[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Releasing this chapter unedited, and won't be posting for a while.
As some of you may already know, I live in Ukraine, and today on the 24th of February 2022, the Russian invasion has officially begun. I woke up today to the sound of bombs dropping in a neighboring town. I'm staying safe for the time being, but only time will tell what becomes of all this. To anyone invested in the conflict: there is no "liberation" going on here. This is an invasion. We are "occupied" by no one but the people trying to take us by force today.
Goodbye for now, and I'll see you all on the flip side.
Fredas, the 12th of Evening Star, 4E201
"Okay, so… let's do one more round. Provisions-"
"For the love of Shalidor, can we just go already?"
Serana withheld a disappointed sigh at Brelyna's interjection. While it's true that everyone packed on their own and had already done all the checks and double-checks needed, Onmund was still visibly nervous. Organizing an expedition was a task of much responsibility, and nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of that responsibility - especially when people's lives were at stake. That aside, however, even Serana had to admit that his anxiety was beginning to get on her nerves.
"Brelyna, that's really uncalled for." Her voice was calm, but stern. If they got into a fight before anyone had a chance to even leave the College, it would be a big problem later on.
"Uncalled for? I thought we came here to go on an expedition, not to list off our packs' contents for half a bloody hour!" The Dunmer crossed her arms, huffing and tapping her foot. Serana could only thank the universe for not making it snow that same moment. Otherwise, gods only know what the group's mood would be. "We're not children, are we? Everyone is already here, everyone is packed, let's get a move on already."
Onmund opened his mouth to protest, but Elra spoke in his turn. "I agree. The journey isn't long, and the wilderness is never far if we run short on food or water. We need no more clothes than what we wear, and we carry no weapons to take care of." The Reachwoman turned to him. "I believe that covers everything."
"J'zargo agrees. The day is young, but we are wasting precious time."
Onmund shook his head. He knew this wasn't the time to start getting cold feet, but he really wanted to turn back. Still, that'd only make matters worse with all the effort the others have put in. "I guess you're right." He glanced up at the sky, gauging the sun's position. Not midday yet, but not far from it. With another sigh to steady his nerves, he grabbed the straps of his backpack and marched forward, a slow shuffle coming from behind him as everyone followed his lead. "We should be there by sundown, assuming nothing happens on the road."
"That is an assumption to make…" Brelyna grumbled somewhere behind him. Elra elbowed her softly, earning a glare in her direction to which she paid no mind. "And besides, where is 'there'?"
Serana watched the exchange with a wry smile. Brelyna had a point, but she certainly had a… specific way of delivering it to the others. "That is a good question. Where are we going, exactly?"
"Yeah, where are you going?" Saya's voice came from the back.
Wait, Saya?
Serana quickly whipped around, stopping in her tracks. And indeed, there she was, standing there with a hand on her hip and a pack on her shoulders. A fur-lined cloak covered her armored body, and her sword was strapped securely to her side. Serana felt a chill run down her back. She didn't think she would be here. Was she still mad? No, she couldn't be. Why would she be here if she was?
"Oh, hello." Onmund was the first of them to speak up, giving her a welcoming smile as he did. "I didn't think you were coming." Serana felt something prickling in her chest at his words.
If Saya noticed it, she made no comment on it. She waved dismissively, catching up with the rest of the group as she spoke. "I almost didn't, actually. Urag took a good bit of convincing, given the short notice. And don't get me started on the armor." She laughed awkwardly. She was lying, of course - she didn't need permission from Urag to leave the College. That morning, however, it took more out of her than anticipated to drag herself out of bed. She heard the others getting their things, talking about going. She never came out, never commented on it. She just sat there and wondered if she should stay or go. The choice seemed a lot less obvious then. "Well, don't stop on my account. You were saying?"
"Ah, right." Onmund quickly reached into his pocket, unfolding a well-worn map of Skyrim. Various markings lined the parchment - some fresh and clear, others smudged in an effort to remove them - and a distinct line was drawn from Winterhold to a circle on the southern border of the hold. "Our destination is Ironbind Barrow. It's the final resting place of Hanse Hrerikson, the Jarl of Winterhold in the early First Era. We'll have to follow the road around the Winterhold Mountains, and turn west when we reach Lake Yorgrim. The barrow will be up in the mountains, but there is a pass there so we can have a look around."
"Oh, I've been in that area," Saya piped up right over Onmund's shoulder, causing the young man to produce a startled noise. "There's an inn close by, we could spend the night there if they have enough rooms. If we just follow Winter's Arm along here-"
Onmund looked at her, bewildered. "Since when is this road called Winter's Arm?"
She looked back at him. "Since I made it up just now?"
Serana didn't notice herself moving from the middle of the group and to the back. The conversation slowly tuned out of her mind, becoming nothing but white noise. Her eyes, still widened from shock even several minutes later, fixated entirely on Saya's back, jumping from footprint to footprint that she left in the snow. Her fingers interlocked, both hands holding the other to keep it from shaking. She did not expect to see Saya here, now. Not after yesterday. She was not prepared for this. She didn't know how to deal with the situation. Should she speak? Should she stay quiet? She didn't-
"Ah!" Serana's lack of attention finally caught up with her as she felt one of her feet slide out from under her. Her brief scream was cut off by a dull thud, and the entire group turned to look at what happened. The vampire released a pitiful whimper, rubbing the back of her head as she sat up and looked at the ground beside her. A sheet of ice. Of course. As if she needed more things to help her already wonderful mood.
When she next opened her eyes, there was a gloved hand in front of her. Serana looked up, and felt herself freeze up as her eyes met Saya's. The reassurance that she was fine got stuck in her throat and she felt an uncomfortable emotion creep up in the corner of her brain. She didn't understand exactly why she was afraid, and that only made her more unsettled, a self-feeding loop that made the moments that passed feel like years in her head. What was she going to say, what should she do, what-
"Are you alright?" Saya asked, her face quickly slipping into a frown. She extended her arm farther, offering her help to the stunned Serana. At last, the vampire hesitantly accepted, pulling herself up and standing there, dumbfounded. Her eyes were unfocused, as though she wasn't looking at Saya but instead past her, her mind completely detached from what was going on. The Dragonborn sighed.
She felt her heart sink when she lifted her hand to brush away some of the snow from her hair and the vampire flinched and closed her eyes, as if bracing for something.
"Is everything alright back there?" Onmund's voice came like thunder across a clear sky. The concern was audible in his voice, though only just.
"Yeah, all good! We'll be just a moment!" Saya shouted back. A few seconds later, the dissonant chorus of footsteps resumed, leaving the two of them behind, standing in front of one another. Serana's head was bowed down, her eyes pointed at the ground. Saya let her gaze linger on the shaken vampire for a moment longer before she suddenly slung the pack off her shoulders, ruffling through the contents. Serana watched with bewilderment as the Dragonborn pulled out a grey woolen scarf and gently grabbed her arm, placing the article of clothing in her hand.
"What…?" Serana whispered, finally lifting her eyes again. Saya did not immediately respond, first closing her pack and putting it back on her shoulders. When she finally turned towards Serana, the look in her eye was indecipherable.
"It's for you," she said. Short and simple. Then, she leaned closer, adding in a hushed tone: "Cover your mouth. The others may not have noticed, but I can tell you're not breathing." Then she stepped back, turned around on her heel, and walked off to catch up with the rest of the group. It wasn't until Serana's eyes registered the quickly retreating back of the Dragonborn that she got out of her stupor and looked at the scarf in her hands. Then, she quietly wrapped it around her neck and pulled it up to cover her lips.
As she ran off to catch up with everyone else, she allowed herself the tiniest smile, hidden behind the grey cloth.
The road was fine. Uneventful. Almost a little boring. If there's any benefit to traveling with this many people though, it's that there was no shortage of conversation.
