Mo'aksa tailed the two bandits quite a ways before they arrived at their destination: a stony wall at the border of Whiterun Hold and The Pale. A little further on in this direction and he could make out the signature style of Ancient Nord tombs poking above the hills. He watched the two bandits approach the steep edge of the mountain and then stop. He drew in a bit closer before hiding himself in the bushes, watching where they would turn next, but to his surprise they merely knocked on the wall and waited. Mo'aksa's face contorted in confusion as he watched, unsure what to make of the scene before him.
Just then, he heard a sliding sound, like stones scraping against one another, and in a few moments a piece of the mountain slid away to reveal a candlelit hall. Mo'aksa's eyes widened as he watched the two bandits haul their cart directly into the mountain before the door sealed up once more. He stood and approached it after they went, and began to feel along the stone for some kind of handle or opening. He felt thin ridges outlining where the stone would move, but try as he might he could not pry them open. The stone was too heavy, and the angle was all wrong. From the inside there was probably a lever or some such device which slid the stone out of the way, but from this side it was impossible to force the passage open. He looked around, desperate for any other way in, but it would seem he had allowed his one opportunity to slip away.
'Damn it! After coming all this way, am I really just as helpless as the rest of them?' he thought, pacing angrily. Why had he come this far, anyway? What was the point? Plenty of others around him had been killed and he never managed to save them before, so why should this one be any different? At this thought, he sighed and sat down on the ground. The cold Skyrim wind blew past him, rustling his fur and sending a chill down his spine. He looked up at the sky, by this time, studded with only the faintest glow of starlight off in the distance. 'No, I've come this far. I will make a difference this time,' he thought again, bringing himself to his feet and turning to face the Nordic burial grounds which he had caught sight of before. If he couldn't get in through the secret passage on this side, there was still one other way to make it to the main chamber: charging straight in through the front. Mo'aksa held his axe at the ready and approached the looming ruin.
The front entrance was completely empty, save for the few spiders and other insects which had taken up residence in the crevices of the aging stonework. He attempted to open the iron doors at the front, but found that they had been locked securely. He had gone into a Nordic Ruin only once before when he first came to Skyrim, and that time as well, the main entrance was locked behind some kind of puzzle. But in order for the bandits to have made it into the heart of the burial, they must have at some point come through the front, meaning that the puzzle should have already been solved. If that was the case, then the lock on the door now would be the bandits' doing, which Mo'aksa could more easily undo. He examined the large handles and found but a simple padlock tightly binding them together. No doubt, this had to be the burial connected to the secret entrance he saw the bandits enter, and this had to be their solution to prevent adventurers like him from stumbling upon their base of operations. With a hefty swing of his axe the lock and chain were broken, and with a push the sturdy door swung open, revealing the interior chamber of the ruins. He slowly entered, keeping his body low and prepared to strike at any moment. From this threshold onwards, there would be no telling what he could expect.
Mo'aksa passed through the main chamber and a few interior rooms undisturbed. He found a few looted chests and urns as well as some draugr slain on the ground. The stench of rotting flesh was thick in these halls, and particularly upsetting to the sensitive nose of a khajiiti hunter. But he pressed on, carefully stalking the halls one after the other. After a certain point he noticed that the candles on the walls were lit, illuminating the stonework and coffins that lined them. They must keep the candles lit in the halls which they patrol often, leaving the braziers and sconces in the main entrance dark to reinforce the image that nobody was home. Entering the better-lit portion of the tomb made him feel uneasy, as he had lost the advantage of the shadows which could hide his presence. He continued to creep along until his ears twitched and he suddenly dove behind a coffin leaning against the wall. A few moments later, one of the undead came clunkering by.
