Jon made his way down to the market and received no challenge, or even acknowledgment, from any of the guards. The guards were likely briefed on the big Redguard in robes, and they knew he was on task for the Jarl personally. It seemed being useful had its benefits. Jon did get nods and smiles from some passersbys that were no doubt at court, or had word of it. It seems making such a public entrance had its benefits as well.
This was expected, so not all of Jon's assumptions about this place proved to be wrong. However it also belayed the fact that word travels fast. The only reason he would receive any acknowledgment at all for a flashy entrance was because they knew the reason for it in the first place. To personally, and now publicly, humiliate Nazeem. It seemed he wasn't very popular with the small-folk, nor well liked by the clans. It was no wonder that they would gossip about it, with not much else to do for entertainment but drink, fight, possibly fuck, and talk; There was only one person who they could have gotten the talk from. She was either well positioned to take advantage of the opportunity in the court of the market, or she was already the Queen of such affairs. Jon wouldn't have been surprised if she was.
There was no great treachery here, just some harmless gossip to his benefit. Jon walked up to Carlotta's stand with a small smile and said, "Word travels fast, it seems."
She was working with her daughter to restock produce for the afternoon customers. She gave him back a smirk and a raised eye brow. She was the Queen of such affairs. She said, "Seems it does. After the stunt you pulled off? Only natural I give the rest of the story. Us small-folk have been looking for a way to get back at him. You just did."
Jon felt a presence coming from behind. Paying it no mind, He stepped further towards Carlotta's stand and said, "I aim to please, lady Carlotta."
She winced slightly and said, "Can you not call me that, please. Its not that I don't mind a little flattery, its just some bone-head Nord calls me that. I'm focused on raising my daughter right now, not a mediocre bard looking for a conquest. He says that, you know? That he's going to conquer me."
"He's a creep" The daughter said.
Jon winced in return. He said, "My apologies. I didn't mean to offend. I'll speak to him when I can. Forcefully, if required. But right now I must take to Jarl's task." He smiled, lest some were watching, before whispering, "I do not boast when I say the fate of the realm may be at stake. Please try to gently warn people that they need to prepare for a crisis. Maybe even speak to the Jarl first, to see if there is a way to do so without causing panic. You seem to be something of a leader here."
She smiled once again, lest some of her subjects were watching, and whispered, "I attend the Jarl's supper every so often, and advise him on matters most mundane. The blacksmith, Adrianne, also advises her father, the steward. Nazeem blows a lot of smoke up everyone asses, like he's about to do to you."
Nazeem made his presence known. He said, "Well played at court today." He didn't apologize and simply continued walking.
Jon wasn't going to let him get the last word in. He said, "The game is afoot, Mr. Nazeem. The Game. Is. Afoot."
Jon left the chuckling family, and a few other locals, and made way for the cities one and only main gate. Sitting on the hill like it is, he judged Whiterun to be supremely defensible. At least from conventional ground attack; They wouldn't stand a chance against areal bombardment from eldritch power.
After exiting the gate, the stables were only a short walk around a bend and over a natural stream with a small drawbridge and gatehouse across it. The place could hold several dozens of steeds, no doubt for the guard's cavalry contingent, or to sell to those who could afford such luxury. Or to give to people on Jarl appointed tasks.
He saw a worker and said, "Hail, stableman."
Jon waited until the man finished his current task and gave him his attention. The stableman said, "Stable-master, actually, but I take no offense. Skulvar Sable-Hilt. You're the big Redguard in robes, I take it."
Jon said, "Indeed, Stable-master. The Jarl has appointed me a steed in exchange for labors."
Skulvar said, "Just Skulvar is fine, friend. You've very formal for a traveling wizard."
Jon, with a smile, said, "When I speak to people worthy of respect, yes I tend to be."
The Stable-master returned the smile. He said, "Thank you. That made my day a little brighter. I have your steed right here actually. Just strapping up the saddle. Good Whiterun warhorse stock, she is. Never a sturdier steed in all of Tamriel. Must be some labors is the Jarl is giving her away."
