In the hour before dawn, just as the eastern sky was greying, the aurora had slowed, moving in slow, regular pulses, still in the strange blue and yellow colours. Ako was striding back towards Riverwood, the excellent night vision of the Khajiit race coming in handy when leaving a city in a clandestine manner. The sun was just peeking over the eastern mountains as Ako passed Honningbrew Meadery, colouring the snows on the mountains in pink and violet. The Arch-Mage resisted the temptation to grab a charred stick and paper, regretting the need to save the precious paper for the barrow he was heading to explore.
Ako made swift progress in the direction of Riverwood, passing the bridge near the town around noon, his keen eyes noting a small encampment of Whiterun guards near the town gate with satisfaction. Not bothering to enter the town, he turned west, heading up and into the mountains, the giant Throat of The World towering over the town and valley at his back. He soon smelt wolves in the air, and sure enough, a straggler or two appeared to investigate the Khajiit. When they got too inquisitive, the blaze erupting from Ako's claws sent them packing with singed tails. The amount of snow on the ground steadily increased, with the wind picking up and the trees becoming scraggly stumps.
Soon afterwards, an old tower came into view. It stood haphazardly on the edge of a ledge, a short, narrow bridge leading to the door. A large pine tree took advantage of the windbreak the tower provided. A big Nord, who could only be described as a tree trunk himself, was lounging against the pine, a battle-axe as large as the Khajiit himself resting at his feet. A veritable mane of long, curly dark hair hung to his shoulders, twin braids matching the single one in his beard to keep it out of the Nord's eyes.
Ako groaned inwardly. This high up in the mountains meant there was little game to be had, and the Nord had no visible ranged weapon. The Arch-Mage cursed softly in Ta'agra, as it meant that the huge man was no hunter, and so he was most likely a bandit. And bandits were never loners. Ako's suspicions of hostile intentions were confirmed when the Nord lifted himself from the tree, picking the massive axe up into a battle stance.
A short, stocky Bosmer, about the same height as Ako, joined his apparent partner in crime near the tree, the elf's hazel skin glistening with semi-melted snow. An iron-tipped, raven-fletched arrow was half nocked in a longbow, the business end being waved in the Khajiit's direction. The wood elf's dark, greenish-yellow eyes were alight in malice and confidence, an odd mixture in Ako's opinion.
In a sleazy, oozing voice the elf spoke, "What're ye doin' here? This is our territ'ry. Begone if ye want to keep yer guts inside of ye!"
Ako rolled his eyes beneath his hood, and replied in a polite yet curt way, "I am but a simple traveller, and you happen to be between me and my destination. It would please me if I were left in peace." His tail swished slowly from side to side in confidence, as it always did when someone was about to be shown the error of their ways by the Khajiit Arch-Mage.
The Bosmer's eyes widened, first in surprise, then greed at seeing the white tail swinging behind the hooded figure in front of him. He lowered his bow and motioned for the Nord to relax his guard somewhat. "A trav'ler ye say? Where t' might ye be travlin'? Some buyers, hey, cat? Ye a dealer?"
Inwardly frustrated, Ako kept up the polite façade as he replied in mock surprise, "A dealer? A dealer of what, if I may ask? I am no trader of any sort."
The elf's face soured at the Khajiit's reply, and he asked in exasperation, "Any skooma, ye fool! D'ye have any skooma?"
Ako's voice held a mocking tone of false surprise "Skooma?! Dear gods, never! I have always been loyal to the law, a simple scholar."
The Nord was clearly unnerved by how confident the traveller before them was, but the wood elf was oblivious as he pointed his bow at the Khajiit and smirked. "Well, then there ain't no use for ye body, now is there? Tha' robe of yers looks like it might be worth somethin'." He fired the arrow.
The elf's hazel eyes widened dramatically when his arrow bounced off said robe with nary a sound. Ako chuckled darkly at the faces of the bandits in front of him, the enchantments on his personal robes doing their job perfectly. He casually made to dust off his chest where the arrow had struck, and lifted his hood with his other hand, revealing his slitted eyes glittering with barely concealed amusement.
"Now, I think it is time to correct a few faulty assumptions. Firstly, if you do manage to get my body, certain people will be very grateful and liable to reward you grandly. That is, if they don't kill you in their joy. Secondly, my robe isn't worth something, it is worth a king's ransom in the right hands. And lastly, shooting an arrow at me is a terrible decision." Ako spoke with a voice dripping with ice and steel, leaving no room for the bandits' delusions as to their near future.
The by now terrified archer let off another arrow, and it vanished in a burst of flame as Ako raised his hand. "Let me introduce myself. Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, at your service." As his eyes became clearly visible to the bandits, blood fled their faces in terror.
