Welcome, welcome, please make yourself comfortable! Here is the fourth installment of my little fanfiction. I'm really glad you guys and gals out there are enjoying it, like always, please leave a review, it would really help with the development of the story if I know what people would like to see. Thank you very much, and enjoy! :D :D

Alarik watched the blade soar down toward his face, slightly blunted by time. His very perception of time slowed down and he began to think about Faendal and Ralof. He would miss them. Would they miss... him? He'd never had friends before. Most people stayed away from him, or teased him. Rolling quickly to the side, he let the blade smash into the wall behind him, shattering with a tinkling sound. The corpse-warrior stabbed clumsily at Alarik's stomach, no finesse behind it, just brute unnatural force. He yanked his sword out of his belt (he hadn't had time to draw his weapons when he first saw the corpse, he was too shocked) and shoved it straight through the creature's face. The light in the eyes went out. The body crumpled. And then there was just a Khajiit, panting for breath and leaning against his sword.

At last, after hours of walking and sneaking past those... things, Alarik came into a huge cave. He looked around in wonder, and his gaze fixed on the huge wall in front of him. He could hear a faint chanting, and a symbol on this wall seemed to glow. Suddenly his gaze was broken as a mass of bats flew down over his head, a cacophony of screeching, and the Khajiit shouted in surprise and ducked. His gaze being drawn back to the wall, the chanting grew louder as he stumbled closer. A blinding white light shot through his gaze, making him clutch his head in pain. A mental drill seemed to tear through his consciousness. He fell to the floor, and all was silent.

"Ahhhhhh... My head.." groaned Alarik after he pulled himself off the hard stone floor. His mouth felt like he had been eating cotton. Right. Dragonstone. Where could he look. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the scrape- the very sound he had learned to dread- of a coffin being pushed open from the inside. He pulled his sword from his belt and prepared to fight. One of the corpse-warriors stood up, pulling a huge greatsword from its back. Wait. This one seemed to be... Taller. And... Its eyes looked different. Then it shouted at Alarik. It flung him across the room, and the very stones seemed to shake. It was a bone shattering roar of power. "shit" said Alarik in a very small voice. He looked up, as the warrior charged at him. Just as it reached him, he barely managed to raise his sword in time. It sunk hilt deep into the corroded chest plates of the corpse. It shuddered and screeched, and its eyes glowed bright as the sun. Just as quickly as it started. Now to find the dragonstone.

Alarik stood up from his position under the felled corpse, and looked around. Then he glanced at the corpse and looked away again. And looked back at it. "Oh no. No way in Oblivion am I digging around in that." he muttered to himself, but then again, maybe if he got this damn stone for the wizard, he might be more inclined to look at the ring.

After digging around in the squishy corpse, Alarik found a slab, with an inscription on it. It was roughly the size of his chest. How was he meant to carry that thing all the way down the hill and to Whiterun?! He sat down in despair. Torbik would've known what to do. He always did. Alarik felt tears gathering in his eyes again. He was a grown man/cat now! He would not cry!

The doors to Dragonsreach were flung open with a bang. A thin Khajiit stood between them, holding a slab of stone. Alarik pulled himself into the wizards laboratory and let the stone fall to the ground with a thump.

"Ah, you found the stone I see. A cut above the usually rabble the Jarl sends my way." said the wizard, looking away from the strange figure bent poring over a map, dressed in supple looking leather armour.

"Why did you not tell me of those corpse-warriors within that gods forsaken tomb?" asked Alarik, fuming.

"Oh, the draugr? No need." replied the wizard airily.

"I was nearly killed!"

"Well, I did warn you."

"Right well, I don't suppose you would mine taking a look at something I have, as a form of repayment?"

"Of course! Let me see it" the wizard cleared a space on the cramped desk.

"Farengar, don't you have more pressing matters to attend to?" asked the mysterious figure in leather.

"Yes, yes, just let me have a look at this." Alarik placed the ring on the table, as Farengar pulled out a crystal that seemed to magnify what you saw through it. He also pulled out some delicate instruments and began to prod it, noting what he saw on a scrap of parchment.

"Farengar! Come quick!" the small Dunmer who had nearly removed Alarik's head burst into the room. "A dragon has attacked the Western Watchtower!"

"What? A dragon?! What was it doing?" asked the small wizard excitedly.

"The Jarl wants to see you. And you, cat." she replied, glancing at Alarik before walking away.

It was decided. Alarik would go with some guards and Irileth (the Dunmer woman) and kill this dragon! Alarik felt his gut clench with nerves.

"There you are. This ring of yours is fascinating! I haven't finished looking at it though, I can return it to you tomorrow." exclaimed Farengar, popping up behind Alarik like an apparition.

"If I'm still alive by tomorrow." Said Alarik glumly.

"Nonsense! You'll be fine. Just stay away from its teeth!" smiled the court wizard.

Alarik met Irileth and the guards outside the destroyed watchtower, and searched for survivors. A frightened guard crouched outside the watchtower door.

"No! Its still here somewhere! Ali tried to make a run for it and was grabbed!" As he uttered those words, a haunting cry floated from the heavens. All heads turned to look at the dragon that swooped down toward them, fire billowing out from its jaws. Alarik gave a startled little cry and ran up to the top of the watchtower and began shooting out a hail of arrows. The dragon landed, a cloud of dust in its wake as it skidded along the ground. It was wounded, but no less dangerous. A guard was grabbed by the head and shook violently until the crack of bones echoed around the watchtower. Irileth barely managed to throw herself away from the gout of fire loosed in her direction, he hair singed. Flying unsteadily, the dragon flew up, until it was face to face with Alarik. He squeaked in fear and did the first thing that came into his mind. He leaped onto the dragon's forehead (away from the teeth, you see) and stabbed his sword deep into its brain. Khajiit and dragon fell like a ston toward the ground. There was a bone shaking thump as the dragon ploughed into the earth. Alarik tumbled off the dragon onto the ground, exhausted. Suddenly he saw the flesh of the dragon burst into flame and a white energy flowed into him. His vision filled with light, and he heard the Nord guards whispering these words:

"Dragonborn.."

"The Dovahkin has returned to Skyrim!"

And then he slept.