Thus ends the Soljund Incident. Thank you all of the readers for sticking with it until the end in advance :p Any comments and critiques on any part of the story? Feel free to leave them in the review section :) That said; enjoy...
THE SOLJUND INCIDENT III
The double doors swung open soundlessly as they entered an immense hall almost the same size as the mead hall of Jorrvaskr. It was empty… well almost; on the far end of the circular hall was a platform where ten tombs stood, the ones that hold Draugr, surrounding a high backed stone throne; five on each side of it. And HE sat on the throne.
He looked like any other Draugr they had come across that day, though his skin was… whiter than the rest. He was clad in full ebony plate mail, a rarity even in these days of extreme advancements in mining and smithing. The immense ebony greatsword, one edge jagged and the other one sharp, rested at his side. His head was adorned by a helm, with two horns protruding from its sides, resembling the appendages sported by a mountain elk. He sat on his throne motionlessly, leaning his head on his elbow, apparently deep in thought. His eye sockets were empty, no blue spheres of light glowed in them. He looked… dead; very dead. But they knew better than to take that approach.
"This lad isn't ordinary." Farkas whispered, obviously disturbed.
"I can see that. But nobody lives with an arrow between their brows, undead or not." Aela whispered back as she loaded her bow with an arrow, pulled the string till it reached her ear, took a careful aim, and released it. The arrow sailed through the air, heading straight for the unprotected face of the monster.
The Draugr Deathlord's movement was like water. His free hand perked up and plucked the arrow right out of the air just as it was about to hit him. Other than that his body remained just the way it was; seated calmly on his stone throne as yellow lights, like miniature suns suddenly flared up in the dark caves that were his eye sockets. Aela led out a short gasp.
"Eh! ful faal sahlojoor los het ahst laat." He spoke. His voice, papery and husky had a touch of immense power within it. "I see that this room now stands unguarded. Hi vreyviis zey. Tell me your names worms!"
"Farkas the Pup."
"Aela the Huntress."
"I'm Rargand Fenrarikson; first lieutenant of the great dragon Kestrahgol, the dov of rage. I am the killer of Thorurd Steel-Seer. I am the keeper of the emerald cuirass. You have done well in coming here insects, but this hall will be your grave, as you shall be crushed by my might." He slowly rose from his throne, grabbing his weapon. The Companions readied themselves.
"Alok dii zeymah! Alok nol hin laag ahrk drun veyl faal yolos do nahkriin nau daar wo vodremt un praan!" He roared as he stood up, his back straight as an arrow.
The lids of all the surrounding tombs burst open, as ten monstrosities stepped down from their resting places. Unlike their scourge brothers they were over twenty hands tall, their skin brown, and their eyes glowing red like fire. Each of them wore light chainmail and carried a huge battleaxe with them. Scholars called these the Hulking Draugr, found as royal guards in the most important tombs, generally guarding some incredibly powerful artifact. They were slower than their brothers but much, much deadlier. Each and every hit of these brutes could cleave a man in half, even if he's wearing plate armour and blocking with a shield. The pale yellow light from the ever-glowing lamps that adorned the ceilings of the catacomb made them seem even more menacing.
"Mu fahral hin bel, Thur. Faal sahlojoor fen dir het, ahrk niist sil fen ag ko Oblivion!" They spoke in a chorus as they brandished their terrible weapons. But just as they were about to charge he spoke again.
"Saraan dii zeymah! I will battle with the Man. We will cross our swords in a duel to the death, as is the Nordic way. As for the woman, she is yours to kill."
"Hey! That's not..." Farkas was about to tell Rargand what he thought about that brilliant idea when Aela stopped him.
"Wait Farkas. This way we won't have to worry about him taking one of us out when we're busy battling someone else. Accept the challenge. You focus on him; I'll handle the others."
"Very well. But you better not die, okay?" Farkas grumbled.
"I'm more worried about you ice-brain." Aela told him as Farkas approached his opponent and took a position fifteen paces in front of him, in the old Nordic style of greatsword dueling. The hulking Draugrs stepped down from the platform and took their new position in a circle around her.
"Let the duel begin!" Rargand bellowed.
"Luft vozah zarok ahrk dinok, kroved!" They roared as one, and charged at Aela.
Farkas had no time to see what happened to her, as he blocked the vertical swing from Rargand with the flat of his blade. He moved away from below Rargand's sword, allowing it to crash down under the force of his swing. As he moved, he started turning, putting his whole weight to the swing that he aimed at the Draugr's unprotected flank. But his blade met the jagged edge of the cleverly positioned ebony greatsword. Rargand dropped the hilt of his sword low; his blade rose up vertically, threatening to dislodge the bidenhander out of its owner's hand, but Farkas pulled his weapon towards himself hard, freeing it from the danger and started turning again as he prepared another swing to the opponent's side. His sword hummed in a wide arc, made a full circle, and hit thin air; the Draugr had anticipated his maneuver and moved back, dodging his blow.
