Sparks burst wildly into the air as steel clashed against steel. With every loud clatter of blades, little stars burst forth and illuminated the combatants in brief, bright flashes. Mo'aksa hissed at his opponent and bore down on the handle of his axe, pushing harder against the short sword that threatened him. His foe remained unphased, however, and let out a low groaning sound in response. The terrible half-decayed creature creaked and cracked under its own strength, but knowing neither pain nor fear, pressed on, dead set on seeing this intruder to his end.

"Adar! Are you going to help or not?" Mo'aksa angrily shouted, his deep voice echoing throughout the dusty catacombs. From behind him, a gentle white light slowly grew in strength.

"Quiet! This spell calls for concentration!" Replied a robed Altmer a few paces back. He drew in his breath and attempted to regain his concentration, and as he did, the white light began to grow once more. It was cut short however, when a flimsy arrow narrowly grazed his cheek, and caused him to break focus altogether. "Dammit woman, are you trying to get us killed?" He shouted over his shoulder.

Further down the hall stood a nord woman of small stature wielding a simple hunting bow. She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry!" She replied, tucking the bow behind her. "Just trying to help!"

"Ysolda, just stay back!" Mo'aksa groaned. Suddenly, there was a clattering sound from up ahead, and the rattle of many footsteps Mo'aksa instinctually inhaled to take in the scent, but immediately came to regret doing so as the stench of rotting meat wafted around his nasal cavity. His fur stood on end and his eyes narrowed to slits. From behind him, Adar and Ysolda both froze. A team of 6 draugur carrying an assortment of bows, axes, and swords all came hobbling in, their eyes aglow and blades at the ready. Mo'aksa quickly grabbed his axe and planted it in the chest of the draugur immediately in front of him with a hefty swing, and no sooner had blade broken bone than the zombie's glowing eyes faded. "You better get that spell working, now!" He called, his voice strained.

"Ready!" Adar called back, and Mo'aksa and Ysolda both rushed to his side. Crowded in the center of a glowing blue and white circle, The three fighters gulped nervously as the draugur encroached closer and closer. Adar, his arms raised above his head, grunted as though pulling some heavy unseen object and released his tensed arms. As they came down, the circle erupted in a burst of light which radiated out into the room. The moment the approaching draugur came into contact with it, they all crumbled to dust, leaving behind only their centuries-old weapons as proof they had ever been there at all.

There was a moment of silence as six eyes all stared at the piles of ash, not yet believing they were safe. Ysolda broke the deathly silence first as she heaved a deep sigh and collapsed to the ground, wooden bow still tightly clenched between her fists.

'What on earth am I even doing here?' She thought to herself. Indeed, why had a merchant with no combat experience come into a Nordic ruin with only a flimsy bow to defend herself with? She had come to regret the decision, but it all seemed to make sense at the time…

~Several Weeks ago~

"Ysolda! Dinner is ready!" Mo'aksa called from the bottom of a flight of stairs. In one hand he held a stack of dishes, and in the other a messy ladle that dripped thick aromatic soup onto the wooden floor beneath him. His ears flicked around as he heard the gentle rustling of papers on the floor above him. 'Perhaps she fell asleep at her desk again' he thought to himself with a chuckle. He set the dishes down and quietly inched his way up the stairs, careful to avoid the floorboards that he knew would creak and disturb his wife should she be asleep. He maneuvered his way to the doorframe at the end of the corridor and peaked inside to see Ysolda, red hair well and truly disheveled, her head nestled in a heap of hand-written documents. Having been up for the entirety of the previous night preparing for a big deal with a certain contact in Riften, she had been complaining all day about her exhaustion. That morning she had met with a client and returned with an even larger pile of work to complete, so understandably by this time in the early evening she could no longer resist the temptation of a brief nap. Mo'aksa decided to leave her as she was, and carefully crept his way back down the steps to warm himself by the hearth.