Onmund told us more about our objective while we were on the road. The thing he's after is an artifact called the Helm of Winterhold, an ancient heirloom passed down from ruler to ruler. Jarl Hanse was the last one to wear it, and it was buried alongside his body after he fell in the beginning years of the War of Succession. During the rise of the Alessian Order in the 300's of the First Era, High King Borgas was killed for his support of their doctrine. Hanse was supposed to be his successor, but the Moot chose otherwise. Or maybe they couldn't choose. It's kind of vague. Point is, a massive civil war sprung up for the next fifty years, and Hanse was one of the most active participants, as the supposedly most popular candidate.
Onmund's line of thought is that investigating Hanse's tomb could lead to some insights about ancient Winterhold, and possibly help smooth over the relations between the College and the current Jarl. The hold's state right now is rather pitiful, but the Jarl is so fixated on blaming the mages for everything that there's no chance of recovery the way they are now.
The others had some stuff to share too. J'zargo tried to teach us a Khajiiti song but it was in Ta'agra, so few shared his enthusiasm. Some of us tried to sing along, but apparently his inner maestro wouldn't allow anything short of perfect pronunciation, so we abandoned the idea pretty fast.
Now that I think about it, it was mostly Onmund and J'zargo who did the talking. Brelyna did little except complain, and Elra didn't say much at all. I don't know what Serana is doing. She doesn't seem well, so I decided not to bother her. I don't think she wants to talk to me right now. I can't say I share the sentiment, but…
Anyway, Onmund's estimation was on point. We got to Nightgate Inn just as the sun was setting, but the place didn't have enough rooms for everyone. Since everyone was packed to camp anyway, we decided to just buy some booze and go set up camp in front of the barrow itself. Didn't take us too long to find it, but it was fucking freezing by the time we did.
Oh well, nothing a couple hours and a round or two by the campfire can't fix. I even managed to make a decent stew from all the stuff everyone had with them. A little too salty for my taste, but nobody else was complaining, so I guess it's fine.
Everyone's gone to sleep now. I got the first watch, but there isn't anything nearby on account of the big fuck off door with creepy shit behind it, so I decided to do some reading instead. I grabbed one of the books that Urag gave me. I only have a couple left to work through.
…aaand Elra woke up for her watch on her own. I'm almost a little creeped out. Almost.
Loredas, the 13th of Evening Star, 4E201
Ironbind Barrow wasn't anything special as far as Saya was concerned, but to everyone else it seemed to be everything and more. Where she saw the same old winding tunnels and narrow walls, Onmund saw burial grounds with inscriptions long since stricken by the sands of time. Where she saw useless side rooms with broken pottery, J'zargo saw history told by the sealed lips of shattered clay. Where she saw rows of coffins upon small elevations, Brelyna noticed ancient offerings, rotted and withered, left in memory of the fallen. Every chamber seemed to reveal something new to them, something to occupy their minds. Rows upon rows of notes, every little detail jotted down with the utmost precision to squeeze out even the smallest bit of knowledge that could still be resting amongst the debris, hidden in the dust.
Truly, the diligence of a starving college student knows no bounds.
The other half of the group were less invested in discovery and more in everyone's safety. In a sort of unspoken agreement, a guard formation emerged: Elra as the vanguard, inspecting every room before anyone else had the chance to enter; Serana in the back, keeping an eagle's eye over everybody with her ranged attacks; and Saya in the middle, keeping her sword at the ready for anything looking to spring an ambush on the overly curious.
Soon enough, they fell into a pattern. Saya and Elra would enter first, and any undead stragglers would be cleared out, sometimes with assistance from J'zargo or Brelyna. Usually the former, much to the latter's discontent. Then, the rest of the group would slowly pour in, inspecting every nook and cranny in the chamber while Serana kept an eye on the back, taking care of any slowpokes who were missed in the initial wave. The next twenty or so minutes would be spent in relative peace and quiet, before moving on to the next room. It was a good rhythm to follow. Nice and stable, and perfectly efficient so nobody had to overextend themselves. Though, that last part was hardly a benefit.
Efficiency brings with it a lack of exertion. A lack of exertion breeds boredom. And boredom, in turn, is very fertile ground for inattentiveness.
"Wait." The words reached Saya's mind with a delay, and only when she felt a firm hand grasp her by the collar did she obey the command. It had been a long time since someone grabbed her like this, and a sense of almost nostalgic familiarity sprung up in her half-focused imagination right before she remembered where she was, switching to alarm at the drop of a hat. "Look." Elra's voice came from behind her, calm but commanding. The Dragonborn squinted, red eyes scanning the space carefully.
It seemed like nothing unusual. A narrow arch, like a doorway without a door, led into a spacious chamber. The torches within were already lit, though this was a common occurrence given draugr behavior. A couple of pillars lining the middle of the chamber, one of them collapsed. No guards to speak of, though probably some sitting in coffins by the sides.
"It's an empty room," she concluded. "The sides are obstructed, so probably an ambush waiting there."
"Good. But not quite. Stand back." The Reachwoman let go of her collar, and as the Dunmer obeyed her command, she crouched down and put a hand on the floor. A whispered incantation brought with it a green shimmer, stretching from the woman's arm and down to her fingertips, flowing into the stone floor beneath them and illuminating every crevice ever so briefly… and then there was a click. Saya's ears twitched, and her eyes immediately darted to its source - a barely-visible pressure plate, which Elra had just activated. The plate sank into the floor, and immediately she rose to her feet, raising her staff and putting up a ward. Not a moment later, a tiny pebble dropped down from the ceiling in the next room - and a chain of arcane explosions completely removed any visibility they had on the interior. The noise remained incessant, continuing for a multitude of seconds before it finally subsided, and the fires within finally faded to reveal the room again - every surface within now charred black.
"Well… shit." Saya's exhale turned into an involuntary, nervous chuckle. Elra's ward faded with the wave of a hand, and the Reachwoman turned towards her with an expression just as neutral as before. "How did you know?"
She raised her hand, pointing at the walls. "The corridor is narrow, and longer than the others. It blocks the eye's view, obscuring the corners. It makes you expect an ambush within the room..." She lifted her staff, tapping the floor where the pressure plate was. "...and distracts you from the dangers without."
Saya put a hand on her hip, humming. "Clever. You and the trap, I mean."
At that, Elra gave a slight smile. "So I am told."
"What's going on?" Onmund's voice called out from behind the two of them, and soon enough the owner himself showed up. He looked concerned to say the least, and the people pulling up behind him seemed to share the sentiment. "Is everything alright? I heard a loud noise and-"
"Yeah, we're good," Saya cut him off, trying to sound as relaxed as she could given the situation. That decision paid off as the young man sighed with relief, his shoulders slumping a little bit. It would be funny if it was the first time this happened. This time however, Saya's smile was starting to become more dry, hints of annoyance slipping through the cracks in her expression. If this continued, he wouldn't last much longer. There's only so many times you can get worked up and worried. "Just disarming a trap. What about you, anything interesting?"
"Not very. Just more junk." J'zargo's words were practically dripping with displeasure. It didn't take an expert to see that the Khajiit had been itching for a fight, but given the underwhelming numbers of the enemy and the skill of the defenders that were already there, he was mostly relegated to the research side of things. Saya couldn't help but sympathize with him a little bit.
"Is everyone ready to move?" Elra asked, glancing about to see if everyone was there. Onmund and J'zargo were already here, Brelyna arrived just now with some sort of miffed grumble under her breath. The only one lagging behind was Serana, and she could see that one quickly approaching from the back, hastily picking up something off the floor. She nodded to herself. That accounts for everyone. "We're starting to get close to the inner crypt. The traps are getting more crafty, and there probably won't be time to look at everything. Stay on your guard."
