The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 3
Being Nords themselves, Whiterun's guards should've anticipated that though they'd made themselves clear, the locals would be stubborn and make their camp in the close perimeter of the city's gate. To their annoyance, there wasn't much they could do as they weren't doing anything wrong and it would honestly be too much effort. Cirilonde was glad for this as it permitted her to blend in and have a gander.
Cirilonde wandered around the camp in the hope to find Ganir, but figured he'd snuck off into the city. It still would've been nice if he'd told me, though. While she was out here on her own, she figured she might as well make herself useful and see if she could find anything that could be of use to them, whether it was goods or information. What really set her at ease, though, was the fact that she'd not caught a single glimpse of any other elf, save for a group of Khajiit.
They were setting up camp but away from the locals. Their tents were made of furs and leather, supported by wooden stilts and steel pins.
Though Elsweyr was part of the Aldmeri Dominion, most Altmer scoffed at the alliance with the Khajiit as they considered the cat-folk to be a primitive, thieving and superstitious folk. Thus, the land was considered nothing more than a client state to strengthen the Dominion. Cirilonde wasn't too proud of being on the fence on the matter; this mainly because of her family's delicate position to keep up appearances but all the same, it was why she was so fascinated by the mysterious cat people. What had brought them all the way out here?
She was hesitant to approach until one of the Khajiit bared its teeth in what would have to pass for a welcoming smile and gestured for her to come closer. The Khajiit was clad in a thick layer of simple clothes that brought out the beautiful striped pattern of his grey and blue fur. His yellow eyes shone bright like the charms in his braided mane, beard and pierced ears.
"Khajiit welcomes you, stranger." The fashion in which he spoke was rather typical of a Khajiit, but his voice held the lilt and energy of an experienced merchant, traveller and perhaps, story-teller. He sat cross-legged in front of his tent where a variety of wares were hung and laid out. Most of it was common attire and tools but she also saw some cheap jewellery, baubles and trinkets that were definitely not of local make…or exactly legal. "Khajiit has wares if you have coin and a pair of ears if you but wish to talk."
"The latter if I'm not keeping you…" (*1) She briefly closed her eyes when a most alluring scent greeted her nostrils; a mixture of leather-bound tomes, burning embers and a sort sandalwood-based perfume. Was it the incense the Khajiit had lit earlier? The other Khajiit either hadn't noticed her yet or were too occupied for the moment with unpacking and setting up another one of their tents. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to gawk at your wares," she apologized clumsily when she felt as though brought from a daze and extended her hand to the Khajiit. "My name's Cirilonde."
"Ri'saad sees no need for you to apologize and would rather welcome you," the Khajiit gestured for her to have a seat on one of the rugs laid out in front of his tent. "He is most happy you actually approach. May Ri'saad ask if you are from around here?"
There was no way for her to tell, but regardless of who he was our could be, Cirilonde knew she had to be careful. "Not really as I'm only passing through. What of you and your friends?"
"From the heart of Elsweyr." Cirilonde wasn't sure, but if Ri'saad could tell she was lying, he certainly didn't seem to care nor did he pry further. "We travelled here in the hope to make our fortune through trade, but the Nords won't even let us into their cities."
"Oh? Is that why you're camped all the way here away from the locals?" Cirilonde had noticed that he Khajiit had been on the receiving end of distrusting glares and her keen ears picked up the whispered, outright racist insults from the locals.
"They think of us as nothing more than skooma-addicted cutthroats and thieves." Ri'saad scoffed and rather occupied himself with the emerald between his clawed index finger and thumb. He held it up in the light of the sun and he bared his teeth in a grin when it appeared the gem was one of proper and genuine quality. "It is their loss as Ri'saad and his friends meet plenty of wandering adventurers and soldiers on the road who are in need of a tit for tat."
"Soldiers…? So is it really that bad and dangerous out there?" Cirilonde asked. If Imperial soldiers patrolled the roads, it could complicate things if she and Ganir were wanted. "I mean, for you to travel so far from home only to run into all this trouble…And now this whole hold up here at Whiterun."
"The wise trader finds the best opportunities, even if he must travel far to find them." It wasn't Ri'saad but one of the female Khajiit who spoke. She had just finished setting up the last tent and sat down next to Cirilonde to warm herself by the fire. "And this land. It is so cold. Atahbah misses the warm sands of Elsweyr."