Ako pushed forward as the Nord all but squeaked his first words since the confrontation began, "What are you!"
The Arch-Mage looked at the man with a questioning expression, but brushed the comment off. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as the bandits forwent all bravery and fled into the tower. Ako could hear more than two sets of footsteps running around in the tower, like frightened poultry in a coop. He headed in, past a small cooking table with storage barrels set around it. A small flight of stairs led to the right, where the large Nord was waiting. He was no less terrified than before, but a light of determination was in his eyes.
Yelling a war cry, he swung his axe in a powerful downward curve, only to find his limbs seizing, turning to stone. Chains of flame, black and purple embers rising off it, materialised near the bandit and quickly wrapped around him, stretching and lengthening to prevent any sort of escape. Ako continued upward, nonchalantly climbing a second flight of stairs. As he reached the second floor, he saw two more bandits cowering at the top of yet another set of stairs on a balcony, one of them being the wood elf he had confronted earlier.
With a bored air, the Khajiit threw a fireball at them. It exploded between the two, rendering the bandits senseless. The looks on their faces when they came to a few moments later had Ako cackling with laughter, his illusory fireball doing a good job of scaring the ruffians witless without so much as a singed hair. The Arch-Mage summoned more flaming chains, rendering the wood elf and his partner in crime (a brutish Orsimer) helpless.
Reaching the top, Ako toppled the bandits down the stairs, having them join the Nord on the lower level. He smirked as he thought about the bruises the bandits must have sustained on their way down, their deserved punishment for trying to attack the Arch-Mage. He quickly rifled through the chests and personal belongings at the top of the tower, finding only small amounts of gold and potions.
He spent a few moments pondering what to do with the (now restrained) bandits. On the one hand, he could kill them. A quick and permanent solution, but Ako preferred to not kill if it could be helped. He could take them to prison, but that would be an unneeded strain upon the hold's resources and manpower. So the only viable solution seemed to be to take justice in his own claws, and offer them a choice between reformation and… elimination.
Walking back down to his prisoners, he asked them with a smirk on his face, "So, what happens now?" The bandits could only quiver in fear, not trusting themselves to speak. After a few moments of silence, a look of annoyance replaced the smirk on the Khajiit, and he told the thugs, "I'll give you a choice. Either vow to reform and go back to your old lives, never to break the law again, or I'll deal with you here and now. I can assure you, facing me will be unpleasant."
The Arch-Mage emphasised his point with flames dancing across his claws. The big Nord immediately broke down gibbering, promising to go back to his village and never leave it again. The Orc looked uncomfortable, and after a few minutes of internal debate eventually acquiesced, swearing to return to a stronghold.
Ako waved a hand, dispelling the chains on the two repenting bandits, while simultaneously tightening the bonds around the wood elf. A muffled 'Urk!" was heard as the Bosmer's breath was forced out. "Get what you can from the tower, and leave. I don't need to warn you what will happen if I catch you in a similar position again."
The two bandits hurried off to other parts of the tower, leaving Ako and the wood elf alone. The Khajiit sent an exasperated glare towards the archer. "So, your choice?" A murderous glare was the only response. He was quite sure that, if there weren't chains in the way, the elf would have spat in his face.
A deadpan huff led to Ako nonchalantly tumbling the elf down the bottom set of stairs as well, making sure that his semi-digitigrade feet left a claw mark or two on the elf's face as he was pushed down. A strained groan escaped his lips as he ended up at the bottom, fresh bruises added to his collection. Ako jumped down from the top of the stairs, showcasing his natural Khajiit agility as he landed near silently, his eyes never leaving those of the injured elf.
"One last time, I ask. Do you repent? Or do you want to die?" Ako asked with a tone reminiscent of pity. He let the chains slip down, allowing the Bosmer to voice his opinion. The spittle Ako expected earlier was dutifully aimed in his direction, quickly evaporated in a flash. A sigh came from the Khajiit, standing up with the elf's hateful and defiant glare following all the way.
"Fine. Seeing your insistence, how would you like it to end?" he asked with a scowl. The Bosmer's eyes widened in confusion, a rare change from the hateful glower that seemed etched onto his face. After a few moments of silence, Ako went on, "See it as your last meal before your execution. You can choose how to die. You want excruciating pain, you'll get it. You want it quick, you'll be gone before you know it. Whatever you want."
The elf looked to be contemplating Ako's words for a moment, before he huffed, dark tan eyes narrowing in hatred once again. Another sigh from the Khajiit. 'I really sigh too much these days, I should be wary of deflating,' he smirked to himself. The Arch-Mage dragged the archer up the stairs to the very top of the tower, where there was a small balcony.