Jon walked up to the massive horse and gave her an apple while scratching behind her ear. He asked, "Does she have a name?"
Skulvar said, "You can name her whatever you'd like. I just have to put it on the papers."
Jon pressed, "But what is her name now?"
Skulvar nodded in respect. Most just rename their steed when they purchase one, as is their right, but he always felt like that took something away from the fair beasts. He said, "Valkyrie."
Jon declared, "Never a finer name for a steed in all of Tamriel. Thank you Skulvar."
Jon took the providence papers, a simple transfer, and mounted his sturdy seed. His final destination was the Khajiit merchants on the outskirts of the city. Being travelers, possibly outright nomads, meant they would no doubt carry the necessary wares for the road. Wares like traveling cloaks, both for the brewing rain and for the snow.
He dismounted his Valkyrie in front of the tents and said, "Hail Khajiit."
The mother said, "Hail, Hail Jon of the house Noonien-Singh. Jon of the house Noonien-Singh needss wares, yess?
Jon said, "Yes, and just Jon is fine. Jon needs two cloaks total, but only one immediately depending on the coin. One for rain, and one for the high mountains. Jon has about 200 Septims to work with."
The mother said, "No coin. Khajiit give Jon cloakss. Have just what Jon needss. No argument. Jon saved Sassi. Well worth cloakss. Khajiit charge Jon for the next wares."
Jon entered the tent and sat down cross-legged while the Khajiit mother rooted though an enchanted chest. Around the place were various rugs and blankets, all with multi-colored patterns stitched in. There were also multiple chests and satchels dotted around containing the wares the Khajiit trade to get by. He didn't see any bedrolls or cots, so either this wasn't a tent for residence, or they just slept on the carpet. A house-cat, possibly Khajiit itself, pattered up and jumped into Jon's lap, purring all the while.
The mother spoke. She said, "Here, two cloakss. One for the snow, made of mammoth pelt. The other is Elvish make. Woven with quicksilver. High quality. Keep rain and most chill from Jon. Jon like, yess?"
Jon inspected the wares placed in front of him. The heavy cloak was indeed heavy, and would do for the high mountain snow. He wasn't actually sure he would need it, however. The Elven cloak fascinated him. It was a dull gray, but his Augmented eyes saw how the light glittered off and away from it. He could see just barely into the infrared spectrum, and the few strands of it in the tent reflected, not refracted, near perfectly off the quicksilver woven into the cloak. This would retain his body heat well. There was one issue, however.
Jon said, "Does Jon have to worry about the providence of this broach? It's a distinctive design."
The Khajiit looked shocked and embarrassed for a moment. She said, "Yess, perhaps Jon should use another. Cloak itself common enough for those of higher standing. Bosmer earn many coin from them. Here, a simple copper thing, but sturdy all the samess."
Jon said, "Thank you Khajiit. Jon likes what he sees. How is Sassi? Jon was short with her at a time he shouldn't have been."
"Sassi is rested and thanks Jon. Jon looked ragged last night, all forgiven. Khajiit heard about Jon in court thiss morning, however. Perhapss one could ply the Jarl's ear, yess? No kitten should be lost because of Guardss hatred. Khajiit know Khajiit not the only oness they hate."
Jon gave her a nod, truth in his eye. He got up, giving the cat, probably Khajiit, a final pet, and left to continue his, now, quest to Bleak-Falls Barrow. The rain began falling, and his quicksilver cloak worked as advertised. He suspected it would be enough in the high mountain snow, but kept the heavy cloak in his enchanted pack instead of on his steed all the same. The thing would make a good blanket if nothing else.
Jon mounted Valkyrie and took off towards Riverwood. He would make the final journey on foot, but not before stabling her at the town to keep her safe. It wouldn't do for the Jarl's gift-horse to die on the first day he had her. He would also avoid the Lady of Riverwood, not daring to face her except with treasure in his hand befitting a grand adventure.
