This is the second part of the Soljund Incident. Originally planned as a two part story, the second part has been split into two separate segments due to the length of the original document.
As always; any sort of criticisms (positive, negative or otherwise) about my style, grammar, content, dialogues etc are warmly welcome and badly needed. Thank you for reading :)
THE SOLJUND INCIDENT, PART II
"What do you think?"
"The lad will live."
"Not that ice-brain! The cause of the wound; what do you make of it? You're the expert in these things."
"Ah, that! Well, there is no doubt that the arrow was of Ancient Nordic make. But what's interesting is the three-barbed tips made of ebony it sports. Ordinary Draugr don't have these arrows." Farkas said; his brows knitted into a frown.
"What do you mean?" Tuthul asked anxiously as the group of three headed towards the mine.
True to their word, the Companions had woken up at the break of dawn; readied their gear and set off immediately to the healer's house. They spoke to the healer lady about Sigrud's wound, took a look at the arrow that had felled him, spoke a moment with the now awake Sigrud about the incident, and decided to go down the mineshaft as soon as possible; with worried looks on their faces. Perth had stayed at the healer's to help her with treating him while Tuthul volunteered to accompany their two guests to their destination.
"He means that our enemies are no puny little weaklings."
"Aye, I think the lot of them are at least of scourge level." Farkas affirmed Aela's explanation with a blunt, grim nod.
"Akatosh help us!" Tuthul shuddered as he remembered the voice he heard that night when the second level was breached. So the mercenary lad really did see a Deathlord. That was simply the worst news possible. A Deathlord with his Scourge compatriots might be too much even for the mighty Companions. He earnestly hoped against this grim possibility as they reached the gates of the 'Sinkhole'.
The barrier had held up throughout the night, and as Tuthul chanted the spell that dissolved it, the two warriors readied their equipment. Farkas put his plate helmet over his head and gave his bidenhander a few huge swings while Aela, after checking her backpack for the hundredth time, strung her ebony bow and tested its strings. Helmet-less as she was, her leather armour of fine Argonian make with a light malachite mail shirt sewn within was enough to stop incoming arrows and light swings, while never hindering her mobility.
"Shall I accompany you? I know a little battle magic; I could be of help."
"Nah, no need for that; a half-trained mage will hinder us more than help us down there, and we don't want you die with an arrow to the throat."
A perfectly sound point.
"Oh, and before we go; I would like to tell you two things. Number one, pack up all your bags and leave if we fail to return within two days; and number two, I hate magic." Farkas chuckled as the two Companions stepped down into the bowels of the earth, leaving the soft light of the morning sun and the Breton mage behind.
"Can you be a bit quieter? It will see us!" Aela hissed.
"I'm wearing plate armour you see, and for your information plate armours tend to 'clink' a bit." Farkas hissed back as the Draugr guarding the entrance to the second level carried on its never-ending stroll; oblivious to the two dark silhouettes lurking in the shadow of the wood piles opposite to it.
It was the first one they had encountered in the first level; which was surprisingly almost untouched by its undead visitors. The mine, like any other moonstone mine was very small in area; due to the property of moonstone veins that caused them to run deep into the earth, rather than spread into a large area like corundum ore veins. The little 'rooms' created when the miners closed the branch tunnels that were dug in search of new veins were empty, and almost half an hour of very cautious and silent treading (and a lot of groaning, cursing and complaining on Farkas' part) they had reached the entrance of the second level. The heavy steel door that guarded the entrance to the second level had been blasted clear off its hinges; as if a mammoth had charged through at full speed. The area near the door was in shambles, and over the debris patrolled the aforementioned Draugr guard.
