Chapter 10
Arvel and his goons lead the way into the depths of Bleak Falls Barrow, strolling along like they own the place. They're lucky. Nothing down here appears to be dangerous so far. If that weren't the case, they'd probably already be dead.
The other bandits are more cautious, as evidenced when the one who introduced himself as Torgen begins rapidly issuing orders. "Alright folks, you know the drill. Stay together and keep your eyes open. If me or Soling tell you to do something, do it! It'll be dark as Oblivion down there, so get ready. Make sure you're aware of your surroundings."
Drawn by his curiosity, Mull quietly falls in next to the man and poses a question. "You've done this before?"
The older bandit glances down at him. "Aye, a few of us have, though none of the younger ones. They're greenhorns, all of 'em."
"Got any tips for one more?"
The man scans him appraisingly and nods, as if satisfied by what he sees. "…Watch the corners. You never know what's hiding down in these places until they jump out at you. I mean that." He speaks with the utmost seriousness, his previous levity now forgotten.
Mull responds with a wordless nod of his own. That doesn't exactly sound promising.
"Good man."
He pulls ahead, leaving Mull to walk alongside some of the younger bandits. The tunnel seems to stretch onwards endlessly, a limitless series of identical passages and shadowy chambers. The tunnel is wide enough for a few of them to walk side by side, and the ceiling is about ten feet high by his estimation – just enough not to be a hindrance.
In some sections, spindly roots protrude from the ceiling and crawl along the walls like the tentacles of some forgotten monstrosity. He's vaguely surprised to find even this hint of vegetation down here. The mountainside must not be too high above us. Though that does make sense. This is just some old crypt. It can't go too far underground, right? Farengar made it sound like this would be a pretty simple job.
He thinks back to the barrow's impressive exterior and the freestanding arches especially, the hallmarks of something greater. Well… maybe not.
The cynical side of him recalls that clients who hired the services of himself or his past gangs have often had a bad habit of leaving out key details when pitching their assignments. They want you to raid a specific farmstead? Oh, they forgot to mention the resident farmer has a veritable horde of bloodthirsty hounds defending his property, howling like demons at every noise. They want you to waylay a caravan owned by an economic rival? Oh, they forgot to mention the contingent of guards includes multiple Destruction mages hellbent on frying you to a crisp.
In his line of work, things like that regrettably aren't unusual. And each and every time, those situations always ended badly. Let's hope this turns out to be an exception.
As they work their way further into the barrow, the only dangers they encounter are scrawny skeevers and periodic spike traps, many of which no longer function due to broken mechanisms. Occasionally they walk past recessed alcoves containing the bones of the ancient dead, prompting some of the younger bandits to mutter short invocations as they ask forgiveness for intruding upon their eternal slumber. The rest of them, Mull included, have no such reservations. They're dead. I doubt they care.
However, he does note with some interest that none of these remains are complete skeletons, instead being piles of miscellaneous bones stained grey and brown with age. He idly wonders why that might be, and he hypothesizes that it could be evidence of earlier grave robbers. He lacks sufficient interest or familiarity to spend much time dwelling on it.
He decides against using his bow inside this confined tunnel. He keeps it unstrung and strapped to his back, where it won't get in the way. The archer girl walks a few paces behind him, glancing restlessly from side to side with her own bow clutched in her pallid hands. I don't know if she's any good with that, but even if she isn't, we don't need more than once person shooting arrows in here. I'll stick with my sword for now. Besides, if we find ourselves in a situation where that becomes necessary, this whole thing will be a bust anyways. I'm not getting myself killed over Farengar's tablet.
That said, he does still need to figure out what happened in the wizard's study. He isn't going to let that go so easily. Farengar seemed like he meant it when he was talking about a possible connection between the dragon-rune phenomenon and the tablet. Finding it might very well be his only chance for discovering more.
He's drawn away from his idle pondering of a badly fragmented skull on the floor by low voices from nearby. The sorrel-haired woman with the shield and the older man called Torgen are walking directly ahead of him, and in the oppressive silence of the crypt broken only by scraping footsteps and jingling equipment, he can't avoid overhearing some of their murmured conversation.
"It would be stupid not to," Torgen harshly whispers. "The elf is a fool! We don't know what he might be keeping to himself. Hell, he might've lied about knowing anything about these barrows in the first place. We can't assume."
"Listen, I get it. In a place this old, we might find some draugr down here. You're right." The woman raises her hands placatingly. "But let's just keep our mouths shut and see what happens. If we're given a reason to take the lead, then we will."
The man is silent for a moment, then releases a drawn-out breath. "I don't like this, Soling."
"Me neither. But the coin is too damn good."
"It ain't enough to make tangling with draugr worthwhile."
"…Aye." The woman's voice wavers minutely. "Maybe not."