The past several months had been a whirlwind of excitement. Mo'aksa and Ysolda married at the end of winter, and since then many things had changed. They decided to upgrade from Ysolda's tiny shack to a decent sized cottage near Whiterun's front gate. With the added gold that Mo'aksa brought in from his hunting jobs, they could afford to size up a bit, though they seemed to spend less and less time in their new abode as their responsibilities increased. In addition to expanding the reach of her mercantile connections, Ysolda began taking on some of Hulda's duties at the Bannered Mare in preparation for the day she might take over. Mo'aksa began helping the bosmer brothers from the neighboring tavern, the Dunken Huntsman, with their hunting trips, which kept his skills with his trusty Skyforge steel axe quite sharp. It was a lot of work that kept both of them busy, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say. With the two of them being apart from one another during the day, they came to appreciate the time they shared that much more. Things continued along those lines for week after week until it had become a routine. Wake up, say goodbye, work, come home, share a meal, sleep, and repeat. These simple monotonous days meant everything to Mo'aksa, who never before had the luxury of such a simple life. Every little aspect of his mundane existence brought him joy, particularly the sight of his wife sleeping in a mess of crumpled papers with wet ink smeared on half her face.

A sudden knock on the door broke Mo'aksa from his musings. His brow furrowed slightly, as visitors at this hour were rather unusual. He made his way to the door and took a peek through a gap in the wood at the stranger outside. Standing in the fading sunlight was a tall and slender man wearing a green robe with a hood. Nervously, Mo'aksa called a cautious "Who's there?" from behind the flimsy front door.

"Is this the residence of Mo'aksa and Ysolda?" The stranger replied, straightening his back. Mo'aksa gave no indication of a response to the question, instead tentatively opening the door and looking the visitor over. He had golden skin and hair, and bore the pointed chin and thin, straight lips that were unmistakable traits of Altmer. Mo'aksa thought it strange that he would encounter a high elf in this place, the center of Skyrim, which was notoriously anti-thalmor. He narrowed his eyes.

"What business have you here?" Mo'aska retorted. The stranger smirked.

"I'm only looking for the newlywed couple to offer them a gift, I mean no harm. May I come in?" He replied, quickly. Mo'aksa pondered for a moment. The stranger was carrying some sort of parcel, but Mo'aksa held his reservations. How could he trust the intentions of a complete stranger? But then, Ysolda always told him to be more trusting of the folks in Skyrim. Against his better judgment, he motioned, stiffly, for the stranger to cross the threshold into his home.

"I am Mo'aksa. My wife is not in right now. What business have you?" he asked, suspiciously, his eyes maintaining a deadly lock on the stranger as he shuffled through the door and over to the hearth.

"As I said, I'm here with a wedding gift. Here, for the both of you," he said with a crooked smile. Mo'aksa received the small package with both hands and looked at it pensively, but did not open it.

"And this one knows of us how, exactly?" he asked, glancing upwards to meet the stranger's gaze.

"Ah, well. You don't know me, but I have heard of you! Please forgive my intrusion, allow me to introduce myself!" he sputtered, the words flowing almost too quickly for Mo'aksa to follow them. He lowered his hood, revealing the slightly aged skin over his forehead. His hair was dry and scraggly, but neatly tied half-up behind his head. He had a certain elvish beauty to his face, the kind which defied human standards of beauty but managed to captivate you all the same. But most surprising to Mo'aksa were his eyes, which were a bright green color, and though they looked tired and droopy, they held a glint to them which made the hair on Mo'aksa's neck stand on end. The stranger took a nervous bow. "My name is Adar. I'm an anthropologist from the Summerset Isles." He raised himself and smiled at Mo'aksa. "I'm studying ancient Nord civilizations, you see. In that parcel, you'll find a rather lovely artifact from one of the tombs I've explored. A pendant made from solid-"

"None of this answers Mo'aksa's question. Why have you come?" Mo'aksa hissed back.