"Actually-" Saya raised a hand, all the eyes in the chamber turning to her instead of Elra, "-I'd go a step further. I've put down enough draugr to confidently say that the ones at the end are usually the nastiest. Best case scenario, our Jarl will have a group of defenders that could give everyone here a run for their money. Worst case, he'll be alone, we'll be tired, and everyone dies." She looked at Onmund, making sure he was listening. "We've already spent a couple of hours in here. If we're just starting to get to the inner sanctum, it might be best to secure a route inside and then break camp so everyone can rest up and go in fresh. We can't afford to half-ass this."
Everyone in the party exchanged looks and comments, but everyone agreed pretty quickly. Onmund gave the group a once-over, cleared his throat, and spoke: "Alright, sounds like a plan. Lead the way."
And with another set of shuffling footsteps, the six of them made their way deeper into the crypt.
We kept going for another two hours or so. Not as long as I thought we would, but there was this big-ass door that we reached, and we decided that if anything is to border off the outer crypt from the inner circle, this was probably our marker. The room was big enough to break camp, and we made a small fire to cook. J'zargo volunteered initially, but was quickly turned down in favor of Elra, whom I at least knew I could trust not to put drugs in the food.
All in all, I'd say this was a productive day. I'm not particularly tired, but I can't really speak for everyone else, and I'd much rather
"What are you reading?"
Saya looked up from her journal, seeing Onmund peeking over her shoulder. The feasting was well underway, and as sure as the sun rises in the morning, Brelyna and J'zargo were already at each other's throats again. "Writing." She immediately closed it shut in her hands, putting the thing aside and leaning back in a more relaxed fashion. "I like to keep a journal for all the important things that might need remembering. A lot of stuff that happens every day, bound to forget something important sooner or later, y'know?"
"Oh, sorry." He backed away immediately, prompting a small chuckle from her. For a moment, he looked flustered for overstepping himself like this, but relaxed when he saw her lack of reaction. "I guess the Dragonborn would have a lot of stuff to worry about…"
"Oh shut up, you." She punched him lightly on the shoulder, grinning. Onmund only let out a weak half-laugh, rubbing the now-sore spot. "I've got enough reminders of that stuff without you folks pitching in."
"R-Right. I'll keep that in mind," he said, scratching his chin awkwardly. "It's just that… It feels so unreal sometimes, knowing that I'm sitting next to the Dragonborn. You're not at all what I expected."
Saya snorted. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
They sat quietly for a while longer. Saya grabbed a bottle of wine that lay beside her, one she'd purchased back at the inn. She didn't recognize the brand, though that was a given considering the price tag. Her eyes ran across her immediate surroundings, quickly locating the cork opener by J'zargo's side. With a flick of her wrist, the object floated over to her hand and she popped the bottle open, taking a long, drawn-out sip and then making a face. Yep. That's cheap wine for you.
She sighed. "A'ight, out with it. What's on your mind?" Saya turned towards Onmund, giving him a knowing look. The young man was very visibly trying to restrain himself, and seemed almost relieved at not having to do so anymore.
"I- well, I was just wondering…" Onmund stammered, struggling to formulate his question in a way that wouldn't come across as too offensive. Saya raised an eyebrow, taking another sip from her bottle as she waited. It wasn't as bad the second time. "How did you… know?"
"Oh, that. Killed a dragon. Ate its soul on accident. Broke a person's arm when I next opened my mouth. Crazy Middas, that one." She was about to go for another drink but Onmund's expression of abject terror made her break out laughing before she could. "Sorry if you expected something a bit more dramatic. No training since childhood or prophetic destiny written in the palm of my hand or anything like that. Just being in the wrong place at the right time."
"And now you can set people on fire with words…" Onmund's laugh sounded a lot more resigned than Saya's. Any expectations of an epic tale he might've had were seemingly shattered then and there. "By the way, I don't think you've ever shown us that power. I-is it dangerous to use or something?"
"For me? Not really. For you, though…"
"SHOW IT!" A booming demand suddenly rolled across the chamber walls as J'zargo joined the conversation. Though the barely half-empty bottle in his hand would suggest otherwise, the Khajiit was visibly tipsy - and more importantly, very interested in the conversation at hand. "J'zargo demands to see… uh… hear this power you speak of!"
"Sorry, I don't take suicide requests." The Dragonborn spoke with a slight smile, giving J'zargo a bemused look. He huffed, crossing his arms and turning up his nose as if he were personally offended. "Trust me, there are better ways to go out than being crushed by rubble. I'll count us lucky if I don't have to Shout by the end of this."
"Yes yes, thank you, o mighty Dragonborn, for sparing us miserable peasants," Brelyna mocked, knocking back a number of audible gulps from her Alto before slamming down the bottle the pillar she was sitting on. "Where oh where would we be without you."
"Dunno. Dead in a ditch somewhere?" Saya flapped her eyelashes innocently at her fellow Dunmer, who rolled her eyes and grumbled something incomprehensible into her bottle. The Dragonborn snickered, putting down her drink. "But really, it's not that big of a deal."
"If it isn't, then why won't you use it?" J'zargo immediately interjected, his icy blue eyes almost threatening to pop out of their sockets with how intensely he was staring at her. He was barely sitting at this point, more so crouching like a cat ready to pounce. His tail was even wagging. "Come on. This one can take it. You know it." He squinted. "Or perhaps… you are afraid that it will have no effect on J'zar-"
"Fus."
Saya spoke the word at a volume barely above a whisper, yet the moment it left her lips its effects were apparent. The campfire fluttered like a candle left out in a windy night and the flames came just this close to being snuffed out. The ashes and dust swept off the floor were carried forward by an invisible force, which then promptly impacted the gloating Khajiit straight in the gut. The next moment, J'zargo flipped over his seat and crashed onto the floor with a thud, the air leaving his lungs as a wheezed curse.
There were a few seconds of silence before the entire group slowly erupted into laughter. Even Elra, who was sitting off slightly to the side, gave a sensible chuckle. Brelyna and Onmund were practically bellowing, and even J'zargo himself was laughing from the floor. Saya watched the scene unfold in strained silence until she, too, cracked up and allowed herself to quietly snicker, hiding the occasional "ow" when her still-sensitive throat stung a little too much. Her eyes ran over everyone, grinning and giggling away, and for a moment she felt her own cheeks start to hurt from how long she'd been smiling.
It was then, while J'zargo's spot was still vacant, that Saya noticed the faint glimmer of a curious eye watching them from a distance in the darkness. The moment it was noticed, however, the little light disappeared. Saya didn't notice the smile slip off her own face.
It was fine. She needed to pay attention, anyway. She had first watch after all.
At least, those are the things Serana would tell herself to have an excuse not to come to the fire. The vampire pulled her legs up closer, wrapping her arms around them in an awkward self-hug. It's not as if she didn't want to be with the others, but something in her mind said that she shouldn't. It was an anxiety that invoked a peculiar sense of deja vu, painfully familiar yet foreign to the point of distress. A one-of-a-kind gift from home.
Her lips tightened. Now that she thought about it, she and Saya haven't spoken at all in those past three days. And it's not as if neither of them tried - the Dragonborn's comments were infrequent, but they were there. As for Serana… Well, silence was a kind of response too, wasn't it? Ah, who was she kidding. Whenever she heard Saya's voice, she would immediately freeze up like a spooked lamb and flap her mouth like a fish. And every time, Saya would look at her with those eyes of hers, and give her that slight frown, and say nothing more.
Serana could tell that she wasn't mad, not even for a moment. If everything else wasn't enough, it was this part that twisted the knife just enough for a piece of her to die every single time their eyes met.
So, here she was now. A volunteer lookout, sitting in a dark room, staring with blank eyes into an empty corridor. Nothing was coming, she knew it. She made sure of it. And even if she was wrong, her ears would've picked up on any footsteps outside the camp long before her eyes would. But she looked out anyway, because the alternative was looking towards the camp. Seeing her again. Hearing her talk and laugh. Going still every time her eyes glanced in her direction. And all the while, pretending like nothing happened, like nothing was wrong. To avoid the difficult conversations, the awkward explanations, the unwanted confrontations. No, if that was the alternative, then she'd much rather sit alone, in silence. It felt better this way.