"Atahbah is right," Ri'saad nodded. "But the cold is certainly the least-,"
Cirilonde stumbled back, startled, when Atahbah suddenly lashed out at the person behind herself who had deliberately stomped their foot down on her tail without warning. The High Elf's initial outrage was soon replaced by confusion when it appeared this 'someone' was Ganir. He had wound Atahbah's thick mane around his fingers in a firm grasp and held her in place, down on her knees. The female Khajiit attempted to tear at the Dark Elf with her claws but Ganir didn't budge and his armour protected him. "Ganir-!"
But she fell silent mid-sentence when she saw a familiar, golden chain with a shimmering pendant fall from the Khajiit's hand and to the ground. "I recommend you don't get caught stealing lest you end up losing your paws, s'wit," the Dark Elf growled in a low, menacing tone.
"Get your filthy hands off me, jetwijijri!" (*2) Atahbah had her ears pressed flat on her head and her razor sharp teeth were bared in a snarl.
Ri'saad stepped out in front of his comrades who'd come over to help Atahbah and he raised both his hands at Ganir and his companions. "Please, let us all calm down…" His voice shook and his eyes darted from his comrades to the elves and then to the guards in the background who hadn't noticed any of the commotion…yet. Cirilonde's eyes shot to Ganir; the last thing any of them needed was unwanted attention. "Mutsera, please let Atahbah go," Ri'saad pleaded. "I'm sure all this is-,"
"-a misunderstanding?" Ganir sneered acridly as he threw Atahbah to the ground. "Consider yourselves fortunate I have more important things on my mind." Before he turned and walked off, he gave Cirilonde a subtle nod for her to follow him.
Atahbah scampered to Ri'saad's side, cradling her now crooked tail. Cirilonde snatched her necklace from the ground and checked if it had been damaged in any way. She then glared at Ri'saad. "That could've ended badly, but I wonder why the locals don't want you in their cities."
She then turned and made her way over to Ganir, who sat on a rock under the shade of a tree near the creek, away from the prying eyes and ears of the locals. "Was it really that necessary to be so rough?" She then noticed he picked at his earring, clearly agitated. "Look, don't get me wrong. I am thankful you caught them in the act, but that really could've gotten us into big trouble…well, we already are, I suppose…"
Ganir gave a wry chuckle, which calmed him down some. "And be honest, they had it coming." His grin disappeared and made place for a more serious expression. "On top of that, we have a bigger problem on our hands." He threw a pebble and it skidded over the creek's surface. "Because of this damn civil war and now this mess with that blasted dragon, merchants and the sorts travel together in guarded caravans. It will take days for the next one to arrive from Solitude. Not to mention I don't like the idea of travelling in a large group, given our situation."
As he talked, Cirilonde listened and watched him fidget with his earring and thick, stray strands of black hair. "The Khajiit told me the same before they decided to try and steal from me." She grabbed a pebble herself and also sent it skidding over the water. "But you say it like you've got some sort of solution or plan."
Ganir nodded. "If the Jarl keeps his word. He seemed rather impressed I snuck into his city and offered me work in exchange for a horse. But given the urgency, I could perhaps get us two."
Cirilonde glanced up over her shoulders at the high walls behind the two of them. Whiterun's walls were thick and strong; made of stone and wood. She wondered how the hell he'd managed to scale the walls unnoticed and get past the guards on patrol. "So, what exactly does this 'job' for the Jarl exactly entail?"
"Well, the Jarl introduced me to his Court Wizard, Farengar. Though they were considered drunkards' tales, Farengar still went and investigated the reports of dragon sightings and everything surrounding dragons. His research has led him to believe he requires a certain 'Dragon Stone' from Bleak Falls Barrow. Thing is, I don't want to leave you behind, but to delve into a tomb-,"
"Is dangerous because it's potentially crawling with the undead?" Cirilonde raised a brow. "In case you hadn't figured that one out, while Thalmor agents seem to be your specialty, the undead are mine as I specialize in the schools of Restoration and Alteration."
That…certainly does explain why she was able to tell so quick and easily.
"Well, that's good to know, I suppose. So you will be coming along?" Ganir asked. He hadn't really expected this twist, but apparently a good night's rest and the prospect of this 'detour' had certainly done wonders to the Altmer's disposition, which he hoped would last.
"I couldn't possibly let you have all the fun now, can I?" For the first time since she'd arrived here, she actually smiled. "So what's your plan?"
"Well," Ganir turned to look up at the mountain in Riverwood's direction. "Remember when we got away from Helgen and Ralof pointed the ruins out? I don't know if you've seen yourself, but from what I understood and have seen there appears to be a path that leads up there. But in all honesty, I have no idea what to expect."