"Well aren't you the picture of hospitality." The smile dissipated, and his face fell into a gloomy expression, which his facial features seemed much more accustomed to. "I've heard of you in the course of my sabbatical in Winterhold. A single man brave enough to delve into a Nordic ruin alone and somehow emerge from the other end alive. Rumors do tend to get around, even in this wasteland province."

"So Mo'aksa's name has spread to Winterhold?" Mo'aksa's ears perked up, but he did not seem to be enjoying the thought that he had garnered some renown, as Adar had expected he would.

"Well, yes and no. I heard the rumor of a man who cleared a ruin alone, but it was I who uncovered your name and whereabouts through considerable effort. I've been searching for someone like you for quite a while, you see. Even a whisper of someone with talent such as yours is enough to entice me to use my entire investigative arsenal." Adar replied, confidently brushing the loose hair away from his shoulder. Mo'aksa relaxed slightly.

"Hm. Mo'aksa is honored," He said flatly. "You come to ask something of Mo'aksa, then?"

"Right then, to the point. I'm looking for a certain someone to assist me in exploring a Nordic crypt. Inside is an artifact, nearly lost to the passing of the ages, which I have need of." Mo'aksa rolled his eyes, a gesture not missed by Adar's keen eyes. He cleared his throat and gave a sort of half bow. "If ever there was a man to help me, I should think you would be the one. Your reputation precedes you, as it were. I've tried many scores of mercenaries and warriors, none have managed to be much use in those treacherous tombs."

After several long moments of silence, Mo'aksa shook his head and handed the parcel, still between his tensed hands, back to Adar.

"No, I have to refuse. Mo'aksa's adventuring days are behind him now. Many pardons, but you will have to find someone else," He said at last in a hushed voice. There was another long silence that followed, and Adar furrowed his brow.

"After all the effort I went through to track you down, you're just going to refuse me? The least you could do is hear me out," Adar sputtered.

"You want Mo'aksa to guide you through a dangerous crypt. Sorry, but he already knows he cannot help you." Adar fumbled over himself a moment, drawing in closer to Mo'aksa who pulled his ears back in response.

"If it's compensation you're worried about, have no worries in that regard. All my endeavors are well funded by the Aldmeri Institute of-"

"No compensation would be worth the risk of losing the life Mo'aksa has now!" He spat back, cutting Adar off mid-explanation. Adar pulled his lips together and looked down to the floor, and Mo'aksa sighed deeply. "In fact, Mo'aksa thinks it is presumptuous that this one would assume otherwise," he admonished. Adar narrowed his eyes a moment, and then moved them slowly back over to meet Mo'aksa's.

"'Mo'aksa' this, 'Mo'aksa' that, you say your name a lot. Why is that? It's almost like you have to remind yourself of your own name," he said wryly. Mo'aksa cocked an eyebrow, but maintained a firm expression. "Have you ever wished you could… be someone else?"

"What are you talking about?" Mo'aksa replied quickly, bewildered by the sudden shift in tone.

"We'll I'm just wondering. If you really love this life so much, how far would you go to protect it?" Mo'aksa swallowed nervously, and Adar smirked. "I wonder if there's another name you respond to.. perhaps something along the lines of… La'hrashi?"

Every hair on Mo'aksa's body stood on end. He hissed and drew his claws, and then pointed firmly to the door. "What do you know of that name? You know nothing! Begone, you are not welcome here!"

Adar swiftly readied a spell, glowing green in his palm, and cast it at Mo'aksa, who suddenly found himself unable to move, his face frozen in a tensed expression, and his arm still stuck pointed at the door on the wall to his right.

"Ah-ah-ah! No need for violence, we are simply two men having a discussion." Adar flipped his hair away from his face and strolled around to Mo'aksa's left side, eyeing him up. Mo'aksa fidgeted uncomfortably, but could not break from the position he'd been frozen into. "Large white khajiit. Speaks poor Tamrielic. Formidable warrior. Responds to the name La'hrashi… there's no doubt in my mind. You're most certainly a wanted man." He came back round the other side and leaned in close to Mo'aksa's immobile face. "I did tell you I used the full extent of my investigative abilities, didn't I?" He walked back round to Mo'aksa's front and leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed. "Personally, I couldn't care less who or what you are. I simply need some hired muscle to help me get to the bottom of this tomb, or maybe a couple tombs if I'm wrong. But you, I feel, have much more to lose in this scenario."

