It was well into the afternoon the following day by the time Percy was comfortable with leaving Helgen. It had taken him until early that morning to finish burying the bodies. Or at least, those that he had been able to find. He'd built a small graveyard outside the ruins of the front gate, and made sure that each of the graves was deed enough so as not to be disturbed by snow or predators.

After finishing the morose task, it had taken him the rest of the morning to scrounge up enough supplies to make him comfortable with leaving the ruins. He didn't need much. Thankfully, the nearest city, was Falkreath. Falkreath was something of a backwater, but it was still a vitally important city. Helgen was technically under its jurisdiction, even if it had been an Imperial military outpost. Falkreath supplied the majority of the lumber for the entirety of the country, and it was situated on one of the most strategically important mountain passes in and out of Skyrim.

Trade to and from the Illiac Bay had to pass right through the city, which had allowed Falkreath to thrive as a merchant hub. It would be easy for him to find the necessary supplies for a trip to Solitude.

Percy might even get lucky and be able to catch a ride on a wagon train to Solitude. In nearly every city in Skyrim were caravan trains. The caravans would take travels to any of the major cities, though not for an insignificant amount of gold if Percy was remembering correctly.

The only downside with the caravans, was that they followed the trade routes frequented by merchants, which meant that they were usually susceptible to banditry. But that was a risk Percy was willing to take. If he were honest with himself, he was excited. The situation surrounding his departure from Helgen was unbearably tragic. But he was on the road again. Off on another adventure.

A quest.

A quest, not handed down by some deity, but one he'd given to himself. There was something oddly liberating about the decision.

It wasn't long after he'd left Helgen behind, that the topography began to drastically change. The whites and browns of snow and dirt drained away into bright greens. The weather became a little warmer. Not enough to be uncomfortable, or even really to be considered warm, but certainly it was more comfortable than Helgen.

It was at least a day-long walk from Helgen to Falkreath. Likely longer if the weather grew worse, which seemed likely judging by the clouds overhead. It was slow moving, as Percy was still far from being fully healed. Unless he managed to find a decent body of water soon, it would likely take weeks before Percy was feeling truly better. He'd taken a bath, which had helped, but it wasn't the same. His back was still sore, and his skin was still tinged with the pink of the flames he'd been doused in.

Thunder roared overhead, and a slow drizzle descended. Percy didn't mind. Unless he wanted to be, he'd never get wet. He walked for some time, enraptured in the odd beauty of the world. He'd only escaped the walls of Helgen a handful of times. Usually at night, and often he was far too focused on not dying to pay attention to the world around him. But now that he was alone, not fearing for his life, he was captivated. New York had a beauty to it to be sure, and the Camp was hidden in the wilderness, but it was still nothing to this. This world still had the untamed beauty of a world yet to industrialize. The colors of the flora and fauna were so bright and vivid, it was unlike anything he'd experienced before.

It was becoming easier to understand why the Nords were fighting so hard for control of their country. How could one not be romantic about their home when it looked like this.

The afternoon faded into evening, and evening soon paved the way for night. Due to his lingering injuries, he was still at least a half-day's journey to Falkreath. It was far from ideal but he'd need to find a place to bunk down for the night. While he'd spent most of his time in Skyrim behind fortified walls, he had spent enough time in the wilds to know that Skyrim was dangerous, but Skyrim at night? It was nightmarish.

The moon was rising high in the sky, and the rain increased in velocity as he found his respite. Just off the road was a well-worn path. It led up to a small, single-floor building on a small hill. He'd managed to salvage some coin from his own personal stores, and from the abandoned chests of the fallen. Hopefully it would be enough to pay the owner for a room. He lugged himself off the road and up the small hill to the home. But as Percy approached, he hesitated. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, and his stomach clenched. Something was off about this building. Something…wrong.

He looked around the small home, approaching a nearby window. He pressed himself flat against the wall and peered around the corner and into the home. He frowned; it looked as though a tornado had passed through the inside. The bed was overturned, feathers from the pillow and straw from the bed strewn about the floor. A nearby cupboard had been ripped free from the nightstand, its contents thrown haphazardly around the home. Then, in the corner, he spotted it. It was difficult to make out in the dim light of the fire from inside the home, but Percy would recognize it anywhere.

Blood.

Someone had tossed the building and killed the owner. He considered for the briefest moment turning his back and leaving. Finding a small isolated corner off the forest and forgetting everything he'd found here.

Akar's face flashed in his mind's eye. The look of vitriol. Of hatred and resentment. Anger swelled in his breast.

"Never again."

