a pillar. Her pale face – paler than usual – was a stark contrast to the blood splattered over her and the surrounding area. The Orc removed his gauntlet and found a pulse before sending his most powerful healing magic through her body. He could not restore the lost blood, but he could hold off the effects of blood loss temporarily while she produced more.
The Bosmer's eyes slowly flickered open, focusing on the Orc looking down at her. Satisfied that she was alive, Gorgoth moved on to Gnaeus before she could say anything. A heavy lump on his temple told him where the Imperial had been knocked out; the rest of the damage were severe burns that would be painful but not life-threatening. Gorgoth healed them all then slapped Gnaeus to wake him up. The Imperial shook his head violently to clear it before his expression turned sour at the sight of Gorgoth. Not giving him an opening to make one of his normal caustic remarks, Gorgoth straightened and looked over at Saliith. Lurog had him on his feet and was probing his ribs. By the look of pain on the Argonian's face, several were broken.
As Gorgoth healed the gladiator, Aerin slowly got to her feet, clutching the blood-smeared pillar for support. "Not that I'm complaining, big guy, but... how'd ya find us?" she asked, her words slightly slurred.
"Powerful mages can sometimes sense powerful discharges of magicka," responded Gorgoth as he made sure Saliith had no further injuries. "And that lich was being free with what he was throwing at you. I knew there was one in this ruin."
"A warning of what to expect might have been nice of you," snarled Gnaeus, rising to his feet. Large parts of his tunic were burnt and tattered, but the Imperial himself seemed unaffected. "Can't really expect a bloody greenskin shaman to be condescending, though, can we?"
"From someone of your age and intelligence, I would have expected you to know how dangerous a lich is," responded Gorgoth. "Let's get moving," he continued, ignoring Gnaeus's angry muttering. "I know the way back to the nexus. Time is valuable."
He led them through passage after passage, all of which looked the same but were clearly signposted by piles of bones and streaks of ectoplasm. It took a long time for them to get back to the nexus; the ruin was even bigger than he'd thought. The temporary fortification magic he'd added to his healing spell seemed to be helping Aerin; she was keeping up easily, despite the blood loss. Fortunately, the worst fighting was now probably over. A handful of skeletons were dispatched by Lurog without ceremony as they made their way back to the nexus of Sancre Tor.
Ilend and Selene were already waiting for them. Their reactions differed; Selene closed her eyes and sighed with relief at the sight of them, while Ilend's eyes widened and he immediately started forward. "Is that all your blood?" he asked Aerin incredulously, waving his hand at the dark crimson stains on her leather armour.
"Skeleton's don't bleed, knuckle-head," barked Gnaeus in response. "Don't see what you're complaining about. She's the picture of health, and just as annoying as ever."
Gorgoth ignored all of them and started down the steps to the platform above the murky water. A door was just visible in the shadows below them. His comrades started to follow him, but Gorgoth held up a hand. "No. I do not know what the Underking's taint has done. I go alone." He started off down the second flight of stairs, allowing no argument. The heavy stone door in front of him grated across the ground as he opened it with some effort. After stepping through, it slid shut behind him.
The Tomb of the Reman Emperors was everything Gorgoth had expected. The first rulers of what would later be known as the Second Empire were interred here, in fine tombs bearing inscriptions of their deeds in life. Light from several magical torches cast flickering shadows over the heavy stone walls, held up by ornate pillars. Down the centre of the tomb was a passageway leading to what seemed to be a wall of solid darkness. Merely looking at it made Gorgoth's skin prick with discomfort. The Underking's evil was powerful this close to his lasting legacy.
Standing at attention were the four dead Blades, two on each side of the steps leading down to the narrow passage. As one, they knelt, grounding the tips of their ethereal katanas in the ground and bowing their heads towards the dark barrier blocking entry to the far tomb. The barrier flickered and wavered, specks of grey appearing in the darkness as whatever power the Blades wielded started countering that of the Underking. Gorgoth calmly folded his arms and waited.
Light began to fracture the black curtain in several places, gradually growing to create another all, this one of light so pure and bright that Gorgoth had to shield his eyes. It gradually decreased in intensity until it had faded from existence. In its place was a clear passageway leading to one last tomb: that of Reman III, the last of the Reman Emperors.
The four Blades straightened and sheathed their katanas. All looked to Gorgoth. He looked each one in the eyes. Four emotionless gazes returned his own. "Your oaths have been fulfilled," declared the warrior-shaman. "Depart to Aetherius. May your gods look kindly upon your souls." He knew Malacath would not; they had failed centuries ago. The ghosts simply nodded – Gorgoth thought he felt a sense of relief become tangible in the room for a moment - and slowly disappeared, fading into nothingness. Gorgoth was left alone with the remnants of one of the most powerful dynasties to ever have lived.
His heavy footsteps echoed throughout the tomb as Gorgoth descended the steps and started off down the passage. A pedestal entered his vision in the centre of the small chamber ahead of him, in front of the sarcophagus holding the remains of Reman III. Walking up to the pedestal, the Orc stopped and looked down at the cuirass once worn by Tiber Septim.
The steel breastplate was ornate, with heavy engraving on the thick metal plates. It was no ceremonial piece, however; dents and scratches showed where General Talos had got personally involved in his many wars. A dark crimson streak across the area just below where his right armpit would have been was an interruption of the silver colour of the steel, which, oddly for armour that had lain untouched for centuries, looked in good condition. Gorgoth reached out and picked up the cuirass, judging its weight. Talos had been it a strong man, it seemed.
He had what he came for. Without giving anything else a second glance, Gorgoth turned and headed for the exit. As he'd so often reminded his comrades, time was valuable. He had no time to be paying respects to men who had lived centuries ago, however powerful or honourable they might have been.
His companions fell silent as he ascended from the tomb. The only sound was the ringing of his boots on the stone and the gentle lapping of the water below them. He stopped just in front of them, looking down at the cuirass in his hands. "It's not often you get to touch something that belonged to an Aedra," observed Ilend, looking at the armour with appreciation. "Looks like Tiber Septim knew his armour, at least."
"The armour is an accessory," responded Gorgoth. His finger tapped the blood staining the front of the breastplate. "This is what we came here for. Just another ingredient. Come on. The Underking may be gone, but I doubt it would be wise to linger here until nightfall." They parted to let him through then fell in behind the Orc as he led them out of Sancre Tor. No longer would it be a place of darkness.
A/N: It should be noted that today, the 28th of June, marks the anniversary of this thing. I'm REALLY hoping it won't take another year to complete, but I'll admit I don't really want it to end... still, it's come a long way already. And, for lack of a more suitable opportunity, it might be a good time for me to give special thanks to those two reviewers who have actually reviewed ALL the chapters so far: Arty Thrip and An Underpaid Critic. Your input has been highly valued (well, most input has been highly valued, but you've given more of it). For the rest of my readers: keep reviewing, or if you haven't already reviewed, start reviewing. They're much appreciated.