Standing the Bosmer on the edge, Ako spoke in a solemn tone. "For once in your life, let go of that stubborn, foolish pride, and keep your eyes open. Do not fear, and embrace the freedom the birds have. Savour the taste of flight, albeit only under gravity's power. It will be painless." With a thrust of his hand, the Khajiit dispelled the chains surrounding the elf, while at the same time propelling him up and away into the valley.
Despite his warnings, the Bosmer screamed loudly, flailing wildly. A small tinge of jealousy filled Ako, his heart aching at the sight of the birds scattering as the elf disappeared into the trees in the distance. All his life, he had been envious of the birds' flight, seeking out high places to feel the wind ruffle his fur. The bridge in Leyawiin, leading to the Count's castle on the opposite side of the river mouth, was a favourite childhood memory of his due to this fact.
With a wistful sigh – 'Not again!' he chuckled – the Arch-Mage turned and made his way down outside, heading deeper into the mountains, clouds hovering dangerously low with the promise of snow.
Massive doors slowly closed, a cloaked figure dripping and spilling snow everywhere as he entered his destination, Bleak Falls Barrow. Ako wore a thunderous scowl as he shook off the last bits of sleet clinging to his robes. The clouds made good on their promise of snow, with fierce winds and icy chills accompanying the snowstorm that struck.
A small group of bandits was camping out among the arches at the front of the entrance to the barrow, barely visible as it was in the swirling blizzard. Frostbitten though the bandits were, they still insisted on trying to relieve the Arch-Mage of his vitality. A few well-placed balls of ice finished the storm's job, leaving the bandits frozen solid, their lives fading rapidly.
Extremely weathered carvings decorated the lobby of the barrow, ornate arches faded into dust. The metal doors held onto their archaic etchings, symbolisms long lost to time. The room held a stench of decay, the rotting skeever carcasses the evident source. A quick glance revealed that skeevers weren't the only unlucky ones. A couple of bodies, attired in typical bandit fashion, were also present.
At the far end of the hall, past a few collapsed arches, a fire was striving merrily to drive off the cold. Two bandits were huddling around it, speaking in hushed tones. Ako's above average hearing, courtesy of his Khajiit heritage, allowed him to safely eavesdrop on the conversation.
"What's that fool Arvel doing?" a man sitting on the floor asked. His darkish tan skin pointed to blood skewed in the Imperial favour, specifically the Nibenay Basin area. His companion, a rather petite archer, most likely of Breton descent, scowled from across the fire, looking towards the door through which Ako had just entered, but she was blinded by the firelight.
"If the elf wants to get himself killed, let him. I still say we should just have taken the claw and ran. The supposed 'treasure' is a lie. That trader's little trinket would have set us up for months!" the Breton responded with vehement anger. Her scowl deepened, revealing jagged teeth to accompany a nose that had been broken too many times.
The Imperial waved off the half elf's concerns. Walking towards the fire, Ako prepared ice spikes in his hands, flicking the sharp darts towards the bandits' necks when he was greeted with an arrow flying from the bow and a mace swung towards his legs. The archer was flung backwards by the force, while the man, still half sitting, slumped towards the ground, their lives snuffed out in an instant.
Deeper in, a wide passage descended, spider webs clinging to the dusty corners, with a few diligent arachnids spreading their webs across the entire passage. Tree roots crawled across pillars and walls, the dusty stench of age-old neglect thick in the air. A few braziers were lit, fires humming softly with magic burning in them. 'Spells of preservation,' Ako noted idly.
Archways in various states of disrepair lined the winding passage as it twisted deeper into the earth, stairways leading down every few hundred steps. A couple of side passages appeared, blocked off and caved in. He found a few skeever carcasses, recently killed, indicating that someone had preceded him into the depths of the tomb not long ago.
A somewhat foul smell arose. Ako tracked it to a stack of musty, moth-eaten linen wraps, no doubt intended for embalming purposes, if the tools near them were any indication. They smelled unused, however. An empty burial urn was on the ground nearby. It made Ako wonder just how the tomb had come to be abandoned. It seemed as if its occupants had fled hastily, leaving behind everything except that which they wore at the time of abandonment.
As the Khajiit nimbly clambered across a particularly damaged section of the passage, he spotted another bandit carrying a torch, one flight of stairs down. As the big Nord stepped up to a lever and pulled it, he was suddenly impaled by small darts. Reaching the bottom, Ako noted a lowered portcullis, with the conspicuous lever presumably controlling it.