Mo'aksa waited for it to pass by. The draugr were slow and stupid, but their combat skills remained intact from when they were alive. It wasn't his usual way, but his strategy in this unfamiliar terrain was to deal blows quickly and quietly, avoiding confrontation as much as possible so as to conserve energy for the living opponents deeper inside. He gripped his axe tightly, and watched the draugr continue to hobble down the hall, almost to the corner where the first candle had been lit. Just before it turned around to patrol back along the hall, Mo'aksa crept up behind it and planted his axe firmly in its skull. The glowing light faded from its eyes, and then it fell to the ground in a heap. Mo'aksa let a sigh of relief escape him as he turned to look further down the hall. It was quiet and he saw no more shadows, so he continued on deeper into the tomb.
He fought a few more draugr along his way, but most of the tomb had already been cleared out. He crossed over corpses, some he created, some had already been defeated long ago, and others had yet to move at all. He passed through room after room, finding that every accessible room had already been looted, bugs and dust taking up residence where treasure once lived. But of course, he wasn't here for treasure, though some compensation would be nice. He was here to find where these bandits were keeping Ysolda. He surmised that they must keep their base as close to the secret entrance as possible, meaning he'd have to go almost the entire way through the ruin before he'd get what he came here for. Once he'd found her though, then what? Was it really wise to face a group of bandits all on his own?
He didn't have the time to answer his question when a knife came swinging at him. He dodged in the nick of time, but his left arm was grazed by the blade. He whipped his head around to find a young nord boy readying another swing with his dagger. Mo'aksa ducked under the boy's arm as he swung, kicking the boy's knees and knocking him off his feet. The boy let out a yelp as Mo'aksa planted his foot in his chest, holding his axe up to the boy's throat.
"Where do you keep prisoners?" Mo'aksa growled, his face wrinkling and baring his teeth as he spoke. The boy wriggled in an attempt to get free, but Mo'aksa only put more of his weight onto the boy's chest, pinning him down firmly.
"Th-there's a room to the right of the boss's chamber! We keep prisoners in there!" the boy cried out, stuttering and sweating profusely. Mo'aksa looked at him with fierce eyes, leaning on him harder and harder. "Please! Don't kill me! I-I-I'm just a guard!" he yelped.
Mo'aksa let him up all at once and kicked him in the stomach. The boy winced and held his abdomen, writhing on the ground.
"Khajiit won't kill a boy. Get out of here, and never return," Mo'aksa said, turning around and continuing through the tunnels. The boy got to his feet slowly, and watched as he walked away. He spat on the ground and wiped his face, looking bitter.
"Don't you dare underestimate me!" the boy shouted as he charged Mo'aksa with his knife once more. Mo'aksa felt his footsteps and reacted quickly, turning around and grabbing the boy's arm. He squeezed his wrist until he dropped the knife, then pulled his arm behind his back.
"I gave you a chance," he said, his eyes hollow. He raised his axe and then swung it down into the boy's neck. The boy ceased resisting, and when Mo'aksa stood, he went completely limp. He was dead.
Mo'aksa looked down at his blood-soaked axe and grimaced. He felt his hand shaking and his fur standing on end. But he wasn't upset that he had killed again.
He was upset that he enjoyed it.
He shook his head and averted his eyes from the boy's body. He paused for a moment to collect himself, and with a deep breath, began to march along deeper into the tomb. His steps were no longer quiet and careful. Now he stepped heavily and confidently, his dripping axe held tightly in hand.
With each room he entered he found more and more bandits, and just as before, he eliminated them in waves. Two in this room, three in the next. He didn't check if they died, only injuring them until they stopped moving before turning his attention to the next in the room and continuing on until the room was clear. He got little information out of the bandits as they almost immediately turned hostile and attacked him as soon as he entered. He was sure that his bloodied axe was no help to his attempts at communicating with them, but part of him liked to see the fear in their eyes as he approached. No matter, soon enough he'd make it to his goal without their help.
At last he approached a wide hallway with intricate carvings along the walls of dragons and whatnot. At the end was a wide open doorway which let out into a big room. This must be it, the heart of the chamber. According to the boy he fought a while back, there should be a room off to the side where they kept their captives. But though he scoured the walls, he could find no entrance to such a room. Had he missed it?