He walked back to the front door and knelt by the lock, pulling out a small lock pick from his pouch. Bless the Stoll brothers for teaching him this trick when he was younger. He fumbled with the lock for a moment. It wasn't the most complex of mechanisms, but Percy was out of practice and it took him a couple moments of searching before he found the tumblers. There was a soft click, and the lock retracted. Drawing his sword, he slowly turned the knob and opened the door. Thankfully the hinges didn't squeak as he stepped into the small home and closed the door behind him.

Rage washed over him as he took in the scene before him. A man laid on the cold stone floor. An older man, maybe in his early fifties with graying hair and beard. His eyes were cold and lifeless, unseeing in the horror of his final moments. He tore his gaze from the as he closed the door and he heard paper tear. Turning back to the door, he caught a sheet of parchment as it fell free from the knife that had been holding it in place on the wall.

You've all been warned about trying to break into my treasure room, but Roras didn't think I was serious.

Now he's dead.

You've all had your cut of the take already, and if I catch any of you dung lickers trying to break in again, I won't let the traps kill you.

I'll do it myself!

— Rigel Strong-Arm

Well…that was interesting. It seemed as though a group of Bandits had turned on one another. Perhaps the person that had done this had escaped from whoever this Rigel was, and was trying to hide here. Ultimately it didn't matter to Percy. If the man who had broken in here was still around, Percy would kill him.

His attention left the innocent man as he heard movement. His eyes darted to the set of stairs at the end of the small room. He drew his blade and approached carefully. He glanced over the banister, but he couldn't see anything beyond small glow of a lamp. He approached the steps, testing the first stair carefully. When it didn't squeak, he put his full weight down and slowly descended. He paused as he neared the bottom. The basement was rather scarce for furnishing. Just a desk, a couple of bookshelves, and a hearth that roared with heat and warmth.

There was a man standing near the middle of the room. He was a short, stocky man. His dirty brown hair pulled into a tight bun and wearing worn and dirtied leathers. There was a mace at his hip and a small blade in a holster on his boot. He didn't hear Percy as he descended. He was too engrossed in the book in his hand. His finger tracking across the lines of text, and mouthing the words slowly to himself.

Percy approached soundlessly. Taking careful, measured steps in his approach. Then, in a blur of motion, he shot forward. He wrapped one hand around the man's mouth, and brought his blade around and cut the man's throat. He jerked violently against Percy's grip, but Percy kept him steady as crimson blood flowed over his blade and dripped onto the dirty stone floor. After a few seconds, Percy felt the man go slack and drop to the ground. A lifeless heap. Percy stooped down the body, his hands dancing along the filthy man's torso. There was a small coin purse in his pocket, and Percy pocketed it. He had no compunction of looting the body of a man who was willing to slaughter innocents.

It was odd though. The feeling in his stomach hadn't lessened as he killed the man. He still felt on edge. Felt like there was something more. He stepped back and examined the room once more. His eyes turned back to the bookshelf the bandit had been facing. He frowned. Why the hell would a simple farmer have two bookshelves in his basement? That seemed…excessive, and when Percy approached the books and began flicking through them, he found them blank. He walked around the side of the bookshelf, and glowered. Hidden just behind the shelf, was a small button.

Percy glanced back at the dead man on the ground. "Some sentry you turned out to be." He pressed the button. There was a small clicking noise, and the bookshelf moved. Swinging out and revealing a dark passageway. Percy's grip tightened around the hilt of his blade, steeling himself he marched out into the darkness. There was a torch in a brazier along the earthen wall, and Percy pulled it free. Gods only knew what was crawling around in the darkness. After a couple of minutes, the pathway opened up, and Percy's jaw dropped.

He had walked into an enormous cavern, the size of a city street. It was akin to what Percy pictured a mine might look like. Enormous wooden catwalks crisscrossed along the cavern, held up by large wooden towers. What on earth was something like this doing under a farmstead? He shook the thought from his mind, he had other issues to worry about.

A dense fog permeated the cavern, making somewhat difficult to see. But that would work to Percy's advantage for the moment. He began walking over to the catwalk, when his boots stepped in something slick. He glanced down, and growled. Blood. He followed the trail and found someone perched up against the far wall. It was man, he had slightly yellowed skin and was wearing fine robes. But what really caught Percy's attention were the oddly pointed ears, and slightly narrowed eyes.

He was an elf.

Percy had met a few of their kind before. Inquisitors of the Thalmor were often visitors of the camp. Percy hadn't spoken much to the High Elves. They were a rather snobbish group, and Percy didn't trust himself not to say something he shouldn't. That wasn't to say that there weren't other elves in Skyrim, but the vast majority did happen to fall under the hand of the Thalmor.

Unfortunately, this poor soul appeared to have not been under their protection.

