A/N: Hello, and welcome to chapter two. With this fic now relatively thought out (SotH wasn't really planned, whoops. I kinda just went with the flow), I can safely assume this one will be on schedule. I think.
Whispers of the Night
Summary: One year after Serana died and she left Astrid, Alana has left for Solstheim to be alone and never harm another innocent. Enemies new and old are rising, and it is never easy for one to free themselves from the shackles of their demons…
*Book 1: The Black Swordswoman Part 2*
The dusty streets of Raven Rock were eerily quiet as Alana and Saoron made their way towards the ebony mine. All she could hear were the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, the gentle creaking of the Northern Maiden, the ship currently docked at the port, and the soft crunching of their boots in the ash.
They were sticking to the shadows that the tall cliffs surrounding the dunmer settlement helped provide; it was easier for the two of them to move under the cover of night. Alana's inhuman eyesight enabled her to see perfectly even in the blackest of nights and avoid the spiny thorns dotting the red leaves of the scathecraw that grew from the ashy soil, and the two quietly crossed town without alerting the presence of the Redoran Guards on the night shift.
Her golden gaze was fixated on the ground below, and she didn't know why she was bothering with any of it. What purpose did she have? Serana was dead, probably being tortured in the Spiral Skein by Mephala. People she thought were her friends ended up betraying her, one by one.
Except Brynjolf; he had tried to free her from her fate of being nothing more than a puppet connected by Mephala's sticky webs. She regretted not letting him kill her. 'Why should I go with this? I haven't done any good since discovering my powers. I've murdered, spilled the blood of countless people, and even brought misery to the people I care about.'
'Someone like me doesn't deserve to live, let alone know happiness. The whole world would reap benefits of my nonexistence.'
Saoron carefully pushed open the door to the ebony mine, making sure that no one was watching. The mine had been abandoned for awhile now, ever since the East Empire Company closed it down after the source of ebony dried up. Alana didn't really care; swinging a pickaxe in its abandoned depths gave her something to do during the day apart from drink herself to death.
Alana stumbled upon entering. She was still suffering from the affects of her earlier drinking, and she was thankful that Saoron was able to steady her; the tall brunet had place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Easy there," he murmured. "It's easy for you to take a nasty spill if you're not careful." He wasn't kidding; the first time she entered, she nearly fell down the narrow staircase that led from the top of the mine down to the second landing. She was lucky to have not plunged to her death.
Alana let out a miserable scoff. Oh how she would've loved if she did. Perhaps then she wouldn't have to suffer with her pain anymore. 'Why? Why do I continue on, pretending that I can actually help when all I do is kill?'
'Why don't I just die already? Not like anyone would complain.'
Saoron locked the mine behind them and the two carefully began to descend into the ebony mine. It was thoroughly built, each level descending deep into the rock instead out extending out like the mines in her homeland of Skyrim.
With her in tow, Saoron put his hand up at the faint click of pinchers up ahead. "Careful. Frostbite spider. Small one, by the sound of it." He plucked a torch off the wall and rounded the corner, where the large arachnid was waiting for them.
It spat out a glob of poison, and the Breton merely raised his arm to cast a ward spell. It easily deflected the attack and he threw the torch at it. It struck the creature in the middle of its eyes. The frostbite spider let out a pained shriek that chilled Alana's bones, and the flames began to spread over its exoskeleton. They hungrily devoured the spider, and it continued to shriek in agony as it was burned alive.
Its charred body eventually stopped moving, though the smell of cooked meat lingered in the air. Alana's stomach churned and she looked away to prevent herself from getting sick. If she looked at those lifeless black eyes and horrible burns for too long, she was sure she would vomit.
Saoron grimaced at the scene of death he caused. "Ugh. That smell is utterly revolting." Another set of clicks sounded further ahead, and he groaned in annoyance. "And we have more of the bastards. Looks like a pack of them moved in recently."