Draugr, huh? Mull is passingly familiar with the concept of draugr – the restless dead of Nord legend – but as with most things, he can't claim to know much about them. As a child, he saw a handful of small Nordic ruins up in the mountains of Craglorn and heard plenty of stories about them from the old women in his village. "If you venture into the old burial places, barrow-walkers might steal you away and drag you beneath the earth." That kind of thing, designed to scare overly-adventurous children. He always dismissed them as mere legends, though perhaps legends with some hint of truth. Necromancers are known to occasionally occupy such places and reanimate the dead interred within, so perhaps that's how those tales originated.
With all that said, the fact that these two bandits are having an entirely serious discussion about draugr strikes him as a little odd. If there isn't a necromancer here, then we don't have to worry about undead jumping out at us. And if there is a necromancer here… then these folks are a lot stupider than I would've thought. I hope that isn't the case. That would be a bad way to die. He shudders at the unpleasant notion of his corpse being used in some asshole's foul experiments.
During his stint in the Rift before entering the Eastmarch with Lokir, he superficially investigated a handful of old ruins he stumbled across in the wilderness and doesn't remember ever seeing evidence of possible undead activity. He never ventured inside or even especially close to those places, but still. What could be any different about this place? You're overthinking things, he tries to convince himself. Don't worry about it so much. Just because this is a dark and dingy barrow doesn't mean there'll be storybook legends jumping out at you.
The group continues to traverse the labyrinth of low-ceilinged passages with only their torchlight to light their way. On a few occasions they descend spiraling staircases that transport them much deeper into the mountain. As it turns out, the crypt is rather extensive.
They make sure to remain in the central passageway, studiously avoiding the side tunnels that branch off at irregular intervals, but a few twists and turns are inevitable. Some passages are completely impassible, blocked off by rusted iron gates or piles of fallen stone. Others are barely any wider or taller than a man, yawning voids of pure darkness that emanate gentle currents of freezing air. They dare not risk trekking into such restrictive passageways for fear of encountering hidden obstacles.
The main passage is narrow enough as is, but at least gives them enough space to maneuver around potential traps. The last thing Mull wants is for them to get turned around and lost. If that were to happen, then gods know how long they could spend wandering around down here.
At one point they pass through a two-story room overlooked by a balcony decorated with carved images of animals. Most are too faded to identify, but some appear to depict snakes, dolphins, and various birds of prey.
"Why were the early Nords bothered to construct such elaborate edifices?" Arvel wonders aloud. "It wouldn't have been a simple matter to dig out this barrow. Surely the burial of their dead couldn't be the only reason." He doesn't complain when nobody offers an answer, so Mull assumes it was a rhetorical question.
One of the bandits who's name he doesn't recall provides a comment of his own. "Honoring our ancestors is great and all, but I don't think I'd want something like this. Just cremate me and be done with it, aye?" A few of his fellows mumble their agreement.
I'm not sure I agree with that one, Mull thinks to himself. It would be nice to be remembered in some way, even if your name is forgotten. But maybe that's just me. He idly brushes a finger against Morven's pendant beneath his armor.
The bandits comb the room for loot before continuing onwards. They don't uncover much in the way of long-lost ancient treasure, but several clay jars and iron urns do yield a smattering of dragon-stamped coins, small amethysts, and pieces of hacksilver.
The gems and silver are a good find, but Mull isn't too sure about the coins. They aren't quite like Imperial septims. Septims have the head of some old emperor with the words 'The Empire is Law, the Law is Sacred' on one side and the Imperial dragon with 'Praise be Akatosh, and all the Divines' on the other. These coins instead feature a dragon's head viewed from the side on both faces, and they lack text entirely. He also doesn't think they're made of gold, though he isn't sure what the material is either. Whether or not a merchant would accept them as legal tender is up for debate.
I would be frustrated with such a pathetic haul, but we haven't encountered anything truly dangerous yet. Skeevers hardly count. So far this has been easy. He smirks as one of the younger bandits reaches behind a dusty table tucked into a remote corner and whoops with excitement. The man withdraws a copper ingot the size of his forearm and proudly displays it to his comrades, clearly not caring that the object in his hands isn't worth much at all. In spite of himself, Mull concedes that the man's enthusiasm is a little infectious. Maybe finding that Dragonstone won't be so difficult.
He gets the distinct feeling he jinxed himself when their group emerges from the tunnels into a surprisingly spacious rectangular chamber. There's a hole in the ceiling high above from which a beam of pale light faintly emanates. That must go all the way to the surface. The air here is appreciably chillier than earlier in the tunnels, and white vapor billows from his lips with each exhale.
However, the chamber's most distinctive feature is that the walls and much of the floor are coated in worryingly dense layers of snow-white webbing. He's immediately reminded of the Frostbite spider lair in the forest north of Helgen, and his stomach sinks like a stone.
In a fit of grim curiosity, he kneels down and examines one of the strands of spider silk running across the floor. It's easily as thick around as one of his arms, maybe even both put together.