Mo'aksa felt sensation in his fingertips slowly returning. He wiggled them, desperate to break free of this spell.

"I mean, what if this secret got out? If not from me, then perhaps some other traveler. Or an imperial soldier who reads the wanted papers? There sure are more of them around these days, what with the little rebellion going on," Adar continued, glancing down at his nails and smiling to himself. "What if I told you that if you come with me, it could be in our mutual best interest?"

Mo'aksa began to feel relief all through his body, the magic finally releasing him from its grasp. He fell to the the ground, his breath heavy for a moment. Never in his life had he felt a sensation such as that. He took a moment to collect himself, and then got to his feet. "In my best interest, how?" He asked at last.

"Again, I ask, have you ever wished you could be someone else?" Adar smiled looking down his nose at Mo'aksa, eyes illuminated by the fire of the hearth next to him. His face was aglow with energy, a conniving smile spreading across his lips. Mo'aksa paused at that expression. His ears pulled back once more.

"Mo'aksa is Mo'aksa. Who else could he be?" He responded. Adar's smile only grew.

"Well, say there was magic that could make you someone else entirely. Change your face, your body, or even your race. If you changed yourself, maybe you could escape your past and be free of your bounty… I'm sure, being a fugitive of the law, that the desire has crossed your mind, or am I mistaken?" Mo'aksa looked back on his life, and indeed, recalled many instances of cursing his lot and wishing for another. The longer he pondered, the more misfortunes seemed to pile at his feet. Perhaps most of all, the heaviest burden on his conscience, was a conversation he'd had recently with Ysolda. She told him that she hoped to have a big family some day, like the one she had growing up. Not yet, she insisted, there was no sense in rushing into things when they had their whole lives to work with. She wanted everything to come in due time, but raising a family together was undeniably an experience she wanted in her life. The discussion had sent Mo'aksa's stomach twisting into knots, for he knew khajiits and nords were not compatible races. Somehow, in all their conversations, Ysolda hadn't seemed to realize, but he had no idea how to broach the subject with her. Try as they may, he would never be able to give her the family she hoped for. Further, with his criminal record, he felt he couldn't well justify attempting child rearing when the risk of being sent to prison or worse was constantly around the corner. Yes, if he could escape himself, perhaps all of these challenges could be resolved, and it may even improve his situation significantly. Though rather imaginative a solution, he couldn't deny that, if true, he was intrigued at the prospect.

Adar watched Mo'aksa's expression twist as he went over the thought in his mind. He nodded along as though he could hear his internal considerations, but even without hearing them, he was confident that this offer was exactly what the khajiit before him wished for most. He laced his fingers together and leaned back with satisfaction.

"All I need you to do is act as my bodyguard for as long as it takes me to get to the heart of the tomb. It isn't far from here, and you will be compensated well for your efforts. Afterwards, if all goes according to plan, I'll return the object to its proper home in a shrine south of here, at which point you will have your reward." He spoke with elegant flourishes of his slender hands, waving about to the melody of his eloquent speech. Mo'aksa hung onto every word, not out of any captivation or intrigue, but rather because he had never heard such command of the language. It took extra effort for him to understand what was being said. Adar was obviously a noble type, judging by the way he spoke, and Mo'aksa recognized him as the kind who makes no mention of his means, but nevertheless reveals himself through mannerisms such as these. Mo'aksa, having always been detested by the ruling class, felt uneasy when around such people, and despite Adar's eased expression and calming voice, Mo'aksa felt all the more uncomfortable.

"Mo'aksa… is still not sure. There is much to consider but…" he hesitated, nervously fidgeting his hands. "He will consider it," he said at last. Adar nodded.

