On the twenty-seventh day of their departure, they found Valthume. A small, cobbled path led to Nordic steps. The face of a man was carved into the central pillar of an arch - the symbol for catacombs, if she remembered correctly. What gave Rohah the creeps, more than anything, were the fires burning merrily in braziers.

"Does someone tend this place?" Rohah asked, pointing at the fire.

"No," Norvosh said, smirking. "That'll be the draugr."

Rohah pushed the orc. "That isn't funny! What if there are graverobbers inside?"

Norvosh was smiling broadly now. "I wasn't joking. Draugr sometimes get up to do a little housekeeping. The undead Dragon Cult disciples are especially active."

She shrank back from the stone entrance. "That's horrific."

Norvosh strode forward. "They're only dead bodies. Stay close to me, and we won't have any trouble. Unless you'd rather wait outside - that's perfectly alright."

Groaning like a draugr, Rohah joined Norvosh. "Fine. I should be there in case you get hurt. I've got a lot of healing experience."

The orc's eyebrows shot up. "Good gods, Cyrod! And you never thought to tell me? That's important information!"

"Really?" Rohah said. "I didn't think it was that big a deal."

"It definitely is. It means you're not useless!"

The orc laughed harder than ever before while Rohah shoved him, jostling his orcish armor.

They entered the ruins together, stepping quietly. Lit torches provided just enough light to see by. The lightheartedness from minutes earlier was starting to wear off as the gloomy atmosphere replaced it with a gnawing sense of dread. It was unnaturally quiet. Goosebumps erupted on Rohah's arms, due only in part to the chill of the stones.

The sloping tunnel fed into a circular room that Rohah could only guess was a vestibule in ages past. A single chair rested in the middle of the room, occupied by a skeleton.

Rohah suppressed a yelp that threatened to burst out of her at the sight. The bones of the forearms were still laid on the armrests. She swallowed, revulsion churning her stomach.

A ghost materialized right in front of their eyes, and this time Rohah really did let out a shriek. Norvosh pulled out his warhammer, but the apparition made no move against them. Blueish energies swirled around its transparent form.

Its shape resolved into a male Nord. It raised its hands as if to surrender, showing them it meant no harm.

"Who are you?" Norvosh asked, his stance firm. Rohah checked over her shoulder to make sure there were no others sneaking up on them.

"My name is Valdar. My ghost rests here to keep intruders away. A Dragon Priest awaits you inside. Do not enter." The ghost paced as he talked, his hands held behind his back. His voice echoed slightly, as if it was coming to them through a long tunnel.

"We're not here to fight the Priest," Norvosh said.

"The threat is bigger than you know," the ghost warned. "He is plotting to raise himself as a powerful lich. You won't come out alive."

"We understand your concern," Rohah said. "You've done your duty. We are forewarned. Whether we take your advice is our decision. Begone."

The ghost dissipated.

"He accepted that?" Norvosh said, staring at the place the phantom had stood, eyebrows raised.

"I read a lot about ghosts in Cyrodiil," Rohah said. "Their spirits only manifest on Nirn to accomplish specific tasks. He told us his - to warn visitors. Well, he succeeded, so I let him know, and he left. Easy as that."

"Still want to go in?" This time, Norvosh's offer was serious. Rohah shook her head.

"I said I'd come with you. We'll make it."

They walked together wordlessly, Rohah carefully keeping the skeleton out of her sight. Several urns and pots lined the walls. Rohah reached to look at what was inside of one, but Norvosh grabbed her arm before she could.

"Don't touch anything," he said, letting go. "Draugr are protective of their offerings. We shouldn't make them any angrier than we have to."

They proceeded down several hallways that twisted downward. So far it was all offerings; Rohah assumed this was where living descendants would place their trinkets to honor the dead.

Norvosh kept his warhammer raised, tenser than Rohah had ever seen him. They both scanned the floor and walls for traps.

The next room they reached housed a draugr. Rohah's stomach did a flip and she backed off while Norvosh stepped forward. The undead monster had skin that looked dry but tough as wood. It gripped a rusted and crude greatsword in both hands. The thing stumbled forward, eyes burning with a blue light.

Its expected attack never came. Norvosh stood stock-still in a battle stance while it paused, apparently unwilling to strike at the orc.

By Arkay.

"Norvosh…" Rohah croaked. "Look at the teeth - "

She did not need to finish her sentence. The draugr had a set of teeth that curled upwards - just like Norvosh's. The draugr was an orc. Norvosh had been right.

Norvosh lowered his weapon, and the draugr did the same.

"Can it talk?" Rohah said, wrinkling her nose at the stink of death it carried.

