"Erik!" M'rissi called out, shaking her lover as the bandit walked over to him and pressed his fingers against his neck.
"He's alive. Pro'lly just passed out from the pain," the bandit sighed and gently took Erik's shield off to reveal a mangled arm. "Arm's definitely broken. Maybe ribs too."
"Can—can we move him?"
M'rissi's voice was filled with worry as she turned to see several Draugr approaching the entrance to the hallway.
"Maybe—but we need to deal with the dead first," the bandit sighed and shook his head. "After we get out of here, I'll help you back to Whiterun, if he's not awake by then."
"What…why would you help us?"
"I may be an outlaw, but I'm not a monster. You can't drag him there by yourself, and I doubt you have a horse," the bandit replied, standing and aiming his sword at the undead who now filtered into the hallway. "Get that bow ready, cat."
"Her name is not 'cat,' it is M'rissi," M'rissi replied with a low growl as she stood and nocked an arrow and let it fly into the skull of the nearest undead monster.
She must protect Erik. They would surely kill him if they got close enough.
Another arrow nocked, but this one lodged itself into the wall beside an undead—one that the bandit cut down before it had a chance to retaliate.
"Only a few more," M'rissi said as she pulled the string of her bow back and took aim, only now they were too close.
The bandit was engaged with one of them—too close to risk letting the arrow fly. She only had one other choice.
She relaxed the string of her bow, slipped the arrow back into its quiver, then grabbed Erik's sword from his unconscious body.
"As long as she stands…she will not let you touch him!" M'rissi growled and charged forwards, slashing and cutting into a Draugr before sliding the sword through its ribs and pinning another to the wall.
They were weaker than she thought they'd be—perhaps because they were older than most of the undead she'd faced.
Her blade slid into the monster's throat, the light in its eyes faded just as the sound of a blade swinging behind her caught her attention.
Then metal against metal, then flesh against steel.
M'rissi turned to see the Draugr that the bandit had just dropped, it was behind her—it was about to kill her.
"I don't see any more eyes," the bandit said as M'rissi looked around and into the room where the log hung from the ceiling.
"M'rissi does not see any more undead. She thanks you for saving her."
"It's not an issue—I have a feeling that if I let you get hurt, that Nord would snap my neck the moment he woke up."
M'rissi giggled and nodded.
"Erik is—protective. Perhaps too protective—but she does not mind. She—she has not had anyone to care for her before—it feels nice."
"Your folks didn't care for you? Sad."
"Isael was the only figure she knew—and Isael is a witch," she said in a low, growling tone as the bandit sheathed his sword and picked Erik and his shield up.
"Isael? Is she who you're runnin' from?"
"Yes—will you be able to fight with Erik on your back?"
"Not likely—but if we get into another fight, I'll find somewhere safe for him," the bandit replied as they stepped into the room, and M'rissi grabbed the torch off the wall. She could see—even without the torch, but the bandit—who M'rissi could see was a Dark Elf in a thick hood—could not.
The room was much bigger once they entered. Directly ahead of them was a set of logs that were set into the stone—stairs to the upper level, which lead to a bridge that crossed above them. To their left was what looked to be some kind of altar made of bone and what looked to be rotting flesh. To their right were cast-iron caskets, opened by some of the dead they'd just killed. However, there were only three caskets—there were at least six or seven Draugr.
"It seems they were turning your friends into undead—they would have done the same to us," M'rissi said as she turned back to the alter. "She is sick at the thought of being one of them…"
"Yeah—I'm not too fond of becomin' one of those monsters either."
The bandit groaned as M'rissi made her way up the stairs. She looked back to see him struggling to lift Erik up, and she came back down to help him.
"So—why is this Nord so important to you? You usin' him or somethin'?"
"M'rissi would never use Erik," M'rissi said, glaring at the man. "He is her…her lover. She loves him. She would not imagine a life without him."
"A cat and a Nord? That's—"
"She is not a cat," M'rissi growled as they approached the top of the stairs. "M'rissi is Khajiit—you will address her with her name, or address her as a Khajiit. She is not below killing you."
"You think just because I'm helping you with your cat-fucking—"
As they stepped off the stairs, the man's words were cut short. M'rissi's claws held the man by his throat, digging into his skin and drawing a small amount of blood.
Erik may have been hesitant to kill him—but she would not be. She was tired of his passive insults, tired of being called an animal—tired of calling herself an animal. Erik had shown her that she was much more—and she would not be degraded again.