Shaking it off, Percy went back to the task at hand. He dropped the torch to the ground, as it was light enough in the cavern to see, and he didn't want to alert anyone. Settling into a low crouch, he snuck forward. Upon reaching the catwalk, he hesitated, slowly placing one foot on the worn looking wood. It seemed sturdy enough, and he didn't feel it shift much as he placed his full weight atop it. Nodding in satisfaction, he pressed onward. He took his time, and each step was measured and calculated. He neither wanted to alert anyone to his presence, after all he did not know how many bandits there were, nor did he want to accidentally walk off the edge.

Voices ahead caused him to stop. He knelt, straining his ears to listen to the conversation, but the words were muffled. He peered through the darkness, reaching out with his abilities to try and feel where the people were. As fog was just condensed water vapor, it fell under his realm of control and Percy could use it to almost feel where something was. Almost like a second set of hands.

He felt two bodies, maybe a dozen or so yards away on the catwalk. They were facing one another, and after a moment, one of the bodies turned the opposite direction, while the other began walking towards Percy. Percy crept forward, he would have maybe only a moment before the other person saw Percy, after which Percy would have maybe a second to silence the bandit before they could alert whoever their friend in the darkness was. He moved forward, creeping as quickly and quietly as he could. A figure emerged from the fog, maybe only a couple yards ahead of Percy. They stopped as Percy came into view, trying to peer into the darkness.

It was man, dressed in poorly made and ill-fitting iron armor. An iron short-sword sheathed at his hip.

The figure tried to call out, but Percy surged forward, closing the distance faster than any mortal could hope. He clasped one hand over the bandit's mouth as he buried the other deep within their chest. The man's eyes went wide, staring into Percy in surprise, and horror. Percy glared back. He felt no remorse for this man. How many had he killed? How many had he robbed? He was little more than a bully, hiding behind his sword and his compatriots. His body jerked for a moment, his hands thrashing wildly in a desperate attempt to pry himself free. But then, the struggle stopped, and he fell limply against Percy.

He carefully pulled his sword free, and gently lowered the man to the ground. One down, one to go.

The second bandit had paused near the edge of the catwalk, and as Percy crept nearer, he could hear the soft splash of liquid hitting the rocks below. Poor time to take a piss-break buddy, Percy thought to himself as he shuffled up behind the man. With one quick strike, Percy impaled the man through the back of his throat. He reached up, grasping desperately at his severed throat, before toppling off of the catwalk and landing on the rocks below.

Pausing in his assault, Percy reached out through the fog once more, but was satisfied to see that there were no others hiding in the shadows of the large cavern. But that left him with an important question. Where did he go from here? There were several branching pathways and catwalks in the cavern. Each leading off into the distance and to gods only knew where. Percy turned back in the direction the bandit he'd just killed had been. Before taking a leak, he'd been going in that direction, which likely meant that the others were likely there as well. Taking a moment to wipe some of the blood off his sword, Percy marched onwards, once more approaching quietly and slowly.

After a few minutes, the fog began to dissipate, and Percy could see another hole in the crag. The hole was actually an archway, and as Percy got closer, he could see that it was adorned with strange symbols and ruins. It didn't feel magical in nature, so Percy passed under it without concern. The craggy rock of the cavern gave way to the smooth and polished stone of a manmade structure. He found himself in a tight tunnel. It appeared ancient, at least a couple centuries old. The smell of mildew and lumpy earth filled Percy's nostrils.

Just what exactly was this place? The ancient ruins of a civilization long lost? It was…intricate and well-constructed. Percy was momentarily astounded as to how a people could have created something so deep under the earth, that managed to survive the test of time like this.

Percy followed the tunnel for some minutes, before the tunnel opened up into another large room. It appeared to be an ancient storehouse. Crumbling shelves full of rotted and decrepit tankards, and kegs of foul-smelling liquid were strewn about. The ceiling had either collapsed at some point, or had been removed, allowing Percy to see up into the inside of the cavernous room above. Off in the distance, he could a large spire, a rocky structure large enough to hold a person. From his position, Percy could just make out the form a woman in a chair, seated at the top of the spire. She had light leathers on, and a longbow in her hands. She was asleep, her head dipped against her chest, and snoring lightly. Across the room, Percy could hear the low chatter of voices, and the sound of a blade being sharpened against a whetstone.

Percy crept over to an overturned table, and peeked over the side. In addition to archer on the spire, there were three bandits. One, a broad-shouldered man with dark skin and a bald head, was sharpening his broadsword on a whetstone with his back to Percy. The other two, a short, blonde-haired woman in leathers and a tall, lanky man with cheap iron armor, were speaking to another along the far wall. They were both armed with simple looking short-swords.