Jon climbed the mountain pass, and felt the chill assault and exposed skin, namely his face. It only got worse the higher he went up, but the Elven cloak kept the rest of him warm to the core. He might need the heavy cloak if he ever climbed into the mountain range adjacent to the peak he was currently climbing. Its peaks were not the highest mountains he's seen, the were up there and perhaps it was the tallest peek on this continent. Maybe even the planet.
In front of Jon was a small watchtower. The people manning it were no doubt a detachment of bandits sent down from their main stronghold in the barrow. He perhaps should have tried to find a sturdy bow, but he would most likely break any he could afford. No matter, fate beckoned. Perhaps a dark god as well. Jon drew steel and continued his labors.
An arrow came flying down from the top of the watchtower. It was an iron thing, and was batted away easily by Farengar's ward spell concentrated in the palm of his hand. He made sure to put his whole body into the motion, to ensure that if he missed the arrow with his hand it would still pass harmfully by. The next arrow was parried by his sword as Jon continued to advance up the mountain path. He had to close the distance and get inside the tower to negate the archer's advantage. While Jon had to get his dodges and parries right every time, the archer only had to get lucky once to put the Augment down. Destroy the brain stem and they die like any man.
Preventing him from doing that were two bandits advancing to meet him outside the tower. If he could get close enough to them then the archer might stop firing, but what could he expect from 'skooma addled bandits.' The two ground-pounders were covered with bits of hide and fur for armor, their weapons rusty and unkempt. They both had a mad look in their eye that spoke of rape and pillage.
It didn't matter, as Jon ducked under the swing of a war-hammer and drove his own steel into the gut of the first of many bandits to suffer his wrath. The man was lifted up into the air and driven down onto his back, releasing the sword from his foul insides. He spun faster than an arrow could hit him, his sword in a swing that connected with the neck of the second bandit, his ward hand contemptuously pushing away the bandit's own iron.
Jon entered the tower and was met with a bandit chief of green complexion. The Orc had arms and armor better maintained, and of steel make. The armor was not full plate, and segmented at different point over top hide and fur insulation. The eyes under his helm were filled with blood, and his steel of choice was a two handed broadsword.
The chief let out a roar and charged Jon with the tip of his broadsword at the Augments chest. It was faster than Jon expected, but along a very predictable path, and nowhere near fast enough to vex the superior man. Jon stepped to the right to avoid the hit, not that it would kill him. He conjured an ice spike and drove it straight though the Orc's neck, blowing out his spine, the projectile logging itself in the stone wall behind him. The dead weight of a couple hundred pounds of steel and Mer slammed on the ground and caused a clattering sound.
"I yield." The archer-woman said. She came down the steps slowly with her hands up.
"Do you?" Jon asked with a glare befitting a bloodthirsty Augment.
"Yes, I don't really want to do this. They took me a few years ago and it was either do this and fuck them, or die. Please, mercy." The archer-woman was half crying.
Jon saw truth in her eye, but put his steel up to her chin to make sure. He said, "I know your face, even under all of that paint. If I see you in it again, I will not show mercy. You will not even see your doom approach."
The archer-woman saw truth in his eye and quickly left the tower, running down the mountain path. She would never take to banditry again, but would make decent coin as a sell-sword and semi-famous adventurer. She might as well put what the bandits showed her to good use. She would also never wear warpaint again. The Barefaced, they would call her in one or two songs.
Jon looted the tower to completion. The steel armor went first, and could most likely be sold to the blacksmith in Whiterun. Alvor would probably give him a good deal as well, and is closer. He also stole all of their food, several cheeses, meats, and stew vegetables. Just leaving the foodstuff outside was refrigeration at the cold temperatures of the watchtower. He was disappointed to find the treasure chest nearly empty. Only a single sack of coin, a couple gems, and an iron ax. The ax would be useful for firewood at least. The only alchemy ingredients he found were directly related to the stew-making. The nicer bed told him this was likely the chief's personal residence as his minions cleared the dungeon, and also that he was expecting a haul that hadn't materialized yet. The treasures of Bleak-Falls Barrow were still secure for Jon's taking.
