1-Adventure Start
"To Oblivion with you, screeching thing".
Right after those words, the head of the attacking goblin was smashed against the cold stone walls of the cave; the head of the small vermin exploded in a shower of bone, flesh, and gray matter. With this last one, the number of goblins butchered in the last five minutes raised to ten.
This was starting to become ridiculous.
The worst of all was how the individual that has butchered the goblins, was already accustomed to such events and strange happenings. During his adventures as Dragonborn, Dovahkin, the poor lad has suffered the attentions of the diverse and demented supernaturals beings of Tamriel. And do not make him start on the Dragons, the Vampires, and the cretin that enslaved Solstheim; that was a disaster on its own.
Due to the cumulative experiences with mysterious caves and occurrences, the individual that was stumbling around the caves had developed the custom of blame the Daedra, more concretely "Uncle Sheo", the nickname that Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness, used to refer himself whenever he decided that his dear nephew needed a bit more emotion and adventure in his life.
Not that Uncle Sheo was the only one interested in making his life "interesting"; thanks to all kinds of shenanigans all over Skyrim, a lot of Daedra and Aedra had an interest in the poor lad. Some were welcome, some were not; unfortunately, the god-like entities are hard to refuse, and more often than not, they ended up doing whatever the heck they wanted, much to the chagrin of the Dragonborn, who was doing his best to kept his homeland as entire as possible.
It was a harder job than one could imagine.
Still, despite all the protests, the truth was that his life was quite the adventure and if he was honest with himself, there was no other career for him. Wanderlust was not the problem, setting up some nice digs in Whiterun, The Pale, Falkreath, and Solitude; even the fiercest hunter need a camp to return; was something that he did as soon as he had the coin and the respect of the inhabitants of the Hold.
No, the problem was that he was addicted to the rush that battle and adventure provided. The Dovahkin was a bit of a busybody and was always meddling in all kinds of things. It was a bit hypocritical from his part to protest for the interference of the Aedras, Daedras, etc; he was very conscious of it. The Dragonborn was a worshiper of a few Daedras that he found of his liking and that had helped him during the Dragon Crisis and beyond.
The Dragonborn worshiped The Nine Aedra; all nine of them, the Dovahkin never bought the Thalmor propaganda; along Meridia, Hircine and Asura. Sanguine and Uncle Sheo was another barrel of fish altogether and what happened with Hermaeus Mora and Jyggalag is something that the Dragonborn wanted to forget.
Anyhow, awakening in the middle of nowhere was not a novel experience for the Dragonborn, far from it actually; but it was the first time that he ended up in the middle of nowhere and feeling as if something has dissected him, play with his innards and stitch him back without even looking what in Oblivion was it doing. The Dragonborn´s entire body burned in pain, it was as if all his muscles were trying to stretch and relax at the same time and his guts were determined to evacuate the building. Not to mention his migraine, his brain felt as it has been soaked in Frostbite spider venom.
Also, he only had his underwear on; thanks to his Nord blood, the cold was something that did not bother much, but some pants and boots would have been appreciated. The floor of the cave was a disturbing mess of body fluids and gore chunks and stepping on its barefoot was not precisely funny.
It was an easy thing to discover that something was seriously wrong with the situation, as the Dragonborn discovered that he could no longer felt his Beast Blood, either his magic.
That was worrisome.
Fortunately, his Thu´um was as strong as ever, but the weakness that permeated him when he used it was something that deeply annoyed the Dovahkin. The Dragonborn has already mastered several Words of Power and was more than capable of Shouting several times without feeling anything like the weariness and tiredness that he was feeling now.
Stumbling around this bloody cave, in nothing but his loincloth, did nothing to improve the humor of the Dovahkin, and when one of the green vermins appeared with a rusty dagger covered in his shit and attacked him, the Dovahkin Shouted the blasted thing out of existence, ripping the flesh out of the goblin bones with an Unrelenting Force Shout. As soon as the last syllable exited his mouth, the Dragonborn felt to one knee.
A wave of exhaustion flooded his body.
That was not normal, well, anything in this situation was normal; although, normal was a relative term when Uncle Sheo was involved and the Dovahkin was sure that the Daedric prince of madness was involved in this. It was more a hunch than certainty, but once one has been subjected to the madness of Sheogorath long enough, one started to go with the flow and try to do the best with the situation at hand.