"Well, it shouldn't be too big of a problem for the two of us. We just need some supplies and go from there to prepare." Cirilonde looked at the mountain in the distance. Though she couldn't see the ruin from this angle, she could clearly remember she didn't like the look of the place. "When do you want to go?"
"Well, in terms of preparation…" Ganir had been given a simple bag by Hod but it was clearly no longer empty. "I merely took the liberty of helping us to some supplies."
He let her look into the bag; it contained a few tonics to cure wounds and restore one's magicka reserves faster but also a cloak. "And you're chastising those Khajiit?!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. "As if we're not in enough trouble as is…" She puffed up her cheeks and took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. But we could really use this whether it's for this 'job' or to get to Winterhold.
"In all honesty, I 'chastised' them on getting caught. But if you'd rather freeze to death…" The Dark Elf's lips curled into the most handsome, rogue-ish grin when Cirilonde took the cloak from him and put it on.
"Get that grin off your face!" She tried to sound stern, but her face betrayed her. The fur cloak was perfect and would shield her from wind, water and cold. "You're a bad influence, you know that, right?"
"Let's just get going." The Dark Elf rolled his eyes and shook his head and the pair took off.
Upon getting close to Riverwood, they left the cobbled path once they found the partially hidden pass that led up the mountain towards the ancient, Nordic burial ruins. Some of the deer that had sought refuge in the bushes scattered from their hiding place when the elves got too close even though they found tracks of other animals and hunters in the snow.
The further they made their way up, the harder the climb got as the snow reached their knees and below lay a slippery layer of ice. Cirilonde clutched her cloak tight to protect herself against the harsh, cold wind that picked up as well and sent the snow flying in a flurry around them. By the time they'd managed to make their way to the top it was close to sunset but they were rewarded with an amazing view of Riverwood and the surrounding area. Not to mention that Bleak Falls Barrow was a sight to behold as well, especially now that they were so close.
Nordic burials were perhaps not uncommon in Skyrim, but Bleak Falls Barrow must have been of great importance in its time and was an unique sight in its own right. Not that much remained of what must once have been a grand temple; a victim of time and the cold weather. The latter had both been a damaging and preserving factor to the stone, carved pillars and archways that supported what remained of the catacombs' entrance into the mountain. But Cirilonde's eagerness to explore would have to wait as the two elves were forced to duck for cover and hide.
They were not alone here as a group of men and women stood gathered near the entrance. The High Elf was certain they could hear her heart pounding. Ganir laid a hand on her shoulder and signalled for her to try and calm her breathing. She wondered how he could remain so calm and peer around the corner without getting caught as he listened in on the conversation. These were definitely not tourists, after all.
Six men and women. Ganir thought as he sized them up. Armed. Fur and leather armour….Grave robbers. Who else would come to this place?
"There had better be a good reason for dragging us all the way up to this godforsaken place, Arvel." Said one of the men to a Dunmer; a slick-looking, unshaven man with dark red eyes and messy, brown hair.
"Trust me on this Gedrick, if we do this right, we'll be swimming in gold. Lucan's such an idiot, he had no idea what his little trinket's really good for." The Dark Elf, Arvel, said. "So if you let me do the thinking, you lot do the smashing and bashing."
"The only thing I'll 'smash 'n bash' is your head if I find out you're lying, elf." Gedrick growled.
"I'm not, so why don't you go on inside so we can get down to business?" Arvel glared at the massive Nord who carried an equally large Warhammer with the ease as one would hold an infant. "I don't exactly want to freeze to death out here just because you're too scared."
"Piss off then, knife-ear, before I give you a reason to be scared." Gedrick shoved Arvel out of his way and followed by his fellow brutes, they went inside.
Arvel spat in the snow. "Fucking s'wit fetcher." But then followed as the last after making sure no one had followed them up here.
"I don't like the looks of this," Cirilonde whispered as soft as she could. "I mean, isn't it quite a coincidence they're here?"
"Grave robbers are rarely a coincidence. They're a cancer you'll have to deal with no matter where you go." Ganir grumbled and he tugged at his beard as he thought of a way to handle this. Had he been alone, this wouldn't have been a problem, but Cirilonde was with him and he did need her help. "Saves they're not the brightest lot, so we should be able to trail behind them and incapacitate them somehow…" He gently pushed Cirilonde back when she made to follow him. "Wait here. I need to make sure it's safe. I'll come and get you when it is."
Though she was reluctant, she nodded and agreed. After a few minutes, Ganir indeed returned and he guided her into the barrow to a safe spot where they could both hide.