Apprehension claws at his chest, and from the palms tightening on weapons and wary circling to better watch their surroundings that he sees from the others, they must be feeling something similar.
Well, except for Arvel and his pair of lackeys. They stride confidently forward just as always, right through the middle of the room towards a webbed-up archway on the other side. Mull is so indignant at their casual display of obliviousness that he nearly snarls aloud. Those godsdamn idiots! We don't know if there are any traps in here, not to mention whatever made the webs. If they want to get themselves killed, they can be my guest, but they're also endangering the rest of us.
When the trio of idiots is about halfway across, one of the clansmen waiting next to Mull raises an arm and points at something on the ceiling, near one of the corners of the room. "What is that?"
They collectively follow the man's finger. He's pointing to a bulbous shadow of something suspended from the ceiling, twisting ever-so-slightly in an unseen eddy of subterranean air. It's difficult to make out any details in the gloom, but after staring for a few seconds, Mull realizes it's a…
Oh shit. The object is a webbed-up cadaver, nearly identical to the hanging corpses he saw on the day Gunjar was killed by Frostbite spiders. There were dozens of these cocoons suspended from the trees in that haunted stretch of forest. As he looks, he notices many more cocoons of various sizes scattered around the chamber, tucked into alcoves and dangling from the walls. His throat tightens as panic begins to overtake him.
"I don't know," another bandit replies. "It almost looks like-"
"We need to run!" Mull hisses. He takes one step back, then another. His eyes dart back and forth across the room, searching for signs of imminent danger.
A few of the others turn to him with varying degrees of surprise at his outburst. "Huh? What's wrong?"
He opens his mouth to berate them for being witless fools, but Torgen beats him to the punch. "These are Frostbite spider webs," the man curtly answers. "A lot of 'em. We just made a rookie mistake by stumbling into the middle of a den."
As realization dawns on the bandits, their eyes grow wide and their lips tighten with fear. Torgen and the sorrel-haired woman are the exceptions – their features are flinty as they scan the chamber, ruthlessly shoving their younger compatriots into something resembling a defensive formation. Mull joins them and does his best to discretely position himself close to the middle of the group. Unaware of this development, Arvel and the two Riverwooders continue to draw further away.
A sharp crack of crumbling stone draws everyone's attention to the center of the room. As a result, they have a perfect view of an absolutely enormous Frostbite spider dropping from the hole in the ceiling and very nearly crushing Arvel and his minions. Their shouts and screams of terrified surprise are dampened by the surrounding webs, giving the proceedings a strangely subdued, unnatural feel.
Mull unsheathes his sword with an ugly sneer – of course it had to be a big one – and moves with the others to encircle the creature while the archer girl hurriedly readies her bow and knocks an arrow.
This spider is most certainly the largest he's ever encountered, even including those in the forest. It towers over them by several feet and is much broader across, especially including its many gangly legs. He's seen full-grown bears that were smaller than this creature, and for the record, bears in Skyrim are some of the largest in all of Tamriel.
They edge closer to the spider, hemming it into the middle of the room without daring to get too close. Mull exchanges wary glances with several of his provisional comrades. Nobody wants to be the first to attack, not that he can blame them. He'd suggest trying to go around or maybe retreating back into the tunnels, but he doubts they could escape without this thing catching at least a few of them. And there's always the chance one of those unlucky few could be me.
The spider happily takes advantage of their hesitation by springing at the sorrel-haired girl and one of the other male bandits. They dive to either side, allowing the spider to separate them and break the encirclement. Another bandit charges and hacks at the spider's abdomen while uttering a string of foul curses, but is warded away by its barbed legs. When the overgrown arachnid turns to face its attacker, the archer girl fires off several arrows in rapid succession. Most prick harmlessly at its chitinous hide, but a few find weaker points and pierce deeply into its flesh. It screeches maddeningly and scurries for one corner of the room, near where they first entered the chamber. With it now standing in the way of their escape route, they can't retreat even if they wanted to.
"Kill it!" somebody shouts. Mull's adrenaline starts pumping and his vision narrows. He becomes aware only of himself, the spider, and the bandits in his immediate vicinity as his body unconsciously prepares itself for a fight to the death. He advances alongside Torgen and the shield girl.
"Come on!" he yells, as much to encourage himself as anything else. The spider crouches lower and huddles into the corner. Taking that as a sign of weakness, Mull and the two of the bandits charge.
In a display of agility that he finds unbelievable even when later recounting this battle, the Frostbite spider jumps high into the air, soaring over and diagonally across Mull and the others. A panicked swing of Torgen's axe narrowly misses one of its legs. The spider alights on the web-covered wall with a resounding crash, the primeval stonework barely supporting the weight of its bulky frame, and hisses disgustingly. Liquid venom bubbles around its frothing chelicerae.
They all scramble backwards in surprise. If Mull knew this large of a Frostbite spider could move like that, then he would've approached it with much more caution.