"I don't think so," Norvosh said quietly. The revelation that this was one of his family members was clearly hitting him hard.

It was silent for a moment while living and undead stared at each other.

The draugr opened its mouth, and a single, guttural word fell out. "Rotmulaag."

"That's me," Norvosh said. "Gro-Grotmulag." The draugr gave no indication it understood.

"It's not sentient," Rohah noted. "But it recognizes you. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?"

"Let's go with good," Norvosh said, edging forward. He stepped around the draugr and walked to the edge of the room. The draugr shambled after him, stopping once it was five feet away from the orc.

"It'll follow us," Norvosh said. "Come on. We should continue further in. I want to see these stone records Zokoraav told us about."

"I don't like this," Rohah said, joining Norvosh. She glanced back at the draugr that followed them every few seconds. "What if it turns on us?"

"It won't," Norvosh said, sounding strangely confident. "It knows I'm family."

"Yeah, but it doesn't know I'm family."

"Good point," Norvosh said. "Then I name you Blood-Kin. You are welcome in my stronghold, and will be treated as a member of our community from here on out."

Rohah stopped, and Norvosh had to pause as well. "You can do that?" she said, dumbfounded.

"I never formally renounced my home," Norvosh said, grinning. "So - yes. Yes I can."

They kept walking. "What does being Blood-Kin mean, exactly?" Rohah asked.

"You'll be treated as one of us now. The same as if you were born an orc."

"Please don't tell me that involves arm-wrestling and brawling," Rohah said. "I'd lose to an orc child." Norvosh laughed at that, the sound echoing through the acoustic walls.

They reached another room. More draugr were assembled along the walls. The place was armed to the teeth with them. Groaning and growling, they woke and approached the duo, but none attacked. They were all orcs. Occasionally, one would utter a raspy "Rotmulaag".

They travelled in such a procession through the crypt. More and more orcish draugr banded along after them. Rohah had to admit that if she hadn't been so scared, the image would have been hilarious. Dozens of the undead clustered around them, eyes burning bright in the dim light. Moving forward became a deafening task as the clashing of dozens of suits of armor echoed and multiplied around them in the crypt.

Rohah had a scholar's eye, so she was quick to note to Norvosh that the stonework had changed slightly.

More draugr were up ahead. Rohah expected them to join their impromptu parade, but was startled when they all rushed Norvosh, weapons held high. There were four of them. Norvosh - who, gods knew, must have been operating on muscle memory - shifted his body so their weapons struck his orcish armor. The resulting clang hurt Rohah's ears.

They were both in shock that they had been attacked, but there was no need to react. Upon the hit, the undead orcs around them had surged forward, pushing the duo aside. A fraction of a second later, Rohah understood this to be protection - the friendly draugr were whaling on their attackers. Within seconds, the aggressive draugr had been hacked to pieces.

"By Arkay," Rohah muttered. The crowd of undead orcs dispersed from their kills.

Norvosh stooped down, examining a fallen draugr. "Nords. They recognized us as intruders."

"I would say so."

"You said the stonework changed," Norvosh continued. "I'm betting the orcs were placed on higher levels because they weren't as trusted in the Cult. The Nords were buried deeper down - closer to their lich master. Let's hope my family keeps playing bodyguard for us."

Smiling nervously, she followed the orc further into the tomb. Whenever Nord draugr erupted from their graves, the orcs would defend against them. The orcs were capable fighters, and they had overwhelming strength in numbers. Not one of their draugr seemed to sustain any injuries after each skirmish.

How much time had passed since they entered? An hour? Two? Rohah was tired of the dim lighting and the rank smell emitting from their little company. She wished part of the draugr's so-called housekeeping had included wearing perfume.

The group reached a long and wide hallway, unlike any of the others. Intricate carvings lined the walls and ceiling - depictions of the catacomb's history. Norvosh glanced at Rohah, excitement kindling.

"Jackpot," the orc said softly.

He took a torch from a sconce and passed the flames over the rough etchings, throwing the art into sharp relief.

It depicted the Orsimer and Nords warring. The two races charged at each other, the orcs in their heavy plate, the Nords in steel chainmail. Further along the wall, a dragon was shown diving from the heavens. A holy light encircled its head, and fire bloomed from its mouth. The line of flames split the Nords and orcs, preventing them from fighting. The artist had made it clear - this dragon was a god.

Following the flow of carvings, the dragon sat in a meditative pose while its Cultists bowed low on both sides. They carried offerings above their heads. Some were orcs, and some were Nords. Another section had the ruling dragon fighting another one of its kind. The two reptiles clawed at each other while fire spat from their jaws. In the end, the Cultist's dragon was victorious. The opponent flew away in shame while the victor gloated over its celebrating Cultists.