Next to the lever a pile of debris and broken statuary lay, a stylised carving of a snake being visible. Above the gate Ako saw two intact examples on either side of a hole, indicating an obvious source for the rubble pile. Another snake and what looked like a whale (from the highest towers of the College, Ako could occasionally see pods passing by in summer) was depicted.
To his left there were oddly shaped pillars, depicting eagles and whales, the same in number as the idols that were meant to hang above the bars. Going closer, the Arch-Mage noticed that the pillars seemed to be on a rotating platform. When he gave one a gentle push, it rotated to show a snake. From his previous experiences in Nordic ruins, Ako surmised that the pillars should match what was shown above the gate.
One simple puzzle later, and the gate was open. Ako also made a few quick rubbings of the different faces on the puzzle-pillars (snake, whale, and eagle), his first scholarly contributions to this particular dungeon run. Through the portcullis, there was a small chest near a table, which carried two burial urns.
Nearing the table, he noticed a book from a rather well-known series of parodies, which he often gave to aspiring students to analyse, in order to teach patience. He snorted at the memory and wondered how a rather modern book came to be this deep in an old ruin. Opening the chest, Ako saw that it had been ransacked and emptied. That meant that the bandits had penetrated this far before.
Hearing a skittering of paws below him, the Khajiit quickly flung down a couple of fire runes near the spiralling staircase. Runes were explosive proximity traps, and immensely useful for setting up ambushes. Not bothering to keep the noise down, the settling runes alerted a pack of skeevers, quickly incinerating the frontrunners as they came up. To Ako's great amusement, all the others slowly slid back down the wooden stairs, their burning fur setting it alight.
A quick spray of frost and ice from Ako's claws put out the flames. Descending, he entered a room that was covered in soft gossamer webs, along with the trashed furniture. Bookracks, tables and even hanging braziers were flung around. Evidently, a violent scuffle had occurred in the room, but Ako could find no trace of the age or the cause of the scuffle. An old magic scroll was lying near the centre of the room, beneath a broken bench.
Ako picked it up, finding it to be a powerful fire spell. Going down further, he heard a panicky voice call out names, asking with hope tinging his tone if someone was coming. The spider webs were increasing in both thickness and number. With a quick whiff of the air, Ako scowled as he recognized the scent of a frostbite spider nest.
As he turned a corner, he duly found the characteristic mark of a nest, a thickly spun webbing that could trap even dull swords. A flash of fire removed it, though, and Ako quickly lay down a few fire runes, hoping that the spider would be destroyed before he ever got near it. He charged a fireball just in case.
Going in, he saw a multitude of egg sacs lining the walls, with a man-shaped object hanging in what looked like an alcove, thoroughly strung up in webs. From a skylight in the roof dropped one of the biggest spiders Ako had ever seen, and that was saying something. It was missing a front claw and half of another leg, but still looked menacing. As it touched the ground, it set off two of the Arch-Mage's runes, which cauterized the stumps as the spider screeched with pain.
A fireball to the face soon followed, putting the pained spider out of its misery as it skidded to the far wall. It ended up right in front of the man hanging in the webs, who let out a most undignified scream, to Ako's delight. Slowly sauntering towards the prisoner – or maybe meal would be a better word – an unnerving Khajiit grin spread across Ako's face.
"So… a little scared of spiders are you?" he drawled as he got close.
The Dunmer – grey skin and red eyes becoming visible – scowled in an odd mixture of relief and indignation, which only served to bring more laughter to Ako. "If you'd been stuck here for two days, you'd be scared too!" he retorted in a petulant tone. "Get me out of here!" he added with a whine, verging on panic.
A low chuckle came from the Khajiit. "Now now, let's not be rash. Arvel, wasn't it?" he asked in a questioning tone.
A gasp of surprise came from the elf, with a slightly enraged, "How do you know my name?" following.
With a laugh, Ako replied, "I didn't." The look on Arvel's face was priceless. Ako was sure that if the elf had normal coloured skin, it would have matched his eyes by now. Continuing, Ako said, "I've heard rumours about you having a certain claw," – this was punctuated by an exaggerated swipe of his own and a soft growl – "a dragon's claw, to be exact. I had my eyes on it, you know."
A gleam came into the Dunmer's eyes as he seemingly forgot all about his anger. "Yes! The claw. The door, the markings, I know how they all fit together!" Oblivious to the bemused looks he was receiving from the Arch-Mage, he went on, "Get me down, I'll show you! You won't believe the power the Nords hid in their tombs."