The mummified skeleton was white as sheet, its flesh fused with its bones and modified so as to withstand the ravages of the time. Whatever magic created these monstrosities was long gone from Tamriel, forgotten by even history, along with the people that created them and dug these massive catacombs to bury their ancestors deep in the earth. What made Draugr different from the walking corpses or 'zombies' as the mages like to call them, was the fact that unlike zombies, the Draugr had human senses and were not governed by any primal need or desire. On one hand, it made them easier to kill as they feel pain like normal humans, but on the other hand it made them cunning, calculating and prone to learn from their partners' mistakes. That, coupled with their unnatural reflexes and seemingly inexhaustible stamina made them truly terrifying enemies. The Draugr was clad in the ceremonial Ancient Nord guard's chainmail. The blue lights that adorned the spaces that were once sockets for eyeballs stared into the distance, lifeless and cold as the glaciers of Winterhold, searching for any signs of possible intruders. The helmet it wore had two horns, curved like the horns of a mountain ram; it denoted its position as a Scourge; a Draugr with complete mastery of one of the several classes of combat; in this case archery, as was evident from the crude, peculiar looking bow slung over its back; known to the weapon-smiths throughout Tamriel as the 'dogbow', noted for its rapid rate of fire and ability to cause utter devastation in mid and short ranges. Smiths have died trying to recreate this miracle of a weapon through the centuries, with no success whatsoever; not only because their design was too complex to understand, but also due to the lack of specimens to experiment upon. Very few who came face-to-face with a dogbow lived to tell the tale, much less carry one out with him. On its belt it carried an Ancient Nord waraxe, along with a hunting horn, to be used to warn its comrades of a possible invasion from the surface.
"Can you take him out?" Farkas whispered.
"I can't get a clean shot with the way it's moving around like that."
"Ready your bow; I'll see what I can do."
Farkas stooped low to pick up a large pebble from the floor; took a careful aim and threw it at the area just beside the centre of the entrance; just when the Draugr passed the spot. It stopped abruptly; turned its head towards the spot where the stone had landed with a 'thump', and fell backwards soundlessly, with a jet black arrow protruding from between its brows.
"Nice shot."
"Nice throw." Aela smiled as she freed her arrow and picked up the dogbow. It would make a wonderful present for old man Kodlak on his upcoming 80th birthday.
The hunt had finally begun.
The second level was an utter mess. Total chaos reigned everywhere. The mining carts were overturned, their contents lying on the floor in unorderly heaps. The support beams were hacked in places and the wooden planks lay everywhere. They even saw an entire branch tunnel that got blocked by boulders and debris as the beams that held them were chopped off. The Draugr had left their mark everywhere. Unlike the first level, the second one had its fair share of residents. As they moved through it, even more cautious now, they dispatched eight of those unholy things in the darkness.
Once they came face-to-face with two patrolling Draugr quite unexpectedly. It was so sudden that both parties froze for a second, looking at each other. Farkas however recovered faster, and their hosts' heads were sent rolling on the floor before they even reached for their weapons.
They continued on.
As they took a break in front of the huge hole that once was known as the entrance to the third level; Aela took out another pouch from her backpack, took a pinch of bright green powder and blew it into the air in front of her. The powder turned into a blue mist and dissipated soundlessly.
"What's that?"
"It shows whether we have missed somebody on our way here. "
"Grr, damned magic."
"You have any better idea to check for stragglers except go all the way back and start over again?"
"No."
"Then stop complaining."
"Hmph. So what does it say?"
"All's well so far. Here, help me down will you?"
The sun was starting to climb in the sky outside when the two shield-siblings entered the third level.
For the most part, the third level was like the second level; only it was straighter, as it had been abandoned in the preliminary stages of construction. After going straight for some distance, it ended in a busted door that led to the intricately designed catacomb of the Ancient Nords. They followed the same protocol as the second level. Move forward as silently as possible… stop… listen for the wheezing sound of a Draugr… move forward again… spot an enemy… shoot it in the face (or get Farkas to distract it and then shoot it in the face)… rinse and repeat. Farkas was getting steadily irritated, partly because he wasn't suited for sneaking like a thief, but mainly due to Aela's bow getting all the action. He was itching for some combat, the old school kind.
And he found what he sought soon enough. It was near the end of the second level of the catacomb. They had killed almost a score of their undead hosts, and still hadn't found the central tomb; otherwise known as the control room of the catacombs. The wide open room they entered was clear at the first inspection. It was when they reached the middle of it they were surrounded by a host of scourges; appearing from almost nowhere. A well planned and well executed ambush; to make a fool out of the tracking instincts of the Companions' finest was a feat worth praising.
"Finally; I was getting very tired of all this crouching stuff." Farkas grinned from under his helmet as he held his trusty weapon in front of him, holding it in the traditional flower-plucking grip, his favourite.