"Maybe you misheard M'rissi. Should she carve it into your chest, so you don't forget?" M'rissi seethed as she dragged her claws across the man's throat, leaving a line of broken skin that began to turn red as the blood pooled. It wasn't enough to hurt him, not by a mile—but it would sting. "The only reason you are still standing is because Erik is on your shoulders. If you want to make it out of this tomb alive—you will show her respect, or you will become one of the dead that lay here. Remember—M'rissi does not hold the ideals of honor that the Nords do. She has no qualms of stabbing you when you are turned around. She just does not want Erik to get hurt further."
"Then I'll just drop him off the—"
"And your death will be painful. If you do anything to hurt Erik, she will make sure you feel it worse."
The bandit glared at her, and she glared back.
"This is the last time I ever do somethin' for someone else," the bandit mumbled as he brushed past M'rissi, and she followed behind.
It wasn't long before they came to a long hallway with various carvings in the walls. They seemed to tell a story, but M'rissi wasn't interested in it. At the end of the hallway, a wall with what looked to be three concentric stone wheels and a center with three holes that seemed like a key slot. The wheels had depictions of various animals.
"Your claw," M'rissi said as she examined the wall. "Hand it to M'rissi."
"What—why the hell would I—"
"Your claw has the pictures of animals like on the wall. Give her the claw."
"I swear, if you try to run off—"
"Give her the claw," M'rissi growled in a slower, more aggressive tone.
The bandit groaned and fished his metal claw out of his pack that hung by his side and tossed it to her.
M'rissi caught it, almost fumbling and dropping it. The claw was heavier than she expected.
She examined the claw, running her fingers over the images on the palm of the golden ornament.
On the top, a bear, in the middle, a moth, and on the bottom, an owl.
She then looked to the wall. A bear, an owl, and an owl.
"Easy enough," she said before rotating the wheels of the wall to match that of the claw and sliding the claw's talons into the holes at the center of the wall.
The moment she turned the claw, she heard mechanisms turning and creaking. Moments later, the door began to lower into the floor, revealing a staircase that went up to an open cave.
"So—why don't you look like the other Khajiit?" the bandit asked as they continued into the cave. "The others actually look like cats—you look like—well—you don't look like them."
"That is something M'rissi would not talk about with you—it is personal."
"Does it have to do with that Isael woman?"
"She said she does not want to talk about it," M'rissi replied.
The cave before them was large, with an enormous curved wall with writing on it that she did not recognize. In front of the wall was an iron casket. A tomb.
The two of them stopped just at the base of the stairs that led to the wall and M'rissi drew her bow.
"She will find a vantage point—find a place for Erik, then wake the dead," she said as she began to look around.
"You expect me to fight that thing alone?"
"Not alone. She needs distance and a spot where she can see the Draugr. She will try not to let it kill you," she smirked and then bounded off towards a steep wall with a ledge. When she turned back, she saw the bandit setting Erik down at the base of the stairs before trudging up the stairs.
She watched as the tomb began to open, and drew an arrow.
The bandit looked up at her as he drew his sword, and then got blasted back by a gust of wind so strong it knocked him off his feet.
"Fus-Ro-Dah!" the Draugr bellowed in a scraping, sand-paper voice. The shout reminded her of the dream she had back in Ivarstead. The dragon that killed Isael—what did it say?
Yor-tool-shur?
No…that couldn't be it…
She released her arrow, but it didn't find its mark. Instead, missing the Draugr by inches as he stepped forwards towards the bandit.
Toor-Shul-Yoor?
She fired another arrow, this one striking the Draugr, but bouncing off his armored back.
"Any time now!" the bandit called out as the undead got ready for another shout. This time it aimed itself at her.
"Yol-Toor…"
Shul…Yol-Toor-Shul.
A blast of fire erupted from the monster's mouth and raced towards M'rissi. She didn't have time to think, rolling away from the fire, but getting her forearm burned bad by the flames that spread out from the blast.
She suppressed the urge to cry out and drew another arrow and shot.
M'rissi's third arrow struck its mark, going right through the monster's head.
Still, it stood, gurgling, and the bandit took his chance and lobbed the monster's head off with his greatsword.
"You sure took your time."
The bandit grumbled as M'rissi made her way up the stairs. The burn was starting to hurt now—it was worse than she thought. The flames had singed away most of her hair on her forearm, and the skin now blistered and boiled. If she didn't get it cleaned, it was certainly going to be infected soon.