With a silent smirk, Ako turned around and made for the entrance. "Wait, where are you…. GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!" the elf screeched out, in full-blown panic mode. Ako slowly turned around, facing the now whimpering elf. "Please… don't leave me here," the elf whined.
Ako thoughtfully tapped his arm with a claw, before he put on his best 'you-are-an-idiot-and-I-don't-like-idiots' voice, specially reserved for stubborn students. "Well, you see, I don't carry a weapon more fearsome than shards of charcoal, and I particularly hate getting my claws sticky. So I can't cut you down."
The blood drained from the elf's face quicker than Ako thought was physically possible. Arvel's protests quickly degraded into incomprehensible blubbering, that had Ako biting his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. After a minute or so, when the Dunmer was reduced to dry sobbing, Ako stepped in, his cruel entertainment seemingly worn out.
"However, the Dunmer like fire, don't they? I'm sure that fire can be arranged," Ako said, flames dancing gently from his outstretched claws. The elf's eyes widened, before they closed in acceptance, a slight nod indicating his submission. Flames flickered to the web, freeing the elf, but also setting his hide helmet on fire. As Arvel fell down, he scrambled to get the helmet off him. Doing so revealed the now scorched, jagged ends of his red Mohawk, with Ako struggling in vain to keep his laughter to himself.
The Dunmer gave a scathing glare at the Khajiit, who was laughing loudly at the pitiable elf. "Fool… that treasure is mine!" he muttered, before running deeper into the tomb.
Ako got his composure back with a sigh, before yelling, "Let's see how much the Dunmer really like fire!" Walking deeper, he soon caught sight of the elf crossing a room. Two fireballs went flying, smashing into the elf's back and sending him crashing into a wall, a sickening crack emanating from the collision. If the fireballs hadn't finished off the elf, the smack against the wall certainly did, leaving only a charred mess of leather and molten metal behind.
Searching through the bag that went flying from the fireballs, he found a journal and the golden dragon's claw that he had seen two days prior in Riverwood. The journal revealed that he was indeed the thief who had stolen it from Lucan the day Ako had spent in the little town. It also gave cryptic hints of how to operate the famed door in the Hall of Stories. Ako had come across several references to those doors during his years of research, but he had never seen one in the flesh, so to speak. He wasn't ashamed to admit he was as excited as a little kid at a Saturalia festival to finally see it. He was saving up most of his paper especially for it. Going deeper, he entered the catacombs proper.
Now, a tomb, by definition, contained the bodies of the dead. Unfortunately, this tomb had an overabundance of animation in said dead bodies. Fortunately, they were moving rather slowly and clumsily. Unfortunately, they had a tendency to swing pointy objects towards intruders. Fortunately, their embalmed flesh served as an excellent torch, if encouraged by a few errant sparks.
All in all, it amounted to Ako applying liberal amounts of heat, in the form of exploding fireballs, to the draugr, as the honoured Nord dead were named. A sickly-sweet smell filled the air, the embalming fluids having mostly lost their fragrance millennia ago. Dodging the traps that filled the corridors between the catacombs, he went on deeper and deeper into the ruin, occasionally pausing to light up a pool of lantern oil lying on the ground.
Ako realised that he was creating a hazard for himself, given that the draugr's weaponry tended to go flying when a fireball exploded near them and often got blown back towards the Khajiit. He slowed down, throwing the fire at greater ranges, while occasionally stopping to sketch an interesting decoration. The occasional magic-using draugr was just another obstacle.
A couple of hours, a detour through a stream, and a burning frost troll later, a cold Arch-Mage stumbled gracefully past the newly-lit undead torches into the Hall of Stories. Even his wildest fantasies couldn't prepare him for what he found there. It was any scholar and academic's dream. Four bas reliefs to a side, reflected on the opposite side, all carefully preserved with runic spells of protection faintly visible against the dust and cobwebs, surrounded by totemic representations of animals.
The first panel had a woman with very loose, flowing robes, winged figures flying from her hands. It reminded Ako of early representations of the Daedric Prince Azura, of the Dawn and Dusk. He was baffled as to why the ancient Nords would have such a figure, almost universally despised by the Nords, in a position of honour. 'Unless…' a thought occurred to him, 'it is a representation of Kyne.' Kyne was said to be the creator of Man and therefore the Nords, the goddess of the winds and storms. Her modern-day equivalent was Kynareth, or Kenarthi as Ako's people named her.
The second panel contained an aged but hale man, with flowing fur robes and carrying two staffs topped with skulls contorted in ghastly shrieks. The panel was topped with what appeared to be a star map, leading Ako to think it a representation of an early mage, or perhaps a god of magic? He couldn't recall any figure that fit the bill in the ancient Nord pantheon. It was something to give to his students, to discuss and see what they could learn and contribute.