Given how small the barrow's entrance had been, Cirilonde had expected the interior to be dark, damp and cramped but the entry hall to this barrow was a large, cavernous space. Parts of the roof had either collapsed or purposely been made ages ago for Divines knew what purpose. Snow fell through these holes and sparkled in what little light illuminated the ancient ruin's interior.
In the far back, sided by coffins, was a large pair of doors where the grave robbers and Arvel stood gathered around. With all the caution they could muster, Cirilonde and Ganir snuck closer and hid behind a stone casket.
"It's just a damn seal!" Arvel exclaimed with an agitated roll of his eyes. "Just smash the door in already."
"Yeah, of course, let the real men do the hard work, huh?" Gedrick pulled his axe from his belt and pushed himself past Arvel. The Dark Elf's lips curled into a sly, conniving smirk as he backed away. Gedrick swung his axe but the moment the steel shattered the wax and stone seal tied that had secured the door so long, a powerful 'gust' of energy knocked the grave-robbers on their backsides. Cirilonde dove from her hiding place and heaved a sigh of relief when she and Ganir both caught the urns that had stood on the casket where they had hidden. An eerie, tense silence lingered where no one dared move and held their breath.
These grave-robbers had just broken an enchanted seal that was clearly not meant to just keep unwanted visitors out and this visibly unsettled the Nords. They had their weapons already drawn but their knuckles paled as they gripped them tighter with each, passing second. Cirilonde's startled whimper went unheard when the caskets surrounding the doors suddenly burst open.
No one exactly knew how the Draugr came to be or function, but whether related to those buried within or not, these undead were tasked to guard all against unwanted visitors such as these grave robbers. The Draugr were repulsive creatures with leathery, dry skin and their slack-jawed, gaunt faces were framed by what little wiry and matted strands of hair were left on their heads. Their hollow sockets lit up with an eerie, blue glow when they woke. Their bony fingers clutched the crude hilts of their ancient weapons and they climbed out of their caskets to face the grave robbers.
It had been clear Arvel had foreseen this from the start and rather than fight alongside the brutes, he sprinted down the hall that had been sealed up for so long. "Where do you think you're going, you rat?!" Gedrick bellowed and chased after the swift Dark Elf. This left the others to fight the Draugr who were far more fierce and strong they would initially appear to be.
Though the Draugrs' bones and joints cracked, they swung their weapons with deadly accuracy and Cirilonde couldn't help but notice they seemed to speak some kind of ancient, guttural language. Was it Ancient Nordic, perhaps? Over the racket she wasn't able to tell.
It was clear that the grave-robbers were more brawn than brains because they underestimated the Draugr. The first grave-robber, a young but strong man, was the first to fall when he thought he could rip the Draugr's head off. Infuriated, the Draugr crushed the young one's windpipe and flung him against the wall over another, stone casket. "Focus on one!" the second cried, but neither were competent with blade or axe. Though they managed to take one of the Draugr down, they fell one by one.
Cirilonde and Ganir couldn't tear their eyes from the cruel and dramatic scene that played out before them. Not only were the Draugr capable of speech but had memorized whatever fighting techniques they had learned when alive and executed them without flaw…or mercy.
When the last grave-robber tried to flee, the Draugr flung his axe at her and it killed her instantly when it struck her in the back. The Draugr slumped over and pulled his weapon from the corpse with a nauseating crack. It then snarled at the darkness as it sought for other signs of intrusion or intruders. Cirilonde held her breath until the Draugr climbed back into its casket and once it crossed its arms over its chest, did the light fade from is sockets.
Behavioral intelligence, the ability to communicate and memorize…Astounding! Cirilonde had dealt with a variety of undead throughout the years but she had never seen anything like this. "Since it's only seen those grave-robbers once that seal broke, the Draugr must think it has fulfilled its duty," Cirilonde muttered her observations more to herself than to Ganir, who nodded in agreement nevertheless. "If we're really quiet, we should be able to sneak past it."
"We should check their bodies though." Ganir's lips barely moved as he whispered. "They were clearly here with some purpose to find something so they might have some more information on this place for us."
When they came close, however, the Draugr's eyes opened. Cirilonde raised her hands and a soft green glow emitted from them as she incanted. The Draugrs closed their eyes and her eyes urged for Ganir to hurry up. The grave robbers carried little of use with them, save for some gold pieces.
"Ganir, this way." Cirilonde used her head to indicate the direction where she saw something lie on the ground. Slowly backing away towards the opened door, she picked up the journal that lay there. "It's Arvel's."