Or, well. That's what she told herself, anyway.
"Hey." The quiet greeting snuck up on her like an assassin, and Serana immediately jolted up from her seat. She turned around so fast that it took a moment for her vision to focus, but she wished it never did. Saya stepped a little closer to her, a sort of sheepish smile tugging at the corner of her mouth but not quite reaching her eyes. "Do you mind if I sit?"
Serana blinked. She opened her mouth to say something before she even came up with something to say, drawing in a breath- Wait. No. No, don't. This is exactly what happened last time, and the time before, and the one before that too. Instead, she wordlessly scooched over, freeing up some space on the folded winter cloak she had laid on the ground so as to not sit on the hard stone. The Dragonborn grunted a quiet "Thanks" as she sat down, taking a second to get comfortable before taking a sip from a green glass bottle she was holding in her hand.
Serana's mind was a mess, to put it bluntly. Outwardly, she sat completely still, hugging her legs and staring at the floor, as she was wont to do. Inwardly, she was panicking. Any lines or phrases she had prepared were completely scrambled, and trying to piece them together was a thankless task. Saya wasn't saying anything, either. Serana was dreading the moment she spoke, but she couldn't decide if she hated the silence more or less. Her hand gripped the cloth of her pants, pale knuckles whitening further from the intensity. She didn't know what to do. She did not know what to do.
"I… wanted to talk," Saya said. She spoke quietly, gently. Serana didn't often notice the rasp in her voice, but this was one of the few times she did. It sounded like she was going to cough if she kept talking at that volume for too long. "About the… you know. About the expedition and the College and… fuck." She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. Saya wasn't a lightweight by any means but in that brief moment, she wondered if she had a little too much liquid courage. "I just wanted to talk. About you and me. Is that okay?"
Serana cocked her head slowly as confusion seeped into her features in place of unease. Hesitantly, she nodded. Something in her was tugging uncomfortably. The conversation had yet to even begin, but she already didn't like where it was going.
"Alright." The word of courtesy carried no weight, prompting no more reaction than someone hanging their coat by the door. Saya shuffled awkwardly, picking out fractured sentences in her mind and fishing out their meaning in a futile attempt to structure her thoughts. Then her eyes drifted to the wine, and she took another swig. For good luck. "I wanted to apologize. For the way I reacted… no. The way I overreacted, back when you told me about the expedition."
Serana felt cold all of a sudden. Her hands reached for the scarf, pulling it up to her mouth. Behind the cover of the grey cloth, her lips tightened with discomfort. So she… wasn't mad. "It's… not a-"
"Not a big deal, yeah. That's why it's over-reacting, silly." The Dragonborn laughed sardonically, taking another swig. Probably uncalled for, at this point. But then again, who would stop her? "I… yeah, I fucked up. I'm sorry." She paused, staring ahead absent-mindedly. Was it going to be too much information if she kept talking? Her eyes were unfocused, her vision a blur. Serana didn't respond. Oh well. "This isn't an excuse, but… when you told me, I was just really shocked. I know we haven't traveled together for long, but I mean, you saved my life, right? And I saved yours. So when you told me that you were just going to leave me behind and go out to risk your life with barely any warning, I… well, you get the gist." She chuckled. Another swig. She didn't feel the burn in her throat anymore, which kind of killed the fun of it.
"You… were worried?" Serana asked, turning towards her. Her already quiet voice was muffled further by the scarf, but the surprise in her words came through loud and clear. Saya glanced over, raising a slightly judgemental eyebrow. Serana immediately regretted her words.
Seeing her distress, the Dragonborn allowed her expression to soften. "Yeah. I was." She reached out and put a hand on the vampire's head, ruffling her hair lightly. Serana did not resist, though she did let out a quiet yelp in the process. Saya watched her with a growing smile, eyes drifting up and down the flustered girl's visage. Then slowly, her smile fell, like a line in the sand washed away by a wave. Her expression soured and she pulled her hand away, letting the messed-up black hair fall back down on her head in disarray.
Serana opened her eyes gradually, still a little stunned from the sudden interaction. She intended to half-heartedly reprimand the Dragonborn, but that thought was pushed aside when she saw her face. The two of them stared at each other silently for a moment before Saya quickly turned away, shaking her head and taking another gulp of wine. And then another. And then…
Okay, that might be too much. Serana reached out and put her hand on the bottle, pushing it aside from Saya's mouth. The Dragonborn's brain took a moment to register what just happened, and then she slowly turned to the side - it was obvious her vision wasn't getting any clearer, since she was not so much staring at Serana as much as in Serana's general direction. She grumbled something under her breath, put the bottle down, and laid down on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
"...do I bother you?" Saya asked. She didn't look at Serana for her reaction. Didn't want to see it. Just wanted to know the response. "Traveling together, doing things. Do you… want me gone?"
"What?" Serana visibly recoiled at her question. Her expression grew dark, brows furrowing - not with worry, but offense. Hurt, even. "No! No, of course not! Why would I want that?"
"...I don't know." Saya whispered, but her voice still cracked. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Get a grip, moron. She sat up, rubbing her face. It felt numb. Was she going to cry? She couldn't tell. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking, isn't it?"
"I suppose…" Serana bit her lip. Everything she had built up in her head about the situation was rapidly crumbling. The Dragonborn was smiling, but it was shallow. She wasn't even looking in Serana's direction. "I don't understand. What brought this on?"
"A bit of everything, really." The way she spoke was very matter-of-fact. In any other situation she'd probably hesitate, but the alcohol was doing its job. "I mean… I dragged you out of some cave, took you to a miserable castle where you had to watch yourself every waking moment, then you came to people I thought would treat you well and you got chained up, then the moment you see me again I drag you to another dungeon, and…" Her eyes drifted towards the bottle again. It looked very tempting right about now. She sighed. Not this time. Just get it out first. "...I just told myself that it was okay because I was 'helping' you. Because I was dealing with a problem bigger than me. But… I never asked what you wanted. And the moment you wanted something different from myself, I throw a fucking temper tantrum."
"It's-"
"Not a big deal, I know. I know." Saya practically growled the word through gritted teeth and Serana flinched at her sudden change in tone. Then, as though it never happened, she continued in a normal voice. "But that doesn't make it right. I… I did you wrong. I involved you in my bullshit and got you in danger so many fucking times - and then the one time you choose to go somewhere even risky I fucking blow up in your face and act like saying 'I was just worried' will magically fix everything! That's not how it works, that's not how any of this shit works!"
Serana winced, covering her ears with her hands. "P-Please… you're shouting…"
Saya couldn't help but cackle at that. She didn't want to laugh, but the only alternative was to start crying, and that was the last thing she wanted to do in her current state. "Shouting. Yep. That is what I do, isn't it? The Dragonborn shouts. Heh. Hahaha… Ugh." She wanted to vomit. There was a lingering taste in her mouth that she couldn't pinpoint. It was like her own saliva had a flavor now, and it made her want to chew on her own tongue until it couldn't taste any more. It felt like bile. "...I shouldn't have said a thing. I'm sorry. Just forget everything I said." Without another warning, Saya stood up and turned to walk away.
"Wait!" Serana panicked, grabbing Saya by the wrist and causing her to stumble. "Don't leave."
The Dragonborn stopped in her tracks and started looking around, as though she didn't understand what was keeping her from walking. When her gaze finally stumbled over the vampire, Saya felt the urge to throw up building in her throat again. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she was holding back tears for a long while now. That alone gave the Dragonborn pause. "...why?"
"I don't want you to go."
Saya paused. It was nauseating. This entire conversation was nauseating. She wanted to sleep. "Is that why you were avoiding me for the past two days? Because you didn't want me to leave?"