Alana reached for her crossbow, sliding a bolt into the weapon. She preferred fighting the creatures from a distance if she could help it; she had the scar on her body to prove that their pinchers were easily capable of piercing tough steel armor and flesh.
She spotted a single spiny leg sticking out from its cover and she hissed. She didn't have a great shot at it, and the bastard wasn't about to come out fully to challenge them. Frostbite spiders were ambush predators at heart, hiding in the shadows before using the element of surprise to take down their prey.
Saoron reached for his own sword, but Alana put a hand on his shoulder and drew Clockwork. She flashed him a look that showed she could take care of it, and the brunet nodded with a quiet whisper. "Be careful."
Alana spun the heavy sword in her hands and jumped out to take the frostbite spider by surprise. It jumped back, shocked that its own methods had been used against it, and before it could react Alana's zweihander cut it in half down the middle. The two halves of the dead spider fell limply, blood gushing out from the wounds and pooling on the soft ground. Several red rivers ran down the aetherium coating, dripping down its length and running off the blade.
The blonde slid her sword back into its holster and turned away from the corpse. Thick strands of webs were growing on the wooden platforms that the miners would stand on, and Alana grimaced as she stepped over them to avoid getting tangled in its snare. 'The damn things are like the falmer. No matter how many you kill, there's always more.'
She was right; there were two more frostbite spiders ahead, deeper in the mine. The air was thick and oily, the waves from the fumes rising up and blurring her already impaired vision even more. 'Dammit. I can barely see a thing.'
Saoron took the lead, recognizing the issue. "Don't worry. I can help out here." His spare hand glowed with magic, and the Breton focused his power to cast Candlelight. A small glowing orb floated above them, shining brightly and illuminating the mine, its light easily piercing the blurry darkness. They came across the spiders, and two quick slashes were all Saoron needed to put them down.
'Look at you. You can't see in an oily cavern after a few drinks? Pathetic weakling.' A powerful jolt of pain shot up her bicep and she winced, clutching it. Her cursed arm thrived on her current mental state, devouring any negative thoughts the way wolves and bears dug into their helpless prey. Her hand trembled, threatening to once again transform into the ugly and grotesque corrupted claw it did a year ago.
Saoron stopped and faced her, looking at her trembling hand. "Let me see it."
"I'm fine," Alana replied through gritted teeth, jerking her hand away. She didn't deserve his sympathy, or anyone's for that matter. Not with the things she had done. She committed countless atrocities and spilled the blood of hundreds for her own selfish desires; she deserved every last bit of her suffering for what she did.
"Alana, let me see it. Now," he said firmly. With a reluctant hiss, Alana pushed up her sleeve to expose the heavy bandages covering her cursed arm for Saoron to inspect it. He was much more gifted with magic than her, being an expert in both restoration and alteration-based magic.
His hands glowed with Healing Hands, and he frowned as he tried to focus his magic into her arm. "Damn. That curse runs deep. Far deeper than anything I can remove. Alana, my treatments can only do so much. Given enough time, it will spread to other parts of your body, possibly corrupting your very soul."
Alana looked away, her gaze heavy with misery. "Why do you care?"
"Because you're the best friend I have."
"Ha. Don't make me laugh. I'm a horrible excuse of a friend and you know it."
"No, you're not." Saoron let his hand fall away from the blackened flesh, his spell numbing the pain for the time being. "You didn't slit my throat in my sleep, and you've never wronged me. Even after everything that happened. You stayed loyal to me as a friend, despite the distance separating us for some time."
"Yeah? And yet I come back into your life and drag you into my mess." Alana felt so defeated, so helpless. "You didn't fall for the lies of four daedric princes. You didn't murder countless innocents. You don't have blood on your hands like I do."
"No, I don't," he admitted with a sigh. "But I know how it is to feel helpless like you, when we were both running out of Cyrodiil trying to escape the Thalmor. I didn't know how I could possibly fight back against those monsters. But I did. I had you, the one friend I knew would stand by me to the end, still with me."