"Didn't think the fetcher would be able to write or read." Ganir grumbled, keeping his voice low. He knelt down next to Cirilonde who skipped through the journal's pages to scan its contents.
"Seems that this trinket from this Lucian is a 'golden claw' of sorts which should lead to some kind of treasure of great power…" Cirilonde sought Ganir's eyes with a worried expression. "Do you think he knows about the stone? Could more people be looking into this?"
A variety of thoughts and theories ran through Ganir's mind but he decided not to dwell on them, or share them, for that matter. The only concern he had in this situation was to get this dragon stone before Arvel did, if he was after it. "Let's be on our way. We only have two of them left to deal with."
Cirilonde held him in place by the shoulder when he made to get up and nearly knocked an urn over. "We really need to be careful," she cautioned him. "These Draugr aren't a joke and I can only subdue so many."
The Dark Elf nodded and they made their way deeper into the barrow. Though some of the braziers dangling from the ceiling and torches along the walls had been lit, both elves had to squint their eyes to make sure they wouldn't accidentally walk into something that would activate any traps or wake the Draugr by accident. Though the air was dry and a weird scent hung in the air, they could feel a draft from an uncertain direction, which gave Cirilonde the chills. This place was really ancient, even for elves like them. They would be wise not to tread lightly here as no one had set foot in these ancient ruins. Common as they were, these sort of ruins were considered either sacred, dangerous, if not both, to the natives.
And to add to their concerns they also had Arvel to deal with, who would prove to be just as dangerous when they caught up with Gedrick, who lay face-down and dead on the ground in a room deep within the ruins. It had apparently been a rough fight. The shelves of an ancient closet lay in shambles on the ground and a table lay broken in the centre of the room. The offerings, linen wraps and other burial tools lay scattered around the room.
Ganir signalled for Cirilonde to wait where she was and he walked down the last few steps to make sure the room was safe. His eyes scanned the shadows and the scene before him. He clearly tried to ambush this Gedrick and failed. They fought…He knelt down next to Gedrick's body and held a large shard in his hand. Poison. Drastic and desperate measure, but it did the job…
When he signalled it was safe, Cirilonde made her way over to him. She looked rather horrified by the dead Nord's bloodshot eyes and the mixture of vomit and foam that poured from his mouth.
"Seems like that fetcher had no intent on sharing." Ganir said while searching the man's pocket. "I'd feel sorry, but…they had it coming. Scum."
Cirilonde couldn't help but agree in spite of the cruel fate these men had met. They had disturbed and disrespected the dead to rob them! "This Arvel is going to be trouble. We can't let our guard down," she said.
As they continued their way deeper into the barrow, they found that some passages had collapsed and others had remained intact, buried under a thick layer of dust. Ancient herbs and plants were hung from the ceiling if not laid out on the solid, stone tables or laid in heavy-looking cabinets, accompanied by ancient, rotten tomes and urns containing…well, the elves weren't sure if they wanted to know.
They progressed deeper into the ruins and found that Arvel had literally slashed his way through anything that got in his way. The Draugr that had woken from their slumber to protect their temple and catacombs had been cut down by him and left a trail of blood for them to follow. But this was not Cirilonde's primary focus. She had noticed how the walls seemed to change in terms of structure and colour along with the carvings etched into them that seemed to tell some kind of tale. But how was it possible that all this had been spared by the passing of time without flaw? And how could these damn cobwebs get thicker and…stickier?
"I've got a bad feeling about this." Ganir used his dagger to tear at the sticky mess and push it out of their way. But Cirilonde let out a shriek when some of it clung to her hair and she initially thought it was some kind of beast. She stumbled against Ganir when she tripped over an urn and the both of them fell. Not only did this make a ton of racket as the urn shattered into pieces, it was the source of the racket that unsettled them. Countless bones lay strewn on the floor, which had previously been entangled in the webs.
The both of them lay still in fear of whatever they could have awakened when they suddenly heard a voice. "Is…Is someone there? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Gedrick?" It was Arvel.
Ganir helped Cirilonde to her feet but pressed his index finger against her lip to shush her. He motioned for her to follow him and they carefully inched closer to where they thought Arvel would be and found him in a large, open room. Of course, it couldn't just be cobwebs…Cirilonde stifled the urge to groan.
Spider eggs were littered all over the room, some hatched, some not. The walls were covered by a thick layer of webs and like the hallway, bones of small animals and Divines knew what else lay strewn on the ground. Other…bodies and 'things' were wrapped up and left dangling from the ceiling by thick, silken threads. This had to be a Frostbite Spider's nest. Arvel had clearly thought he could just rush and cut through the webs and either had gotten tangled up…or he'd been caught and wrapped up.