Finding no more treasure in the tower, Jon picked up the archer-woman's bow and give it a test pull. He would have to have a very light hand with it; The wood and iron thing felt like a toy with his strength. It would do however, and he picked up the quiver of iron arrows. Finding attachment points and holding enchantment on the leather construction, he spent a few minutes clipping the thing to the back of his harness.
It seemed whatever consortium that makes these things had a long reach. The question was whether they stole it, likely, bought it at open market, unlikely, or got it directly from nefarious suppliers within the consortium for some agenda; Somewhat likely, and would put yet more irons in a rapidly growing fire to try and untangle the conspiracy. It was also probably half a continent away anyway; Consortium sounding more like an Imperial word, rather than Nord holdings.
Jon moved on to other considerations, like the grand stairs before him leading to the entrance of the crypt. Half a dozen bandits milled out under the formerly covered rafters of the grand entrance. Their patrols were pale imitations of the real thing, and often times they would break them to chat with each other about matters no doubt mundane; When is the chief going to pay us, when is the treasure going to be found, when can we go pillaging, and whatnot. Their routes were predictable, and Jon clocked them all within five minutes of observation. To his continual surprise, his Elven cloak was more white then gray, helping him blend in with the surrounding snow along with his low crouch. There were many times he could have used an adaptive camouflage in his not so distant past.
Jon picked his first target, an archer standing on an ancient outcropping. He strung his bow back with great care and let lose an arrow. He hadn't shot a bow since he was a child and it flew slightly to the right, passing behind the bandits head. The bandit became only slightly more alert, looking around for the source of his near death. Jon sank himself deeper into the snow he was using for concealment. He could just barely make out the lips of the man.
"Must have been the wind." The bandit said.
Jon immediately nocked a second arrow and let lose again, this time with his target zeroed. The iron ripped though the side of the bandit's skull, embedding itself in his hippocampus. His head snapped to the side, and the momentum carried the rest of him off the decorative guard-post. He hit the ground dead and began rolling down the mountain-side. A strong gust of wind made itself known as the body did so, covering the sound of the bandits approaching deaths.
Jon snapped another shot off at the second archer, and now only four bandits remained. The archer was talking to another bandit, so her death did not go unnoticed. The motley gang drew steel and advanced down the stairs and towards the smiling augment on the flat ground. It they weren't skooma addled idiots, they would have kept the high ground, and made Jon fight up the stairs. If their chief wasn't missing his throat, he would probably give that order. There was plenty of cover to use from the spines of the ancient roofing structure, but it mattered not as the force was committed to their futile assault.
A bandit mage made their presence known, a fiery spell glowing in her hand. Jon made ready his own ward in response, and had his steel in his right. A fireball lashed out and was deflected easily by Farengar's ward spell. Then a stream of lighting came, but Jon caught the burst on his steel, the leather handle wrapping, boots, and gloves insulating him from the magical charge. As the first bandit entered range, another Orc with a battle-axe, Jon cast the lighting towards him. The spell leapt from the sword to the next path of least resistance, the battle-axe and the Orc not as well insulated against it. Before the caster finally cut off her spell, the Orc was already dead from the shock.
Jon dispatched the last two bandits in front of him efficiently. A quick dodge from a sword and a stab to the throat. Then a step back from a mace, and a bust of his own lighting to the bandits face. The caster once again renewed her assault, and Jon put his ward back up in response. He casually put his sword away, and put both hands behind the spell, increasing its power. He felt his magika draining at a steady pace, but he could keep the ward up for longer than the caster could assault it.