Serana's eyes widened in shock. "That's not-"
"Isn't it?" She leaned down, looking Serana in the eye. Her expression was indescribable, a freakish mix between a twisted grimace brimming with animosity and a stony, blank face that communicated nothing about what was actually on her mind. "Isn't that why you didn't tell me? Why you haven't said a word to me for two days? If that's not it, then why else?" She crouched down, moving closer. The vampire stayed completely silent. Even if she wanted to say something, she couldn't. "Why? Why are you looking at me like that? Why won't you say anything?" Saya put her hands on the vampire's shoulders. She didn't even flinch anymore. She was as still as a rag doll, staring at her with glassy eyes. "Well? What's wrong? Why won't you cry? Why won't you shout at me to let you go and leave? Why won't you call me an idiot and tell me I was right the first time and you don't want me here?! Why can't you just be angry with me?!"
Serana did not respond. She did not have the freedom to turn away, or the strength to resist. All she could do was watch her silently, motionlessly, while her ears rang from the volume of Saya's voice. Her eyes closed. She only half-understood what she was saying. Her mind was hazy. Half-formed thoughts swirling in a sea of emotions and utter absurdity. It was all too overwhelming. So, so overwhelming…
A single tear ran down her cheek and she heard a gasp. The next moment, she no longer felt the Dragonborn's hands on her shoulder. Serana slowly opened her eyes again.
Saya stood on her knees in front of her, arms limp by her sides and wet streaks running down her cheeks. She was staring at Serana with the eyes of someone who had just seen a ghost. She couldn't discern her expression, or any detail of her face for that matter. With the darkness, alcohol, and tears, the vampire's visage was turned into little more than a vague silhouette. She slowly lifted up her own shaky hands, staring at her palms. Her fingers twitched with tension, adrenaline pumping in her veins yet having no outlet. It never had one to begin with. "...what… did I just do…?"
Serana touched her shoulder. Saya's eyes darted to her. They were wild eyes. Scared. "...Saya?"
At hearing her own name, she flinched. In a moment, she lifted her hands to cover her face. "...don't look at me," she whispered. She didn't want her to see her. Not like this. Not at all. And then, she started quietly sobbing.
The next thing Saya felt was Serana gently pulling her closer. The Dragonborn felt a shock run through her entire body as two arms wrapped around her shoulders and the cloth of Serana's shirt pressed against her forehead. It was as though everything stopped for just an instant, only for the flood gates to break the next moment. Saya was positively bawling in her arms, whimpering half-coherent apologies whenever she had enough breath to speak. And the vampire held her, keeping her close and listening to her until she quieted down just a little bit.
"I was never upset with you," she whispered. Her voice was a little shaky, but she could hold it back. It was enough, this time. "I was… ashamed. I thought that I caused you pain. But more than that, I was scared that you were angry with me." Now, she was the one choking up. She laughed, quiet and embarrassed. "The things we do together… they were the most fun I've ever had. In those days that I've known you, I have seen more places and tried more things than in my entire life until now. I…" She paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "...I've never had another friend. You are the only one. I would never wish for you to leave."
The silence that lingered after her words was heavy in a different way from all the others. It wasn't a mountain on their shoulders, but more like a warm blanket that neither of them wanted to take off. The tension gradually disappeared from Saya's body, her sobs quieted down, her shoulders stopped shaking. She finally moved her hands away from her face, pushing herself up a bit to meet Serana's eye.
"...still friends?" She asked. Her voice was hoarse, but gentle.
The vampire smiled. "Still friends."
Saya returned her smile. They remained as they were, eyes locked and holding each other in a hug, at least for a few seconds. Then, Saya started shuffling awkwardly. "Y-You can let go of me now."
Serana cocked her head quizzically, furrowing her brows. She couldn't deny being a little hurt by the comment. "Why? Am I doing it wrong-"
"Serana I've had an entire bottle of cheap-shit wine by myself and I'm actually about to vomit."
"O-oh."
Morndas, the 14th of Evening Star, 4E201
what the fuck happened yesterday my whole everything hurts
Okay, I drank a potion, feeling better now. I'm a little embarrassed, but only a little. Everyone else who had drinks yesterday took one too, so I'm not alone in my misery.
From the looks of it, dinner was just fine. I don't remember much of it, at least after the first bottle went. The only thing I vaguely recall before passing out is some of the stuff we talked about with Serana yesterday. And personally? I'd be just fine if the cave ceiling just collapsed on my head and crushed me to death right about now.
Serana seems pretty happy though, and she probably remembers it better. I think she's the only one of us that didn't drink at all last night. Maybe it wasn't that embarrassing after all and I'm just overreacting. Again. Ugh. So much for learning your lessons.
We sort of slept through breakfast so instead we had a hearty lunch with a side of yesterday's leftovers. Sat around for an hour or so, everyone went outside in pairs to do their business and wake up a bit, and once everyone was ready, we started moving deeper in.
The inner sanctum was noticeably smaller. A lot less coffins, but a lot more draugr were waking up. We scrapped the old model and just moved through as a group, protecting ourselves and gradually clearing the place out while grabbing any sort of overt loot that wouldn't take long to uncover. My prediction about the deeper parts having elites seems to be correct. One of these days I'm gonna be wrong and I don't know if I'll be happy about it.
The door opened slowly, as if unwilling to let the uncalled visitors invite themselves in. Air rushed into the room for the first time in centuries, rousing the dust and ash off the various surfaces. Saya coughed and waved her hand in front of her nose. It didn't smell of anything but age anymore. "It's dark. Keep your guard up."
She walked in first, a torch in hand. Everyone who followed conjured some form of magelight - barring Serana and J'zargo, who could see with or without it - but she wanted to conserve her magicka. As much as she wanted to face Hanse at her best, the last few rooms had taken their toll with open arms. Though very few, their opponents were much stronger than anything they've faced thus far. Just take the last room, where a pair of axe-wielding bastards nearly lopped J'zargo's arm off. Though, it's not like the blame wasn't his own at least to some extent.
Onmund said they might've been Hanse's Shield-Thanes, judging by the intricate weapons. Enchanted, too, though nobody had the time to identify the exact effect. Most of the folks got all confident when they heard that. Saya couldn't relate. If his bodyguards weren't buried with him, that simply meant that Hanse didn't need them.
Brelyna's whistle cut through the silence. "Bloody hell, that's a crown and a half," she said. Saya lifted her eyes to the mage's object of attention, and she had to agree. It was a statue of an armored Nord warrior with a fierce look in his eye, looking off into the distance and towering over four braziers amidst which Brelyna stood. His hands were wrapped around the handle of a heavy-looking two-handed axe, as though he was prepared to lift it off the ground at any moment. Upon his brow rested a large, menacing crown, almost like the bottom jaw of some sort of animal was ripped out of its mouth and worn as a trophy.
"Who's that?" Saya elbowed Onmund, who was currently looking at some sort of inscription he found on the wall. The Nord quickly turned, and immediately gasped when he saw the statue enter into view.
"That's… That can't be anyone but High King Borgas of Winterhold!" He exclaimed, half-laughing. "And so well-preserved! Why, this… this might be the most life-like depiction we have of an ancient ruler of Skyrim!"
"Wasn't Borgas an enemy of Hanse or something? Why would a statue of him be here?" Brelyna crossed her arms. Her expression soured upon seeing Onmund's overwhelming enthusiasm and she stepped away to make some distance between them.
"No, not exactly. Borgas and Hanse knew each other in life, though we don't know exactly what their relationship was." Onmund said, rubbing his chin. Brelyna had a point, this was strange. "They were both Jarls of Winterhold at some point or another, that much we know. But they weren't family."
"It may be respect," Elra said, stepping up from behind and slightly spooking the two. She paid them no mind. "Hanse did not build his own barrow. It may have been the people of Winterhold who put this statue here, to mourn. A people's respect for their ruler is great, no matter how misguided."