He stopped wriggling when he saw Ganir and Cirilonde. "Sweet breath of Arkay." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Help me, before it gets back!"
"Stay close," Ganir whispered to Cirilonde before he carefully made his way over to Arvel and grabbed the Dark Elf by the collar of his web-covered shirt. "Give me one good reason, fetcher. You didn't seem to mind betraying your friends and leaving them for dead."
"What? Never!" he sputtered. "I thought they were right behind me, I…I-,"
Cirilonde glanced from the floor up to the ceiling when she saw the shadows shift and her green eyes grew wide and large. "Ganir…" she tugged at his tunic but her eyes never left the enormous, grotesque and horrible shadow that slowly and silently descended from the thick shroud of webs on the ceiling.
Ganir whisked the whimpering High Elf's hand away as he was keen to settle things with Arvel. "Suppose I do help you. Are you going to explain me what you're doing here?" Ganir held his dagger against Arvel's throat as a warning. Arvel grinned and nervously eyed the dagger, but when he saw the reflection in the blade, his eyes went wide as well and shot up.
His lips moved but he was terrified beyond his wits by spiders in general, but this behemoth took the cake. Because the elves had made such a ruckus and had tugged and torn at her webs, the large, Frostbite matron must've felt something was up and came skittering over as fast and silent as she could.
"Ganir!" Cirilonde shoved Ganir out of the way in time and used a magical ward to protect herself against the venom the enormous Frostbite spider had spat at them. Ganir clung to the web in the process and Arvel was sent flying, still wrapped up in the webs.
"You s'wit!" Arvel swore as he crashed onto the floor and shattered a bunch of old urns and pots in the process. "Cut me loose. Cut me loose, damnit!"
They had no time for that as the spider charged at Ganir and then at Cirilonde, who threw rocks at the arachnid to get its attention. Ganir used this to his advantage and tore away at the spider's repulsive, thick and hairy legs. The spider shrieked in pain and anger as it reeled to face Ganir and snapped its mandibles at him.
"Keep throwing rocks, Ciri!" Ganir managed to dodge the spider fairly well, but he didn't want to press his luck. Cirilonde ran and dove for the ground to scrap whatever she could from the floor to throw but at the same time, she was forced to maintain a ward to protect herself from the spider's venom. But the longer it took, the more agitated the spider got and since Ganir was the main source, the spider charged at him. Ganir knew it was a case of 'now-or-never' and when the spider got close enough, he threw himself to the ground before the mandibles could strike him. He skidded over the floor on his back and buried his daggers into the spider's gut, tearing and stabbing away at the soft, hairy shell. Helpless and experiencing nothing but pure anguish, the spider reared and cried out. It fell to the ground with a loud thud where it sputtered until it finally ceased to move. It was dead.
The two elves had thrown themselves against the nearest wall to make sure they wouldn't get bitten or hit and looked at each other, the both of them out of breath. To think they had just slain this massive beast together!
Ganir carefully nudged the dead spider with his boot to make sure it was dead. Cirilonde dared not inch closer and stared at the arachnid's corpse in disgust. "Well, seems you also make fine pest control," the Dark Elf smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder.
"Are you all right?" she asked with a trembling voice. She had never seen such a large spider and was conflicted between fear and scholarly interest to study it. There was no time to indulge in such an endeavour, though and she wasn't exactly eager to seek another such beast in the future.
"I am." Ganir walked over to Arvel, who had occupied himself with trying to worm his way out of his confinement. Ganir put a boot on Arvel's chest and leaned over him. "Now, before I was rudely interrupted by the eight-legged mistress of the house, I recall you and I were still discussing some matters. So where do you think you're going?"
"Nowhere except trying to get out of this mess?" He looked down at the webs that confined him still. "You know, like I've been trying to ask you from the start to maybe cut me loose so I can actually help you?"
"Try anything and you will regret it." Ganir warned and after cutting Arvel loose, he sheathed his dagger, which was the biggest mistake he could've made. As the grave-robber got to his feet, he grabbed hold of a stone jug, sprang to his feet and hit Ganir over the head with it. Dazed from the blow, Arvel pulled one of Ganir's daggers from its sheath and put it to Cirilonde's throat as he pulled her against him, holding her from behind.