Then the ward unexpectedly broke, driving Jon to his knees as lightning seized his muscles and joints. The assault lasted no more than a second before the caster ran out of magika herself. He quickly pulled his iron dagger and lobbed it at her head, braining the bandit mage and ending the engagement for the grand entryway.
Jon got up with heavy breaths, leaning something new about wards in the process. They aren't unbreakable, even if you have plenty of magika to spare. He brushed himself off and continued up the grand stairs, intent on recovering his dagger this time, and kept a wary eye in all directions in case there were more bandit's that happen to have intelligence. None presented themselves and we made his way to the man door of the massive temple gates. Jon thought the construction must have been a great effort much like the ancient wonders of Earth. Some great king must be buried here, or perhaps it was in service to the cults that Farengar mentioned. Probably the cults given the dragon imagery scattered about. It could be both if the beast kept man sized puppet rulers.
Just inside the man door were a few dead rats the size of small dogs, no doubt killed by the bandits as pests. Two bandits were huddled by a small fire at the other end of the hall. Some supports were broken, and rubble was littered about from a lack of maintenance since the time of myth. The bandits hugged the fire, and there were none patrolling the shadows. Jon kept to them as he advanced towards the criminal scum. They were, of course, talking instead of keeping their post secure.
The woman said, "I hear Arvel run off with the claw."
The man said, "Ha! Arvel the Swift, running off. What a shock to the senses."
The woman said, "I heard he solved the puzzle, and reset the gate when he passed though. They're trying to figure it out right now and go after him."
Jon said, "Thanks for the intel. Nothing personal."
They never got final words, or a chance to react. Jon's powerful hands latched on to the backs of their skulls, and lighting coursed though their brains. They didn't even scream before they died. Dropping the bodies, he picked some arrows and lock-picks off them, and searched though their chest. A bit of gold, a couple more gems, and even a painting that might be valuable. They also had some more provisions in a sack, and even the stew they had cooking was good. The meat was probably from the rats though.
Jon advanced slowly down the stairs to the crypt, mindful of any threats that may present themselves. Along the way he passed burial urns, and plucked a few ancient coins and gems out of them. If they didn't want their graves robbed, they should have actually secured it and not made a monument out of it. He heard whispering, but couldn't make it out all the way. Then he heard the action of a mechanism, then the trap that no doubt sprung.
Entering the puzzle room, he found three dead bandits, one with better armor and probably a lieutenant of the chief Jon killed at the tower. They were riddled with arrows shot from the walls, and a sickly black steam rose from each wound. When the poisons are magical, it's little wonder their lethality can physically manifest itself so. Jon preferred not to test his physiology against many of the threats that face him. Any other Augment would just assume they could handle it, and then die from it like they died from him.
Jon looked around the room, and in front of him were turnstiles that acted as the lock and key for the deeper vaults of the ruin. They were three sided and each had an animal shape carved into them. Above the gate were two symbols carved into reliefs in the image of Nord faces. One of the carvings, the middle one, had crashed to the floor just in front of it's charge. The pattern on the turnstiles wasn't even close to the order above the gate. It wasn't even a reverse combination to best any crafty architect. It was just three random symbols, a try of the gate, and no deference payed to the obvious murder-holes set into the wall.
He spoke to the frustratingly dead. He said, "How could you fucking idiots even breath properly? Were you born as junkie criminals? Never learned to properly match shapes? It's right fucking there for Oblivion's sake! Snake, Snake, Whale mother fuckers! Snake, Snake, Whale!"
He shook his head and set the turnstiles into their proper places. He analyzed the murder-holes, how the bandits were struck, and determined that he could avoid the trap in case the architect was indeed crafty. At a crouch so low it was almost prone, he actuated the gate, and it opened forthwith.
The next room yielded some more loot. He saw a book, that he couldn't read, a bigger gem like the one strapped to his pack, a scroll of fireball, and a poison of unknown description. A chest on the far end of the room, near a wooden stairwell, also contained some potions and a bit of coin.