After butchering nine more of those goblins, similar yet at the same time completely different from the species that the Dragonborn knew from Tamriel; the Dragonborn was on the verge of Shouting this interminable caves out of the bloody existence and call it a day, even if it was enough to rip his body to shreds.
A light blinked in the corner of his eyes and the Dragonborn turned his attention to the light of a lantern that came from inside a small room. A small room in the middle of this natural caves, that was enough to make him paranoid, but the tingling sensation in the edge of his consciousness; another of the clues that indicated that his Dovah soul was perfectly fine; told him to follow that light.
As soon as he entered the room, the Dragonborn huffed, sighed, and put his palm over his face, in a vain attempt to mitigate the incoming migraine; not paying much attention to the cheerful greeting of his self-proclaimed favorite uncle.
"Greetings, Uncle Sheo", the deep voice of the Dragonborn saluted in tiredness to the Draedric Prince.
Said Daedric Prince was smiling widely, twirling his cane in circular routines. The Draedric prince was in his usual male, oddly dressed, appearance.
The room where the Prince was, was pretty similar to the room that the Bannered Mare had for rent for guests, although smaller, without a bed and lacking the balcony to the main tavern of the inn. A solid wood table, where a tray contained a lot of cheese wheels and several tankards rested, and two chairs; one occupied by Sheogorath; where all the furniture of the room. The light came from a couple of lanterns that hanged from the sides of the walls, illuminating the place quite well.
With the patience of whom has done this sing and dance more than enough times, the Dragonborn took a seat at the free chair, and taking one of the tankards, the one that smells like mead, took a long gulp of the content. Taking a wheel of goat cheese, he bit deeply into the milky product and waited patiently for Uncle Sheo to told him what in Oblivion was going on.
"So...how have you been nephew?", twirled Sheogorath his cane in a different routine. "You know, I started to think that you were evading me, you did send me a strawberry tart made of Eldergreen berries; delicious by the way, but you never call old uncle and that´s not good".
"Uncle", the Dragonborn swallowed his cheese and down it with another sip of mead. "I was fighting Forsworn. They are Daedra worshipers, I used the Wabbajack to turn a Hagraven of Molag Baal into a goat and turn her into a Giant´s pet, how come did you not see that?".
"Oh", Sheogorath blinked before smiling, "that was genius, I should try something similar with Dagon, the lad needs some serious reality slap".
"Uncle", called the Dragonborn the Daedric Prince's attention back to the conversation, "why I am here?".
"Blame the rude and stick in the mud deities of this particular plane of existence", snorted Sheogorath. "I saw their little game and I politely asked for a place in the table", the scathing glare of the Dragonborn made Sheogorath chuckle, "I swear that I asked politely, it was way too interesting to screw it up with a bad first impression, however, when I saw the game I knew that they are complete novices".
"They created the world and the races, it was a solid plane of existence, so much I will grant them, but will you believe that there are no names?". Sheogorath cane stopped twirling and he raised his arms in exasperation.
"Come again?", blinked the Dragonborn this time.
"They call each other by their professions or titles or whatever, but they have no names", assured Sheogorath, "it was confusing as hell at the beginning, and I am a deity of madness, but after a while, if you learn how to go with the flow it becomes quite funny and entertaining, it is as if the gods were playing a game with the lives of their creations".
"That sounds close to Tamriel", the Dragonborn commented with enough sarcasm in his voice to peel the paint of the walls.
"I know, isn't it grand?", the wide smile of Sheogorath was akin to a child receiving the best gift ever.
"Again, Uncle Sheo, why in Oblivion I am here?", the Dragonborn asked and then he started to connect some dots; it happened in a second and the Dragonborn facial expression started to change according to the deductions that he was making. Each expression only served to widen the smile of Sheogorath.
"By the Nine, Uncle", sighed the Dragonborn slamming his head against the table, "you can not just smuggle me out of Tamriel and into whatever this realm without a warning, at last, I have family, by Talos!".
"My dear Nephew, I was not the one who did that, it was old man Jyggalag", revealed Sheogorath and the Dragonborn raised an eyebrow in incredulity. "And don't worry about your family, Jyggalag put them under his protection and Talos is sending someone to explain all to your people".
"Beg your pardon?, Jyggalag?, Daedric Prince of Order, the previous Sheogorath?", asked the Dragonborn, not entirely believing the tale, but it was nice to know that Talos was keeping an eye on his family. "By the Nine, why?. Jyggalag is possible the strongest of the Daedric Princes but...", the Dragonborn made another connection.
