The staircase exited onto a small stone landing that led to an open archway. Neither door nor skeevers blocked their way to a square room. In the center of the room was an alter, and on the floor in front of it was a long cushion covered in a deep violet fabric that was clearly meant for kneeling on. Several items stood upon the altar, a small collection of smooth stones and shells arranged at the center of a square wooden plate that was covered with black sand, a bowl of aromatic dried flowers, and three wide candles of different heights made of dark green wax impregnated with evergreen.
The entire room, floor ceiling and walls, was made from the same stone as the buildings above ground and the archway that led between the two. In each of the walls was an opening similar to the one that the three stood in now, but the only visible light was from the torches that each of the adventurers held. Four floor sconces made of metal stood at each corner of the room, and each held four horns that were decorated with metal rings that held a pattern that could not be seen clearly.
What could be seen clearly was that they appeared to be the only occupants.
"Light the sconces," Sharn said to no one in particular before walking to the back of the room and lighting the sconce on the left. By the time she had moved to the sconce on the right the other two were lit, and the room was bathed in a warm light.
"What rites do they practice here," Clesa asked as she inspected the altar, "Not blood rites, obviously."
She leaned forward and placed her nose close to the three candles.
"Pinus thunbergii. Also called Black Pine. This is not native to Skyrim, not to my knowledge."
"I find you more interesting the longer I know you," Gwenyfe said, "How do you know so much about plants?"
"My mother studied Herbology. She taught me what I know. For example, Black Pine grows in coastal regions. Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to obtain the ingredients to make these candles, or has purchased them far from here and transported them."
"These stones and shells are also from coastal regions, are they not?" Sharn asked.
"Yes. Sandstone, quartz, and if I am correct, chert. All can be found in coastal regions. But this black sand is not from any coast in Skyrim, nor Hammerfell neither."
"Who builds an altar in reverence to the coast so far inland?" Sharn asked, "and where did they get this odd black sand?"
"Black sand, black pine," Clesa said quizzically.
"Someone who misses home," Gwenyfe said in such a tone that both women who heard her also heard how much she missed her own home.
The doorways on the left and right led to other rooms. The room on the right appeared to be used as a room for removing dirty boots and clothing, and had a small hearth built into one wall as well as wooden chairs and side tables. Several wooden shelves were mounted to the walls, some still home to unopened bottles of wine. Wall sconces that resembled their taller brethren were also present.
"Those bottles do not appear to be very old," Sharn said.
"Hard to tell. Nothing in here appears to be very old."
"Sealed from the outside world, or regularly cleaned and refreshed," Clesa said.
Gwenyfe knelt down by the hearth and inspected a piece of dried mud.
"Someone has been here recently. This mud is dried, but not petrified as it would be if it were hundreds of years old."
"And the remains of that fire are certainly not old," Clesa added.
"Well, we knew the outside was being maintained," Sharn said, "no surprise then to find evidence of recent occupants inside."
The room on the left seemed to be intended as an armory. Many weapons racks lined the walls, and a sharpening stone sat in one corner. Once again, the room was fitted with wall sconces that were dark.
"Were they expected to perform rites, and disarm themselves after cleaning their boots?" Sharn asked.
"Or before they sat down for drinks?" Gwenyfe offered, thinking of the bottles only a short walk away.
"No goblets, or drinking bowls on the altar," Clesa said, "So it is not sacramental wine in those bottles."
"Two rooms down, one to go," Sharn said as she looked at the two women standing with her, "Shall we lay odds on what we find?"
"I play neither dice nor cards," Clesa said, "it is a disagreeable habit, and always leads to fighting."
"True," Sharn said, "What other habits do you avoid?"
"That is a conversation for another time," the Redguard Vigilant replied with a smile.
Sharn seemed stunned for a moment before she broke into a hearty laugh.
"HA HA HA! You are no celibate nun! For a moment you had me fooled."
"That is because you have a one track mind," Gwenyfe said as they exited into the altar room, "and your bellowing has certainly ruined whatever stealth we had."
"I did not know were were being stealthful. Not with you stomping around like a mammoth."
"I do not stomp like a mammoth, you cow!"
"Gods give me strength," Clesa said.
"HA HA! You sound just like Hellina."
The final archway proved to be fitted with a door, but an open one which was why they had not seen it immediately in the dim light. An open door that led to a long hallway with walls that were etched and carved, depicting scenes that must have held significance to the Akavari. Floor sconces were placed on either side at regular intervals, and quickly came to life at the touch of a flame.
"Someone keeps these filled, just like the others," Gwenyfe said.
"Filled but not constantly lit," Clesa said, "which sorts well with what we saw above. It has been several days since anyone visited last."
None of the stonework was damaged, or out of place. Nothing appeared to have shifted over time, and the time of Akavari construction was hundreds and hundreds of years in the past.
Who is using this location, and how often do they use it? Gwenyfe wondered. It would be an excellent base for us.
"This would be an excellent base for us," Sharn said.