"The dragon united the orcs and Nords," Rohah observed.

"Rotmulaag," a draugr behind her snarled, making her jump.

"Only I wonder…" Rohah said, trailing off for a moment. "Zokoraav told us this dragon was an anarchist."

"What?" Norvosh said. He was crouched, looking at one of the orc warriors, clearly not listening to a word Rohah was saying.

"Nothing." Rohah stepped back to look at the ceiling. The art continued its story. The worshippers were praying to the dragon once more. But some of the orc Cultists were fleeing the scene - abandoning its dragon master. A stronghold - an orcish stronghold - was shown, defended by the same runaways. The dragon god flew after it, breathing a torrent of fire. The former Cultists stood strong, and the final etching showed a spear thrust through the dragon's throat. The holy light surrounding its head had died.

Rohah tapped Norvosh's shoulder, and he glanced back. "Your family founded Dushnikh Yal."

The orc looked at Rohah as if he hadn't properly heard her. "They what?" he said.

In response, Rohah only pointed at the ceiling silently. Norvosh took a moment to observe them just as Rohah had, until he reached the final panel.

Norvosh looked down, a big smile growing on his face. "They defied their dragon - and won!"

His mood was contagious. Rohah grinned back, just happy Norvosh was happy. "They did! You've got some tough fighters in your blood."

The orc was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I told them there was something. They must have buried their history out of shame… well, that's not shameful at all! They killed a dragon, for Kyne's sake!"

"Will you tell them now?" Rohah asked.

"Maybe," he responded. "I'll have to think about it..."

Rohah was inspecting the iron claw on the center pedestal. It was heavy, being iron, but perfectly crafted - she felt as if she were holding a casting of a real dragon's claw. "What was this for?"

He passed it to Norvosh, who handled it with ease. "It's a Nordic puzzle claw. There's a password hidden somewhere on it…"

They were silent for a moment while Norvosh twisted and turned the claw, squinting hard.

"There it is," he said. "See - look right below the first knuckle. There are three images. Only the Cult was supposed to know they were there."

Rohah had to bring the claw close to her face. There were tiny scratches in the claw, nearly indistinct. "It looks like a dragon, hawk, and wolf."

"Bingo," Norvosh said. "That combination opens the door. The central chamber will be inside. Most likely, it holds the remains of the Priest."

"Not a very good password," Rohah observed. "You can guess it easily."

Norvosh grinned. "Inputting a wrong answer springs traps."

'Oh' was all Rohah had to say to that.

"We may as well take a look," Norvosh said. He approached the door and started turning the locks, shifting them to the correct positions.

"Wait!" Rohah said. "The ghost said the Priest was trying to become a lich, remember? We've already gotten what we needed. We shouldn't go any further than we have to."

To that, Norvosh only said, "We've come this far." And in what Rohah considered to be a moment of pure recklessness, the orc pressed the claw into the door.

"We're going to die," Rohah muttered as stone grated. The door began to sink, scraping stone against stone. When it hit the bottom, there was a loud report.

The opening led to a stairway. Rather reluctantly, Rohah followed along, their draugr militia close behind. The stairs twisted into an unlocked door, which led them into a large cavern. Four coffins were placed neatly together. A fifth and more ornate coffin rested in the very end of the room, slightly raised.

The lids of all five coffins burst open, and Rohah shuddered as four draugr crawled out. They were outfitted in better armor than the previous draugr, sets that had been well-preserved over the centuries.

Out of the fifth and final coffin rose a Dragon Priest, who levitated off the ground. Its rotting frame was protected by dragon scale armor that radiated magicka. It wore an iron mask that disguised its features, and carried an unassuming staff.

The scene dissolved into chaos. Their orcish draugr pounded forward, facing off against the four Nord draugr. Norvosh was charging the Priest, warhammer at the ready. The Priest's inner circle of Nords were outmatched, but they were still fine fighters, and nearly a dozen of the orcs went down before the last Nord was dispatched.

The Priest, meanwhile, lifted its staff, and pointed it at the ground. Rohah wanted to scream at Norvosh to back away, but it all happened too quickly. Lightning sprouted from the ground, crackling in the air, broadening and lengthening until it created a deadly wall of electricity that Norvosh was too slow to avoid. Taking advantage of his mistake while Norvosh was in the thick of the lightning, the Priest Shouted, "Fus - ro dah!"