"Move back!" Torgen bellows. But before they can reorganize, the spider leaps off the wall and hurtles into their midst. The dilapidated wall groans precipitously, sags, and collapses with a deafening crash, sending up a cloud of dust that rapidly spreads across the chamber, worsening the confusion sown by the spider's acrobatic maneuver.
"Gah!" Mull coughs and swipes his hand through the air, trying unsuccessfully to peer through the gloom that descends on the chamber. He isn't carrying a torch and can now barely anything. His visibility is nil.
Screams ring out, accentuated by the muted thump of steel against thick hide and the shuffling movement of indistinct figures through the haze. Loosened stones fall to the floor with sharp clacks, one after the other.
"That thing will pick us off," he mutters to himself. Deciding that caution might be useless in this particular situation, he takes several swift steps in a random direction, hoping to bump against one of the walls.
Instead he arrives in a less hazy area of the room. Light from the hole in the ceiling shimmers overhead, undulating as waves of dust float gently on the cool air. It takes him a moment to realize he's probably extremely visible now.
A crash and another scream come from his left. He turns and raises his sword defensively, trying to ignore the sweat gathering on his palms. To compensate for the uselessness of his eyesight, he goes still and listens intently.
A series of rapid impacts, like footsteps, grow louder. Harsh breathing is audible. It's coming from the right.
He turns again and swings his sword.
"Stop! It's me!" He barely stops himself from embedding his blade into Torgen's skull. The bandit emerges from the gloom, covered head to toe in grime and looking none too pleased. "Watch yourself, you snowback. Don't do anything stupid."
"Fuck." Mull spits and lowers his weapon. Noticing movement behind the older man, he's pleasantly surprised to find that the shield girl, archer girl, and one of the other male bandits are following in his footsteps. They're aren't all dead. That's always a good sign. The latter two seem terrified. The shield-toting sorrel-haired woman simply looks pissed.
Torgen gives him a once-over. "You good to fight?"
"Yeah," he grunts.
The man tersely nods. "Alright everyone. Circle up."
With a chorus of 'ayes,' the other bandits follow Torgen's lead and arrange themselves into a loose formation. Mull follows suit, inserting himself into a gap between one of the women and the man whose name he doesn't know. They settle into tense silence.
Another few stones drop to the ground, likely the final remnants of that wall the spider destroyed. After that, there's nothing. Except for their breathing, the room falls into uncannily stillness, especially poignant after the madness of the last few minutes. The thick haze of dust remains, restricting their sight to no more than five or ten paces in any direction. Thankfully the other male bandit is still carrying a lit torch, and that combined with the room's scant natural light at least gives them some illumination to work with.
"What's the plan here?" shield girl demands softly. "Out in the middle like this, we're far too exposed. That thing can see us clear as day. I'm willing to bet on it."
"Where is Harknir?" the man with the torch whispers.
"We don't know. Now shut it," Torgen retorts. "You're right, Soling. Let's get a wall at our backs and then we can figure out a way to find him."
"Getting to the exit is more important right now," Mull murmurs. Torgen spares him a quick glance before picking a direction seemingly at random and starting to move. The others fall in line. After a moment's hesitation, Mull does the same. The last thing he wants is to be left alone in this place. That would be a death sentence for sure, so his only choice is to stick with these clansmen for now. He tries to motivate himself by imagining what he's going to do to Farengar when he gets back to Whiteurn. Oh, when I get my hands on that wizard…
Due to his reluctance, he's condemned to brining up the rear. He glances over his shoulder every few seconds, and he finds himself wishing he had eyes in the back of his head.
He hears something from behind their group and whirls around, but sees nothing. Just silence and dust. He wonders if he imagined it.
"What is it?"
He only avoids jumping out of his boots by an immense force of will. The shield girl stands just behind his shoulder, following his gaze into the opaque veil. He stifles a cough and shakes his head. "Nothing. Hopefully."
The woman tugs at a strap on his leather cuirass, pulling him in the direction of the others, and scoffs. "I doubt we'd be so lucky. Come on."
They move closer to the rest of the group as they slowly work their way across the room, keenly aware that they could be attacked from any direction – even from above – at any moment. The ground is littered with debris and web-wrapped carcasses, and each of them stumble over something at least once. The light of their single torch illuminates the innumerable particles of dust swirling around them in strange ways, distracting Mull with faint glimmers and sparks. They might actually see better without the torchlight due to the reflectiveness of the dust, but the warm flame gives them some measure of security and comfort. Fire is man's greatest weapon against the unknown, and has always been.
Torgen is the first to reach the wall. He scans the ceiling above – what can be seen of it, anyways – and firmly presses his back against the unyielding stone. Mull quickly joins him, as do the rest. Somehow they've made it without being accosted by their foe.
"Is it still here?" archer girl wonders aloud. The man with the torch shushes her.