His search was interrupted by the sound of clapping from deeper in the chamber. His ears flicked in their direction and his fur began to stand up. Slowly, he turned his head towards the sound to see a muscular nord man approach from the shadows. Like the others, he had purple war paint on his face, though unlike them he was wearing heavy steel armor and reeked of booze.
"Well met traveler. I assume you're the one who slayed my band," said the man, drawing slowly into Mo'aksa's field of view, but maintaining a respectable few feet outside of his reach. "You know many others have tried to claim the bounty on my head, but none have come as close to succeeding as you have, my friend! So congratulations on that." Mo'aksa lifted his lip into a scowl, baring his sharp teeth as the man paced in a circle around him.
"Who are you?" Mo'aksa asked. His eyes maintained a steady lock on the man, following him all around the room.
"You mean you haven't heard of the brigand Skuli? The greatest fiend to ever roam these open plains?" he said with great bravado. He puffed his chest out and spread his arms, smiling as he spoke. "They say I have no honor, but if honor could get you as much coin as my way could, then I'd have changed sides a loooong time ago." He chuckled and then continued. "Oh, but I am a humble soul-"
"Clearly," said Mo'aksa sarcastically. Skuli frowned.
"Look, it's not often I get challenged. Would you mind letting me take a minute to bask in it before I kill you?" Mo'aksa lowered his ears and put his hand on his axe. "Come now, every moment you let me speak is another moment you get to live. So be thankful," Skuli said, crossing his arms. As he moved his armor made metallic clanking noises, which Mo'aksa followed with his ears in each movement.
"Khajiit is looking for someone. You took her, and he wants her back now," Mo'aksa said.
"You cat people have such a funny way of talking. What are you doing in Skyrim anyway?" Skuli replied. Mo'aksa's face contorted into an angry expression, but he said nothing. "You see, I get the feeling we're not so different, you and I. After all, not just anyone could show up in a nordic ruin out of the blue and slay an entire bandit hive. I bet you're on the run too, just like me!"
"The girl. Red hair, small frame. Where is she?"
"You should know that there's no place for us in normal life. The sooner you accept it, the better. People like us will never be welcome among their ranks," Skuli continued, ignoring Mo'aksa. His expression began to sour as he trailed off. "The only way for men like us to live is by taking what they've got by force. And when that doesn't work…" he gestured towards a shelf constructed at the far end of the room, lined with bottles of skooma and wine. Among them were many empty glass bottles with traces of a familiar purple sap lining their bottoms. "... you've always got a taste of it in the drink, am I right?"
"Khajiit hears what you say and he knows it to be true," Mo'aksa said thoughtfully. "But his problems are his own. He will never take from others what can be gained honorably on one's own."
"See, this is what I don't get. People tell me I'm shameless for taking from people who can't defend themselves, but if you ask me, if you can't defend yourself then you shouldn't have it in the first place!" He resumed his wide gestures and exaggerated smile. "Like the girl you're looking for. She keeps trying to stiff me, so I had my men teach her a little lesson, and lo and behold, she can't do a thing to stop me!" Mo'aksa immediately tensed and gripped his axe. "What did she do to you, huh? Stop putting out? Run off with your money and kids? Or are you here because you can't find anyone else who'll take your sorry ass?"
Mo'aksa lunged at him, swinging his axe in a viscous but erratic motion. Skuli drew his own sword and caught Mo'aksa's blade mid-swing, pushing back against him and preventing the axe from making contact. He smiled.
"Guess your time is up," he said, suddenly pulling the sword in close and then pushing back on Mo'aksa's axe with all his body weight. Mo'aksa stumbled backwards as Skuli thrust his sword in his direction, narrowly dodging the blade as it whipped past. He sank low to the ground and then twisted around to try and hit Skuli from behind, but the bandit was quick on his feet and turned around before Mo'aksa could lift his axe. He jabbed Mo'aksa's stomach with the edge of his metal gauntlets, forcing him to recoil in pain. He took a step in closer and slashed his sword, cutting into Mo'aksa's left arm and drawing a considerable amount of blood.
