Chapter 4
Dungeon Diving
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3E 427 – Imperial City
Nevano's knife had given him away. Which was strange considering his knife had been stolen from him months ago. Not just any knife, it had the deadric letters Dunmer used spell out his name on the hilt. It had been a birthday gift from Sabine. He didn't own much personally so the knife had meant a lot to him. Somehow or another it had been stolen out of his boot. He had been less than thrilled to discover that. However it had turned up. In Kvatch. In the back of a rather well known business man, who was found face down in the gutter outside his home by his wife.
Naturally it had been his fault, despite the fact he had been in a city on the opposite side of Cyrodiil the day it happened. But none of that mattered. It had never mattered. He knew that know. As he huddled in a ball in a corner of the damp, dank jail cell he knew that it would never matter. The city watch made up a story to match what little evidence they had, never mind there were a lot of eyewitnesses who were willing to speak on his behalf and say he was in Cheydinhal at the time. It didn't matter that a scared innocent kid was in prison for something he didn't do. All that mattered was that they had "solved" a high profile murder that, for once, wasn't some mysterious Dark Brotherhood assassin that would never ever be found. Nevano leaned his head against the stone, hoping that the coolness of the rocks would offer some comfort to his feverishly working mind. But the damp rocks weren't in the business of offering comfort. They were meant to hold in misery, not allow it to escape, even to those who weren't meant to be in here.
An enraged bellow echoed through the maze of stone and iron. A familiar bellow, one that sent a tendril of feeble hope through his battered body. He scrambled, clawing over the filth on the floor to the bars on the door, leaning out as far as he could to find the source. He knew that bellow. He KNEW that bellow!
There was a slam of a door and pounding, determined footsteps coming towards him. A mixture of fear and hope engulfed him. He could barely see as they swirled into a tornado in his belly and exploded in his head. He choked out a sob. He hadn't cried since he was a small child stuck in the misery of slavery. Then Modryn had saved him, given him freedom and hope. He hadn't had anything to cry over since then.
"Nevano. Nevano!" slowly he looked up to a familiar hard, red-eyed gaze that was tinged with…was that worry? No…Modryn Oreyn was never worried. The mer would get impatient, irritated or down right furious but it was rare to ever see him worry. Right now Nevano didn't want to see worry. Worry in such a hardened warrior implied that there was nothing he could do, that Nevano was truly screwed.
"Easy, calm down." Modryn crouched down so he was eye level with the young mer, "Stop that crying. You're a warrior. You're a fighter. Don't let this place suck the soul out of you."
"I didn't do it. I swear! I swear I didn't do it!" Nevano blubbered out, frantic to get the only person in this world to truly care about him to understand, "I wasn't even THERE! I wasn't NEAR Kvatch! My knife was stolen I…"
"Nevano! Stop! I know that." Modryn frowned, his old impatience showing through. That comforted Nevano more than anything. That was normal. "I know you didn't. I would have believed you even if you were in Kvatch. I know you better than these stupid s'wits."
"So when can I get out of here? When can I go home?"
"Nevano… I'm doing everything I can.." Nevano didn't hear the rest of it. A cold horror washed over him, blurring his vision and making his ears buzz. That meant no. That meant he was in trouble. Modryn couldn't save him. He was going to be found guilty of murder and hanged.
"NEVANO!" Modryn roared in his ear, making him wince. Then Modryn began speaking to him in the Dunmeri language, the words flowing out smoother than any human language. Nevano's rattled mind latched on to the words of his native tongue far easier than the rough common words. Slowly, bit by bit, he relaxed.
"There." Modryn switched back to common, giving the glaring guard a look that dared him to challenge his use of a foreign language. "Listen to me, Nev. They want to charge you. I don't get WHY but something is going on. The emperor himself is taking interest. This isn't a normal case. Just stick to the truth and keep your courage up."
The guard made a protesting noise, "Watch what you say, sir."
Modryn completely ignored him but the sudden darkening of his eyes spoke of the very real threat of a trip out the window, "There's talk of exile. To Morrowind. Nevano I can't stop any of this but remember everything I taught you."
"…I'm never coming home again, am I?"
"One day you will." Modryn quirked a small smile, "One day they can't say no any longer. But I also know you. Morrowind won't know what to do with you…again."
"This time I won't let it beat me."
"Good boy." Ruby eyes turned warm. "They think they are sending you to your death. But I know better. I know you'll do more than survive. You'll thrive. There will always be a place for you with us but I have a feeling you'll have outgrown us. Just don't forget about us."
"Never." Nevano swallowed his fear back. Slowly he could feel his courage coming back. He could do this. He could keep his courage and survive.
He just had no idea how hard that would be in the coming months.