"She shot at the monster twice and didn't hit it. You should be grateful she hit it the third time," she replied.
"Me, grateful?" the bandit asked. "For what, the threats against my life?"
"M'rissi saved your life—"
"And yet not too long ago you were threatening to end it! And for that matter, so did your fuck-toy!"
M'rissi growled and glared at the man.
"Don't growl at me, cat! I risked my life to help you far more than I said I would! I could have left you in that hallway with the swinging axes like I planned to! You'd both be dead if it weren't for me!"
"Watch your tongue, before she carves it from your mouth!"
The man leveled his sword towards M'rissi.
"I am done with your threats. If you're feelin' jumpy, cat, then leap."
"M'rissi may be hurt—but she—"
"Both of you shut the hell up and back off."
Erik called out as he crested the stairs. M'rissi gasped and ran to him, dropping her bow as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Erik pulled back, hissing in pain.
"Sorry! She's sorry! She forgot!"
"It's fine—what the hell is going on?"
"The bandit won't stop calling her cat—and he threatened your life!"
"After the two of you threatened mine!" the bandit said, scowling.
Erik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his good hand.
"Everybody calm down and take a breath. I apologize for threatening you, but in my defense, I don't take kindly to people referring to M'rissi as a cat—and I sure as hell don't appreciate being called an animal fucker. I suspect all of us wish to leave here in one piece, yes? Bandit where are we?"
The bandit and M'rissi stared at each other for a moment, waiting for the other to act—and then the bandit took a breath.
"Alright—fine. I don't know exactly where we are, but I think this may be the final chamber," he said as he walked to the tomb and pulled a large stone tablet out. It had a degraded map of Skyrim on it—just as the Jarl's wizard had said it would.
"The stone!" M'rissi gasped.
"Thank the gods," Erik sighed.
"Take the damn stone—I'm done with the both of ya—"
"Wait," Erik said, before the bandit could turn around. "You saved my life—let me repay you—"
"No. Getting out of my hair would be payment enough—I've had enough of the both of you."
"I can get you more money. Far more. You didn't just help me, today—you helped Whiterun, possibly Skyrim. I'm sure you could talk the Jarl into giving you more money than I gave you."
The bandit perked up and looked to Erik.
"What's the catch?"
"The catch is—I want you to travel with us. You seem to be good with that sword—and that's something we need. We're looking to get passage to Morrowind, soon, so if we could have someone who's good with a weapon, that would help us."
"Morrowind? Why the hell would you want to go there?"
"We have our reasons—help us get there, and you'll earn far more gold than what I could give you. We plan on starting a life—whatever we earn in doing so, you'll get a cut."
"I already have a life; here."
"Come on—you don't really want to live your life digging through old ruins, do you?" Erik asked, crossing his arms. "I mean—can you even say these people care for you? It seems like they care more about the gold than anything else—seeing how many people you lost to that hallway."
The bandit thought for a moment then sighed.
"I suppose you have a point—but what would you offer? You both have threatened my life."
"Fair enough—if you stop with the cat remarks, we won't make any more empty threats," Erik said, looking to M'rissi. "Right—M'ri, your arm!"
M'rissi glanced at her burned arm and shrugged. It hurt bad now—but still, she didn't make a sound as Erik held it and examined it.
"What in the divines happened?"
"The Draugr—it shouted some words and burned M'rissi. She is fine—"
"This is a bad burn, let me heal it—"
"No! She does not need your spells. M'rissi will heal fine on her own," she said as she pulled away from Erik. "She knows you mean well, but M'rissi does not trust magic!"
"Let'em heal it, girl," the bandit said. "If you two are on the run, you can't have an injury like that. It only takes a little bit of filth to infect a burn that bad."
"And why would she trust your thoughts?"
"Because I've seen people die from infections like that—it's not pretty. Just let him heal you."
M'rissi paused for a moment, hesitating—but the thought of dying from an infection due to her own stubbornness was enough to give Erik her arm once more.
Before long, a warm glow enveloped it, and she could feel the magic coursing through her body. It felt—wrong.
Even though the pain in her arm began to fade, a new pain developed, one that magic could not heal.
The pain of memory.
She was brought back to her days with the High Elf witch. All the times she would use her deadly magics to hurt her, and then heal her just to do it again, and again, it all flashed back into her mind like lightning.
She winced, trying to block the memories they brought back.