"Oh, Divines protect me. Order. This world needs, Order, with a capital letter; and you", the Dragonborn looked at Sheogorath, "prayed my excellencies to Jyggalag. Despite all the blood I have in my hands and the very questionable things that I have done, I have brought order to Skyrim and Solstheim".
"Aren't you the sharpest sword in the armory?", laughed loudly Sheogorath, "that´s why you are my favorite nephew, you are a living oxymoron, a clever Nord, gotta love the cliches, by the way, is all the way incredible satisfying when they are shattered in front of the faces of the mortals. The faces they do are always amusing".
Way too sober for this disaster, the Dragonborn took another of the tankards and emptied it in one go. There was always the same number of tankards on the table, but when the Oblivion mechanics are involved in anything, common sense and logic vacated the room.
"So, Jyggalag come and decided to enter his pawn into the game of this deities", continued Sheogorath the tale, much to the chagrin and disbelief of the Dragonborn, who could barely believe the situation that he was in.
"The problem is that the gods that rule this world are quite picky and as soon as you appeared at the border of their little table, they did all they could to neuter you", that made the Dragonborn twitch, discretely checking that he was still in one piece, sighing in mental relief that he was still a man.
"It did not work as good as they would have liked", continued Sheogorath amused by the reaction of the Dragonborn, "not to mention how the rest of those deities that you managed to sway; you charming dog, you; did not appreciate the changes they have made to you and decided to politely cough and told them how things are going to be from now on".
"I don't even want to know", mumbled the Dragonborn.
"In resume, you are summoned to this world to try to bring a semblance of order to this mess or good old Akatosh will review back the time until the gods of this place are nothing but protoplasm with barely an inch of self-conscience".
"That´s why I can not remember my name", sighed the Dragonborn, "neither the names of my Shield-siblings or my friends at the College or anybody else".
"About that, Dragonborn is not a valid name either", chuckled Sheogorath, "one of the races of this world are the Lizardmen, they worship dragons and other primeval beasts like the ones that you could found in the Black Marshes, you calling yourself Dragonborn would more like start a civil war".
"By the Nine", huffed the Dragonborn.
"On that topic, worshiping gods, not from this world are also forbidden", happily started to number the long list of rules that the Dragonborn would have to follow from then on.
"Along with your Beast Blood, so did your magicka get prohibited; their magic system is a bit convoluted, but you have your Thu´um albeit a bit different from what you remember; enchanting is also off the table, as Soul gems are kind of an abomination here and you can forget about your spells".
"This day is getting better and better", groaned the Dragonborn.
"You are still more than capable of dicing and slashing like the best of them, you are more than qualified to learn their magic and there is little need to say that Talos and others managed to slip some goodies for you".
"Thanks to the Nine", smiled the Dragonborn for the first time since he was tossed into this dark cave.
A backpack that was not there a second ago manifested near the Dragonborn and with glee, he opened the container to see what Talos has managed to smuggle for him. Talos was the Dragonborn patron after all, once the Dragon Crisis was over, the Dragonborn did all he could to reinstate the cult of Talos and told the Thalmor to go fuck themselves. That did not grant precisely a lot of friends among the nobles of Skyrim, but as the Stormblade and the Dragonborn, he was a bit out of the league of the vast majority of them.
Once the Dragonborn observed the contents of the backpack, he couldn't but smile, it was not his usual gear, but it was more than enough to put him back in the game.
Among the weapons, there was his solid and good rune ax, the one that he found with the Dawnguard and that was anathema for the undead, it was not Dawnbreaker, but the Dragonborn knew that the Daedric artifact would never abandon Tamriel; a pair of exceptionally crafted Dragon Priest daggers, sharp and deadly, a memento of the Dragon Cult; finally, Frostblood, the pinnacle of the Dragonborn skills and blacksmith and enchanter.
Frostblood was originally a Stahlrim Battleaxe, the Stahlrim that formed the weapon was treated with alchemy to acquire a blood-red color and enchanted to be the deadliest weapon possible, easily competing in the same leagues that even Daedric weapons as Dawnbreaker, the Spear of the Hunter or Kingslayer. Right now, the weapon was appearing to be the same, but the enchantments that the Dragonborn put on the blade where no longer and without his magicka, it was impossible to know if the weapon has been manipulated or not beyond the loss of its enhancements. The coldness of the Stahlrim was still there though, and the Dragonborn knew that not even Dovah´s claws were capable of denting the ice-like material.