At the next panel, Ako was intrigued to see a tall, winged man depicted. The wings themselves appeared to be scaled or feathered, with the scaly/feathery motif continuing throughout the entire relief. What appeared to be an owl's face was also visible, along with sheaves of a grain-like grass. It led Ako to conclude that it was feathers rather than scales, since the dragon was an icon of strength, not fertility.
The last panel did contain the dragon's representation. A man, cloaked in what seemed to be scales and floating above the ground, wielding whips of fire, was the central theme. It reminded him of the few Dragon Priests Ako had had the misfortune of coming across. At the top, a wyrm was curling regally, with tails symbolically curving above the man. The fact that it was closest to the door was not lost on Ako. He was certain that this had been a temple of the Dragon Cult before it became a tomb.
The door itself was covered in curling, spiralling motifs, with the central part consisting of three rings, each with a totemic animal on it. A large circle with an engraved claw, similar to the one in Ako's pack, dominated the very centre. Taking out said claw, he remembered Arvel's journal stating that "The solution would be in the palm of your hand." On the bottom of the claw, there were three stylized animals, a bear, a dragonfly, and an owl.
After he had made rubbings of every detail in the bas reliefs and on the door, Ako turned his full attention to the door. After twisting the rings to match, top to bottom, he inserted the claw into the three-pronged keyhole, which accepted it, matching perfectly. When he pushed it in and turned it, the rings spun around, lining up to show the owl. Slowly, rumbling, the door sank down into the ground, soft lines of magic flaring as Ako removed the claw.
Walking through the newly-opened door and up the staircase, he found himself in a large cavern, lit by soft moonlight shining from above. He was surprised at how much time had passed since he had entered the ruins. He could hear falling water up ahead, looking through derelict arches and pillars. A few sarcophagi stood to one side, on raised daises, indicating the high status of whoever was interred in them.
As he came to the centre of the cavern, he saw three waterfalls, leaving a river to surround an island. A few scraggly bushes and shrubs, all long dead, were spread around the stream. The island was undoubtedly the central focus of the ruined temple; elaborate carvings surrounded a dais containing an ornate chest and a single large, decorated sarcophagus.
A curved, sickle-shaped wall stood to the far side of the dais, stretching high into the air. It had the appearance of a throne, most likely a dragon's throne. Ako could almost see it, the scaly beast perched majestically, gazing haughtily over the prostrate forms of worshippers. He couldn't help but feel an alarming sense of rightness, of properness at this mental image.
Crossing a thin bridge onto the island, the Khajiit saw that the lower part of the curving wall was covered in seemingly random scratches, reminiscent of claw marks. He became aware of a faint thrumming in the air, like distant chanting, that seemed to emanate from the wall. He felt powerful magic in the air, tugging at him, insistently nudging him towards the wall.
Going closer, he saw a pattern to the dots and slashes, realising with a start that the scratches made-up words, an alphabet of some sorts. The chanting was growing louder with every step, the compelling tug more insistent. He noticed a set of three letters in the middle glowing faintly. Taking a closer look, everything else darkened slowly, his mind becoming consumed with the three sets of three vertical scratches.
The glowing word seemed to ooze from the wall, coloured streaks of magic seeping into Ako. The chanting grew to a crescendo as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, a single word reverberating around in his mind, engraving itself permanently, like nothing at all, not even the gods themselves, could ever rip it away.
Fus. Fus. FUS. FUS. FUS!
He jerked awake, a pounding headache forming, reminding him of times when he had drained his magicka. He lay on the ground, taking his time to regain his bearings. It seems as if no time had passed since he collapsed. Why he collapsed, though, was a matter of concern. He had seen these walls before, although he hadn't recognised the markings as writing.
The magic he felt was gone. The sheer foreignness of it was startling. He had never felt anything like it. He also never –
CRACK!
A loud crash ripped him from his thoughts. Looking away from the wall, he saw the sarcophagus's lid lying in pieces on the floor. Climbing out from it was another draugr, though this one had more ornate armour than any previous ones. It had an elaborate horned helmet, the horns curling down onto its shoulders.
Pulling a sword that was nearly as long as Ako himself from its back, it growled out a challenge from a mouth long rotted away, eyes glowing an unnatural blue. The sword had softly swirling mists around it, indicating a hefty enchantment of ice on it. Ako knew he couldn't be hit by that, it would surely overload all of his robes' enchantments and his own, meagre defences.