He heard life shuffling around at the bottom of the stairs, probably more of the large rats. He advanced carefully down the creaky wooden steps, steel drawn, and it stirred the rats into action. Not wanting to burn the steps with a flame spell, the sparks in his hand did the job just as well. The spell shot out and slammed into the first rat before arcing down and though the pack charging the wizard. A few seconds of this fried them to a crisp, and left in tact his line of egress out of the dungeon.
He continued down the straightforward passageways and began to encounter the first strands of webbing from Frostbite Spiders lurking ahead. This time he didn't have to rely on unknowns to kill the beasts. He switched to his flame spell and continued confidently into the lair. He heard some struggling and desperate cries.
"Help me! Please! Anyone! Its going to eat me! Help! Help!"
Jon came to the entrance of the layer, and cut the web door open. There were no egg sacs in the room, and only one spider. The thing was horse sided, but it also looked injured as it threaded it's way down to the floor. Jon opened up with his flame spell, and the spider cried in pain, falling down to the floor and continued to burn as Jon continued to burn it. A few second gout of magical flame and the Frostbite Spider of Bleak-Falls Barrow was dead.
"Oh thank you! Divines bless you. Cut me down please." The trapped bandit said to the free Augment.
"Arvel the Swift right?" The Jon the Butcher said.
Arvel the Doomed said, "Yeah, that's me. I have the claw, we can split the treasure! Just cut me down from here!"
Jon saw the lie in his eye. He said, "Sorry, some people know me as the Swift as well. I can't have a bandit claiming my titles."
Jon promptly shoved his steel into Arvel's throat, twisting the blade to separate his brain from his spine. He cut the bandit down and looted another steel dagger, some coin, Lock-picks, a journal, and finally the golden claw of legend.
The thing was solid gold, with a hefty weight to it. Three symbols, bear moth and owl, were set into its palm. Lucien was right; While the gold was dulled, the shaping rough, the claw had a particular look it that called to Jon. It no doubt called to the merchant as well. Perhaps it held some of its own eldritch power. If Jon hadn't already promised its return, he would simply keep it himself. He continued his labors while silently laying claim to every other claw he found. There would certainly be more, as this was certainly not the only dungeon with doors to be unlocked.
Though the passage that held up the formally swift bandit held itself the tools and facilities for embalming. The tools were scattered about, some on a blood stained table, some on shelves, some on the floor all covered with the old viscera of their trade. He also picked up more coin and gems from the various urns he found there. Over all, it looked about what he expected from an embalming room from his lessons in history. An ancient Egyptian mortician would not feel out of place here.
Continuing down the passageways further, he slowed once the narrow halls opened up into a crypt proper. He could see dozens of bodies lying in state set into alcoves carved into the stone wall, all mummified and well preserved. He could also smell the corruption of the room. The undead had a unique odor, the smell a cruel mockery of the living. Jon could smell and see at a glance which corpses were truly dead, and which would rise against them on his quest.
None of the bodies in the alcove next to him in the entrance to the crypt would rise again. There was one on the far end where the tomb turned that would. He could also see a stone on the floor oddly set against the others, but saw no mechanism for a trap that it would be connected too. That didn't mean the trap wasn't right around the bend, however.
Jon carefully drew his bow back and let lose an arrow at the sleeping Draugr. The iron connected with the undead's skull, ending any chance it would have to strike at the intruder and grave robber. The others would have their chance though. Jon heard hollow moaning, and the shuffling of ancient steel and armor as others of the crypt rose to meet him.
The first to round the corner was a Draugr woman. Her skin and face was taught, arms and legs sinewy, her clothes tatters and almost falling off. She had a hateful blue glow in her eyes, and she made directly for the Augment waiting to meet her. The Draugr lost her chance to strike when she stepped on the pressure plate and triggered the trap. A massive wooden grate slammed out from around the corner, and the spikes impaled the Draugr. She was thrown hard against the wall of the tomb, the blue glow in her eyes fading shortly after.