Mo'aksa watched as his own blood came gushing out, staining his white fur a dark shade of red. He looked on, shocked, as Skuli prepared another swing. Despite being a formidable warrior, Mo'aksa was poorly protected with much of his bare body vulnerable. He was large and intimidating of course, but while he had a great deal of brute strength, he was still somewhat slow and hulkering. Though his heavy armor weighed him down, Skuli was extremely agile and precise with his blade. His skills were undoubtedly a cut above the rest. Mo'aksa began to sweat as he processed this, his heart beating in his ears as he stumbled several paces away from Skuli. For the first time since arriving in Skyrim, he felt incredibly hot.
Skuli's next swing missed, but he could see that he had Mo'aksa on the ropes. He took a moment to bring his blade up to his face and examine it proudly before flicking the blood off of it and entering a low stance as he prepared to charge.
Mo'aksa had but a moment to think. He felt a surge go through him and his instincts took over, his arms and legs pulling him along while his mind went blank, unable to keep up. He dug his feet into the ground and held up his axe on its side. He didn't have time to dodge, so he'd have to try and block the swing or else wind up stabbed clean through.
Skuli smiled wildly as his sword lodged itself into Mo'aksa's axe, piercing the handle. Mo'aksa then returned his smile as he pushed on the axe, forcing Skuli backwards. He continued pushing him back and down until Mo'aksa was standing over him, Skuli's sword pressed down on his chest. He was stronger and heavier than Skuli, so overpowering him like this was the only way to gain the upper hand.
But with a loud crack, the wooden handle on Mo'aksa's axe snapped in half, and Mo'aksa slipped, cutting his right forearm on Skuli's blade as the force he was pushing down onto it before suddenly started working against him. Skuli nimbly rolled out from under Mo'aksa who fell on his knees, holding the axehead in one hand and the pommel in the other. He wasted no time diving in with another swift slash of the sword. Mo'aksa's chest bore a new red line from his right shoulder to the center of his chest. His breathing became heavy, and he scrambled to his feet.
The two locked eyes for a moment from opposite sides of the chamber. Mo'aksa was breathing raggedly, but his eyes were fierce and his body rigid. He had no weapon, but his spirit was yet unbroken. Skuli was confident, and though he was likewise breathing heavily, he held his sword tightly in front of him, and looked no worse for wear.
Mo'aksa tore off his gloves to reveal long sharp claws extending out of his calloused fingers. He sank lower, bending at the knee and holding his hands out in front of him. Skuli began to laugh.
"You look like a cornered beast! Now I see how you made it this far," he called. "You're a wild animal."
Mo'aksa released a roaring battle cry as he charged Skuli, launching himself from below the waist to his shoulders, grabbing him and pushing him to the ground. Skuli coughed as his back hit the ground, the wind knocked clean out of him. Mo'aksa held him down with his bodyweight and slammed Skuli's fist, forcing the sword across the room. Skuli's expression turned to one of pure terror as Mo'aksa raised his claw into the air. Without a moment's hesitation, Mo'aksa slashed across Skuli's face with one hand, and with the other through his throat. Skuli cried out and pleaded for mercy, but Mo'aksa only continued tearing at him, desperately clawing him in a frenzy of adrenaline. He bit and scratched and tore, even long after the struggling had ceased.
Mo'aksa came back to his senses and looked down at the grisly corpse before him. The face was no longer recognizable, and the upper body had been torn up considerably. Mo'aksa looked down at his own hands, blood and flesh caught under his nails and the white fur that began at his wrists had turned completely red. He felt his breathing, heavy but slow, and his heart still pounding.
He stood up and looked back at the body with an empty expression on his face. No words came to him; his mind remained blank. A little glint caught the corner of his eye, so he tore himself away from his work to see a pull chain on the wall across from him. He went over and pulled it to discover that there was a stone panel in the wall which opened to reveal a small room with cages and corpses all about.
As the panel opened, his nose was filled with a familiar scent.
Ysolda's scent.
~Chapter 6 END~