Well, hello there. Extra long chapter from me today, so dont expect to see another one for at least a few days while I recover! :P Hope you enjoy this one, please tell me what you think of it so far and anything you think could be improved, it would really help! Thanks guys :D
"Please, sit down" said a thin, willowy little Bosmer who went by the name of Faendal. Ralof had introduced Alarik to the elf, and they were assembled in the tiny house around an equally tiny table.
"I'm no expert with jewellery, but I've had... experiences with valuables before." He frowned, and glared at the ring like he expected it to divulge its secrets in that moment. "It has the oddest magical aura I've ever seen!" he exclaimed. "Where did you find this?"
"Inside a deer's gut." replied Alarik, beginning to tire of repeating his tale.
"Ah! A fellow hunter!" Faendal smiled up at Alarik, showing off those glossy white teeth that the Bosmer possessed.
"Look, I really need to find my sister Gerdur, why don't you leave the ring with Faendal and you can get it in the morning, lad." said Ralof, passing a hand through his long hair.
"I'd prefer not to, if you don't mind." blurted out Alarik, shivering for some reason at the thought of leaving his ring with a stranger. Wait. When had he began thinking of the ring as his own? All it had brought to him was pain and sorrow. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he carefully placed the ring in his pocket and thanked Faendal for examining it.
"Wait! Maybe you could go to Whiterun, see if you could get one of the priestesses to look at it. Or even the court wizard!"suggested the elf, watching them from his chair.
"It would be best not to walk into Whiterun hold dressed in stormcloak armour." replied Ralof. "Goodnight Faendal."
The following morning Alarik said farewell to Ralof and began to saddle up Falion.
"Wait! Wait!" shouted Gerdur. "We need someone to tell the Jarl of Whiterun about the dragon! Riverwood is in great danger!" she ran up to Alarik as he mounted his horse. "We were thinking you could, as you have a horse?" she asked.
"I'll do it." replied Alarik, thinking it a fitting way to thank these people for their hospitality.
As he got back onto the road, he realized he was heading back to the place he was leaving. But then again, his idea of leaving Skyrim was a mere whim based on his furious sorrow. Maybe he could make a new life here. The road was clear of any beasts or bandits, and for the first time in three days Alarik felt relaxed and less inclined to ride off and kill all the Thalmor. He could see Whiterun in the distance, as the afternoon sun blazed down on his back. Suddenly he heard a loud roar. He nearly dived into the bushes as he thought it was the dragon, but saw instead a group of warriors hacking at a giant, who was swinging his club wildly. A tall man in steel armour thrust his sword towards the giants leg, and the iron got stuck in the meaty hunk. He looked up as the giant reached down to crush his head, but Alarik had already leaped upon the giants back from Falion's saddle and was stabbing at the hulking, meaty goat stealer's eyes. The giant gave out a roar of pain and began topple over. Dropping from the giants back, he noticed that one of the warriors was in fact a woman, with fiery red hair and war paint smeared across her cheeks in three parallel stripes.
"You handled yourself well there, Khajiit." she said as she clapped Alarik on the shoulder. He blushed under his fur as he could smell her scent, a musky, pine sort of aroma.
"Th- thanks." he stuttered trying not to fall over.
He pushed open the huge doors to Dragonsreach, and made his way inside to the spacious hall within. It was then he heard the scrape of a sword being pulled from its sheath and he looked toward the noise as a sword was shoved in his face.
"You'd better have a damn good reason for interrupting the Jarl, cat" snarled a ferocious looking Dunmer as she pushed the sword ever so slightly more harder into Alarik's cheek.
"Riverwood is in... danger!" he wheezed, trying not to breathe to hard for fear the small woman with the large pointy sword would push the sword straight through his face.
"Well, that explains why the guards let you in" she replied, not at all fazed that she had nearly stabbed him.
Hours later, after much debating from the Jarl with his steward, and the blank stares from the guards, Alarik fell into a bed he had bought at the Drunken Huntsman. The following morning he looked at the note the wizard had given him. Alarik thought that maybe finding the damn wizards stupid 'dragonstone' maybe he would look at the ring.