Her heart twisted with heavy guilt, and she lowered her head before they stopped in front of an iron gate with a heavy lock on it. Looking at herself now, it was hard to believe that she was once the vengeful warrior who could make an army quake in their boots with the purest of terror. It seemed so far behind her now. Her, this broken shell, being the same woman who struck back against a daedra? It was almost laughable.
Her father would be disappointed in her if he could see her from Sovngarde.
She could feel a strong wind gushing out like a thick current from behind the door deeper within the mine, and she pulled out the key given to her. Alana could see a few crates stacked neatly next to the door, dust and fungi gathering on the wooden surface. An old rusted pickaxe rested on top along with a strongbox, and part of her made her take a second look at it.
The symbol of the East Empire Company was stamped on the strongbox and she frowned. The lock looked pretty complex, but it wasn't anything she couldn't open given her experience in the Thieves Guild. Alana pulled out a few picks and set to work, gently feeling along the inner mechanism to not break her pick.
'Dammit. This one is unusually strong.' Her tongue flickered over her sharpened canines as she worked on the lock. Once she was sure she got it in the right spot, she began to slowly spin the lock until it clicked open.
The small case popped open, and inside it was an unusual amulet with the EEC symbol on it just like the strongbox did. Alana ran a hand over it, and she held it to Saoron. "Know anything about this?"
He took it and ran a finger over it with a thoughtful hum. "Hmm. I remember Fethis saying something about looking for these amulets earlier in the week. Apparently, the East Empire Company would hand these out to workers as a sort of incentive. They're no longer being made, and that makes them both collectable and worth quite a bit of gold. Talk to him in the morning; he'll probably be able to give you some gold for it. But for the love of the Divines, do not spend it all on drink."
Alana could barely even hear him as she pocketed the amulet. If anything, drinking gave her the knowledge that she was slowly but surely killing herself. Not that she cared much; all she was able to feel was the slow burn of the alcohol as it poured down her throat, trying its best to numb the devastating blow Mephala had dealt her.
She hugged her cloak tighter as the wind howled through the tunnels and they descended into the locked section of the mine. 'What could the East Empire Company possibly want to keep hidden? They have plenty of mercenaries who'd leap at a chance to kill off some bandits or draugr.'
Alana stopped when she saw the familiar layout of a Nordic burial chamber, and her zweihander was at the ready. A few of the draugr were too ancient to pose any real threat, but she caught side of one wearing a rusted ancient helmet with two long horns sticking out from the top. 'Dammit. We have a deathlord to deal with.'
"Damn," Saoron muttered, his sword in hand. "We're in the middle of a burial chamber. I didn't think there would be one down here. Looks like we're in for a fight." The groaning and creaking of ancient bones filled the chamber, and several pairs of gleaming blue eyes came to life as the draugr rose from their coffins.
"Fine by me." Alana pressed on Clockwork's handle and the second smaller sword was in her left hand. "I'll handle the deathlord." The blonde leapt towards the stronger of the undead, her two swords meeting the tough black ebony of its warhammer. Cold gleaming eyes bored into her, and it let out an irritated rasp in the dragon tongue before opening its mouth to unleash a Shout. "Fo Krah Diin!"
A powerful wave of ice spewed from its mouth, making Alana stumble. She recovered quickly, her Nordic and vampire blood giving her a powerful resistance to any kind of ice-based magic. She swung the smaller sword at its hands, the aetherium coating enabling her to easily cut through ancient armor and flesh.
The deathlord roared in anger as its hands were severed at the wrists and its weapon fell to the ground with a loud clatter. It fell to one knee and Alana growled before her heavier sword split its head in two. The deathlord's eyes lost their life as the undead warrior was sent back to Sovngarde, its soul finally at peace.
Alana fused her two swords together to create the single heavy blade again, sighing. Her soul would never get to know the unending song and drink that rang in the Hall of Valor; she was tainted by the daedra. 'Father…I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I allowed myself to fall for their lies. I was weak. I still am.'