They wait in eerie silence for several excruciating minutes. Mull's forehead and hands become even more slick with sweat, and he finds himself constantly readjusting his grip on his sword to wipe moisture away with his sleeve. It seems like the room is growing unbearably hot, or maybe it's just his anxiety making him feel that way.
The quiet is broken by something shuffling nearby. It's impossible to pinpoint an exact direction in this echoing space. He feels the heat rising within him, his frustration slowly leaking outwards. If it's the spider making that sound, then…
Torgen takes a tentative step forward, axe held at the ready. One of the bandits sucks in a sharp breath, but he holds out a hand to forestall them. "We aren't accomplishing anything here. I'm going out to find Harknir," he softly says.
The other bandits exchange wary glances but make no move to join him.
Mull recalls an age-old refrain. Those who refuse to move are the first to die. That's been a consistent truth in his life so far.
He's already growing sick of this waiting game. Patience is a virtue but passiveness is not. Waiting blindly for the spider to come to them is foolishness of the highest degree. He's terrified at the thought of coming face-to-face with the creature in an environment like this, but regardless, he firmly believes this is the best option at the moment.
Memories of Gunjar and Rana flicker in and out of his mind. His gut wrenches and he grows nauseous, but he pushes through the discomfort. This might be a stupid decision, but he needs to do something or else the tension of waiting for an unknown assailant might drive him insane. I'll kill it or it'll kill me, but either way, let's just get this over with.
He matches Torgen's footfalls without a word, stepping away from the wall, waiting, and stepping again.
Torgen looks back at him from the corner of his eye and nods, as if saying "I'm with you." He returns the gesture.
Together they forge ahead, leaving behind the comforting brightness of the torch and the other three bandits. If they want to wait to die, fine. Let them.
The two men are enveloped by a shapeless world of browns and blues. Indistinct motes float gently upon unseen currents and occasionally glimmer as they catch the faint light of the hole in the ceiling, somewhere high above. They scan the ground to avoid tripping hazards and automatically turn to guard each other's backs.
Mull feels a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like he's being watched. He risks a backward glance, but just as before sees nothing. He grinds his teeth. Damn spider… This is unbearable.
From Torgen's side, the shuffling noise is heard again. He catches the bandit's eye and they advance toward the sound together, readying their weapons for an imminent confrontation. As they draw further away from the center of the room, the light steadily fades once more. Maybe we should've lit ourselves another torch, if there were any left. But it's late now.
Another wall appears before them. Mull is pretty sure this is the opposite side of the room from where they left shield girl and the others, but he could be mistaken. He's already lost his sense of direction.
A shadow is sitting at the foot of the wall. Far too small to be the spider, it must either be a piece of debris, a desiccated web-snared cadaver, or one of their missing companions. It's revealed to be the latter when the shadow scoots away from them and whimpers. "W-who's there? Stay back! Go away!"
"It's me, Harknir," Torgen rumbles. "Now be quiet."
"Torgen? Oh, t-thank the gods, I-"
"I said quiet!"
The man audibly shuts his mouth.
Mull releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He was fully prepared to face the Frostbite spider in this moment, but it looks like he'll have to wait a little longer.
While the two clansmen have their touching reunion, he watches their backs for any sign of the enemy. He periodically raises his gaze to the ceiling, hoping that the creature won't drop on top of them from above as it did to Arvel and his lackeys. I wonder what happened to them. They're the only ones still unaccounted for.
When Torgen asks his fellow bandit if he knows what became of their elven employer, the man shakes his head. "I-I don't know. They tried to run, but… I think the spider got one of them. I'm not sure."
"Fine. That's fine." Torgen helps the man to his feet and presses his sword, retrieved from the floor nearby, into his hands. "I don't care either way. I just want to get paid after this mess."
"Paid well," Mull stresses, interjecting without facing them. He's here for the wizard's Dragonstone first and foremost, yes, but he was looking forward to the coin promised by Arvel as well. It would make for a nice bonus.
"Aye. That too." He hears the smile in Torgen's voice. He must be pleased to have found his companion unharmed. The older bandit steps up beside him and rolls his shoulders. "Still nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Let's get back to the others then."
"Should we light a torch?" asks Harknir. He produces one, though it appears to have been lit at some point already and extinguished. Getting it to burn might be a little difficult, but wouldn't be impossible.
Mull shrugs and looks to the senior bandit. "It might be helpful."
Torgen purses his lips and shakes his head. "No. That would only give us away. And besides, we made it here just fine."
The younger bandit gulps at the prospect of going out into the shrouded space, away from the relative safety of the wall.
The three men stand still for a few seconds, listening and waiting. The clouded room is as silent as the grave. "You don't think that spider is dead, do you?" Mull asks.
"I don't," Torgen answers. "We'd have heard something if it was killed or seriously hurt. It's still out there, stalking us. No doubt about it."