But—there was something different.
Erik's hand—it was so gentle. So loving, and careful, even when the burn was fully healed, and her fur began to grow back, he still barely touched the spot where the burn was.
Whereas Isael didn't care if she hurt M'rissi, Erik took care to avoid causing further pain.
When her arm was fully healed, she couldn't help but stare at it. She could still feel the magic flow through her, and it still felt wrong—but the gentleness of Erik's hand—it was far different than the harsh grasp of Isael's grip.
"Are you okay?" Erik asked as she opened her eyes.
"Y-Yes. She is fine—she thanks you," she sighed and turned back to the bandit. "She will not threaten you again if you join us."
"Why are you so eager to get me to join?"
"You really telling me you'd rather spend the rest of your life crawling through crypts, barely surviving? I know we don't get along—but it'd be better than this."
"You didn't answer my question," the bandit replied with a scowl. "What's in it for you?"
"Safety," Erik replied and winced as he stepped towards the bandit. His good arm wrapped around his upper abdomen as he groaned. "We're being hunted by a dangerous person—they've already gotten two groups of mercenaries after us. The more people we have—the safer we are. I'm taking a bit of a risk in telling you—but you saved my life when you really didn't have to. You helped us through this cave far more than you said—and you've dealt with far more than you had a right to."
"So—what, we group up, travel to gods knows where? Hope we don't get cornered?"
"Until we can get the coin to go to Morrowind, yes," Erik said. "You have a majority of what we were saving for that."
"I—you just handed over the gold you were going to use to get away from Skyrim?"
Erik shrugged.
"Seemed like it worked out pretty well—don't think I would have made it out of here if it weren't for your help."
The bandit paused for a moment as M'rissi slipped under Erik's good arm, helping support him as his gaze drifted towards the wall beside them.
For a moment, Erik seemed distracted, until the bandit spoke up once more.
"Alright—I'll join, but this business of threatening me ends—and I get half of whatever you earn as payment."
"If you agree to not make any more of your—comments—then we won't have an issue," Erik replied. "As for the coin—as much as I'd like to say no, if we're going to be traveling Skyrim, there's safety in numbers. Deal."
"Fine. It's a deal then. Name's Aesril Farathyn," the bandit said.
"Erik Far-Giver," Erik said and turned to the wall and seemed to space out for a moment.
He began to mumble to himself, words that M'rissi didn't understand, but words that she vaguely recognized.
"Het nok faal vahlok…"
"What in oblivion?" Aesril raised an eyebrow as Erik pulled away from M'rissi and started towards the wall.
"Deinmaar do dovahgolz…"
"Erik?" M'rissi called out, trying to get in front of him, but being pushed aside by Erik as he pushed further into the trance.
Panic began to set in as she tried to pull him from whatever was causing him to act like this.
"Ahrk aan fus do unslaad rah gol ahrk vulom."
The second the final word was uttered, Erik snapped out of his trance and looked around.
"What…"
He turned to face M'rissi, who must have had worry plastered all over her face.
"What just happened?" he asked.
"She—she does not know," M'rissi replied. "You just looked at the wall and started speaking in that language that she does not know."
"What does it say?" Aesril asked. "You seem to know whatever that language is—can you read what's on the wall?"
"Kind of," Erik said as he turned to face the wall once more. "Here lies the guardian, keeper of the dragon stone and a force of unending rage and darkness."
"Huh…"
"Can—can we leave this place?" M'rissi asked. "This place—it gives M'rissi shivers. She does not like being here."
"Agreed," Aesril said and moved to support Erik the way M'rissi did earlier. "How can you read and understand that, by the way? And—earlier, you spoke to the Draugr, could you understand it?"
"Yes—I'm not entirely sure how, but any time they speak, I just—know," Erik said. "Up there—look. That stone looks different from the rest of the cave."
Erik pointed up to a flight of stairs that led to a rock wall that seemed much darker than the rest of the light-grey wall around it.
When the three of them made it up to the top, M'rissi noticed pull-lever built into the side of the wall next to the darkened rock. As she pulled it, several mechanisms clunked and ground against each other, and the door slid into the ground.
The passage behind the door led to a ledge that overlooked the river that ran down to Riverwood, now covered in the faint light of dusk.
They didn't get to celebrate their passage, however, as storm clouds now loomed overhead, and with the crack of thunder, rain began to pour down from the heavens above.
M'rissi hissed at the thunder on instinct and retreated into the cave, safe from the rain.