"This is all very interesting, but J'zargo thinks we have more pressing concerns." J'zargo's voice came from behind the statue, further ahead and a little… above? Onmund moved towards the source, noticing a staircase behind the statue that led him up to the Khajiit, who stood in front of a massive door - not stone, but metal. Truth be told, it looked more like an overly ornate wall, with no visible openings for them to push or pull. Two large gemstones were encrusted into the farmost corners of the door's frame, and a singular third shone from the middle, positioned just above a flat metallic plate with some manner of symbols engraved into the surface. "How do we open this?"
"What, a puzzle door? Yeah, we're in a Nordic barrow alright." Saya snorted from back downstairs. "Any clues? Animal pictures?"
"None." One could practically hear the smirk in J'zargo's voice. "There are… symbols. Writing of some kind. Do you recognize it?"
Onmund's brows furrowed. "I… do, but I can't see what it says exactly. It's dark, maybe if I could just-"
"Well get some light in here then, for fuck's sake." Brelyna huffed, flames appearing in her hands and immediately shooting into the four braziers around her. In no time, the entire room became filled with a bright, warm light. A collective groan rolled across the chamber and everyone rubbed their eyes, trying to readjust.
When the Telvanni herself came to, she took another look around the room. Suddenly, the empty walls didn't seem as empty anymore. The blank stone vanished from imagination, replaced by metal bars that looked more like cage walls. Then, a spark of blue. Then more. And more, and more, and even more, until dozens of little lights were staring right at her.
Then she heard the door to the chamber slam shut, and her heart sank.
"MOVE!" Saya shouted, and Brelyna felt the Dragonborn's hands push her in the back violently. She stumbled forward, suppressing the urge to glare back and instead getting a move on. Saya turned around, scanning the room with wild eyes. Serana was already running towards her from the back, stopping right in front of her.
"What happened?"
"Too much light, just get to the stairs-" The sound of gears clicking somewhere within the walls filled her ears, and a low rumble shook the floor. Saya glanced to the side - the spikes were slowly lowering into the floor as undead piled against them, just this close to slipping through. Some were beginning to crawl over each other's bodies, prematurely dropping into the room floor as they climbed over the bars. "Shit, shit shit. EVERYONE, UPSTAIRS!"
By the time she got to everyone else, the bars came down completely and walking corpses were slowly flooding the room. They were nowhere near as smart as draugr, some of them so stupid they even trampled each other to death in a single-minded attempt to reach them, but that didn't make their sheer quantity any less terrifying.
"What were you thinking?" Elra's voice was not much louder than usual, but it came off less as speech and more as a venomous hiss. The Reachwoman grabbed Brelyna by the wrist, staring directly into her eyes for the answer.
Brelyna quickly pulled her arm out of the grasp, rubbing the sore spot. "Look, I- I just thought it'd help, I didn't think-"
"No. No you didn't," she finished, turning to everyone else. "We must open the door. Onmund, what was that writing?"
"Oh! R-right." He quickly turned around, looking at the inscription in the middle of the door. It was Old Nordic, but one needn't be an expert to figure that out. The script was very rounded, like one continuous flow that… "I- I only understand some pieces. I think it's some kind of poem? 'Sunu'..."
Serana suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder, squinting. "Sunjus kaldis andsakand ei Waip Skurais…" She mumbled, fingers running across the metal. She recognized the language as something she had learned long, long ago. She bit her lip. "It is a poem, but the last line is missing."
"Can you translate?" J'zargo asked.
"I can, I just need a minute or two to think." She quickly turned around, sighing nervously. Slow as they were, some of the zombies had begun walking up the stairs. They stumbled and tripped over each other, falling down and sliding and trying to get up again, but some progress was being made.
"A minute, you said?" Saya asked. Serana looked back at her, nodding hesitantly. "Alright, I can manage that. J'zargo?" She tapped the Khajiit on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. "Your cloak spell, is it done?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?
The light tap turned into a grab and she pulled him along towards the staircase. About halfway down, a corpse was trying to shamble its way up towards them, reaching out with a skeletal hand. "I'm gonna get you a window of opportunity. Get your spell ready and cover your ears. You'll know when to go in."
J'zargo raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What are you planning, exactly?"
"Well, you did want to see the Thu'um in action, right?" Saya shot a smirk in his direction before closing her eyes, slowing down her breathing. Inhale, hold, exhale. She tried to feel her own chest expanding, the air tickling the back of her throat as it passed down into her lungs and back out. She pictured something strong. Something destructive, to wipe all of these creatures out in a single blow without compromising the structure of the room. She sorted through all the words she could think of.
And as she thought of one, she snickered. Try this on for size, pyromancer.
"YOL!" As the words left her lips, her breath became an inferno. Tongues of flame gushed forth, wrapping into and around themselves. Her gaze was filled with white and orange, pure light stabbing at her pupils. She had zero sight on her targets - but at that point, it didn't even matter. She tried to slow down her own exhale, dragging out the word like some idiotic bard who doesn't know when to finish a verse, only this time it was not sound but pure heat that spilled from her mouth. And when she finally felt that ache climbing its way up her throat, she let herself stop and draw in a breath, almost falling from how lightheaded she felt.
Maybe this much heat in a closed space wasn't the best idea.
"Urgh, that smells foul!" J'zargo complained from beside her, but she could tell he was grinning. She looked up, seeing the Khajiit radiant with magical flame that wrapped around him like a second skin. He took a moment to give her that signature look of superiority of his before offering her a hand to stand up, which the Dragonborn gladly took. "If the smell sticks to this one's clothes, he will demand reimbursement."
"You're lucky they're not ashes yet." Saya snorted and turned around. "Alright, we're going in!" She shouted, and before long they rushed down into the burning hell.
Onmund watched the two of them disappear and swallowed nervously. The heat felt uncomfortable even from where he was, and he cut off his own train of thought before he could imagine what it felt like down there. "Any progress?" He asked with a shaky voice, looking over at Serana.
"Do not rush me," she hissed, not even glancing in his direction. Words were mixing in her head. She was stumbling over words. Conjugation, syntax, it was mixing in her head. She was so used to Tamrielic that trying to switch gears now was giving her a headache. "It's something like… 'Sons of the cold fight for storm's crown, blood runs like water between their lands'... Um… 'Finally, day comes to the Throat of the World'. That's it, that's all there is."
"What? How is that any help?!" Brelyna knelt down, pushing Serana aside to get a better view. Predictably, she couldn't understand a single thing. She started spitting curses left and right, rubbing her own temples. "Damnit, there has to be something, that can't be it!"
"Get a hold of yourself!" Elra grabbed the Telvanni's shoulder. "Your lashing out doesn't help anything!"
Onmund watched the fight between the two women unfold, though the actual words never reached him. All the noise in the room blended together in his brain, getting in the way of his own thoughts as he ran Serana's words through his head over and over again. Storm's Crown, fight, blood and water, day comes… His eyes lifted to the door, looking for any detail he could find. His gaze ran over the surface, the plate, the gems.
They… looked like little suns.
The Dragonborn lifted her leg, kicking the nearest zombie away from her before stabbing the one behind her in the chest, letting the corpse slide off her sword under its own weight. She turned around, seeing Onmund storming straight towards her. "Onmund, what the hell are you-"
"I figured it out! It's the braziers!" He pointed towards the four massive metal bowls filled with burning coal that stood before Borgas' statue. He lifted both of his hands, straining from the effort as streams of frost began to pour from his palms and into the braziers, extinguishing them one by one until only one was left. Then, he turned sharply to look at the statue - or rather, behind it, squinting and cursing. "...damnit, why isn't it working?!"
"Why isn't what working?"
"It's-" Onmund turned sharply. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words were stuck in his mouth as he looked beside her. "...the corpses. The corpses! They're burning, they're producing too much light! You have to extinguish them!"