Wonderful, he thinks wryly. This is definitely a new one. Hunted by the biggest godsdamn Frostbite spider in Skyrim while we're trapped in some half-destroyed crypt, where I couldn't see my own toes even if I kissed them. He soundlessly sighs. I guess that's what I get for diving headfirst into a barrow without knowing anything about it. Stupid. Idiotic. Morven would have my balls for something like this.
He flinches, glancing down to the dark stones of the chamber floor and his weathered boots. It's funny, in a morbidly amusing sort of way, how even the strangest things at the strangest times can remined him of her.
His frustration at their current situation and the Frostbite spider fades into a different kind of anger, weary and resigned. But there's no stopping now. First we need to get back to the others, and then we can find a way out of this mess. Pushing away his distracting thoughts, he mutely clears his throat and returns his attention to his immediate surroundings.
Harknir doesn't seem to have noticed his moment of inattentiveness, but Torgen certainly did. The older man is staring intently, his expression veiled in the scant light. When he makes eye contact, the bandit speaks. "You alright there? Worried about becoming that spider's lunch?"
"I'm great," he grinds out. "Worry about yourself. Let's just get this done."
Torgen examines him for another moment before nodding his assent. "Aye. I'll take the front then. Harknir can handle the rear. He's reliable."
The bandit sets off from the wall and Mull hastily matches his pace. Harknir obediently follows in their wake. The younger man's feet scrape annoyingly against the ground, sending pebbles and bits of rubble scattering around them. Mull grits his teeth but says nothing.
They've almost made it back to the better-lit center of the chamber when he feels the air around him move strangely. The invisible currents, once languid and delicate, suddenly become sharper. The hairs on his arms stand on end, and not only from the chill. He registers a noise from somewhere above, so slight that it might not even be real. For a reason he can't discern, he becomes very afraid. But fear is an integral part of every battle. If he froze up and did nothing whenever he was scared, then he would've died a long time ago. Fear must bring action. That's how you survive.
He scrambles sideways on impulse and looks up, searching for the cause of the faint disturbance. Something big, far bigger than a man, descends from the ceiling with alarming speed.
He just has enough time to shout a warning before the shadow lands with a crash between him and Harknir, disturbing the dust that has settled on the floor and further exacerbating the haze.
"Shit! Harknir!" Torgen charges with his axe raised, not even bothering to assess the situation, but is nearly impaled by a hairy, spindly leg ending in a sharp claw. A spider leg.
"It's here!" Mull shouts through a series of racking coughs. The creature is thankfully facing away from him. It must be after Harknir. A panicked cry confirms that assumption, though since the bulk of the huge creature is now between them, he can't tell how the unfortunate man is faring.
It's doing the exact same thing it did to Arvel and his minions, an ambush to sow confusion. That won't work twice! Stridently ignoring the fact that it almost did work twice, he readies himself and advances on their enemy. Torgen does the same.
"Soling! Bjorn! Get your asses up and ready to fight!" Curses and extortions sound from across the chamber. Three sets of footsteps rapidly draw near.
Mull hastily analyzes the Frostbite spider, taking in details he failed to notice the first time around due to the sheer chaos of the creature's sudden arrival. Much of its body, including its bulbous abdomen, is covered in bluish-grey chitinous plates and bristles of stiff hair. It doesn't have any obvious weak spots except for its belly. If he can slip his sword between its legs, then he might be able to wedge the blade under that armor and wound it. In his previous encounters with these creatures, he powered through their armor and compensated by dealing heavier blows than he might otherwise. There was little if any strategy involved. Now though, with this monstrosity, he needs to fight smart.
Well, for a given value of 'smart.' The genuinely smart thing to do would be to run far away.
He approaches the spider from the right side while Torgen takes the left. The bandit swings his axe in a deadly arc, severing one of the venomous arachnid's legs. It screeches deafeningly and whirls on him, abandoning its previous quarry. Now haggard and bloodied, Harknir crawls away on his hands and knees like an injured dog. Mull notes with grim humor that the man's sword is stuck uselessly in one of the spider's upper chitin plates, just above its left set of eyes.
He doesn't waste the opening created by Torgen. He circles to the right, keeping himself behind and to the right of the creature, and lunges for a gap between two of its legs. Yelling with exertion, he thrusts with all the force he can gather.
His sword sinks up to the hilt in spiderflesh. The monster screeches again and thrashes wildly, splaying its legs in all directions. He narrowly avoids being disemboweled by two roving claws and yanks his blade free, hurriedly withdrawing to escape further retaliation. The spider follows after him, lunging with its chelicerae, but he continues to backpedal furiously with ragged breaths.
Torgen swings his axe once more, this time embedding it deeply into a chitin plate on the side of the spider's body. The curved blade of the bearded axehead hooks tightly into the spider's armor. With a fierce shout, the man rips away his weapon along with the entire surrounding segment of exoskeleton. The thick slab of chitin and spongy flesh falls to the ground with a disgusting squelch.