It seemed no matter how hard she fought, she could never win. She tried, so very hard, to not let history constantly repeat itself. And yet it seemed to be in vain; no matter where she went the people she loved and befriended ended up killed because she fell for the treachery of the daedric princes. All because she was too damn weak to see through their lies.
Alana turned to see how Saoron was faring in his battle against the draugr focused on him. The Breton was handling himself well, using his wards to block any magic attacks from the draugr scourge and the restless draugr. His glass sword was covered in the blood of ancient warriors, tiny red streams trickling down the blade. The corpses of two draugr wrights were lying on the ground next to him, and his amber gaze was icy calm as he parried a heavy blow from the scourge's ancient greatsword.
Alana leapt in to help him, her zweihander cutting the first restless draugr down in pieces. She barely had time to remove her sword before the second attacked her. She blocked the blow easily and removed its head from its decaying body.
The scourge's hand glowed purple and it conjured up a frost atronach. The icy giant lumbered towards her, and Alana gave Saoron a look. "This one's mine." She rolled under a powerful swing of its icy arms, the cold eating away at her bones, and leapt into the air. With one heavy swing that used a good amount of her physical strength, she cut the atronach in half from its head down to the groin. It burst into dozens of pieces of ice, and the draugr scourge growled angrily in the dragon tongue.
It opened its mouth to Shout, and Saoron's blade caught it between the eyes. The sharpened malachite easily punctured the undead warrior's brain, and it fell in a messy heap. The brunet pulled his sword out, shaking the blood and brain matter off of it. "No matter how many times you kill them, these things don't seem to get any prettier, do they?"
Alana started to move through the chamber, her boots sinking into the many puddles. Water splashed up her legs, soaking the bottom of her black pants, and she grimaced. The liquid was foul, the water tainted by the stench of the draugr. 'Disgusting.'
She spotted a pressure plate on partially the floor, covered by smelly moss, and she held her arm out to warn her friend. Saoron looked at her in confusion for a few moments before he followed her gaze, and he nodded. "Got it. We'll watch our step, and this will be a lot smoother."
They carefully stepped around the pressure plate, making sure they didn't activate the spiked trap. Alana could see dried blood on the deadly spikes, meaning that someone who had come down in centuries prior to them had not been as fortunate.
They made their way up the ancient stone steps of the barrow, the only source of light being the glowing orb of Saoron's Candlelight spell. A group of draugr sat on four ancient thrones around the next bend, and one of them rose to challenge the two. It wasn't a particularly powerful one; in its old life it had probably been a lowly bandit or a barely skilled mercenary. One swing of Clockwork was all Alana needed to send it into the Nordic afterlife to join in on the unyielding feasts in Shor's Hall.
Saoron looked around them to make sure they were clear, and he pushed open a heavy metal door that led even deeper in. The door led to a new chamber, the floor being made entirely of a steel grate that rested above a small pond. All along the perimeter of the ancient barrow were thrones with draugr firmly seated on them, and the blonde curled her lip in irritation as the draugr rose from their sitting positions. 'These damn things might even be worse than the spiders. No matter what kind of tomb you're in, these things are sure to be in it.'
'I think I prefer dealing with the damn reavers. At least they tend to panic and scatter when they realize that the odds are against them. Not that it does them any good.' Alana scoffed at the thought of the pirates that liked to call Solstheim's shores their home. They were no different from the regular bandits that plagued her homeland, apart from them all being dark elves and more skilled with magic than swords.
However, whereas the bandits of Skyrim were stubborn and refused to back down regardless if they were losing or not, the reavers were smart enough to try and flee when they recognized a fight wasn't going their way. Even if they tried to run, they received no mercy; running only meant it was easier for the daedra hunter to put a crossbow bolt in their backs.