"How should I-"
"Go," came the voice from their right. J'zargo approached them, arms crossed. "This one can do it."
"Are you sure? I can stay and help out."
The Khajiit smirked, shaking his head. His ear twitched, hearing the cracking footsteps of another corpse heading in his direction. Half-heartedly, he turned around and put out his hand. The other two dropped into defensive stances, only for J'zargo to chuckle as the zombie disintegrated the moment he touched it, turning to ashes that scattered on the floor. He turned back to Saya and Onmund, grinning. "This one thinks he'll be alright."
The Nord looked at him, mouth agape. Saya, meanwhile, rolled her eyes and grabbed Onmund by the arm, all but dragging him after herself. "Don't get yourself killed."
J'zargo watched them retreat, waiting until they were partway up the stairs before he did anything. Then, the Khajiit took a moment to steel himself, curling his fists. He took a deep breath, concentrating. Feel the heat. Do not fear it. He lifted both hands into the air, clasping them above his head. He felt the fires dance around him. Hungry. Raging. The hot air running into his nostrils. Then he slowly lowered his arms, chanting the same words in his mind over and over.
Come.
Brelyna watched from atop the staircase as the flames separated from the charred bodies, like shedding skin. The glowing streaks crawled along the floor and floated through the air, seeking out J'zargo like a beacon. With each flicker, each tongue, each little ember to touch him, his blazing cloak grew brighter. Before long, he looked to be genuinely struggling to hold it together. The Telvanni almost considered going down there and helping him when he released a heavy exhale, moving his hands down to his stomach. When the last of his breath left his lungs, the cloak vanished in a flash of light, like a fire starved of air. The Khajiit then collapsed to his knees, panting and heaving for a breath in front of a single lit brazier.
Once more, the sound of turning cogs filled the room. Slowly, the bars that were lowered just a few minutes ago began rising again, closing off the walls into the chamber. A few stragglers still remained of course, groaning and moaning while they stumbled towards the vulnerable Khajiit. J'zargo looked at them with a scornful, blurry gaze, and then grinned when he found the ones closest to him already dead, spikes of ice protruding from their skulls and chests. His eyes drifted upwards, towards the staircase - and sure enough, Serana returned his look with a reassuring smile that mirrored his own.
Once the bars had fully sealed off the chamber, the ground beneath everyone's feet began to quake. The massive door slowly slid downwards, disappearing into the stone floor. That same moment, an awful chill crept across the skin of all who stood near the doorway. It was a strange, unsettling cold. One that spread like heat from a fire, patient and undulating. It pierced through their furs and clothes, gripping their flesh in a way that made their very souls want to put something on.
Here it was. The burial chamber of Jarl Hanse.
It was a spacious room. Mostly empty, aside from a couple half-pillars on the walls, shaped like hawks descending mid-flight. As soon as the first person set foot in the chamber, the statues' eyes lit up with cold white lights, banishing the darkness from the room to reveal no decorations, no thrones or weaponry, no chests of treasure. Only a single platform in the middle of the room, slightly elevated above the floor level, whereupon stood a singular black iron coffin. Nobody spoke a single word, silenced by their own awe and intimidation. Cold. Frozen. Waiting.
Unconsciously, Saya's grip tightened around her weapon.
The coffin's lid came off with a loud crack, blasted into the air by some unseen force. Everyone's eyes followed the metal slab as it fell to the floor with a pathetic clang, and then snapped back to the coffin itself. A low, tired groan came from within and a single arm reached out, the flesh on it withered and grey, barely covered by the almost-transparent pale skin. The skeletal digits gripped the side of the coffin, pulling up the torso into a sitting position. The draugr raised its head towards the intruders, and two hollow eye sockets lit up with a flickering blue glow that peered at them, into them, past them.
"Stay on your guard." Saya's advice came in a hushed, warning tone. She knew everyone would've been alert regardless of what she said. It was the silence she couldn't handle, the crawling sensation of the dead Jarl's eyes inspecting her down to the hair. Thinking.
Jarl Hanse's jaw slowly opened, as if he had forgotten how to move his mouth after so many years of death. The messy white beard did little to cover the sinew and dry muscle visibly stretching beneath the skin, even tearing slightly at the creases. His chest expanded, a low, raspy whistle coming from his throat when he drew breath in preparation, and in that moment it seemed that everyone else's breathing stopped.
It was then that his body suddenly lifted into the air, coming to an upright position a few meters above the coffin. The cloth of his raiments had long since lost its color, dull blues against the shimmering gold. He wore no armor, Saya noticed. Not real armor. The only pieces of non-precious metal in his attire were two large iron pauldrons that cupped his shoulders, a broken chest plate that was split in two by some thundering blow from ages past and now affixed directly to his ribcage, and a beautifully crafted helmet that looked more like a crown with three ruby-encrusted spikes in front and two chiseled mammoth tusks adorning the sides of the head - the fabled Helm of Winterhold.
"He's… a mage?" Onmund whispered to himself, eyes wide. There was no mistaking it. His appearance, the runic wards, the cold… Jarl Hanse was a mage. The Jarl of Winterhold was a mage. Why didn't anyone know about this?
At his words, Hanse's gaze immediately snapped to Onmund's exact position, staring him directly in the eyes. The draugr half-turned towards his coffin, stretching out his faintly glowing hand. Not a second later, a long, spear-like staff flew right into his hand, his fingers curling around it with a series of uncomfortable cracks coming from the joints. His head then slowly turned back to the group, and swung his staff in a wide, powerful motion.
Onmund's eyes caught only a tiny glimpse of the snowy white arc before he felt Elra's hand grasp his shoulder and violently pull him back. The Reachwoman all but leapt in front of the group, striking the floor with her staff before planting both hands firmly on the ground and raising up a wall of solid stone. Hanse's magic impacted the obstacle with a loud glassy crash, and the wind that curved around the wall turned the floor white with frost.
Saya's eyes darted to everyone's faces, and their expressions did not instill her with confidence. Shock, hesitation, fear - oh, definitely fear. None of them were prepared for something like this. Neither was she, in her own mind, but at the same time she was the only one who had any sort of experience with such a situation. Again. Good thing they weren't fighting a dragon, at least.
She tapped Serana's shoulder and the vampire snapped out of the stupor everyone around her seemed to be in. "Follow my lead." Saya nodded towards Hanse. Then, without any further elaboration, she shouted the word "Feim" with what breath she still had and phased through Elra's wall, clutching her weapon and making a beeline straight for the undead mage. He looked almost surprised when she ran through his magic unharmed.
That surprise quickly turned to anger when her blade pierced his back in a quick upward thrust, entering just above the hip and coming out from under the ribs with a faint trickle of dark blood. The mage whipped around and swung his staff, shimmering with magic once more. Saya immediately dropped down, ripping her sword violently out of the creature's body and rolling under his feet. She followed up with a quick jab to the unarmored stomach, pressing her flaming palm into the cavity before sending out a pulse of magical heat. The spell released a bright flash, but quickly fizzled out. The Dragonborn cursed as she recognized the familiar gleam of a protective ward, and hopped back to create some distance while raising her guard. Hopefully the others would hop in right about now.
Right on cue, a layer of ice sprung up on the surface of Hanse's staff and shot outward, freezing the staff head to the floor. The glowing eyes darted towards the immobilized weapon, and then lifted to the cause of this inconvenience - a vampire with her hands coated in magical frost. A twitch of rage ran through his body and he aimed his free hand towards her. The sound of a spell forming in his palm crackled through the chamber, and the Jarl almost seemed to smile with a lipless, vicious grin.
This crackle, however, masked J'zargo's approaching footsteps as he darted around the opposite side of the wall. The Khajiit moved swiftly and quietly, only announcing his presence when he was already beside his opponent. Hanse's body contorted and a horrible crack resounded across the chamber as J'zargo slammed his elbow right into the draugr's spine, followed immediately by an explosion of magical flame. When that proved to be ineffective, the Khajiit followed up with a powerful kick that pushed Hanse away, closer to the wall that Elra had created.