The two sides acted at the same time. The Draugr just in front of him stabbed with its shortspear, aiming for his unprotected throat. Farkas deflected the strike lightly with the flat of his blade, twirled around and struck it full on the face with the counterweight. He split his now staggered opponent with a wide horizontal swing, catching one of its comrade off-guard as it raised its axe to bring it down on him. It was dispatched to the darkness with a sharp thrust through its neck. As he freed his weapon he ducked down to avoid the swing of the sword that whistled over his head and was immediately greeted by an ice spike that hit his chest plate and dissolved harmlessly, striking the spell ward enchantment. Maybe sometimes magic isn't so bad after all; he thought as he severed the weapon arm of the spellsword and hacked its head off its shoulders. He will have to thank Skjor once he got back home, and apologize for all those grumblings and complaining on his part about the enchantment he didn't want on his armour.
The next assailant was carrying a huge steel rimmed heavy shield that covered almost all of its skinny upper body. It approached him slowly but surely, unperturbed by the death of its comrades. Keeping his eyes fixed on the slim sword it was holding, Farkas performed a backhand swing, aiming to strike it in its sword arm; the attack was promptly blocked and responded with a sharp jab, which he had to block with his own weapon. Thrice he tried to break its block, and thrice he was thwarted and forced to go on backfoot. Frustrated, he tried a different approach. Suddenly he stopped moving, ducked to dodge the swing of the sword, used the huge wagon-shaft of a sword as a pivot and slid, sweeping his leg along the ground; hitting the opponent's unprotected leg. The sudden swift strike, as well as the inertia of its own attack caught the Draugr by surprise and it came toppling down, its shield knocked clear from its hand. Farkas never gave it a chance to recuperate. He brought down his sword in a mighty arc and the Draugr's head rolled harmlessly over the floor.
As he looked up from his most recent kill, he suddenly felt a piercing pain on his left shoulder. The first arrow of the Draugr that had separated itself from the skirmish and moved to the far end of the room unseen by others had found its mark through the joint of his almost impenetrable armour. And it was already knocking a second arrow on its bow. There was no time to dodge, much less block; as the next arrow would surely find its mark, and he would be sent on his way to Sovngarde.
Shit. He thought as the Draugr aimed its bow at him.
Something small hummed passed his ear and buried itself deep into the forehead of the Master of the Bow. It wheezed uncontrollably as it fell and let go of the string. The arrow, knocked off its aim, struck the shoulder plate of his armour and bounced off.
"I owe you one."
"Aye. That you surely do." Aela said as she headed to her recent victim to free her throwing knife.
Farkas looked behind him to observe her side of the battle. Six lifeless bodies were slumped at various places of the room, five of them without their heads, and the sixth one with a visible slit on its forehead; the work of another one of her throwing knives. Huh, she beat me again. He thought.
They took a short break to catch their breath and treat Farkas's wound. The arrow had lodged itself deep within the muscle of his shoulder, but had spared any major vessels. He winced in pain as Aela had a bit of a hard time taking it out.
"You were lucky ice-brain, very lucky."
"Aye; that thing was good with its bow. By the way, your new daggers seem to be in good shape."
"I didn't trade that ebony bow and the quiver to the Bosmer for nothing shield-brother."Aela answered as she started bandaging the wound with a clean rag from Farkas' backpack. She absolutely loved those daggers now. Slightly larger than norm, almost the size of shortswords; the two beauties were the best in their class; very handy, and perfectly balanced. She could stab without getting too close to the enemy and slash if the opponent was too jumpy. They were light as a feather, and felt more like extension of her arms rather than weapons. Though some argued that the Bosmer oversold them, she knew that they were worth every single one of the three thousand septims he took over the initial payment of the bow and the arrows for this extremely ordinary looking pair of daggers. She had to keep her eyes out for him the next time he visited Whiterun. What was his name? Something Nightbrook or something, ah those damn elves and their fancy names!
After Farkas's shoulder had been bandaged carefully and healing potion was applied, they resumed their journey through the catacombs again. They reached their objective quickly. After only fifteen minutes of walking and dispatching four Draugr guards, they reached the immense iron double doors that denoted the entrance of their destination.
The control room of the Nordic catacombs.