"I was thinking the same thing. Quick, turn three times and spit!"
"What?" Clesa asked.
"Hurry, or you will bring bad luck on us!" Gwenyfe said to Sharn.
"Gods save us, how can you still be so superstitious? You are no village bumpkin to believe that lines drawn upon the earth are barriers to spirits. You have traveled enough, and seen enough, to know better."
"Clesa, she plucked my thoughts from the air and said them back to me, and now she will bring bad luck upon us, unless she acts quickly. Tell her so."
"I must admit complete ignorance to what you are talking about, but I will also admit that Hammerfell is rife with superstition; and good luck and bad luck are quite often sought, or avoided, by some rituals that would have both of you doubled over with laughter. Do you yell Bad Harvest in Skyrim?"
"Do we yell what?" Sharn asked.
"Bad Harvest," Clesa answered, "Farmers who end the season with an excellent harvest but wish to trick spirits into thinking otherwise, or to avoid the wrath of the Gods for their boasting or pride will step outside their farmhouse and yell BAD HARVEST at full volume."
"Does it help?" Gwenyfe asked.
"Who can say," Clesa replied, "at the very least it does not hurt, and it startles the crows."
"BAD HARVEST!" Gwenyfe yelled at the top of her lungs.
"Superstitious peasant," Sharn said with a shake of her head.
"Sodóimít athmhuintearais," Gwenyfe replied.
"Igolo lembuzi," Sharn answered, which drew a bout of laughing from both women.
"I do not understand your native tongues friends, but I can recognize profanity from one-hundred paces," Clesa replied.
"We will have you swearing like a native in many languages if you keep our company much longer, Clesa." Sharn said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I will take my chances, then, with full knowledge of the risk involved," Clesa said with a smile.
The hallway led to a cavernous room. The ceiling, which could not be seen in the darkness, was supported by large square columns that were, like the hallway they had just exited, adorned with images.
"This depicts a woman with wings," Clesa said as she held her torch up close to the closest column on the left.
"This is...some sort of serpent? Or a dragon, perhaps," Gwenyfe said while inspecting the column on the right.
"It looks like no dragon I have ever seen," Sharn said.
"Well, you have never seen a woman with wings, and neither have I, so perhaps it is an equally rare type of dragon."
There was a long stone table at the center of the room, with matching stone benches on either side. along the walls were positioned metal braisers standing upon stone pedestals about the height of a man (if that man were as tall as Urul). Fastened to the wall above each braiser was a large metal disk mounted on hinges. Most of the disks showed signs of age, but it was clear that they had once been highly polished.
"That is an excellent idea," Clesa said as she stood in front of one before turning around, "Those disk would reflect the light in any manner one chooses."
"Gods, I would not want the cost of buying oil to light this room," Sharn said as she counted the number of sconces that were present.
Three doorways were present in each of the walls to right and left, but only a single doorway at the other end. And all the women identified quickly that this room had two levels.
"Balconies all around the top," Gwenyfe said, "and many more doorways it seems."
"Sleeping quarters, assuming the original inhabitants slept." Sharn said.
"This is the kitchen," Clesa said from one of the side rooms on the main floor, "and it appears to be in excellent condition."
"This whole structure appears to be in excellent condition," Sharn said, "how can this be? These tapestries are not decayed, or moth eaten." She lit several of the sconces and one of the braisers. "The oil in these is still alive," she said as the reflection from the metal disk threw a fair amount of light into the center of the room.
"There are spells that prevent decay," Gwenyfe said, "It is thought that is the reason that Sky Haven Temple is free from decay."
"None of us know what it looks like on the inside, but you are right; the outside is not decayed in the least."
"It appears that such a spell was a favorite of the Akavari," Clesa said as she began walking to the other doorways.
"This is the accommodation," Clesa said after identifying the last doorway, the previous two being merely store rooms.
"The what?" Sharn asked.
"What do you call the room that holds the chamber pot?"
"The pot room."
"That is a bit too on target for my taste," Clesa said as she returned, "the Vigilants refer to it as the accommodation."
Sharn made a face. "That is very genteel."
"As long as I have known you, you have wiped your mouth on your sleeve after every meal. What do you know about genteel?" Gwenyfe asked.
"I know that not everything in Tamriel must be covered in honey or salt before being eaten."
"Did you hear that?" Clesa asked as her head began to turn to left and right.
"Did I hear Sharn..."
"Shhhhh!" Clesa said.
The sounds of metal rattling and scraping on metal from deeper inside the structure could be dimly heard; A rhythmic scraping with an occasional rattle, not a constant one; like someone in ill fitting plate armor walking steadily and slowly.
The three women walked to the solitary door in the far wall before passing through it. To their left and right were stone steps leading up to the second level. In front of them was another hallway like the one that lead to the room the had just vacated. At the other end of the hall was an open doorway through which light could clearly be seen; light, and the motion of a shadow as something past that doorway was moving back and forth.
Gwenyfe looked up at Sharn and spoke softly.
"Did I not say you would bring us bad luck?"