The rush of force threw Norvosh backward, skidding him across the stony floor. The orcish draugr stampeded to attack the Priest. "No!" Rohah cried, rushing at Norvosh's prone body, terrified he was dead.

Rohah began thanking all the Divines, one by one, when Norvosh lifted his head, wincing. "He got me good."

They both glanced at the Priest, who was facing off against the enraged draugr. The draugr were losing this battle - badly. Every hit seemed to deflect easily off the Priest's armor, while walls of lighting lit the entire cavern, disintegrating several draugr each time it rose.

"They're buying us time," Norvosh said. He struggled to stand.

"You can't fight like this," Rohah said, anxiety balling.

"Sure I can," Norvosh said, rolling his shoulders. The Priest was jabbing its staff at the last few orcs. "Watch and learn, Cyrod."

The Priest disposed of the final orc draugr and turned its murderous gaze on Norvosh. Rohah backed away, shaking.

This time Norvosh was more careful. He circled around the Priest, hefting his steel warhammer. Rohah felt her entire body clench whenever the Priest used his staff, but Norvosh would always avoid the wall of lightning wherever it appeared. His movements were jerky, and once in a while, lightning would flash on his body, making him double over. The problem with the Priest was he couldn't get close.

Norvosh stalked forward, and the expected lightning barred his way.

"What, no Shouts now?" the orc taunted.

"Daanik ah dov!" the Priest said in a raspy voice.

Rohah dug her fingernails into her palms, watching as Norvosh waited for the lightning to die down. He faked a run, and another lightning barrier rose up before him.

"It's the only way, Rohah," Norvosh called behind him. "Sorry."

He dove through the wall of lightning, energy hissing and cracking around his armor, steaming as it burned his skin. Norvosh broke his fall with a roll. Lightning sparked along his body, but the orc didn't seem to notice. The Shout flew over his head, as the Priest had expected an upright charge. Norvosh staggered up, and with the momentum of standing, thrust his warhammer through the Priest's throat. There was a sickening crunch.

The Priest fell, and moments later, Norvosh fell too.

"Norvosh!" Rohah screamed, the name torn out of her. She ran forward, cursing - she had to wait for the lightning to die down before she could reach her friend. As soon as it dissipated, she dropped down, inspecting Norvosh. Lightning still flickered in places on his body, making him twitch involuntarily. The orc was passed out.

"Oh, no…" Rohah said, touching the armor. It was hot. "No, no, no no no… Not good, not good, not good - Norvosh, please wake up!"

With shaking fingers, Rohah began to take the orc's armor off him. It took a long time - far too long. His skin was hot to the touch. Rohah took a deep breath and recalled the Restoration magic she knew.

Reaching for the magicka, her hands began to glow, and she labored over healing the wounded orc. She focused first on the parts that seemed to spark with lightning the most - his head and chest, mostly, which had been struck twice by the wall.

Her magicka depleted at a steady pace, but it seemed to be working. After a period of several minutes, Norvosh's skin grew cooler, and the sparks diminished, then vanished completely.

Norvosh's eyes fluttered open. "Rohah?" he said weakly, and tried to sit up. Rohah pressed a hand to his chest, preventing him from finishing the motion.

"Lie down," she ordered. "I'm not done."

There were severe burns that Rohah worried about, but she was not able to address them. Currently, she was preoccupied with siphoning away the worst effects of the lightning. Foul magic had done a number on his limbs, and unaddressed, it could leave him paralyzed. It took all her concentration to keep the flow of magicka steady, to avoid clouding her head with emotion.

At last, it seemed she'd done enough for the moment - Norvosh would survive, hopefully with the use of his limbs.

Rohah sagged, drained. "How do you feel?"

The orc experimented with his jaw. "Burned. Hurt. It's hard to move. Did I kill the Priest?"

"Yes," Rohah said. "I'm an excellent healer, but I just don't have enough magicka to heal it all right now. We need a place where you can recover."

"Stronghold," Norvosh said. Speech seemed to take a lot of energy from him at the moment, but Rohah understood immediately. Dushnikh Yal was close nearby - Norvosh's home.

"Just rest for a bit," Rohah said. "I'm going to get us some food and water."

"Wait," Norvosh rasped, closing his hand over Rohah's arm before she could go. "The ghost said… something about a lich."

Rohah stiffened, a flash of fear flaring in her sternum. "Right! Oh, dear."

She ran to the Priest's coffin, scanning the room. A lich's life force - or soul - could be stored in their chosen phylactery. The Priest seemed as double-dead as Norvosh had been able to manage, but Rohah needed to remove any possibility of a risen lich. Hopefully, it would be as simple as finding the container and destroying it.