More rounded the corner, unimpeded by the trap. Jon stayed near the entryway, and let the near mindless Draugr charge him with abandon. If he had to, he could fight his retreat up the stairs, and advance when all of the threats were put down. He used his flame to char the first three Draugr that made their way to his position. The last two made it within striking range, their deceptively strong and fast swings forcing Jon to dodge rather than spell cast. With a roll to the side underneath their their strikes, he came up and saw that the unused momentum forced them into a stumble. Capitalizing on this, he lobed another gout of flame and promptly cooked the last two undead warriors.
Looting them gave him a few more ancient coins, and even some of their weapons found their way into Jon's pack. He would no doubt fetch a decent price for the historical curiosities to the right person or collector. Looking though the other open coffins, he also saw many of the corpses had coins and gems on their eyes, probably to pay a fair for journey to the afterlife. If they hadn't paid it already, then they probably weren't going to.
Continuing on, Jon was satisfied that the next room was clear of Draugr. Judging by the minutes old disturbances of dust, it was obvious this area of the dungeon had hit him with everything it had; It didn't even come close. A few of the urns in the room gave him more gold and gems. To his left was a swinging blade trap, and it was swaying back and forth in a rhythmic motion. It was little for the Augment to sprint though the thing. He pulled the chain on the entryway, and deactivated the mechanism to once again keep an open line of egress in case he had to make a quick retreat. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.
The next catacomb was smaller than the first, and formed twisting corridors into the deeper parts of the barrow. He could see one sleeping Draugr waiting to greet him, and smell more. He wasn't sure how many he smelled, however, as the information got lost in a miasma of corruption, dust, damp, and the pungent oil slick coating the ground.
He had an idea. He proudly said with a smile, "Come on! Come get me, ugly mother fuckers! I'm right here! Kill me! Do it now! Come on!"
His voiced boomed though the passageways and woke every Draugr that lie within. The moans started, and only got louder as the narrow halls forced them into groups traveling closer to the Augment; An aura of faint blue light got brighter as they advanced.
Just before the first Draugr got within striking distance, Jon cast his flame at the oil on the ground. The concoction readily ignited, and fires spread though the passages. More pots of alchemal fire dropped, and lit any slick that had failed to already do so. Every Draugr caught in the halls burned to a crisp black in the ten or so seconds that their own trap was turned against them.
Jon walked slowly though the soot with steel drawn and ward hand ready. He didn't think that anymore Draugr remained in the halls, but he wasn't about to throw caution to the wind that was just beginning to graze him. The passage opened to a cavern, but before Jon got into the open, a loud crack then crash told him that an enemy was ahead. The smell of the thing also offended him.
A burst of lighting ended the threat, and he advanced to the cliff-side. Below him was a single Draugr milling back and forth along the walkway between entrances on either side of the cavern wall. A quick pull of his bow ended the Draugr. Jon hoped he was giving some peace to the poor souls that became these foul creatures.
The cavern was open to the sky. Wind and snow swept in from the mountain and coated everything in a fresh dusting that would be continually swept away and replaced. He continued down the steps carved into the cavern, and came out to the path that the now dead undead had walked. Crossing it, he entered another hallway that led into another blade trap. Once again he easily timed it, and sprinted though to deactivate the trap.
The next room was better lit, with torch and brazer-light filling it. How the ancient flames were fed and maintained, Jon did not know. It wasn't relevant as already awake Draugr made their attack. An arrow flew down from an upper level across the room, and Jon deflected it with his steel. Sword and axe wielding Draugr rounded the corner, walking over another oil slick that Jon promptly lit with his flame. They died as more arrows kept assaulting Jon. He was contemptuous with his parries, seeing if it was possible to trigger a reaction from the undead.