Some may call the act of killing an opponent with their back turned cowardly. However, Alana knew perfectly well that the bastards would regroup and once again attack helpless civilians. Killing them would guarantee the safety of the people.
Alana readied her crossbow and aimed at the draugr that rose from their cold seats. She squeezed the trigger, and the steel bolt struck the first undead warrior in the chest. Its body jerked from the impact, and Saoron pushed the blonde out of the way. "Watch out!"
She fell onto her side, narrowly missing the heavy ebony battleaxe in the hands of a draugr deathlord. It let out a raspy laugh and Shouted at the brunet. "Fus Ro Dah!" There was a loud crash, and Saoron barely got his ward up in time to negate the attack. Part of it got through the ward, and he fell to one knee with a grimace.
Alana recovered first, and one powerful swing of her zweihander was enough to split the draugr in half. The deathlord fell in pieces, its battleaxe falling to the ground with a loud clatter. Saoron picked himself back up with a grimace. The deadly ebony had cut through his heavy steel armor easily, and blood was trickling from a gash on his side.
"Don't worry about me; I'll live," he said reassuringly, twirling his sword in his hand. The wound wasn't very deep, and the Breton leapt back into the fray. His sword met the ancient steel of a draugr's war axe and he pushed it back before delivering a quick slash to the chest.
Alana spun around to let the heavy downward strike of an ancient battleaxe be absorbed by Clockwork's wide blade. She winced as the force of the hit jolted the muscles in her arm, and she nearly dropped her sword from the pain that surged up her afflicted limb. She pushed the draugr back and delivered a powerful slash onto its axe's handle, shattering it. The undead warrior fell onto its back and Saoron finished it off by impaling the monster in the chest.
Alana paused to clutch her cursed arm with a wince, grimacing. 'I had hoped I wouldn't have to rely on this strength. Dammit.' The blonde's hand came away from the thick bandages, and she rubbed the soreness away before sliding her sword back into its holster.
"We're all clear," Saoron murmured next to her, sheathing his own blade. "Come on; let's see what we can find."
Alana followed him out of the chamber past another set of iron doors, and the tunnel became easier to see in as they progressed. She spotted an coffin filled with some sort of strange ice, and she approached it. 'What is this? Ice?'
It seemed to hum with magical properties, and she tapped her hand against the rough surface. It was hard, unusually hard. This was no normal ice. This was something much different. "Saoron, what is this? Is it some kind of ore?"
The brunet came over to inspect it and he ran a finger down its edges. "Hmm…I've heard stories about this from Glover. I'm pretty sure this is a really rare ore called stalhrim, enchanted ice as hard as rock and cold as death. No normal pickaxe will break this. We'd need an ancient Nordic pickaxe to crack it."
"Is it hard to use for crafting?"
"Oh yes. Glover came across a few chunks of it about four years ago or so, and said working it is very similar to working ebony. You need a lot of skill and a lot of patience."
Alana's hand fell away from the stalhrim deposit. Her ability as a blacksmith had severely fallen in the past year; her hands were far too shaky and her mind was never able to focus. Not without bringing up painful memories of how she would forge weapons for Serana.
She felt the familiar sting in the corners of her eyes and she lowered her head. By the gods, not having Serana with her hurt more than any wound she had suffered. Alana would gladly suffer her limbs being shattered or being impaled in the chest if it meant Serana could come back to her.
But she was gone now, her soul suffering the fate of being tortured by Mephala in the Spiral Skein. 'I wasn't able to protect the person I loved. She didn't deserve this. I allowed myself to give in to my rage and try and strike back at Mephala, and Serana died because of it.'
She knew she had hurt Astrid emotionally by leaving the way she did. But she still believed it was honestly for the best, for as long as Alana was around her, Astrid was also in danger of being killed by Mephala. 'Astrid, I'm sorry. I just hope you've moved on from me. I'm not worth it.'
As strange as it may have sounded, she wanted Astrid to hate her for it. She would deserve it for the atrocities she committed, wouldn't she? Her very soul was tainted with sin. The stain would never wash out.