Torgen ducks beneath another clawed leg while Mull retreats even further, out of reach of the spider's clicking mandibles.
The shield girl, archer girl, and their remaining male comrade finally arrive and take stock of the battle. After a quick consultation, archer girl dashes for Harknir while the two others heft their weapons and take up positions behind the spider, completely encircling it.
"Don't let it get away like last time!" Torgen orders. "If it charges, you hold your ground!"
Mull voices his acknowledgment along with the others and adds his own two septims. "Keep it away from the walls."
"Aye," shield girl returns breathlessly.
The spider swivels around and around, glaring malevolently with its innumerable eyes and chittering furiously. After doing a full circle, the creature gathers itself and bends its legs, preparing to charge just as it had during their first encounter. "Look out, Torgen!" shield girl calls.
"I see it," the older man calmly replies. He bends his knees and raises his axe in preparation for its next move.
The spider leaps, bearing down on the axe-wielding man. Mull immediately sprints for its destination, going as quickly as his legs can carry him. He pumps his arms, hoping that his flailing sword won't accidentally decapitate someone. All of his focus is on the spider right now. Shield girl and her male compatriot mirror his movements.
Torgen steps back and swings his axe upwards, seeking to deliver a critical blow to the spider's head. However, at the worst possible moment he trips over the remains of one of the spider's previous meals and falls heavily to the ground. The air is driven from his lungs and his axe tumbles from his grasp. He tries to roll away, but his foot becomes stuck in the withered corpse's ribcage. "Dammit!" He slams his hands onto the floor, grasping the dry stone, and begins hauling himself along with the corpse away from the spider. Despite his efforts, the creature bears down on him.
With a cry, shield girl's male compatriot buries his weapon into the spider's abdomen. It does little more than irritate the creature, but that irritation serves as a sufficient distraction. The spider bites at the man with its venom-coated jaws, giving Mull a golden opportunity to chop off two of its legs in rapid succession. The crunch of shattered chitin and severed flesh is sickeningly gratifying. The spider crashes to the ground, now having only one functioning leg on that side of its body.
He raises his sword to strike again, but his eyes widen when he notices shield girl barreling toward him and the spider with her spear outstretched. Not wanting to become collateral damage, he quickly backs away. The woman screams like a banshee as she pierces the rear of the spider's abdomen, impaling the massive creature's underbelly. Nearly the entire length of the spear is driven into its flesh.
With a full-body shudder, the overgrown arachnid screeches like a deflating waterskin before falling silent. Its twitching limbs and chelicerae go still one by one. An impressive amount of blue ichor pools from its wounds onto the stone beneath.
Shield girl wipes away the hair clinging to her forehead, unaware that she's smearing spider blood across her face. She snickers fiercely. "I don't think I'm getting that spear back."
Mull eyes her warily. That's one scary lady. First there was Aela, and now this. What is it with Nord women?
Their group stands, sits, or squats in silence for the next few minutes, taking in the ridiculous size of the spider and the fact that they're all somehow still alive.
The quiet immediately after a fight is always strange, he notes tiredly. Like a dream.
Eventually, he decides that the silence has gone on long enough for his taste. He's ready to get out of this crypt. "Well, that was… terrible."
It wasn't a joke and nor did he intend it to be, but it still draws chuckles from most of their group. "Aye, I suppose that's one word for it," one of the male bandits easily agrees.
"How in Shor's name did we all survive? There's no way…"
"Don't question fortune," shield girl interjects. "Just be thankful Sai was on our side today."
"You know, a mage would've made that a lot easier," archer girl exclaims. "Why in Oblivion didn't we hire one?"
"Hey, that was Arvel's decision. Not ours."
"Curse that knife-eared milk-drinker."
The mention of their employer jogs something in Mull's mind. "…Where is he, anyway?"
"Huh?"
"Arvel. Where is he?"
Several of them crane their necks to scan the room. It's still hazy and illumination is scarce, so it's a fruitless effort. With a strained sigh, Torgen pushes himself to his feet and picks up his axe. "He's got a point. Find the grey-skinned bastard. Search the corners. Knowing him, he's probably lying somewhere with his guts ripped out." The bandits grumble profusely but quickly get to work.
Mull remains by the defeated spider for a moment longer, examining the corpse with macabre curiosity – gods above, that thing stinks –beforegoing off to help search the room.
It isn't long before some of the others stumble across Arvel's pair of goons from Riverwood, huddled in a corner among the bones of the spider's previous victims. Mull continues searching for Arvel until shield girl calls out and waves him over. When he arrives, he finds that she and Torgen are wrapping up an interrogation of the two minions, who are battered but still alive. I was wondering what all that yelling was about. They must've really disliked these men. I almost feel sorry for them.
Shield girl drops one of the men to the ground – who gingerly clutches his bloody face – and shakes out a bruised fist. Mull nods at her victim. "What'd he do to deserve that?"