"You have been trained well, worm."
"You're not too shabby either." Farkas was having the time of his life today. He smiled under his helmet as Rargand stabbed at him, aiming at his neck.
She ducked as the gleaming blade of the terrible battleaxe swam harmlessly over her head and struck upwards; burying one of her daggers up to its hilt in her assailant's throat. She pushed the wheezing limp body towards the second Draugr advancing towards her, freeing her dagger with a jerk. The brute was momentarily distracted and toppled over with a throwing knife in its face. Aela spun around and nimbly sidestepped the vertical swing of the third enemy; swung her dagger in a wide arc, and chopped the head of the Draugr off its shoulders.
Witnessing the effortlessness with which she killed their comrades, the other brutes stopped advancing recklessly and started cautiously eyeing her, waiting for her to make a mistake and strike her down. She also mirrored their movements and took a cautious, defensive stance, the tips of her two daggers making small circles in the air.
Sweat dripped from her eyebrows. Unlike her hosts, the long trek through the catacomb and their little skirmishes were beginning to take a toll on her. She was weary, and the second-in-command of The Companions knew that she could not afford to drag this battle now, either she finished it fast, or get hacked to pieces by her overeager hosts. And to do it, she had to resort to cunning.
She suddenly made a one-eighty degree turn and ran through the gap created in the circle by the death of the three Draugr. Before anyone even knew what happened, she had gained a fair amount of distance between herself and her attackers, sheathed her daggers, drawn the dogbow, knocked an arrow, turned to face her assailants, and fired. The one which was the first to realise she had duped them and started reacting was the first to go, its huge body thrown backwards by the sheer force of the impact of the arrow loosed from that terrible weapon. When the remaining monsters started running towards her, she was knocking arrow after arrow and firing them like a madwoman. Her weariness had offed her aim, and most of the arrows missed their mark, but not all; and two more went down. The remaining three spread in three different directions; two advanced from opposite sides, and the third charged towards her like a raging bull, holding one of its dead comrades body as a shield against the rain of arrows. Aela suddenly changed the direction, took a careful aim, and prayed to Hircine as she let loose the last ebony arrow in her quiver at the Draugr advancing from her right. And by the immense grace of the Lord of the Hunt, her arrow sailed through the air and buried itself in one of the Draugr's eye sockets, killing it instantly.
She had barely let go of the bow and was reaching for her throwing knives when she was tackled by the charging bull at the centre. The impact knocked the wind out of her as she was thrown several paces backwards. She thought she heard one of her ribs break as she landed on the hard ground with a "thonk"; her armour soaking up the brunt of the crushing blow. As soon the brief moment of the bone-jarring stupor passed, she quickly rolled to the right; barely missing the well aimed swing to her neck, the blade of the battleaxe almost splitting the ground where she just lay. The pain in her chest was burning now, and she knew that she could not dodge the next blow. In desperation, she grabbed hold of the shaft of the battleaxe and pulled as hard as she could. The Draugr stumbled, taken aback by the move. She swept her leg and hit it at the back of its knee. It fell forward, its huge body impaling itself in the spear-like end of its own weapon.
As the Huntress scrambled to stand up straight, she spotted the final one of her ten Draugr retinue who had finally closed the gap and was advancing like a rabid dog; its axe held high above its head. She threw her remaining throwing-knives at it, but Ysmir forbid, they missed their mark completely. Every little movement made her chest burn like it was on fire, and the Draugr was too close to chug down a healing potion from her bag. So she unsheathed her daggers and hoped for the best. The brute didn't slow down at all in front of its recently deceased brother-at-arms; rather it swung its blade in a wide arc, cleaving both its comrade and its axe into two neat halves. "Hi fen dir dokro dinok, hi gaas tingrol!" it growled and charged towards her, preparing for a last and decisive swing; intent on putting her out of her misery. She held the daggers closer to her chest and prepared for it to come. If her plan worked, she would lose one of her arm, but would have enough time to kill her assailant. Just when the Draugr had swung its arm back to make the swing and she had put one of her hand in a move to block the incoming attack, they both heard the roar:
"ZUN... HAAL VIIK!"
The Draugr stopped and turned its head look at its lord, and Aela seized the chance as she stepped towards it and buried both of her daggers in the hollow of its neck.
