YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

The Bosmer pulled his bow back, ready to knock the draugr to its knees, aiming with precise accuracy he had honed over the past few weeks. With a steady hand and a clear gaze, he could take anything down with his pristine arrows. He almost never missed.

Except for one situation.

Lydia walked into his shot.

He had been grateful for a housecarl. She was pretty, loyal and strong, someone he wouldn't mind as company during his adventures. He now changed his mind, and after watching her run into yet ANOTHER arrow of his, he was ready to abandon her by the side of the road as soon as possible. She was a disaster.
By the eight, I might as well use her as a meatshield...

Rolling to avoid a blunt smack of an old Nordic sword, the Bosmer took numerous steps back, giving distance to him and Lydia. Lydia seemed oblivious to it all, even after earning a stab wound in the chest. She continued slashing at the undead, clearly not feeling the two arrows that protruded from her back. It was almost impressive.

The battle was tiring, but close to finished. After a few more bodies added to the pile, all that was left was a Deathlord. The Bosmer stood by his companion's side, eyeing their enemy as he sauntered closer. He carried himself out of the room farthest front them, his rigid frame making his walk abnormal and eerie. Armor encased his body, and he spoke words that couldn't be comprehended. It was terrifying. But even so, they could take him together. He looked at Lydia.

"Ready? Go!" They both ran.

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords!"

He stopped.

"Excuse me? Did you really just-"

The Bosmer stood there and blinked. The Bosmer.

You. Wench.

Lydia didn't seem to notice the blatantly offensive comment, just continued running at the Deathlord full speed ahead. He didn't bother to correct her, just stared with fully intended dismay. Watching her swing her blade and miss, he faintly wondered if perhaps if he were born a Nord, his housecarl would fight better. She swung again and hit the wall, making him doubt the thought.
Ready to get it done and over with, the Bosmer joined the fray, his bow still waiting in his hands. Drawing it again, he breathed, and waited for Lydia to block his shot.

This time she didn't, and the arrow pierced under the helmet at the Draugr's rotted face, stumbling back from the blow. Before he could recover, Lydia brought her blade down on his crippled frame, the light fading from the hollow sockets of his eyes. It was over. The Bosmer sighed happily.
Lydia wasn't too bad after all. At least she contributed.
After the usual routine of looting bodies, grabbing a small bite to eat, retrieving arrows, and cleaning the gunk from their weapons, they were finally ready to leave. But before they stepped out of the crypt, a shine of light caught the Bosmer's eyes. Back in the room where the Deathlord had revealed itself from, was a chest.

He ran for it. Sweet, beautiful loot! He wondered what could be hidden inside; weapons and armor, soul gems, potions, GOLD. he wanted to hit himself for almost walking out without checking.
He was so close, but before he could reach the room, Lydia happened.

She walked into the door frame.

It was all over from there.

No matter which way he moved, she got into the way. He went left, she went left. He went right, she went right. Desperate, he tried to push her out of the way, failing completely. Then, he tried backing up to give her room to move. She didn't.

With no other options, the Bosmer chose to do something a little more dangerous.

Taking a breath, he shouted at Lydia, the blast knocking her out of the doorway and back into the room. She was out of the doorway.

Amazingly enough, she was able to pick herself back up, grunting and glaring at her companion. But the Bosmer wasn't focused on her anymore. He ran towards the chest, fiddling with the lock for just a moment before opening the lid.

There was an empty soul gem, a wooden sword, and three septims. Nothing else.

Disappointed, he turned away, ready to get out of the Crypt.
Lydia was back in the door way. Trapping him inside the room.

I'm going to die in here.