Her search did not take long. Kept in a hidden compartment on the Priest's coffin were three glass bottles. Rohah removed them, stomach flipping when she realized there was a dark brown liquid sloshing inside. Blood.

There was nothing special about the bottles themselves, but there was a definite sense of power radiating from the blood. Crossing to a brazier, she upended each bottle, the blood sizzling and bubbling on the coals. Though the bottles were only empty containers now, Rohah smashed them on the ground, just for good measure. She returned to Norvosh's side.

"All done," she said. "Just stay put while I go up."

Norvosh nodded and closed his eyes, face relaxing as he released the tension.

Rohah began the trek upward. Only now, when the entire crypt was cleared out, did she appreciate its sheer scale. She passed room after room of catacombs. The dead Nord draugr made her nervous whenever she passed their motionless corpses, so she picked up the pace.

After getting lost twice, she at last reached the surface. The cool night air refreshed her and instantly lifted her mood. Rohah wanted to linger outside, but Norvosh would be waiting for her, so she resignedly delved back into the dungeon with their rations.

By the time she got back, she found the orc sitting comfortably on the edge of the Priest's former coffin. He was tapping the floor with his leg, releasing nervous energy. Rohah handed him water and the sack of food.

"I'm feeling a little better now," Norvosh said, pausing for a moment to guzzle water. "At least I can move. Hey, we should take a look at the Priest's mask and staff. I didn't want to touch them in case they were cursed or something." He kicked in the Priest's general direction.

"Food first, objects of questionable magical relevance later," Rohah said, biting into an apple.

"Stendarr bless you," the orc sighed, pulling out a slab of jerky.

"Lovely picnic we're having, isn't it?" Rohah said. "I'd sit down next to you, but I don't want to touch anything those dead bodies touched."

"It's not a bad coffin," Norvosh said, patting it. "Very well-crafted. Stony and bone cold. I even personally emptied it for you."

"Very funny," Rohah said, unable to resist glancing at the dead Priest. Its head was bent at an unnatural angle, thanks to Norvosh's exceptional skill as a chiropractor. They wrapped up their 'picnic'.

"I know we only came in here for information," Norvosh said, "but there's a lot of good loot in this place. We should take as much as we can."

"Isn't that graverobbing?" Rohah checked.

Norvosh shrugged. "Probably. But these guys were all Dragon Cultists."

"Well, I'm sold," Rohah said. She tentatively reached for the staff still clutched in the Priest's bony fingers. A little squeamish, she gently tugged it until the skeletal grip loosened.

"Eurgh," Rohah said, ever articulate. She inspected the staff. "No curse so far."

Norvosh snorted. "Why don't you give the mask a shot, then, while you're risking life and limb in the name of science?"

Rohah dropped the staff in Norvosh's lap, going to crack her knuckles and failing to produce any noise. "Maybe I will."

She immediately regretted the decision - the mask seemed glued on to the Priest's face. Rohah used their empty food sack to touch the mask, peeling it off the dried skin. She dropped it in the coffin Norvosh sat on. The Priest's face was as ghastly as any other draugr.

"I'm not wearing that until it's sanitized," Rohah said firmly. She'd had enough of this tomb. Norvosh laughed and set the staff down next to the mask.

"They've got to be important," Norvosh said thoughtfully. "The Priest was using them. They don't look like much, but…"

"They're definitely enchanted," Rohah agreed. "I can sense it. We need to go to Winterhold's College to have them identified."

"Let's take what we want tonight," he said. "Then we don't have to deal with it in the morning."

Several hours of dungeon-crawling later, their packs were chock full of pilfered treasure. They had combed through the area, finding trinkets and baubles, rusted weapons that had a chance of being restored, jewelry and coin, potions and scrolls, complete sets of ancient Nordic armor - some of which might even function, and even scrap metal and soul gems. There were a great deal of artifacts Rohah wanted to take with them, but the fact was the horses could only carry so much, so she contented herself with studying what he could. They focused on objects that Rohah could identify as magical. She was no master wizard, but she was not so incompetent that she could not recognize when something was enchanted.

There was also plenty of information to be had. Rohah made several rubbings, most from the carvings of Valthume's history, and others of the curious runes inscribed on a rounded wall in the Priest's chamber. She knew they were most likely written in Dovahzul. It would be interesting to see what the Cultists had to say. Most likely more rambling about their dragon overlords, but still, it was history, and she'd like to have it recorded.

They set up bedrolls in the crypt, close to the entrance. They wanted the safety of its walls, but both of them felt sleeping closer to the actual catacombs was a bad idea. Rohah in particular wanted to be nowhere near those rotted bodies.