He reflexively cast a concoction of spells. An alteration spell named Ebonyflesh, which changed his skin's consistency to be like that of the dark, reflective metal, from which the best weapons and armour were made. A spell to boost his speed and power. And finally, a spell that surrounded him in a cloak of flames, which would ward off most melee enemies and set the foolish ablaze.
Before the flame cloak could take proper hold, the draugr took a deep breath and gave a roar that reminded Ako of the dragon in Helgen. This time, however, it was a weak roar and he could hear clear words in it. "FO… Krah Diin!" A stream of frost and ice flowed from the draugr's mouth, quenching the flames that were building around Ako.
Confusing thoughts filled his head, thoughts that he would not call his own. 'Weakling! You dare Shout at me? That pitiful excuse of Thu'um?' An uncharacteristic hiss of rage escaped the Khajiit, a strange and burning desire to see the draugr destroyed filling him. He caught himself, however, and took a few quick jumps across the dais, his enhanced speed and muscles allowing him to rapidly cross to the other side of the cavern.
Seeing that the draugr was much slower in its movements, Ako took the time to gather his thoughts and clear his head of the confusing fog that had settled after he passed out. As the draugr came straight at him, the Arch-Mage let fly two overcharged fireballs. The draugr staggered back, halted in its steps with the fur lining of its armour burning, setting its flesh alight. A third sent it flying back, all resistance ended and a pile of ash and charred metal being all that remained.
Catching his breath, Ako tried to make sense of what had happened during the fight. He was nearly always calm and collected in battle, controlling his emotions to a near extreme level. The feelings of rage were highly unusual, to say the least. Walking over to the pile of ash, he picked up the greatsword. The age of the enchantment intrigued him. He sheathed it on his back, leaving it to tap against the back of his knees as he took it back to study in Winterhold.
Searching the chest, he found little of value. Only a few dull gems, rotted clothing and rusted armour were stored. No sign of the supposed map. Scanning the empty sarcophagus, he found what he was looking for. A five-sided stone tablet, with an appearance similar to the dragon throne above the wall. A large crack, running from the bottom left to the top right, had Ako frowning.
The front side had what looked like a map of Skyrim, with stars spread across randomly. On the back was more of that strange, scratchy writing. Stowing it away in his pack, he started to make rubbings of everything of note. He gave special attention to the wall, making sure to copy the writing exactly. If he was lucky, someone would already have done some translation and interpretation.
With a start, he realized that it must be the dragons' language. The scratches of the letters certainly looked like it would require large claws to make. A huge grin was forming on Ako's face. This trip could turn out to be very helpful if the dragons were indeed returning. An hour or so later, he finished with all his research and headed back through the ruin, aiming for Whiterun.
It was a few hours past noon when Ako returned to Whiterun. Judging by the positions of Masser and Secunda, the two moons of Nirn, he had exited the barrow around three in the morning. He had made a quick stop in Riverwood just after sunrise, bartering with the shopkeeper, Lucan, for the golden dragon claw. It wasn't an easy trade, with Ako returning and then doubling the reward in order to keep it. He hadn't slept or really eaten since he had left the city more than 30 hours earlier, but he wasn't tired or hungry. He had realised early in his life that he had a remarkably solid constitution, never falling ill and capable of going strong for days on end. Even so, his current boost of energy was somewhat unusual.
Trundling up the many stairs towards Dragonsreach, he once again admired the bustling peace of the city. The Jarl and his family were eating lunch as the Arch-Mage walked by, a polite nod of greeting exchanged between the two leaders. Farengar was in his study, a hooded figure clad in leather armour standing opposite the court mage. They were holding a soft conversation on historical topics, an open book in the centre of the desk holding both parties' attention. Ako stood in the door, taking the time to observe the unknown person. Short but muscled, with a flash of faded blond hair sticking out from beneath the hood, and a curved longsword at the waist.
Ako was pondering where he had seen such a sword before when the unknown person saw Ako's shadow and drew Farengar's attention away from the book towards Ako. "Farengar… you have a visitor." The voice confirmed the person to be female, and for some reason sounded familiar.
The Nord mage stammered as he looked up. "Ah… um, Arch-Mage, you're back early." The woman gave a sharp hiss of surprise, whipping her head around to look at Ako. The Khajiit was equally surprised to recognise her as Delphine, the innkeeper from Riverwood.
He didn't let his surprise show long, greeting them politely, "Farengar. Delphine." The Breton looked shocked and mildly horrified that Ako recognised her. With a flourish, Ako produced both the Dragonstone and rubbings of it from his pack, tossing it onto the table. "The Dragonstone, of Bleak Falls Barrow. If you don't mind, I'll be keeping the original. There are enough rubbings, both front and back, here for you."