"NOW!" The moment J'zargo shouted, the Reachwoman's staff struck the stone with a dull thwack. Suddenly, a massive crack ran through the wall, and a massive chunk of stone came flying right into Hanse's head, slamming into his helmet and deforming it. Stunned, the Jarl lost his concentration and his flight spell failed. He came down crashing onto the floor slack-jawed and immobile. Saya did not miss the window of opportunity and moved in, her weapon all but itching to take off Hanse's head.
The ward around his body flashed once more. The moment Stormblade touched it, the light shattered like glass into a myriad pieces. A magical shockwave exploded outward, rolling across every surface in the room and blasting Saya away with a wind so frigid that it burned. J'zargo hastily put up a ward which immediately shattered, sending him tumbling onto his back with a pained grunt. Hanse's body twitched, once more lifting into the sky. His spine straightened with a series of cracks, vertebrae resetting and eyes burning with renewed energy, hatred radiating in every detail of his withered features.
Onmund watched with wide, terrified eyes as the mage floated towards his staff, violently ripping it out of its icy cage. Serana immediately responded by making the frost grow on the staff, crawling like a weed onto his arm and freezing his hand to it. Hanse looked briefly inconvenienced before he spotted her, and rage returned to his face. His arm tensed and the ice around it shattered, returning the range of motion to him. Then, he pointed his staff to her. The next thing she knew, an ice spike was sticking from her abdomen, and she tasted iron on her tongue.
"NO!" Onmund screamed out, reaching for Serana as fell to one knee, but Elra grabbed him and kept him still. He turned to her with shock in his eye, already primed to lash out at her for stopping him, but one look from her shut him up.
"She'll live. If you go, you won't." Her words were calm and cutting. She let go of him and he practically ripped his hand from her grip. She peeked around the wall, taking a look around the battlefield. Hanse seemed to be uninterested in Serana, having shifted his attention to J'zargo who fended off his frost attacks to the best of his ability. Good. They had time, then.
"What should we do, then?"
Elra turned around at those words, looking at the two mages still remaining beside her. Onmund stood cross-armed, nervously tapping his foot, but with a determined look in his eye. Brelyna, on the contrary, still looked panicked, hyperventilating and staring back at her with wide eyes. The Reachwoman's eyes lingered on her for a moment before she sighed, shaking her head and turning back to Onmund. "I can help, but I need a few seconds to prepare."
Onmund swallowed nervously. "A-Alright. What do you need?"
"A distraction. Get his attention and start running." She pointed forward, to the right of the wall. Saya was roughly ten o'clock from her current position, which meant that Hanse was currently looking the other way. Given his reaction time, Onmund should be safe. "Do you still have those axes we took from the draugr?" He nodded. "Use those. Now go."
With those words, she pushed him from behind cover. The young mage screamed with surprise, stumbling forward but quickly steadying himself on his feet. Any brief desire he had to glare at Elra was overwhelmed by the terror of seeing J'zargo fighting Hanse, his arms flaring up with flame every time he blocked a strike from the Jarl's staff. By the Eight, he's tall. Onmund's hand found the handle of the old enchanted axe that hung at his belt, taking it off. He lifted it above his head and held his breath.
A distraction. All she needs is a distraction.
With a war cry and all the strength he had in his arm, he threw the axe straight at the undead mage. The weapon awkwardly spun in the air a couple times, quickly reaching its target and hitting him with the back of the axehead before falling pathetically to the floor. Hanse turned around sharply, glaring at the young Nord and lifting his free hand as frost gathered around it.
"RUN!" He heard Elra scream and for once, he didn't hesitate. Onmund broke into the fastest sprint of his life, cold nipping at his toes and scratching at his back as the spell just nearly missed him. But he didn't stop. He kept running, and running, and running where his legs would take him, not even looking back at Hanse. His lungs ached, his knees were giving, and cold sweat poured down his face. He could barely stop himself when he reached the opposite end of the room, hiding behind the half-pillar that stuck out of the wall. Only then did he allow himself a peek back.
His jaw dropped, no longer from exhaustion but from amazement. Elra - or at least, he thought it was Elra - came out from behind the wall, a grey blur that slid across the ground straight towards Hanse. J'zargo saw her coming just in time to jump aside as she slammed into the Jarl, a single punch from her sending him flying back. In that brief moment, Onmund managed to get a good look, but there was not much to see: it looked almost like a clay figurine that a child would make in a poor attempt to imitate a person, featureless and crude. Only, this time it was the size of a very real person, and the surface almost seemed to undulate, as if melting, cascading downwards and pulling itself back up…
The Jarl quickly recovered from the blow, brandishing his staff before slamming it down straight into the head of the figure. The impact produced a dull thud, and a chunk of grey cracked off Elra's face, revealing her black hair and one eye that glared back at the draugr scornfully. The next moment, the stone armor around her face turned liquid and stretched to cover her head fully once more, just in time for Hanse to raise his staff again.
The Reachwoman braced for another strike, but it never came as a single ice spear flew from the back of the room, piercing his wrist before exploding with tiny spikes of ice. The Jarl's hand released the staff involuntarily and his head turned to look where the blow came from - and he saw Serana, one hand pointed at him while the other clutched her bleeding abdomen. The next moment, he felt another strike hit the back of his head, and his defenses faltered. Satisfied with the results, J'zargo turned to his left and shouted: "NOW!"
In an instant, Jarl Hanse seemed to grow twice as heavy. Then three times. Then four. Before he could register what was happening, he was already kneeling on the floor, struggling to keep his back straight as Saya poured every bit of magicka she had left into the Burden spell. Mustering up all his strength, Hanse attempted to raise his head and saw Elra's hand coming straight for his jaw with another punch, shattering the bone with a resounding crack.
"Pin him!" Onmund's strained voice echoed in everyone's ears. Elra glanced towards him, and then vaulted over Hanse's shoulders. Her arms slid under his, and her legs wrapped around his torso. The viscous substance coating her seemed to fuse with itself like warm wax, slowly trickling down to the floor. Then, she suddenly emerged from the back, sliding out of it like a suit. The entire shape collapsed in on itself and solidified like glue, anchoring him down with solid stone.
Saya glanced at Onmund and sighed tiredly before getting up and running towards Hanse. Annoyingly, he was almost her height even on his knees. Just as he reached with his left hand to try and free himself, she grabbed his forearm and pulled it back with all her strength before lifting Stormblade above her head and bringing it down in a heavy chop, cutting off half of his arm.
J'zargo's ears twitched at hearing Onmund's voice and he scanned his surroundings. When he spotted Hanse's staff, he immediately picked it up, spinning it around so the spear-tip was at the top. Then, as fast as his legs allowed him, he rushed back to Hanse. The draugr was reaching for his staff, an invisible force threatening to rip it from the Khajiit's hands. J'zargo did not let him. Instead, he kicked the arm away and stabbed the spearhead into the creature's elbow, pushing the staff deep in as the dry flesh and sinew tore from the intrusion. Then, once about half of the staff was embedded in the joint, he grabbed the lower end with one hand and twisted clockwise, crumpling and mangling the arm until it tore in two and Hanse's forearm fell to the floor as nothing but a piece of rotted, withered flesh and bone.
The sounds Hanse made were inhuman, growls and groans that sounded like something even an animal wouldn't be able to make. The lights in his eyes darted around the room, pure animosity seeping from his entire being. Cold poured from his skull, his mouth, every hole in his body. His very blood froze when it touched the ground, and winds picked up seemingly from nowhere, like a vortex wrapping around him.
And it was then that Onmund ran in from the back, hands gripping the second Shield-Thane's axe, and brought it down on the Jarl's neck with a crunch.