The armor was his usual Wolf armor, a combined effort between Eorlund and him when the Dragonborn become the Harbinger of the companions, the helmet was the Dragon plate helmet that the Dragonborn forged with the bones of the dragon that he killed at Kynesgrove. The shield was a surprise, it was the spiked shield that the Dragonborn took from one of the two fools that he battled at the Black Reach when he was looking for the Elder Scroll of Dragon. With a bit of effort, it could be turned into a deadly buckler.
A lot of his usual adventuring gear, like his' holding lantern, a dozen varied potions; none of magicka of magic-related; shovel, woodsman ax, pickaxe; his ancient nordic pickaxe that so well served him at Solstheim; ropes, chains and shackles, oils, a healer´s kit, an alchemist package, and so went the list on.
Putting all his gear over himself was quite the task, especially without getting in the way of any of the weapons that he had on himself. Later, the Dragonborn should look out for some blacksmith to made some modifications to his gear. Without his magicka and his enchanted pouch, carrying the armory that he was accustomed too was going to be quite difficult.
Armored and dressed, the Dragonborn had to admit that he felt a lot better; but he still had a lot more questions to ask to Sheogorath, but when he turned his head back to the Daedric prince, the bastard was nowhere to be seen and when the Dragonborn blinked, he found himself standing in the middle of a very empty cave.
On the positive side of things, all his gear was on himself, so he was no longer walking around stark naked, but on the not so bright side of things, all his questions were left unanswered by Sheogorath.
"Remember, dear nephew, No Dragonborn this time around; I promised old Tiber that I would not start a religious war", mumbled Sheogorath to himself, "other than that, you can call yourself all you want, but remember it must be a title or a profession, you have dozens of those, choose one and be happy, okay, Ta-Ta!".
"For Oblivion´s sake, uncle!", roared The Dragonborn to the empty cave.
It was unfortunate, but his outburst, and the unknown amount of time in the room, has called the attention of several more of those blasted goblins, that had tried to ambush him as soon as they found him standing like an idiot in the middle of the empty room. That was not one of his brightest moments, but considering the situation, a bit of frustration and annoyance would be a normal response.
Fortunately, these goblins were the perfect victims for some very unhinged violence.
Several goblins jumped at him; in the cave, trying to move around the Bloodskal blade would be counterproductive, and taking the ax out would be to slow. The daggers slipped out of their sheaths in a blink, disemboweling four of the goblins before they even start to down their weapons at the Dragonborn.
The Dragon Priest daggers, sharpened and crafted to a point that would leave the Kavohzein´s Fang as a butter knife; mastering them was something that took a while, but the Dragonborn loved his twin golden daggers.
Swiftness and sharpness were the keywords with the daggers, the curved edge of the weapon was perfect for slicing the Dragonborn´s enemies and they were perfectly fine for stabbing and with a pull, rip out the body of the victim a lot of organs, tearing muscle and bone with astonishing easiness.
With a backstab, the Dragonborn buried the dagger in the head of another goblin and with a wrist pull, turned the brain and the skull into pieces; indifferent to the fate of the five goblins before, the rest of the goblins pushed forward, looking out to overcome the Dragonborn by sheer numbers.
Thanking the gods and Eorlund for the good craftsmanship of the armor, the hard material of the Wolf armor was more than enough to repel the attacks of the goblins; giving the Dragonborn time to counterattack and put an end to the battle. The longer this went on, the more chances will have the goblins to found a nick in his armor or aim for the eyes and the junctures of the armor.
Not for the first time, and surely not the last, the Dragonborn cursed the lack of magic, a simple armor spell of the Alteration school and that would be it; nothing these goblins had would have pierced a solid stone armor spell. But this world seems to be incredibly picky with magic and that was something that made the Dragonborn frown under his helmet.
Grabbing a goblin by the head, the Dragonborn smashed it against the floor, cracking the skull of the green beast with easiness and stabbing the gut of another one; the surviving goblins stab and cut his back with their crude spears and short swords but they did not pierce the solid defense of the Wolf armor.