"Damn it all! We should head back into the barrows to wait the storm out," Aesril said.
"No, we need to get this stone to Whiterun as soon as possible," Erik replied. "There's an inn in Riverwood, it's not far from here. We can find shelter there—I know the inn-keep, she'll let us stay for free."
"Are you sure?" Aesril asked.
"Yes, I'm sure," Erik said. "M'ri, come on."
"She will not! M'rissi refuses to go out in that rain! She will not get wet!"
"Oh gods sake," Aesril groaned.
"M'rissi, come on. We don't have time for this," Erik said, shooting a glare back to his lover. "We need to get those supplies."
M'rissi whimpered as lightning streaked across the sky and let loose another rumble of thunder, but followed them as they made their way down the ledge.
Erik let out a sharp gasp as he and Aesril slid down the ledge. Every bump and sudden jolt sent pangs of pain through his chest and arm.
He definitely had a few ribs broken—and his arm, it was starting to bruise already.
"You know how to heal?" he asked as Aesril guided him to some shelter underneath a couple of trees while they waited for M'rissi.
"Not much—definitely not as bad as your injuries. I could help with your arm, but that's about it," the Dark Elf replied as he pulled back his hood and rested his hand on Erik's broken arm.
Pain shot through it for but a moment, and then it faded as a soft light enveloped the limb from Aesril's hand.
"I've got to ask—how long have you and that—girl—known each other? You two seem pretty close."
"Honestly, not long. I—" Erik sighed as M'rissi inched her way down the slope, flinching every time lightning streaked across the sky. "I killed the first group of mercenaries that attacked her before I knew what or who they were—not that it would have mattered. I jumped headfirst into this without thinking…"
"Her tail catch your eye?" Aesril grinned. "I can't lie, I wouldn't blame you."
"Well—I'd be lying if I said 'no,' but it's more than that. It all started out as me wanting to get her out of the rain—and when I realized that I was in more danger staying in Riverwood than I was joining her—things just kinda happened."
Aesril chuckled and shook his head.
Erik watched as M'rissi got off the slope and rushed over to the two.
"Let us leave this place and get to somewhere dry and warm!" M'rissi hissed as she sped past them.
Erik rolled his eyes and he and Aesril followed her—as best they could—all the way back to Riverwood, where he watched her practically burst through the doors and dive towards the fire pit in the middle of the room.
"What in the—Erik?"
Delphine raised an eyebrow as he and Aesril entered behind M'rissi.
"Gods, back so soon? And with a friend, huh?"
Erik chuckled and motioned for Aesril to sit.
As he kneeled next to M'rissi, main washed over him from his ribs to his sore joints and the residual pain in his arm. He winced and groaned as he got to a comfortable position next to the young Khajiit.
"Yeah," he replied, taking his iron-clad gauntlets off and warming his hands. "Could you get us some food? I imagine my friends are hungry."
"Absolutely, after the other day, you've earned it," Delphine said with a smile.
"Are you sure you are okay?" M'rissi asked as Erik tried to shift his position to be more comfortable, only to his in response to a sharp pain shooting through his chest.
"I—I'm fine," he replied, though he was lying. Every inch of his body was sore—his chest felt like knives were tearing at his inside—and he still had to ride several miles back to the city on a horse with no saddle.
"You cannot lie to M'rissi. She is not so blind," M'rissi pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "Can you not heal?"
"I've been trying to since I woke up—I think I might need some sleep though."
M'rissi shook her head as Delphine returned and started preparing the pot above the fire to be used.
"She thinks we should ask the bandit if he knows anything of the tunnels," M'rissi said in a hushed tone after a while. "If any would know, it would be a bandit."
"Tomorrow," Erik assured her. "We need to focus on getting our equipment back."
"Right—we could have done so on our way here."
"And risk being followed again? We're already risking our asses being in Riverwood," Erik replied in a whisper. "Look, I didn't like coming back here either, but when a Jarl offers to help you, you don't reject it."
"What will we do if the elves come here?"
"We'll figure it out," Erik said. "No one in this town like the Thalmor. They're imperials, but they aren't blind to what the Thalmor have done. If it comes to it—they'll fight."
"They would not survive…"
"I'm not saying it'll come to that. The Thalmor won't be stupid about this—but you are right. If the elves come here and spot us, we'll have more issues."
"You fools are running from the Thalmor?"
Aesril's voice startled the young Nord. He looked to his side to see the Dark Elf sitting beside him.