Giving Farengar a few minutes to observe the Dragonstone, Ako turned his thoughts towards Delphine's sword. With a start, he remembered that the curved sword was the katana that all Blades wore. The Blades were an ancient order, dedicated to safeguarding the Emperor. After the Great War with the Thalmor, one of the conditions was that the Blades disband. The Thalmor had hunted down nearly all of the members, and offered great rewards for information regarding the location of more.
Delphine met Ako's impressed and thoughtful look with a fierce scowl, fear evident in her eyes, before the Jarl broke their stare-down as he entered Farengar's study. "Arch-Mage! I trust you had a successful expedition, no trouble?"
The Khajiit turned towards the Jarl with a slight grin as he answered, "Yes, thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. There is a certain joy in seeing age-old embalmed corpses bursting into flames." After a few seconds of shocked and horrified silence, he went on, a mischievous look in his eyes, "Of course, the fact that said bodies stop moving after they are turned into torches is rather helpful."
The Jarl burst out in a somewhat nervous, but genuine, laugh, soon relaxing. Ako joined the Jarl in his laughter before he turned more serious. "All in all, it was a highly successful trip. I found what I was looking for, and also found something that may turn out to be immensely useful, should the return of the dragons escalate."
Jarl Balgruuf looked relieved at that and turned back towards his throne and duties after thanking the Arch-Mage. Ako turned to Farengar, packing up the Dragonstone and discussing what the Nord should do next. Once that was done, he headed out towards the doors, intent on catching a carriage to Winterhold and the College as soon as possible. His mind was racing with theories and hypotheses, wanting to see what secrets the dragons' language could reveal.
Delphine remained standing in a dark corner of Farengar's study as the Arch-Mage spoke jovially with the Jarl. After the cat left, she quickly grabbed one of the rubbings of the Dragonstone, having overheard the two mages refer to it as a map of dragon burial sites. Her heart was hammering away, fear at seeing the Arch-Mage again sending it racing. She had no doubt that he recognised both her and the sword she was wearing, as well as the significance of said sword.
As she exited Dragonsreach, two furry hands latched onto her arms, pulling her aside into the shade of a tree around the corner. Once the hands let go of her, she whipped out her dagger, intending to bury it in the throat of the white Khajiit she knew was responsible for this. A flash of green light sent her muscles coiling and writhing, turning to stone, leaving her to helplessly topple to the ground. Her mind went into overdrive, thinking that the Thalmor finally had her, 30 years after she was first hunted.
The same soft hands caught her, lowering her gently onto the grass. "Allow me to ease your fears, Delphine of the Blades," the smarmy cat said in a soft, soothing purr. She felt her facial muscles relax, and looked up into his face. His slitted, fear-inducing eyes were in stark contrast with the small smile gracing his features. "I am as much an enemy of the Thalmor as you, and I would never even think of selling you out."
Whatever she was expecting when she was paralyzed, this was not it. "W… w… w-what?" was her eloquent and incredulous response.
The Arch-Mage gave a small snort, as he dispelled the paralysis and helped her up. "Those pointy ears have been hunting me for nearly two decades."
With a look of utter surprise, Delphine asked, "But… why? You are a Khajiit? Isn't Elsweyr part of the Dominion?" She sheathed her dagger, noticing that she had never let go of it in the entire affair.
With another snort, this one tinged with sadness, the Khajiit answered, "Yes, I am Khajiit. But I am also a threat. And being a threat takes precedence over race or anything else, for that matter. If I was Altmer and refused to join them, they would hunt me all the same. They fear me and my power, that which I can do."
Eyes widening in understanding, Delphine sighed as waves of relief crashed over her. "If you need help disappearing again, you know where to find me," the Arch-Mage said, a serious tone to his voice. He disappeared down the stairs, weaving through the crowds with practised ease. For the first time since the cat had entered her life three days earlier, Delphine allowed herself to relax. Once again, the old adage 'Don't judge a book by its cover,' proved its truth. Not only was the Khajiit helpful against the dragons, but she had also gained a powerful ally and contact in her struggle to evade the Thalmor. Things were indeed looking up for her.
AN: Ako... I hate Delphine, and yet you go, entirely without my consent or consideration, making her a definite ally! Why do you do this to me? Anyway, as per the other early chapters, a massive thanks to empire1003 here for proofreading this and cleaning up my English. The combat scenes felt weak, but a few rewrites didn't improve it by much. Hope you enjoyed the lengthy chapter. If you enjoy or dislike something specific, or if there's anything you see to improve, do let me know, I'm always looking to improve my writing in all facets.