Raising from the kneeling position, the Dragonborn split open the skull of the goblin with the spear and then swing the dagger downward, burying it to the half of the blade into the face of the last goblin. With a brutal straight kick, the sole of the boot of the Dragonborn pushed forward the pommel of the dagger, burying it to the hilt into the head of the goblin and pushing it erupted from the back of the head and the corpse was pinned down to the wall like a macabre trophy.
With a snort, the Dragonborn observed the slaughter and frowned deeply. This was sloppy. All of his teachers in the art of combat would have tanned his hide for this battle. Recovering his daggers; and cleaning and checking them for nicks and damages; the Dragonborn review the battle in his mind and berated himself for falling into his old habits so easily.
In his defense, it must be said that his body was severely weakened for the sudden translocation into the new world and all the blessings that the gods of this world decided were too dangerous for the Dragonborn to carry around.
For example, the Beast Blood that Aela shared with him and that the Dragonborn could not longer feel inside of him; there was no Beast anymore. The Dragonborn missed the strength, power, healing, and enhanced senses that came with the Beast Blood, but alas, at last, they have not taken his Dovah soul, that would be unforgivable.
By Talos, Aela would have scolded him to no end, if these vermin managed to wound him, not to mention that Cicero and Babette would be laughing at his poor dagger skills for days. The Dragonborn felt uneasy with his own body, there was doubt and a slower response than usual; that could be disastrous in the middle of a fight.
Cursing loudly, the Dragonborn sheathed his daggers back and observed the caves from where the goblins came.
"Lass", a single word, barely a whisper and one of the less exhausting words, yet the Dragonborn could feel the drain.
With the word, the perception of the Dragonborn grown beyond his normal sight. The vision in the cave was practically null, only thanks to his lantern; lighted during the chat with Sheogorath; could the Dragonborn see a thing in the darkness, another thing that he missed from his Beast Blood, the night vision that the blessing of Hircine granted.
There were twenty more presences in the caves, judging from the size, fourteen of them were of more goblins, one of a big humanoid, two laying down humanoids and two were two humans that were walking deep into this goblin-infested cave. The Shout was not accurate enough or powerful enough; the last point annoyed the Dragonborn a lot; to be more informative, but it was more than enough to alloy the Dragonborn to more or less deduct what´s going on.
This was a goblin nest, although the bigger humanoid in the middle of them confused the Dragonborn a little; it was one big ass goblin, that for sure, up to a point that it could be an Orc trying to rile up the small bunch of goblins into something akin to a military force.
It was a big supposition, but for the moment, the Dragonborn will join the two human life forces inside the cave, with any luck they will be friendly and could put some extra context to were in Oblivion was the Dragonborn and where to proceed from thereon. Uncle Sheo has not been precisely helpful in that regard, apart from some vague notions of how did the world work, the bloody Daedric Prince has been as annoying as usual.
Family, what can you do? it's even worse when the family is a god-like entity but it was unavoidable nonetheless.
Thanks to his Shout, it was easy for the Dragonborn to made a route that will intercept the other two humans before they reach the concentration of the other humanoids. Trying to get accustomed to the sudden drain sensation, the Dragonborn shouted only one word, the Aura Whisper Shout several times more, getting real-time information about the movements of the individuals inside the cave.
The vast majority of goblins were all over the two prone figures. Oh; Divines protect him, that was just wrong. The small critters were raping the two laying figures, females of unknown race, under the watch of the bigger goblin?. Five of the fourteen had separated from the main group; surely after they sated their basic impulses; and were on their way to the other two human figures in the cave.
It was too late to reach them before the five goblins, but thanks to the Shout, the Dragonborn could glimpse part of the brutal and fast battle that one of the figures had with the goblins. Now, that was something. Fast, brutal, merciless; whoever fought the goblins knew his way around a blade. Sure, the technique was a bit crude and it was a mixed-up style of all kinds of things, but the Dragonborn was kind of in that same wagon too, so any critic would be a bit hypocrite.
On a more relaxed pace; the Dragonborn was not entirely sure if the two other humans were competent with a blade or a bunch of rookies that had chew more than they can bite; way more of those in Skyrim that the Dragonborn would have liked to admit; the Dragonborn walked into the narrow path that the human was going to walk in, in a couple of seconds and lean on the stone surface of the walls of the cave.
The other two will saw the light of his lantern, safely secured in his waist belt, and will proceed with caution, but once they saw him, the Dragonborn hoped they will ask first.
A friendly face in a place like this is welcomed, most of the time.