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4E 201 Suns Dusk - Skyrim
Nevano hit the ground just as a sword whistled over his head and struck the stone wall. He rolled and spun, knocking an arrow in one fluid movement and firing it off into his assailant. The mummified corpse he had seen in the alcove earlier dropped its sword as the close range arrow hit it in the face with enough force to blast its head clean off its body. It collapsed, the ancient magic that had reanimated it bleeding out and returning the body to full dead. The other corpse kept coming, raising its axe above its head. Nevano was still in a terribly exposed position on his back on the ground, perfect to be flayed open by an axe. Scrambling, his foot found a rock jutting up and shoved on it hard. He slid out of the way just in time for the axe to slam down where he had been just moments before. As the corpse recovered and wound up to strike again Nevano jumped to his feet. Fortunately he was the faster of the two as he knocked an arrow and fired it square into the thing's chest, blasting it back into the wall. The bonebiter enchantment shattered the thing's chest like it was made of glass, bone shards flying everywhere. It didn't get back up.
Shaky hands ran over messy hair. That was completely unexpected. Reanimated mummies. Who would have thought Skyrim, of all places, would have the same level of tomb security as Morrowind. Funny considering the Nords had always been very jaundiced to the Dunmer funerary practices. Actually everybody had been, but the Dunmer always thought the Nords the least of the human races. Still, Skyrim lesson learned. Caves and tombs here were not just the usual trolls and rats and bandits. He resolved to fire an arrow into each mummy thing he happened to catch sight of, whether it was up and walking or not.
As he meandered through the rooms and hallways he found a few more of the corpses, one of which was actually walking around, still patrolling as if it had never died. However none of them saw him and the Bonebiter Bow proved to be stronger than whatever enchantment animated the dead. One arrow shattering whatever it struck was usually all it took to send the undead back to their eternal rest.
So it was a bit of a surprise when voices echoed up the hallway he was sneaking down. Human voices. The dead could speak and often did, but their voices were unique. They would pour what energy they could muster to burst through the veil that separated the living from the dead. Sometimes it would be one strong word that seemed to echo from the very skies but when it was whole sentences it was wispy and had no pause for breath. The longer the sentences, the more it seemed a gentle breeze would carry the words away. But this was not it. These were strong voices, spoken from a living breathing body, and Nord from the sound of the accent. This land had been getting the drop on Nevano since he first stepped foot across the border. He refused to be taken off guard again. Caves and tombs were rarely good places to meet new friends. Those who hung out in such unsavory places were often just as unsavory. He flattened himself against a wall to listen.
"We've been down here for 3 miserable days."
"Knock it off. We don't need you reminding us of every minute that passes in this disease ridden hole."
"How do we even know they'll come?"
"They'll come. Those werewolves are nothing if not predictable. They'll come for the fragment. It's bait they can't refuse."
THAT'S what that smell was. Werewolf. Strong, fast, the ultimate predator and incredibly hostile. He hadn't smelled one in a long long time, not since he had been on Solstheim all those years ago during Hircine's little planned hunt, which explained why he didn't recognize it right away. Werewolves weren't common in Cyrodiil and the Dunmer aggressively hunted down vampires and werewolves almost to the point of extinction. After he had left Soldtheim he hadn't seen another werewolf.
"Couldn't we have set the bait somewhere other than this draugr pit? I hate how they just pop up out of the walls."
Draugr? So those dried up ash yams had names? That was interesting. At least whenever someone warned him of draugrs in a dungeon he would know what they were talking about. But now he had to worry about these werewolf hunters. On one hand he could understand the need to wipe out such horrors. Werewolves were usually dangerous and highly unpredictable. They were unable to control their blood lust and would absolutely tear apart innocent people to satisfy their hunger. He had seen victims of werewolf attacks. It wasn't pretty. Hircine was vicious deadra to worship.
But on the other hand, he had a grudging amount of respect for the Companions. They were spoken of very highly and they DID help out the people, which is what he had devoted his life to. No one had been complaining of werewolf attacks and, up until now, no one seemed to be remotely aware that there were werewolves in the middle of the city. So they either fed on something other than people and kept their bloodlust pretty well under control, or everyone in Whiterun was a werewolf and his nose had failed him for the first time in his life. He strongly suspected the former.
Mind made up Nevano strode boldly into the room, two arrows held behind his back. "Under sun and sky muthseras. How does the day greet you?" The two men just stared at him like they had never seen an elf before a day in their lives. "Well I suppose it would be difficult to tell if it was day or night in here, being underground and all. For all I Know I should be asking how you fare under moon and star."
"Who are you? How did you get in here?!" The smaller of the two demanded wildly.
None too bright werewolf hunters it seems… "Who I am is not very important at this moment. As to how I got in here? I walked. Same as you. Saw this lovely hole in the ground and thought it was a nice place for a stroll."
"You'll pay for your cheek. He's with the Companions! Kill him!"