Entirely against his expectations, however, Cirilonde gracefully swooped with the momentum of Arvel's stance and threw him off balance by side-stepping him. "Why you…little…wretch!" Arvel grit his teeth, trying his hardest to gain the upper hand again. He threw all his strength against her and Cirilonde was thrown against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs and she gulped for air when Arvel gripped her by the throat.
She lashed at his face with her nails and Arvel tore away from her as a nail caught his eye. He howled and swore in pain, "You bitch! I will gut you-,"
But Arvel never even got close to her. He gulped for air when he was struck from behind and his whole body went rigid from the sudden pain and confusion. He looked over his shoulder at the other Dark Elf who had buried his other dagger into Arvel's back, piercing one of his lungs. "I'll be taking this, thank you," Ganir took his dagger back from Arvel's hand and used it to stab Arvel in the chest; ensuring an instant death. Arvel's lifeless body slumped to the floor. "Told you not to try anything," Ganir grumbled angrily. "Fucking s'wit. Don't touch my daggers."
Cirilonde reached for her throat, uncertain how to feel about Arvel's cruel demise save for sorry and she kicked his body for good measure. "Fucking bastard!"
"Are you all right?" Ganir asked while cleaning the blood off his blades. "Though I must say, you handled yourself rather well."
"I'm fine, I think…thank you." Cirilonde had to reassure herself more than Ganir. "I'm not that helpless, you know. I just can't believe that-! He tried to kill me!"
"Yeah, I wonder what it's like to have everyone hellbent on killing you." Ganir hadn't been able to suppress the remark. Cirilonde wanted to take offence but understood. The Dark Elf knelt down to search Arvel's body with Cirilonde to find this 'golden claw' Arvel had mentioned in his journal and found it in his backpack.
"It's actually…exactly what it is." Cirilonde studied the heavy dragon-claw ornament. It was made of solid gold and the inscriptions of a bear, owl and moth lay in the palm of the claw.
"What do you reckon it's for?" Ganir queried as he took it from her and looked at it as well, poking at the golden ornament's claws. Sharp…Quite the masterpiece this…
"Judging by the markings and indentations, it seems that like Arvel's journal suggests, that it can open something. But before anything, let's figure that out on the way because I really don't like lingering too long anywhere in this place."
In the scuffle with Arvel, some of the webs on the wall had been torn away and had revealed a doorway. Ganir cut the remainder of it away and they made their way even deeper into the catacombs. As silent as they could, they snuck past the 'sleeping' Draugr. In spite of their caution, they were startled from time to time that not all of them slept and Cirilonde had to use her spells to Turn them which left them wandering off in a daze for enough time to permit them to get away.
They walked down a long hallway of which the walls held crevices where Draugr lay sleeping. The two elves froze when the torches and braziers suddenly lit up when a gust of wind passed them. Their eyes darted from each other to the countless Draugr that lay unmoving and they quickly made their way to the door at the end, closing it shut behind them.
This has to be it. Ganir seemed just as in awe as she was, as this hallway was completely deserted and untouched. The walls' inscriptions were as if newly carved from the stone and depicted the tale of an ancient battle where some kind of great hero perished. At the end of the hallway was a door unlike either had ever laid eyes on. It was made of separate segments of stone that could rotate while still connected to one another; the focus lay on the door's centre where the claw would fit into the indentations. On these separate, round segments, were the sigils of an owl, bear, fox, eagle, moth, snake and whale. These could be rotated to be aligned into the proper combination and it didn't take a scholar to figure out how this would work in combination with the claw.
"All right, let's do this." Ganir cracked his knuckles after Cirilonde had a quick gander at the claw and the two elves grit their teeth as they moved the heavy, stone segments of the door to align properly until they heard the mechanism 'click'. The both of them stepped back, beads of sweat coating their foreheads. "Want me to do it?" he asked Cirilonde, who looked hesitant.
"No, it should be fine. There doesn't seem to be any sort of trap like Ayleid or Dwemer ruins do…" Cirilonde's hands shook as she placed the tips of the ornament's claws into the indentations. She then turned it and the stone door rumbled as ancient mechanisms were put to work. The door sank into the crevice below and revealed a cavern far more ominous than the whole barrow all together.
Bats shrieked and scattered from their hiding place above the door that'd been sealed for so long. The elves dove to the ground and waited until they were gone before they made their way to the sunlit platform up ahead.
Neither of the elves could believe their eyes and were at a loss for words at the sight before them. Water poured from a hole in the mountain that was also served as the ruins' roof. This water formed a small pond around the platform before disappearing underground. They walked across the stone bridge up the steps to the top which was overlooked by a strange, crescent-shaped shaped wall riddled with claw-like writing of some kind. A dragon's head was carved from the stone as well that overlooked this wall and the chambers.