After about an hour of riding up to the forbidding stone structure up on the icy hill, Alarik was really beginning to feel the frost sinking into him. Then he heard it. The clatter of an arrow bouncing on the stone beside him. He quickly dived behind a tall standing stone and tried to see past the fog and mist. Obviously whoever was shooting at him had a much better line of sight because the mist ended at the top of the stone steps that led into Bleak Falls Barrow. With a smooth action, Alarik slotted an arrow into his bow and took careful aim at where the arrows were being fired from. There was a gurgled cry and a thud as the arrow hit home. But where were the others? It was never good when you couldn't see who was trying to kill you. Turning around quickly as he heard a roar, Alarik was faced by the most bad tempered looking man he had ever seen charging at him with two sharp swords. Reacting quickly, the cat pulled his dagger out of his belt and threw it as hard as he could at the man's unprotected head, remembering the knife throwing lesson his father had given him. Alarik looked at the mess the knife had made of the man's face and suddenly felt incredibly alone. He was just a Khajiit far from his home, he wasn't a hero or a warrior. He curled up in a ball behind a tall stone and wished that he was far away from this horrible ruin. After ten minutes of cowering behind that freezing cold rock, he got up. He would need a sword if he was going to fight the rest of these bandits, and pried the heavy sword from the man's cold dead hand.
Two bandits waiting for their target atop the steps of Bleak Falls Barrow were very surprised when a tall Khajiit charged at them with a sword in one hand and his long, sharp claws in the other. Wiping the blood from his sword, Alarik caught his breath at the top of the stairs before opening the door to the tomb within.
It was quite warm inside,and Alarik could see a fire at the far end. He could also hear voices. He crouched low, and surveyed his surroundings. There were several dead skeevers littered about the place, and a dead bandit lying half off of what looked like an altar. His throat had been slit. Alarik tried not to gag at the smell from all of the rotting carrion about him. Slowly creeping forward, his hand on his sword at all times, the cat wondered what lay in the depths of this place. Sticking to the shadows, Alarik managed to get past the chatting men quietly. As he went deeper, it got much, much colder, and he pulled his cloak tightly about him.
Alarik had lost track of the time. It was almost pitch black down here, and he had no matches on him. Suddenly he heard a voice crying for help. Creeping forward, Alarik peered into a large room. A hole in the ceiling allowed a tiny crack of light to shine through, which illuminated the horrors within. Webs were slung everywhere, and desiccated corpses hung in sticky bags from the walls. Egg sacs littered the place. At the far end of the room, a man was stuck to a wall of web, covering the only entrance. As Alarik walked into the room, the man whispered.
"No! Its still here somewhere! Stay back!" As he said so Alarik heard a scuttling noise and out of a web lined hole, the biggest spider he had ever seen heaved its self out of its hidden lair. Alarik shouted in fear and shoved his sword between the spider's eyes. Foul juices spurted out from between its mandibles.
"Now cut me down! I know where the secret of this place is, and how to get to it!" said the man, who on further inspection, appeared to be a Dunmer. Walking forward, he sliced the webs holding the man to the wall, who promptly pulled his sword out and held it at the cat's throat. That was twice this week he had been nearly beheaded. The lying little thief walked slowly backwards, keeping his sword pointed at Alarik the whole time. When he had reached a fair enough distance, the little man turned and sprinted right into what was probably the most horrific creature Alarik had ever seen. A putrid stink wafted up the corridor as the thing opened its mouth and moaned. It pulled an ancient looked war axe from its rotting belt and hacked the little Dunmer to pieces before he could even scream. Alarik looked away, trying not to throw up. The creature that now stood before him could only be described as a walking corpse. Its flesh was old and wrinkled, but its eyes shone with a fierce blue light. The cat backed away from it slowly, and tripped over a corpse of the spider, and scrambled away on his hands and feet. Backing into a wall, he closed his eyes and prepared to be reunited with his father as the long dead warrior raised its axe and bared its rotted teeth in a gruesome parody of a smile.