"Gods—if I knew that, I'd have never joined you. What in Oblivion did you two do to piss them off?"
"It's complicated. I take it you've never heard the name of the head Justiciar have you?"
The Dark Elf paused for a moment, then groaned, putting his head in his hands as he put two and two together.
"You're not just running from the Thalmor—but their gods-damned boss?"
"M'rissi is Isael's—daughter…"
Erik's eyes widened a bit when M'rissi spoke up. He turned to her, watching as she fidgeted with the blue-opal ring on her finger. She stared at it with intent, running her finger across the surface of the stone.
"That is why Isael is looking for her—but M'rissi cannot go back to her. She is horrible—she is a witch," M'rissi said in a low, angry tone. "She will not go back to her."
And with that, M'rissi got up and left the Nord and the Dark Elf to find a room away from everyone else.
"Did—did you know?" Aesril asked.
"I knew they had to have been close with how often she's spoken of her—but she never said it outright," Erik replied with a sigh. "I hope this doesn't change our agreement."
"As pissed as I am that you never told me about that little bit—no. I get why you two wouldn't say much. The Thalmor are a dangerous bunch—if we're going to survive, we're gonna need a lot more than a few tents. We'll need horses, and—"
"A way to get around undetected. M'rissi wanted to ask about tunnels that Isael believes span under Skyrim, dwarven tunnels that smugglers use—you know anything of them?"
"The underground? Yeah, but they're a maze. I've heard only the Thieve's Guild knows how to get around them without getting lost. My group used them to get from the Rift to here, but the entrance is back near Helgen."
"Damn—Helgen is where we just came from. The Elves will be passing through there too. We don't want them knowing about the tunnels."
Erik gave a deep sigh and tried once more to use his magic to heal himself—though to little effect.
"You took a big hit in that cave—are you sure you're okay?" the elf asked.
"I'll be fine—I think some of my ribs are broken, but—"
"Here you boys are—should I bring a bowl to the girl?" Delphine asked with a smile as she handed the two men bowls of venison stew.
"Yeah—if she's awake," Erik replied.
Delphine gave a nod and left the two once more.
"But I think I'll live. I guess we'll have to do with traveling on the surface until we can get to Riften," Erik continued his previous thought in a low tone.
"Alright—where would we be heading? If the Elves are following you, they won't be easy to shake off."
"I know—we'll talk more when we get our supplies. I need to—talk to M'rissi."
"Right," the elf nodded and dug into his side bag, handing him a small vial of red liquid. "It's not much—but it should help with your ribs."
"Thank you—I appreciate it," Erik said, popping the cork off the vial and downing the bitter liquid. A warmth filled him for a few moments, and the pain in his ribs faded—but still lingered when the warmth disappeared.
He was able to get up without much more pain, and walking to the room M'rissi chose was much easier.
"Hey," Erik whispered as he peeked into the room. M'rissi was laying in the bed on the other side of the room, facing the wall. The bowl Delphine delivered was untouched. Erik sighed, sitting on the bed.
He rested a cautious hand on M'rissi's shoulder, to which she tensed up, but relaxed after a few seconds—until a flash of lightning lit the dim room, where she tensed up, worse than before.
"M'ri—are you okay?" he asked, taking his iron helmet off and setting it on the floor. "Talk to me, please…"
"She—she is not," M'rissi shuddered out, whimpering. "The lightning—it—"
"You don't have to say anything—"
"Isael used to use it on her when she misbehaved."
M'rissi's voice broke as she spoke, pain filled her voice—and it broke Erik's heart.
"M'rissi—I—I'm sorry…"
Erik gave a deep sigh, undoing the rest of his armor and setting it on the floor before getting behind M'rissi and wrapping his arms around her, holding her in a gentle embrace.
He could feel her shivering under him. Every passing second brought him closer to tears as he realized just how much pain M'rissi must be in—and then another flash of lightning lit the room, and she flinched and whimpered.
"M'rissi—I—I won't let her hurt you again. I won't let it happen again—"
"You don't know that—"
"I will do everything in my power to stop her, M'ri."
"She is more powerful than you!" M'rissi said with a whimper. "You say you will not let her hurt M'rissi—but you do not have the power to stop her!"
"Then I will get that power!" Erik replied, struggling to control his tone. "I will never let her hurt you again, M'rissi."
"You—You are foolish," M'rissi said, pulling herself into a ball next to Erik.