Quickly rummaging a little in his backpack, the Dragonborn took out a canteen of mead; Juniper berries batch, soon it will be a memory; and took a sip from it, waiting patiently for the two other humans. One of the things that the Dragonborn missed the most was his enchanted pouch, where he usually carried anything that he could consider necessary and a shit ton of trinkets and nick-knacks that he has found in his travels. Also, some gold would have been nice, even if Septims are not the usual coin around, jewels and gold ingots are always a sure value in all civilizations.
The other two humans entered the corridor and stopped at his sight; the Dragonborn was leaning on the wall, drinking from his canteen without a care in the world; that was possible the thing that surprised them the most.
The two newcomers could not be different.
One was a professional. The Dragonborn recognized it as soon as his eyes set on the armored figure. He; judging from his armor and body shape; was completely armored, a good mail under the leather and steel armor over vital points, a solid helmet; without horns to prevent being grabbed; a sturdy short blade at his hip, perfect for narrow caves like this, along with several other weapons on itself and a flexible buckler at the left arm. This man was a professional warrior; all his body language spoke of it. The Dragonborn would have bet that he was a hunter of some sort, the focus, the concentration; the Dragonborn has seen similar body language in Aela and dozens of hunters all over Skyrim.
His companion, on the other hand, was a petite and young priest; judging from her clothes; that looks as if she has seen a lot of cute puppies kicked in front of her. The lass was cute as a button, with blue eyes and blond hair, way younger than the Dragonborn would have expected for a cave explorer. Her, blood-covered, white robes; something quite curious; indicated that she was some sort of priest, along with her long staff that was decorated with circles of gold.
From the perspective of the adventurers, the Dragonborn was also quite the image.
Bigger than a Lizardman, of stocky build and armored from head to toe in a gray armor, with a helmet that only showed his gray eyes. The man was as armored as the Goblin Slayer, with a fine-looking ax, the handles of daggers, and the double edge of a battleax over his left shoulder. The man towered over both of them, but his stance was relaxed and amicable.
"Well meet, kinsman", waved in salute the Dragonborn to the pair.
"Uhm, hello", blinked the young priest.
"Hello", was the dry and neuter tone of the armored lad.
Considering the skin tone and the facial features of the young lass, the Dragonborn would have said that she was a young Nord, way too skinny, but nothing that meat and mead could not fix; the armored lad was an enigma for now, not that the Dragonborn´s Dragonplate helmet made it any easy, only his eyes were visible through the apertures of the helmet.
"Sorry to interrupt your work with those green vermin", pointed out the Dragonborn in the direction where the rest of the goblins where, "but I am completely lost in this bloody caves and some help to get out of here would be greatly appreciated".
"We have to kill the goblins first", was the response of the armored lad, and the small priest huffed at him, explaining to him that they should help a fellow adventurer.
"I will happily help", laughed the Dragonborn at the image, it was similar to some of his antics with his friends back at Skyrim. "I hate those little green monsters".
That made the girl blink and the armored lad body language to change into something akin to respect and interest.
"What can you do?"; straight to the matter, this armored lad was like an even more automata version of Vilkas.
"Warrior, through and through", the Dragonborn tapped his rune ax, "with a couple of magic tricks to even the odds depending on the situation.
"Have you seen how many are there?", hummed the lad. "Is there any shamans or champions?".
"There are nine goblins and a big one that I do not know what it is", truly replied the Dragonborn, "there are also a pair of females, the goblins are using them as breeding stock".
The priestess gasped and grabbed her staff until her knuckles went white, her expression told the Dragonborn that this was not an uncommon occurrence.
"We will save them lass", said the Dragonborn softly, "those little bastards are going to pay".
She managed to smile a bit at those words and when the armored lad turned his helmet to her, she nodded determinedly. So there was steel under all that cute appearance, good to know; more often than not, the Dragonborn has found individuals that hide all kinds of talents under humble and average appearances.
"What´s your plan, lad?", asked the Dragonborn. "I have a...spell", it was a bit of a stretch about the Thu´um but it will do, "that would freeze the big one for a bit, enough to dispatch the nine left".
"That will help", nodded the lad, "what kind of spell it is?".
"A Shout", answered the Dragonborn and both twisted their heads to the left a bit in question.
As usual, seeing is believing.