The two warriors had been swinging their greatswords for quite some time now, but they turned out to be an even match. Rargand swung, Farkas blocked. Farkas thrust his sword, Rargand sidestepped it. Rargand struck back again with lightning speed, aiming for Farkas' head and then at the last moment changed the direction of his blow to aim for his opponents side, and just as suddenly there was Farkas' bidenhander there, ready to greet its ebony counterpart. They both went at each other's throat with the same ferocity, and each time one of them thwarted the other. The only accomplishment that they managed so far into the fight was a slight wound on Farkas' thigh and a broken right thumb on Rargand's part. Right now, they both fought on equal footing, as Rargand's sword skills had waned over his immense years as a corpse. But Farkas was tiring, and his opponent was beginning to remember the fights from his previous life, and it put Farkas at a steadily growing disadvantage. Twice Rargand had tried to stagger him by using a Thu'um, that one called the Unrelenting Force. And twice he planted his wagon-shaft firmly on the ground and successfully resisted it; after which they both resumed their slashing and stabbing again. Just as he blocked the most recent slash from the opponent near the base of the sword, Farkas saw a sliver of an opening in the opponent's defence and acted on it. He suddenly grabbed hold of the middle of his blade and swung it like a battlestaff, striking his enemy in the face. The sudden extremely atypical move produced a deep gash; one of Rargand's eyes lost its yellow fire. As his enemy retreated from him, groaning in pain, Farkas readjusted his hands on his blade and swung it, lopping off the left arm of Rargand Fenrarikson, and quickly moved back to dodge the blow from the greatsword which his opponent held in relative ease in his right hand.
"Hi los pruzah, daasin nahwaniik. Nuz hi fen ni neilaas stahdim bah do lot faal dovah Kestrahgol. Die in pain, worm!" Rargand roared as he puffed up his chest, preparing for a shout. Farkas again planted his greatsword in front of him and held it as a support, ready to brave the upcoming blast of the Unrelenting Force. But only this time, it spoke differently:
"ZUN... HAAL VIIK!"
As soon as he heard the first syllable Farkas started to move out of the cone of the shout, but to no avail. The shout hit him squarely in the chest and the immense bidenhander flew straight out of its former position straight towards the wall, hitting it with tremendous force and shattered into pieces. Yeah, now that's just what I need. Farkas thought as he watched helplessly as his beloved weapon became a mass of useless metal shards.
"I was becoming bored, so let's finish this for good." Rargand's bellowed like an inferno. He charged, his greatsword clutched firmly in his remaining right hand. Having nowhere to go now, Farkas ducked as his opponent swung. Once; then twice; then thrice. Each swing was becoming more and more precise, and he was becoming a bit more tired. He had to find something to fight with. As he barely sidestepped the incoming stab; out of the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of the situation at the other side of the room. Aela had finished her job and was sitting near a pile of bodies, clutching her chest. She looked like a mess, but she had finished her job; and there were ten huge battleaxes laying around her just ripe for the picking. If he could get a hold of one, he could have a chance; maybe he could even win this ongoing skirmish...
His momentary distraction was enough for his opponent. He saw the vertical arc of the blade, but moved too slow. The massive ebony greatsword missed his head and struck the guard of his right shoulder, broke it like a twig and buried itself in the muscle. A one-handed swing as it was, Farkas thought that he heard the sound of his collarbone snapping. The pain that followed was unbearable; it struck him in waves, drowning all of his senses. His one and only goal now was to stop the pain, one way or another. He grabbed the blade biting into his shoulder with both hands and pushed it upwards. Though Rargand pushed too, the lack of one hand weakened him, and the blade started sliding out slowly. With one last mighty heave, Farkas pushed off the greatsword along with its owner, and was immediately blinded by the blood that spurted out like a summer torrent from his shoulder gash. An artery had been severed. He immediately felt his vision darken; his helmet started weighing down on his head and like a boulder. He tore it off. He tried to stand, but fell down to his knees. The tremendous blood loss coupled with the tiredness made him too groggy to even move a muscle. He saw wearily as his opponent grinned, showing his mottled teeth as he prepared to cut his head off. As the terrible blade descended upon his head, he prayed to Arkay for it to be over quickly. And from somewhere deep inside his soul, a wolf howled.
When he came to, he saw Aela's concerned face looking at him from above.
"Welcome back, pup."
"Aren't I dead?"
"Nope, but you cut it real close. The amount of blood you lost was staggering. Any more time as a human, and you were finished."
"So it happened."
"Aye."
"How long was I unconscious?"