"Maybe—but I'm your fool," Erik said, nuzzling into her neck and kissing the soft fur on her shoulder.
He closed his eyes and felt M'rissi's shivers fade as she turned over to face Erik. Her eyes closed—though her ears flattened against her head, and her tail flicked back and forth, agitated with puffed fur.
Lightning struck just outside a mountain-side town. From its blast, a group of elves appeared not far from the town's entrance, among them, a couple of Nords.
"Are you sure this is where he said he'd be?" Eleria asked as she glared down at the town, annoyed by the sudden sensation of being soaked by the rain.
"Y-Yes," one of the Nords said. "He had us stay with him until he could figure out where those two were going."
"Good—you're free to go."
"But—what about—"
"If your leader attacked either of them, he's likely dead. Be on your way—before I change my mind and kill you both."
The bandits didn't stay around for much longer, and Eleria gave a short huff and shook her head.
How could she have allowed herself to be fooled so easily? She'd have to go back and kill the Nord who lied to her men.
"Raze the town, line up the inhabitants. We will find where those two went," Eleria said to her soldiers. "Or we'll paint the remains of this town with their blood."
And so her soldiers went forth. The mages began burning the houses, while the non-magic users dragged the civilians into the open. It wasn't long before the entire town was before Eleria. Men, women, and children, all looked in horror as their homes burned, and the elf before them smirked.
Even the guards were helpless to stop the elves.
"My sources tell me that a Nord and a strange-looking Khajiit passed through here," the High-Elf Justiciar declared raising a hand and forming a ball of electricity. "You're going to tell me where they went—or I'm going to start killing you off one by one—starting with the children."
Eleria snapped her fingers, and two of her men snatched a little girl from the group and held her in front of the group.
The parents of the girl begged and pleaded for the elf to take them instead—but their pleas fell on deaf ears.
"You have five seconds."
Eleria's cold stare cut through the group until her eyes fell on one man—the innkeeper, whose inn was now burning to the ground.
Something about him—his helpless gaze—gave her the impression he knew something.
The five seconds are up. Let's see if I'm right.
Without hesitation, Eleria released her lightning at full strength. The child let out a pained scream as it coursed through her body.
The anguished cries of her parents, and some of the other townspeople, did little to satisfy the High-Elf. Though—she was enjoying their pain.
"Maybe some of you thought I was bluffing," Eleria said with a huff as she charged another electric attack. "Well—now you know I'm not. I know for a fact at least one of you know where they went—"
"Rorikstead!" the innkeeper shouted out through tears. "T—They went to Rorikstead, through Falkreath!"
Eleria paused for a moment, then shook her head.
"Do you really think I believe that?" she asked before her soldiers grabbed two more screaming children. "For every lie you tell me, I will kill two children—"
"No, please!" the innkeeper shouted before she released another bolt of lightning.
The screams of the children were only punctuated by the screams of their parents, and the scream of the innkeeper.
As the bodies of the two children fell, Eleria formed a third ball of lightning and glared down the innkeeper.
There are only three more children—I'm going to have to move on to the adults next—a shame too, killing the little ones is so much more effective.
"Now—the truth," Eleria seethed.
The cries of the town were starting to get on her nerves—she needed to end this before she did something drastic.
"It's the truth—I swear!" the Innkeep said. "They only told me to say they were going to Rorikstead—they didn't tell me where they were actually going!"
"Now that—I believe," Eleria said with a nasty grin. "But that still doesn't tell me where they went."
"I don't know where they went—I swear!"
"But you must have an idea. We didn't pass them on our way down to this backwater town, so they didn't go back north. That only leaves two options. They went west, towards Helgen, or east, towards Riften. Which is it, Nord?"
"West! They went west!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!" the innkeeper shouted. "They went into the pass between the mountains."
"He's telling the truth!" a guard spoke up. "I saw them head towards the mountains a couple of days ago—please just leave us be!"
Eleria chuckled to herself as she allowed her spell to dissipate.
"Good—let them go. We're heading west," Eleria said and paused, motioning to her soldiers. "On second thought—kill them, and make it look as if a dragon attacked."
Within seconds the townspeople cried out in panic and fear—some tried to run for their lives, only to be cut down with a sword or an arrow. The others were burned, their screams of pain and agony rung out through the night, filling Eleria's mind with contempt.
When they were dead, the soldiers made sure to scatter the bodies to make it seem as if they were running away from something.