That was pretty quick. But that was why an elf should always carry emergency arrows. It was a neat little trick, firing two arrows at once into the two charging werewolf hunters. Neither of them were smart enough to flank him, running straight at him. Bonebiter nailed them both in the chest, cleaving clean through their armor and shattering their chests. They died as fragments of armor and bone punctured their lungs and shredded their hearts.
The rest of the cavern held no more surprises other than more draugr and werewolf hunters. He finally fell into his old dungeon diving mindset. He became silent death. Nothing saw him and nothing could withstand the shattering effects of Bonebiter. He picked up a few baubles along the way, happily filling his pack. He found a very interesting necklace that made his fingers tingle when he touched it that he decided to keep but the rest he would sell back in Whiterun. It wasn't a bad life, adventuring. It was incredibly dangerous and required a certain level of skill to stay alive but it was full of thrill and quite profitable if one learned to manage earnings. Nevano couldn't imagine a life doing anything else.
Finally he got a large room that was filled with sarcophagi. None of them popped open as he walked in but he wasn't about to let his guard down. Those draugr had a nasty habit of coming out of their tombs well after he passed them. It had really pressed his skills in firing off a bow quickly and in super tight quarters.
At the back of the room there was a raised platform with an ornate table. He carefully walked up, keeping a watchful gold eye on the sarcophagi. His footsteps sounded unnaturally loud, like the entire room was holding its breath at his approach, watching him walk up to the dais with hungry eyes. He strained every sense he had in trying to find monsters in the dark but there was no smells, sounds, movements or vibrations to suggest he was in the company of anything but himself.
The wall behind the dais caught his attention first. It was unlike anything he had seen in the rest of the tomb. It was filled with words written in a dialect he had never seen before. An enormous ancient statue of what he assumed was the old Nords depiction of some sort of animal, maybe even a dragon, hung over the wall. He put his hand on the wall, feeling a slight tingle of powerful ancient magic flowing through the rock, concentrated on the writings. However, the magic repelled him gently, pushing his hand off the rock. Whatever it was, it wasn't meant for him. Well, he wasn't going to push it. Ancient magic like this could turn deadly in an instant. His ring was proof enough of that.
On the table there was a few gold pieces that Nevano swiftly pocketed, a few fragments of a soul gems and a piece of a hilt that could only be a fragment of Wuuthrad. Carefully he picked it up, marveling a bit at how heavy the fragment was for a scrap of a hilt. He shrugged his pack off one shoulder and carefully secured it. Time to get out of here.
No sooner had he pulled his pack back on his shoulders that the big door leading into the room slammed shut and locked. A burst of nervous adrenaline exploded in Nevano's belly as the familiar sound of a sarcophagus exploding open and a growl echoed through the stone room. Well a single draugr wouldn't be much of a hassle. He pulled his bow out. One shot and he could head back…
It wasn't just the one. Every sarcophagus in the room began to explode open. Soon the air was filled with inhuman growls and snarls. Glowing blue eyes fixed on Nevano.
Adrenaline now pumped with a new fervor through his body, rushed by the rise of dread in the pit of his belly. This was a bad situation even if he was fully equipped with both Trueflame and Hopesfire and had half the Chorrol Fighters Guild at his back. But one thing was for certain…he was not going to go down without a fight. He jumped up on the table, firing arrows as fast as he could, striking something with every shot. Any draugr that made it to the steps would get an arrow to the face. Some made it to the steps missing limbs or, the more determined of the bunch, with giant cracking holes punched clean through. His fingers cracked and bled from the constant strain of the bowstring, showering him in the face with droplets of his own blood. His heart pounded but slowly exhilaration overcame the fear in his belly. Blood pounded in his ears and he felt almost giddy each time an arrow struck. THIS was a fight worthy to brag about!
Suddenly he blinked. His arrow struck the last draugr in the chest; the arrow punching clear through it's back, severing the spinal cord. It dropped like a puppet with cut strings. The cavern was suddenly silent, bits and pieces of draugr scattered everywhere as arrow-ridden bodies lay over each other. He had done it. All told, sixteen draugr lay in a broken heap at his feet. Nevano fell flat on his arse on the table, his knees suddenly jelly as the last of the adrenaline left his system, leaving him weak and exhausted. He hadn't felt a rush like this since…well, ok running from the dragon in Helgen with his hands tied together WOULD count as a rush but the one BEFORE that had been a long time ago, when he got his last contract from Modryn. That had been a real doozy…
Nevano's head snapped up as the last sarcophagus in the center of the room exploded and one last draugr rose up. This one was much larger than it's counterparts and had armor on. A tingle of magic made Nevano's nose itch, telling him that this thing was probably going to lob some sort of nasty destruction spell at him. Well if he nailed it through the spine again like the last one while it was still rising he could avoid a fight altogether.
He reached back for an arrow…and grasped at air.
He was out of arrows.
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A/N: If Modryn were there he would have boxed Nev's ears until they bled. I've never written a fic on Nevano before so I'm tossing in some back stories. I didn't think anyone would mind.