"About twenty minutes or so I guess. After you pummeled him to death and healed yourself you lost the transformation and lost consciousness. I took the time to retrieve my stuff and heal myself while you were like that, and then waited for you to wake up."
As Farkas stood up he noticed the body of Rargand Fenrarikson, killer of Thorurd Steel-Seer's body; or what was left of him. The yellow suns shone no longer in his eyes; his helmed head, which bore a bewildered expression of disbelief and fear, was attached to the rest of his body only by strings of flesh now. The body itself bore brutal gashes and large chunks of his flesh were missing, as if a great hurricane had set upon him and tore him apart in its immeasurable wrath. The ebony greatsword, along with the arm of its owner lay not far from the body, still clutching it firmly. The brutality of the kill had him dumbfounded.
"Get dressed Farkas, we still need to deactivate the Raise Draugr scroll."
"Hmm? Oh yeah I'm coming. I'm coming." Farkas said feebly. It took him enormous effort to tear his eyes from the scene and go to the place where his plate armour lay. His transformation to a werewolf had triggered the switch installed inside the armour by Eorlund; and thus it had detached itself completely from his body to make space for the growth of the body bulk during the transformation. Farkas undid the buckle that held the now crumpled shoulder guard and re-wore the rest of the armour over the tattered inner wear he was left with. The terrible gash on his shoulder was now a thin, almost undetectable scar.
One of the upsides of being a werewolf. He thought. Then, after taking a last look at the steel shards that were his bidenhander until few minutes ago, he walked over to the raised table behind the throne where Aela was now standing, her eyes filled with admiration.
On the table lay two items, one a sprawled out piece of parchment bearing some strange runes in some long forgotten language; the Raise Draugr scroll; the other was the most beautiful cuirass he had ever seen in his life. It had a smooth brown leather body, which still glistened after all these years. He could not ascertain the owner of the pelt, but it wasn't from the animals that roam Tamriel in this age. The shoulder guards and the rim of the armour were made of an emerald couloured metal, bearing beautiful Ancient Nordic runes and little carvings of what seemed to be a vicious battle between men and a Dragon. The glistening scales of the raging Dragon, the hopelessness in the faces of the men who faced this unbeatable foe werecaptured perfectly, like they were not carvings but real men who found themselves suddenly shrunk and trapped in the shoulder guard of an armour, as nothing but a decoration. The chest piece had two horizontal buckles made of the same emerald-green material, bearing two of the largest rubies they had ever seen in their life, carved in the likeness of scales. It looked like a work of art rather than armour. And accompanying the breathtaking beauty of the armour was the thick fog of magic that surrounded it.
The Emerald Cuirass, something certainly worth dying for. He thought.
Aela took out another bottle from her bag; this one filled with dark red liquid, and emptied its contents on the parchment. It stared glowing blue, and then the runes faded into Oblivion; suddenly making the atmosphere around them less menacing and heavy, as if a veil of evil had been lifted.
"Finally, the monsters will stop haunting this accursed place forever." Farkas mused.
"Aye." Aela affirmed as she picked up the writ placed in front of the cuirass. On it, in flowing Nordic runes was written,
Here lies the Pride of the Raging Lizard in its Emerald glory,
It lights the path in darkness and engulfs everything,
It embraces the shadows when the light is blinding.
Guarded by the ebony lieutenant; it rests.
You, who are the new lord, listen and pay heed,
For it will protect you till the blind mistress raises her scythe;
But wear it as the sole cuirass of your mortal self till the end of time,
Or it will take your life in the time of your need.
"Armour that betrays its master out of jealousy; not my kind of thing." Farkas shook his head.
"Mhm. As pretty as it is, I too am not very keen on claiming it as my own."
"So, what do we do? Leaving it here is unsafe; especially since its guardians are gone and outsiders will be able to enter and leave freely from today onwards. Feel the magical aura it emits? In the wrong hands, it could become a problem."
"Aye. Let's take it to Kodlak. He will know what to do with it." Aela said as she picked the ancient artifact up from its resting place.
As if struck by a reanimation spell, suddenly the carvings jerked to life. In front of the utterly bewildered eyes of the Companions the silent battle resumed. The men fired volley after volley of arrows towards the dragons, but they just shrugged them off like pinpricks and greeted them with emerald infernos from their mouths, cooking the hapless soldiers in their armour. Each swipe of their tails killed the armour clad heavy halberdiers like flies, and their emerald eyes glistened in glee. It was over in two minutes. Leaving nothing but carnage in the battlefield the two little metal dragons left their abode in the shoulder guards and started ascending along the arm of Aela as the latter tried discarding the cuirass in vain, leaving a trail of emerald fire in their wake. She watched helplessly as Farkas tried to help his shield-sister, but as soon as he touched the artifact, he was blown away like a twig in the way of a thunderstorm, hit the far wall of the room with tremendous force, and slumped down limply, probably losing consciousness for the second time that day. After taking care of the unwanted disturbance, the Emerald Cuirass went back to its work. The buckles and joints of the armour separated themselves, changed their shape so as to resemble a woman's armour instead of a man's, and started attaching themselves to her body, replacing her previous leather armour which dissolved in the face of the emerald fire the metal dragons spew.