Alana wiped her eyes and continued ahead of Saoron, hiding her sobs behind coughs. The air was thick and musty, the tomb being sealed for who knows how long. The sheer stench of rotting flesh from the dead draugr that lined the corridors was enough to make her lip curl, and she was glad when the hallway led to another small chamber.
The bottom was mostly flooded from a small waterfall, save for a platform on the right that was patrolled by another draugr deathlord. It clanked about noisily in its armor, growling in their direction. Up on a bridge, a second deathlord with an ebony bow in its hands shuffled back and forth.
This was not going to be an easy fight for them. The arrows from the undead archer would easily pierce even Saoron's armor, and combined with its Shouts, it could possibly kill them both. They might be a slow and cumbersome enemy, but draugr deathlords were capable of killing even experienced tomb raiders if they weren't careful.
The archer needed to be dealt with first. It posed the biggest threat, and fortunately for them it was on the other side of the chamber. It didn't know they were there.
Alana reached for her crossbow, one of the deadly bolts already in her hand, and she slid it in before taking aim. She squeezed the trigger, and the bolt found its target. The deathlord growled in surprise and dropped its bow, its skeletal hands clawing at the crossbow bolt stuck in the side of its head.
Alana didn't let up; another pair of bolts hit their mark, and the deathlord fell off its perch and into the water with a loud splash. The second draugr turned and growled in the dragon tongue, its cold eyes glowing with malice as it swung its axe at the blonde.
The ancient steel met the refined malachite of Saoron's sword and the Breton pushed it back with a pair of quick slashes across its torso. The sharp blade cut through the dusty armor like butter and the deathlord stumbled. It fell to one knee with an irritated rasp, and it looked up to find Saoron's sword lopping its head clean off.
The undead warrior finally joined the afterlife and Saoron sheathed his sword. "We're clear." Alana followed him up across the steps and spotted a heavy iron gate that was no doubt blocking the way they needed to go. Nordic burial tombs were notorious for making one look around to spot hidden levers and chains to progress further into them.
Saoron frowned, tapping the ancient gate with his hand. "This isn't going to move. Check around; there has to be a chain somewhere around to open it."
Alana nodded and made her way across the bridge that led to another platform. Sure enough, a small handle was hidden on a rusty iron pedestal, and she pulled it. She was rewarded by the sound of ancient pulleys and chains squeaking as the gate opened up, and she made her back over to her friend.
Saoron looked at the inscriptions on the walls of the tomb as they progressed, frowning. "Hmm. These carvings…they seem to suggest some kind of clan once lived here. Look; they're obviously worshipping some kind of priest or king. Perhaps even both."
Alana looked at the carvings, and her blood started to pump. The carvings were eerily similar to the ones she found in Volskygge, a Nordic burial chamber to the west of Solitude in the coastal mountains. The summit of the ruin was guarded by a very powerful dragon priest, and it looked as though these ruins possibly were guarded by one, too.
"A dragon priest," she murmured, touching it. "But which one? I didn't know of any dragon priests on the island."
"Me neither." Saoron shook his head, brow furrowing in concern. "I'll have to ask Councilor Morvayn if I could borrow a few books to check if anymore of these ruins are located on Solstheim."
Alana's hand fell away from the carving, and they could feel a cold rush of air coming in from one of the tunnels. She shivered in spite of her natural resistances to the cold and they spotted the tunnel the miners had uncovered all of those decades ago. It was narrow, and Saoron muttered irritably as he was forced to cast another Candlelight spell.
The glowing orb provided enough light, and they stopped at the edge of a five foot drop into a giant chamber.
"Incredible." Saoron let out a low whistle, looking around as they carefully made their way down. "To think that a mine held this as a secret for thousands of years…it's remarkable. Most people would never get a chance to see something like this."