It was indeed possible to trigger a reaction and end the ranged assault. The Draugr howled at him, blue hate in its eye. The undead archer put its bow away and drew an ancient one handed axe. It beat the thing against the wooden supports a couple times in taunt before charging down the steps to meet the challenger. Its howls continued and its first swing was well telegraphed. Jon brought his steel up from a low ready and cut the offending arm from the offensive Draugr, then reversed direction to take his head.
Jon continued though the room, and up the stairs to the second level. He walked around the outer perimeter of the place and crossed the simple stone bridge to a solid iron door. It was unlocked, and led into a grand hallway ending with a large puzzle-door. As he passed though, brazers lit, as if by magic, and brought light to the room. He could see all manner of sigils and carvings representing the history of this place and Skyrim. The only thing that he actually understood from it was that dragons sat above all in the motifs.
At the end of the hall, the door sat waiting for its key. It had three rings with symbols, and three holes to accept the golden-claw. Jon imagined that each one was slightly different, and thus each door different, to prevent openings by another claw. There may be magic involved as well, but Jon could intuit none coming from the ancient door and its key. It was obvious what the combination was. He set the rings from top to bottom with a bear, moth, and owl. Jon didn't spy any traps, but he wasn't about to try a wrong combination for the giggles.
He inserted the claw and turned it. The door unlocked, with its ancient mechanism rumbling all the while. In short concise bursts, the door fell away and revealed the final cavern of Bleak-Falls Barrow. There were a few coffins scattered about at the entrance of it. A stream passed through and a small stone bridge crossed it. At the back stood a massive wall with a near life sized dragon sitting atop it. He could just make out symbols carved into it, some of them covered by snow drift.
Jon advanced slowly and quietly to avoid any Draugr that might spring from them. None presented themselves, and he crossed the stone bridge. The wall of words began calling to him. A faint echo on the wind of ancient war chants pulled him in as he got closer and closer. They were dark, angry, eternally rageful; They wanted revenge on the dragons that had enslaved them, and they beckoned with the power to deliver it. To his complete shock, he could actually read what was on the stone display. He wondered if this is why fate called him here. For one word on the short epitaph. An ethereal stream of power spoke to him, and it said FUS. Force. The power of the Worm was a language, and it was one he had the ability to understand.
A crack was heard as a coffin, unnoticed at first due to the power of the wall, opened itself up behind Jon, revealing the final Draugr Overlord of Bleak-Falls Barrow. Jon spun around with lighting and steel in his hands. The Overlord was rising from his tomb to meet the invader, but thousands of years of uninterrupted sleep had not been kind to his ancient bones hand joints. His exit was slow, nearly ponderous. Jon didn't give the Draugr a chance. The Augment splashed it with lighting to cease any more its motion, and then sprinted at the undead until his sword was stabbed though its left eye, exiting the back of its skull.
The weight of the Draugr once again became became dead, and Jon dropped the foul creature off to the side with contemptuous ease. Underneath it was the ancient stone that Farengar had sent Jon after. He picked the thing up and saw a worn map of Skyrim with symbology he couldn't discern. He flipped it over and saw more Sumerian-like script.
It said "Here lie our fallen Lords until the power of Alduin restore."
It was a map to burial grounds for the of dragons. It was likely that the Worm could resurrect them. He looked back at the map and did not like the amount of symbols he saw. It could range anywhere from dozens, to the hundreds. The Augment may have been superior, but he was only one fucking man against a flying army of slaving gods.
Nay, he wasn't just one man in this quest anymore, just like he wasn't on his home-world. Whiterun and its Jarl stood firm in the face of renewed tyranny. They were his first allies in the fight against the Worm, and Jon prayed to every god and Divine he knew of that they wouldn't be the last and only.
Jon looted the cavern to competition, notably picking up the Overlord's enchanted sword, and made his way through the final rough-cut passage. It let out down the mountain and upstream from Riverwood, near the opposite bank of the guardian stones in fact. He had many questions on his mind, but there was one he would ponder the most as he walked back towards the small logging town; Why would a dark god pluck him from Earth and lead him to such power and knowledge?