Upon closing in, Cirilonde could sense something about this wall, but Ganir felt as though a surge of energy had punched him in the gut. His pupils dilated and he froze in place.
"C-can you feel that?" he asked her. The claw-like carvings in the wall seemed to be words, but nothing like he'd ever seen before. The strange energy emanating from the wall beckoned him closer. His gloved hands trailed over the coarse relief as the words echoed in his mind.
"Het nok faal vahlok
Deinmaar do dovahgolz
Ahrk aan fus do unslaad.
Rahgol ahrk yulom."
Ganir stumbled back from the words as if burned, startled as he had spoken a language he had never even heard about. Cirilonde had caught him and looked just as troubled. "Are you all right? What happened? What is this…thing?"
"I'm fine." He got to his feet but was still a bit shaken. "Don't know what that was, but whatever it is, this must be the 'treasure' those s'wits hoped to find." Try as he might, one word echoed in his mind: Fus. But he decided not to tell Cirilonde lest she think he was mad.
"So…could this be the 'Dragon Stone' that the Court-Wizard wanted you to get?" Cirilonde's eyes took in all of the details of this odd, stone wall. She had picked up the brief energy it emanated, but it could have been a trick of the mind, she guessed. Nevertheless, it looked ancient even by elven standards and she wondered what purpose it had served. "We're going to need a bigger bag."
"I doubt this is it, to be honest." Ganir and she both looked at the casket that lay near the wall. At its foot stood a large chest and next to it a dresser with a variety of trinkets and small chest laid out on the shelves. "Let's have a look here."
Ganir had hardly taken a step closer when the casket's lid was sent flying by the Draugr who had lain dormant within. "Not good!" Ganir grabbed a hold of Cirilonde and pulled her behind him. "Let's put your expertise to the test, shall we?"
The Draugr who had climbed out looked very different from the ones they'd encountered prior to this. It was clad in ancient, chain armour and wielded a battle-axe which he swung as a warning once it laid its eyes on the two elves. "Faaz! Pal! Dinok!" it snarled and charged at them with surprising speed and vigour. The two elves ran while they formulated their plan.
"You saw what he had on his back, right?" Ganir said to her as they stood on the other side of the platform. It was perhaps not the best place, but it bought them some time and space to dodge and outrun the Draugr, who was getting more and more agitated by the two elves he couldn't catch.
"Just get his attention!" Cirilonde shouted at him as they were forced to split up.
This was as easy as said and Ganir charged at the Draugr with the intention to side-step and tackle it, but the Draugr opened its rotten maw and spat three words that sent Ganir flying, "FUS RO DAH!"
The Dark Elf rolled over the ground and nearly fell over the edge into the water but he dug his dagger into the ground, also buying him the momentum to scramble to his feet before the Draugr could bury his axe into the Dark Elf's skull. The Draugr grunted as it tried to dislodge the axe from the stone but froze and fell stiff to the ground after it was struck from behind by Cirilonde's spell.
Had its face been able to bear any kind of expression, it no doubt would've been one of confusion. But Ganir wasn't about to risk anything and slammed both his daggers down in the Draugr's chest and forehead. Its eyes ceased to glow and the body went limp. It was now truly dead.
"Oh Auri-El, really, Ganir?" Cirilonde gagged, disgusted by the nasty, squishing sound the Draugr's body made when Ganir pulled his daggers from the body.
"I'd rather not risk it coming after us." Ganir wiped his daggers clean on the Draugr's rags with a look of disgust as bits of flesh and gods-know-what hung from the blade. "We don't know anything about these…things."
"You've got a point…" Cirilonde said and helped him remove the Dragon Stone that was strapped to the Draugr's back. Ganir held it up and looked at it before he put it into the bag.
"Best we get the hell out of here before something else decides to wake up," Ganir said. "This had better be worth it."
*1: Rather than a spell of some sort to charm people, I figured Ri'saad to be the crafty sort who'd use incense with an intoxicating 'charm' effect of some kind.
*2: 'Jetwijijri' means 'cut-skin' or 'shaveskin' in the Khajiit (Ta'agra) language according to and is a common insult for Khajiti against non-Khajiti.
"Het nok faal vahlok
Deinmaar do dovahgolz
Ahrk aan fus do unslaad.
Rahgol ahrk yulom."
Here lies the Guardian
Keeper of the Dragonstone
And a force of
eternal rage and darkness
Faaz! Pal! Dinok!
Pain! Shame! Death!