Alana spotted the rotting bodies of a few dead draugr, and the skeleton of an unfortunate explorer was next to them. "Wherever we are, we're not the first ones to discover this place."
"No, we're not." Saoron crouched down next to another skeleton, picking up an old journal and wiping dust off of its cover. "In fact…I think we found what we were looking for."
He looked through its old pages, the paper turning yellow from the countless years of sitting in a musty old ruin. "We did. This is the journal of Gratian Caerellius, and these are his remains. With this, we have all the proof we need to prove the East Empire Company was lying about his death."
Alana was more focused on the unusual red greatsword that lied next to Gratian's remains. "What is that?"
"Let me check." Saoron scrolled through the pages of the journal, and he let out a thoughtful hum. "Seems as though this ruin was once home to the Bloodskal clan, and this weapon is their masterpiece, so to speak. According to Gratian's last entries in his journal, swinging this sword in a certain way will get it to release a mystical ribbon of energy."
He hefted the strange red sword up with a grunt and approached a massive stone door that looked impossible to penetrate, and he pointed at the red lines in several spots of it. "Look; I bet if we hit those with the sword, it'll open."
He swung the blade at a small section of the door, and a red burst of energy came from the sword. It struck the glowing ribbon, and the piece it hit sank back and rotated up.
"Got it." He grinned. "Keep an eye out for any draugr. I'll have this open in no time."
Alana was thankful she had him with her down here as she took up a guard position. Saoron was always fascinated by ancient ruins and artifacts, developing a knack for solving riddles. His home had quite the collection of tomes on various subjects most people wouldn't bother themselves with, such as the Dragon War in the beginning of time and the story of Ysgramor's Companions.
As Saoron worked on opening the door, Alana began to feel more and more uneasy. She was able to sense a source of very powerful magic somewhere within, and she didn't like it. It was either a dragon priest like she believed or something even worse, like a daedra.
If it was a daedra, her sword would cut it down without any kind of mercy. Her hand trembled, and she winced as it throbbed painfully under her sleeve. 'Dammit. Come on, hold it together.'
The chamber shook, bits of dust falling from the ceiling, and the blonde turned to see that Saoron had opened it. He was leaning against the red greatsword for support, panting heavily. Sweat dripped down his muscular frame, and he gave her a weary thumbs up. "Got it. Just give me a moment to catch my breath."
Alana searched around her pockets for a stamina potion, and she unscrewed the cap off and handed it to him. "Here. This'll help."
"Thanks." He downed its contents in a hurry and he flexed his shoulders as the potion gave him his stamina back. "That took a lot more effort than I thought. I'm no greatsword user, but damn. I didn't think it would wear me out that much."
Alana felt along the handle of her own zweihander as they started to proceed through the passageway, easily avoiding the axe traps. They were simple to avoid if one paid attention, and they made it across without a single nick on them.
They were in the final chamber now, and the overpowering magical aura in the room was enough to choke on.
"Be careful. Something else is at work here," Saoron warned with a whisper. His sword was in hand, and Alana drew her own heavy blade.
The magical aura pulsed and throbbed in her arm, and it was painful enough to make her fall to her knees. "Dammit!" The pain was white hot, like she was being burned, and her eyes watered.
"Alana!" Saoron turned to help her, only to stop when a body rose from the waters and let out a deathly shriek. "Dammit! We have a dragon priest!"
The dragon priest cast both Lightning Cloak and Ebonyflesh, and it roared in the dragon tongue at her as it began to cast a ward to deflect Saoron's own magical attacks. The bolts of lightning he fired from the palms of his hands did nothing to deter it; instead, it seemed focused on Alana.
Its hand glowed with powerful magic, and it cast a Lightning Storm spell at her. Alana rolled to the side to avoid the deadly shockwave, still clutching her arm. In her current state, she was in no condition to fight a dragon priest, especially one as powerful as this one.
Alana pressed on the handle of her sword, the second blade appearing in her weaker hand. She'd have to fight using Clockwork's heavier blade in her left hand instead of her dominant. 'Fine by me. I've fought with much worse before.'