"Well there is no need for a decision right this moment. I'll be in the city for the next three days to make preparations for my expedition," he said. He strolled past Mo'aksa and to the front door, his boots clicking on the wooden floor as he went. He turned around and made a slight bow to Mo'aksa as he opened the creaking door and let the faint glow of the night sky fill the room. "Meet me at the stables three days hence if you wish to take my offer. Otherwise I'll just assume you have refused me and take my leave of the city," he continued. He smiled and nodded, and Mo'aksa returned the expression, albeit hesitantly. The door clanged shut, and just like that, he was gone, disappeared into the crowd of people on the Whiterun streets.

Mo'aksa sighed deeply and put his hands against his head. Could he really bring himself to go on this journey? And if he did, would he survive? Was the magic even real? So many thoughts swirled in his head, but above them all, one stood out. 'Could I really change myself?'

His contemplation don't last, as he heard creaking from the floor above him. His ears perked and turned in the direction of the sound, followed by his head. He saw Ysolda, barefoot and with black ink smeared on the right half of her face, sluggishly strolling down the stairs.

"I heard talking, was someone here?" She asked with a yawn. Mo'aksa smiled and shook his head.

"Ah, just a courier. He brought this," he pulled the parcel Adar had given him from the table beside him where it had been resting, and handed it to Ysolda. "A belated wedding gift, it would seem."

"It's been almost a year already…" Ysolda, puzzled, tore open the paper and examined the contents. "Who is this from?"

"Ah…" Mo'aksa nervously scratched his cheek. "Not sure. What is it?" He asked. Ysolda lifted up a small amulet made of ivory. It had a Nordic knot design and a small cavity in the center, presumably for a gemstone to sit, though if there had ever been one it seemed, judging by the dirt in all the crevices, that it had been missing for a long time.

"A necklace? Is this from one of the burial tombs?" Ysolda ponderded, turning it over on hand. "It's got some kind of scratches on the back. Must be ancient."

"Maybe it's been through some battles while on the neck of one of the walking dead," Mo'aksa suggested.

"Yeah, probably. I wish people would just let my ancestors rest in peace, I'm not really keen on picking up ancient nord curses by angering their spirits," Ysolda sighed. She wrapped the amulet in the paper again and set it on a shelf by the wall.

"Mo'aksa didn't think you were so superstitious," he said, smiling. Ysolda shook her head.

"Well it's not exactly superstition when the dead literally walk the halls and cast magic! Maybe I'll pass this one to Ri'saad, seems risky to keep it around."

"Ah, maybe-" Mo'aksa began. He reached for the parcel again. "Maybe we can keep it around awhile longer. Mo'aksa very much likes it," he said, his brow creased. Ysolda sighed and shook her head with a smile.

"Alright, but don't let that thing anywhere near me. I don't want to be included in your curse!" She said, and dashed to the other side of the room. "O ancestors of mine, let the record show I wanted to respect your graves! Spare me, curse only my husband!" Mo'aksa chuckled and held the amulet up.

"Respect their graves? When this one wanted to sell it? For gold? Practically grave robbing!" He chased after her and dangled the amulet by her face. "O ancestors of my wife, let the record show she deserves just as much curse as I!" He said. She dashed around and around the room, crying out for forgiveness from the ancient nords, but Mo'aksa continued chasing her, hurling curses and swinging the amulet around as he went. The two of them carried on like that for some time, until they were both laughing too hard to run anymore, and fell to the ground, snickering like school children. Mo'aksa stared up at the creaky wooden ceiling, and smiled to himself.

'Ah… it would certainly be hard to leave this,' he thought. His smile slowly dissipated. 'But if I don't… how long until I am forced to leave it?'

He had no answer, and the fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach continued, unrelentingly.

~Chapter 1 END~

A/N: thanks for sticking with me through the long wait! This is WOWS2, the next arc. I'm very excited for the new characters you'll get to meet! Please let me know what you hope to get out of this part of the story, I'm curious to know what you think! Thanks as always, see you next time!