"Besides being a snowback coward who managed to break his own arm trying to run away from the spider?"
He inspects the man in question and notices that, indeed, one of his arms is bandaged and held in a hastily-made sling. He stifles a scornful chuckle and gestures for her to continue.
Before she can, Torgen joins their conversation with arms crossed, answering on her behalf. "They told us that Arvel slipped away during the fight and headed deeper into the ruins. Alone."
He gets a sinking feeling deep in his chest. "You're kidding."
"No. I don't find this funny at all. Not only does he have all of our pay, but he was also holding onto that fancy-looking claw. The thing must be worth a small fortune."
I don't think this couldn't be much worse. He internally curses the elf. "So what's your plan?"
"We go after him, obviously."
"You don't think it might be better to leave, regroup, and come back later?" He needs to find that Dragonstone, but this expedition has already gone to Oblivion in a handbasket. Starting from scratch might not be a bad idea.
"No," Torgen immediately shoots him down. "We're not letting him get away with the claw and our coin. We," he gestures to his fellow clansmen, "are going. You aren't one of us, so you can do whatever the hell you want. Just don't get in our way."
Mull exhales irritably. "…I guess I'll go with you. I won't get any better opportunity to loot this crypt." He deliberately avoids mentioning the Dragonstone. If Torgen and his ilk learn about it and think it holds some value, then there's a possibility they could try to steal it from him. Maybe even knife him and leave him to die. You never know.
That whole discussion ends up being a moot point anyways. When everybody reconvenes in the center of the room, Mull learns that he can't leave now even if he wanted to.
"The whole thing is buried," archer girl announces as she waves her arms for emphasis. "When the spider jumped off the wall, the doorway totally collapsed. We'd have to dig through a lot of rubble to get through it. The way we came is completely blocked off."
He swears under his breath. That's just typical. By sheer chance I find an expedition coming to this barrow at the exact same time as me, and then we're saddled with the worst luck imaginable. Sai's balancing the scales.
"So how're we going to get out?" one of the bandits demands.
"Are we trapped?"
"Everyone stop yammering and just think," Torgen commands. He rubs his wrinkled forehead. "We can't go back up. So what does that mean?"
No one answers.
"It means we need to go down. The barrow is on top of this mountain, right? If we keep going, we'll be heading deeper into the mountain, but there could still be exits further down. You'd think they would've wanted a second exit when they dug out this place, just in case something like this happened."
He receives an assortment of skeptical looks from his subordinates.
"Look, I don't know if we can get out of here without digging through that wall." He waves at the collapsed archway. "But it's worth a shot. There could be another exit, and if there is, we can find it."
A few of the bandits hesitantly nod. Others still look unconvinced, but they don't voice their concerns.
Mull, for his part, is resigned by this point. All I know for sure is that when I see that damn wizard again… by the gods, he is gonna regret ever sending me here. 'Just skeevers' my ass.
-x-
Before they set off in pursuit of Arvel, they take stock of their situation and gather together what remains of their supplies, all while doing their best to ignore the putrid stench coming from the dead Frostbite spider. In addition to one of Arvel's minions having a broken arm, the other got himself wrapped up in spider's webbing and was poisoned by residual Frostbite venom. It isn't life-threatening, but he won't be of any help while in that condition.
As he collects spent arrows and stores them in a spare quiver, Mull notices shield girl kneeling next to the poisoned man and holding a glass vial of cherry-colored liquid in her hand. Despite himself, he offers what he thinks is a helpful comment. "Healing potions won't do much for him."
"It's a potion of cure disease," the woman replies dismissively.
Mull blinks in surprise. "Potions like that aren't cheap. You sure you want to use it on him?"
"Yeah, I am. Odds are we'll need all the help we can get down there." She turns her baleful gaze to Mull. "We don't know what else we might walk into."
When he doesn't say anything else, the woman places the vial against the Riverwooder's lips and pours. He struggles to swallow the concoction, face scrunching at the presumably unpleasant taste, but manages to gulp it down. Not even a minute later, he already appears to have improved significantly.
As they prepare to depart, Mull thinks over shield girl's comment as well as the conversation with Torgen he overheard when they first entered the tunnels. 'We don't know what we're walking into.' That's not exactly reassuring. And before, they were discussing draugr as if they were actually worried about them. Again, there shouldn't be any undead down here if there isn't a necromancer, and we wouldn't be here if there was one. So what do they know that I don't?
He glances mournfully at the fallen stones standing between them and the path back to the surface. A couple of the others tried to move some of the debris, but it would take gods-know how many days to dig through it all, and they don't have enough rations to survive that long. He peers up at the hole in the ceiling, still shining with soft beams of natural light. No getting up there either. Too high.
Their survival demands that they push onward. He sighs dejectedly. We're between a rock and a hard place, literally. The Dragonstone had better be worth all this trouble.