She rose to her feet, and with her sword in hand, she went after their enemy with a growl.
Her first two swings went wide, completely missing the elusive priest. It danced around her strikes with remarkable speed despite its undeath, and the blonde hissed in irritation. "Damn you!"
The dragon priest growled in its chilling voice and threw another powerful bolt of lightning at her. Saoron was able to push her out of the way and block it with a ward, though the magical barrier shattered like a pane of glass. The Breton grimaced as the force sent him onto his back, and he wiped the corner of his mouth. "Dammit. This one is powerful. My magicka reserves are empty from that blast."
He reached for the Bloodskal Blade, and Alana's own sword was back together. "This one's mine."
She swung her sword and caught the dragon priest in the chest. "You're finished." The second heavy swing cut across its lower body, and the third split the undead monstrosity in half.
Alana rested her sword on the ground, leaning on it and holding her arm. "Dammit." Using that burst of her raw physical power took more out of her than she expected, and she felt the soreness creep up on her like a poison.
Alana began to hear familiar ancient Nordic whispers, and she looked on the far edge of the chamber. On the other side was an ancient wall with carvings on it, and she approached it. 'A Word of Power? But which one?'
"Alana?" Saoron asked. "What are you…?"
He stopped when he saw the wall on the other side, and he put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll go with you." They swam across the chamber, the water warm and weighing them down. They hauled themselves out, and she wrung out part of her dark vest.
'This is going to take awhile to dry out. Hopefully I can let these dry without causing much of a scene when we get back,' she thought. Alana touched the smooth surface of the wall, feeling a rush of power course through her body.
Mul. The ancient word spoke in her mind as clear as day, and she felt the surge of power in her veins. Whatever this Word of Power meant, it gave her remarkable strength; power coursed through her limbs, banishing any hint of exhaustion, and Alana was able to stand up straighter.
"Come on, the sooner we get out of here, the better," she said. That dragon priest, whoever it was, was one deadly enemy. They were lucky to look no worse for wear after fighting it.
"Agreed." Saoron nodded, and they set off towards what looked to be the way out. However, Alana paused. She could sense a dark magical presence, not belonging to the dead dragon priest. Her sword was in hand, and she felt her cursed arm shake.
Something wasn't right.
"Do you…do you feel tha?" she whispered.
"Yeah." Saoron frowned, looking at an old black book on a pedestal. "Hmm. It seems to be coming from that."
They approached the book, and Alana shivered as they neared it. The book seemed…wrong. The thing radiated unearthly power, and yet it didn't seem to be really there. It was like they were in a plane of Oblivion.
Her cursed arm throbbed harder and harder, and Alana stayed away from the book. Something told her to not get within five feet of the damn thing if she could help it.
Saoron approached it, looking at the sickly green insignia on the cover. "Hmmm…whatever this is, it's obviously a powerful magical artifact. What it contains is something I'm not sure of."
"Is it…is it daedric in origin?" Alana asked.
"Possibly. But I'd suggest we get a professional opinion on this first. There's only one I can think of who is capable of telling us about this. I believe there is a Telvanni wizard to the east of Raven Rock. Whatever this book is, we need to learn more about it before we do anything with it."
He picked it up and tossed it into an empty knapsack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Come on. We're nearly done."
Alana waited for him to get a few paces ahead of her before following him. Her cursed arm was shaking, and she knew that book was definitely daedric. It had to be in order to make her arm feel the way it did. The sense of dread was heavy and thick, and she wanted to get out as soon as possible.
Alana looked back at the barrow, and she didn't notice the ethereal mass of tentacles watching her with an amused smirk on its face.
"Finally…the Black Swordswoman herself has found one of my tomes of knowledge…"
A/N: And that's it for chapter 2! Did you like it? Hate it? Tell me what you think! See you soon!
C. Strife #5371