And Aela the Huntress screamed at the top of her lungs.
The bone-searing; forget-everything-else-but-me pain started dying down as the dragons resumed their rightful places in the shoulder guards, and the armour reattached itself to become a whole mass again; making way for the steadily approaching darkness which engulfed her being. The last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness was a whisper; echoing through every crevice of her head;
"You pass the test. Welcome, Mistress."
The road to Whiterun was empty except for the two travelers on horseback, their visage covered by heavy cloaks; talking in low voices amongst themselves.
"Well, this trip turned out to be more eventful than expected." Farkas sighed. He still wasn't over the loss of his favourite sword.
"Aye; we were undergeared and underprepared for this mission. Some little side-quest it was! But we can't complain much though, our main objective was accomplished quite easily."
"Easily? You mean you found them?"
"You know, you should use your brain more often Farkas; it helps much. If you had paid a bit more attention to things other than the bottle of ale in your hand, you would have noticed immediately that our hosts themselves were the cause of 'The abduction of travelers at the dead of the night on their way to the town of Rorikstead.'"
"Our hosts, you mean those two Bretons?"
"Aye. Well Perth was the actual vampire, Tuthul was his alpha thrall. Most of the other workers were thralls too, though some of them, like the healer woman and that guard Sigrud were not. Purebred Cyrodillic Vampire he was, aye; great at hiding their identities. Though you should have noticed at the powdered sunlight part; ice-brain."
"Then why didn't they attack us, or clear those Draugr by themselves? They're strong, as far as legends go." Farkas asked, puzzled.
"Well firstly, the reason we were sent on this quest was because vampiric spells don't affect werewolves, and that would give them a disadvantage against two Companions. And secondly; they also don't affect the undead, so they had to call for help, or risk their thralls and other workers who, obviously weren't suited or trained for fighting. And by themselves, I suspect they were telling the truth about them being half-trained mages."
"Hmm, now I understand. So, now to the Hall of the Vigilants?"
"Aye. After that straight to Jorrvaskr; I miss the mead already."
"Me too."
Author's note : What is known now in Whiterun as The Incident of the Sinkhole was recorded in the quest log kept by the then Harbinger of the Companions, Kodlak Greymane, and happened approximately four and a half years before the admittance of the Dragonborn into the mead hall of Jorrvaskr; and was apparently the source of the unusual looking armour and the tremendous hate for Nordic Tombs Aela the Huntress wears on her self today. Mages from the College of Winterhold as well as the Mage's Guild in Cyrodill expressed a very keen interest in the armour and apparently offered a hefty sum in order to aquire it; however, due to certain unspecified reasons the Companions always turned them down. As for the disappearances along the road to Rorikstead; they suddenly stopped after the previous owners of the mine, reportedly burdened with steep losses and debts went back to High Rock; leaving it under the charge of new owners.
THE DRAGON LANGUAGE.
"Eh! ful faal sahlojoor los het ahst laat.": Ah! So the pests are here at last.
"Hi vreyviis zey." : You impress me.
"Alok dii zeymah! Alok nol hin laag ahrk drun veyl faal yolos do nahkriin nau daar wo vodremt un praan!" : Arise my brothers! Arise from your sleep and bring forth the flame of vengeance on those who disturb our rest!
"Mu fahral hin bel, Thur. Faal sahlojoor fen dir het, ahrk niist sil fen ag ko Oblivion!" : We answer your summons, Overlord. The pests will die here, and their souls will burn in Oblivion!
"Saraan dii zeymah!" : Wait my brothers!
"Luft vozah zarok ahrk dinok, kroved!" : Face infinite misery and death, defiler!
"Hi fen dir dokro dinok, hi gaas tingrol!" : you will die a dog's death, you filthy mongrel!
ZUN... HAAL VIIK! : WEAPON DISARM SHOUT.
"Hi los pruzah, daasin nahwaniik. Nuz hi fen ni neilaas stahdim bah do lot faal dovah Kestrahgol." : You are good, surface dweller. But you won't survive the holy wrath of the great dragon Kestrahgol.