Percy weighed his options. He could try and risk his luck by sneaking around them, but that likely wouldn't work. Plus, even if he did get by them, if he ran into more trouble, it would mean the possibility of getting outflanked and additional reinforcements. No, it was better if Percy ended them here and now, but how? His primary concern was the archer. Percy was far more durable than a mortal, but he wasn't confident in his chances to survive a lucky shot to the temple from a stray arrow.

But how did he get to her? There appeared to be only one passage in and out of the tunnel he'd come from, and it would take directly into the line of sight of the other guards by the wall. Even if Percy managed to take one or both of them out, he would certainly alert the man with the broadsword, which would almost certainly lead to waking up the archer. He glanced back up at the sleeping woman. No, she was the priority. But how to do it? He pondered the question silently for several moments, before an idea struck him. He looked up at the rocky ceiling above the woman. It was certainly sturdy, but from where Percy was standing, he thought he could see a couple of loose stalagmites.

Percy crept back over to the entrance of the tunnel, where the bare lock of the cavern lay revealed. He pressed his hand against it, and screwed his eyes shut in concentration. He forced his divine energy into the rock, and tried to feel the stalagmites over the woman's head. It took him several minutes. His father's divine gift for causing earthquakes had been passed down to Percy, true, but what Percy wanted was far more subtle than simply causing the earth to shake. It would take careful timing and finesse. Neither of which, Percy was particularly gifted at.

But eventually, Percy felt at least somewhat confident that he could feel the stalagmites over the woman. He took a steadying breath, and pushed a little more divine energy into the rock. Commanding the stalagmite to shift. A small tremor reverberated in the rocky ceiling. The earth around the stalagmites shifted. Creaking and groaning as the earth moved. The bandits along the wall, stopped their chatting and glanced around in confusion, and the man at the whetstone halted in his task.

Bits of the ceiling began to fall away, and the stalagmite began to wobble. It shook, and trembled as more and more of the earth around it began to fall away. There was a tremendously loud 'CRACK' as a particularly large piece of earth broke free and tumbled down into the cavern. The noise jolted the archer awake, and she glanced up, just in time to watch as the stalagmite broke free from its earthy confines. She screamed, jumping out of her chair in surprise. But in her desperate attempt to flee from the falling rock, she forgot where she was. Her foot slipped over the edge of the spire, and lost her balance. She toppled over the edge, screaming as she plummeted forty feet onto the rock below. There was a sickening snapping sound, followed by a crash as the stalagmite crashed into the ground some twenty feet away from where the woman had been seated. It hadn't been exactly what he had wanted, but the effect was all the same.

As soon as the woman had screamed, Percy made his move. He darted forward, away from his covered position and bore down on the broad-shouldered man. Percy didn't bother trying to be quiet or stealthy. The man had enough time to hear Percy's approach and turn, but by the time he was aware of the large man bearing down on him, it was too late. Percy's blade pierced through the man's chest, cutting straight through his left lung. The man coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. He tried to wrench himself away, and Percy let him, twisting and tearing the blade out of the man's chest, causing unimaginable ruin to his insides even further. The man collapsed to the ground, dead.

His compatriots, having finally realized what was happening, drew their weapons and charged forward. The woman let loose a howl of rage. She reached Percy first, swinging haphazardly with her blade. Percy ducked under the blow, dragging the edge of his sword along her side as he did so. She screeched in pain, blood seeping from the wound. Percy brought his blade up, and parried the counter-attack from the woman's ally. Using his superior strength to his advantage, Percy forced the man's attack to the side. Percy slid the blade in between gaps in his iron armor, cutting into the man's pancreas. He grunted against the attack, and made to swing his blade up at Percy wildly. But Percy slammed the palm of his hand into the man's nose, stunning him. He twisted and pulled the blade free, dropping the bandit.

He turned back to the woman just in time to parry another wild swing, throwing her off-balance as well. He leveled a divesting knee into the woman's solar plexus, and she doubled over, all of her breath leaving her at once. Percy followed up the barrage by dropped his elbow into the back of the woman's head, and she toppled to the ground. Reversing his grip on his sword, he plunged weapon down, piercing the woman's leather armor cleanly and impaling her through the heart.

With a twist and a jerk, Percy tanked the weapon free. Panting, he wiped a dollop of sweat from his forehead. His back throbbed, and he was feeling the strain of back-to-back days of combat. He ignored the pain and turned his attention back to the path the bandits had been guarding.

There was plenty of work, left to be done.

AN: Thanks again to my boy IDK for being a walking goddamn encyclopedia of knowledge and helping me with his brilliant idea. He's the man and you should check out his stuff 'cause they're all bangers. As always, thanks to my boy Double for being the best Beta of all time. Hit up the link in my bio to join the Emerald Library where I hang out with some of the best authors out there. Thanks again for all the love and support, and I'll see you next week.

Love,

LilDB