Ice Form was a dangerous Shout that encapsulated the victim in a prison of ice, leaving them as an ice sculpture, if the victim is not quick enough to break free. Liz, the first word was all the Dragonborn dared to Shout before he could test his limits with his Thu´um. Perhaps Soul Tear or Fire Breath could have been more appropriate, but the fire was dangerous for the two hostages, and Soul Tear was very taxing even in the best of the conditions.
Still, with the big goblin; a Hobgoblin, according to the armored lad; frozen for a bit and with the explosion of light that the little priestess called through her divine magic, the Dragonborn and the other armored warrior was more than enough to slaughter the stunned and blinded goblins.
Once the light blinded all of the goblins, the Dragonborn charged in and Shouted Liz at the face of the Hobgoblin, trapping him in a prison of ice. The armored lad threw knives to the goblins and in a surprising display of speed, he reached the nearest goblin and beheaded him with his short sword.
Not wanting to be left behind, the Dragonborn impaled the torso of a goblin with the spikes of his Targe and split a goblin in half with his rune ax. The rune ax was anathema for the undead, not for goblins, but in the hands of a competent axeman was equally lethal for anyone unfortunate enough to be at the reach of its edge.
Through sword and ax, they butchered the green beasts with brutal efficiency; actually, the priestess had to blink a couple of times to remind herself that Goblin Slayer did not have a big brother or something among those lines.
They were so similar that it was astonishing.
The only difference where the physical size and their favored weapons.
Goblin Slayer was using his short sword, a crude weapon that he has mastered, and that quickly discarded for anything at hand. The adaptability of the Goblin Slayer was something that has always surprised her, he never lost an inch of skill despite the weapons that he had in his hands.
Meanwhile, the other adventure that they have met was a juggernaut that bashed and cut his way with his spiked shield and finely decorated ax.
The armor of the adventurer that they have found in the cave was quite unusual, it was different from the ones that Knights and other heavy armored warriors carried around and had a wolf motive on the protection of the neck, gauntlets, and greaves. The shield was also peculiar, as it was a reinforced wooden shield that had so many spikes that it could be used more as a weapon than as protection.
What made the priestess gasp in surprise was the unique magic of the armored warrior, he has; literally; shouted the Hobgoblin into a prison of ice, before charging ahead and vivisecting the next goblin with his ax.
So different in aspect, yet Priestess was having her doubts that Goblin Slayer has not found his lost very big brother or something along those lines.
Hardening her heart, Priestess walked into he goblin den to attend the poor girls that have been used by the goblins as breeding stock. It was a tragedy far more common than it should be. Priestess herself almost suffered a similar fate, if it wasn't for the intervention of Goblin Slayer. Since that day, she had followed the Goblin Slayer, trying to compensate for saving her life.
The longer she traveled with Goblin Slayer and saw him exterminate the goblins, the more she understands how unappreciated the labor of the adventurer truly was. Most of the adventurers dream big; dragon, demons, powerful evil mages; yet none of them understood the danger that it was the goblins. Small, cunning, cruel, and vicious, the goblins are a plague that menaced all the villages and small cities that they stalk, like the vermin that they were.
Priestess knelt at the side of one of the girls, taking a cloth out of her backpack and wetting it with some clean water, she cleaned the poor girl from the horrid fluids that the goblins have poured over her. The victim, a brown-haired girl hanged from the arms of the Priestess, crying her soul off. Priestess cleaned her and whispered comforting words, slowly moving her to the side of her companion, who was more wounded than her.
Channeling the blessing of the Goddess, Priestess poured a lot of curative magic into the other woman, healing her wound; at last the physical ones, Priestess knew very well, how the mental ones will take way more if they ever heal.
Priestess's first companions as adventurers suffered a similar fate.
The swordsman was slaughtered, torn to pieces by frenzied Goblins, Wizard was stabbed and poisoned, she died at the hands of Goblin Slayer, a mercy killing before dying of a slitted throat and poison, Martial Artist ended up like these two, gang-raped by the Goblins and the Hobgoblins of the den before Goblin Slayer and Priestess killed them all.
Taking care of the girls, Priestess; not for the first time; pondered why the hell has anyone noticed how dangerous the goblins were, so far, only Goblin Slayer and perhaps the sweet lady of the Guild had realized the kind of plague that the Goblins were.
The cracking of the ice that trapped the Hobgoblin alarmed the Priestess, she didn't expect the Hobgoblin to be alive.
The ice shattered and vaporized in a second, making the Hobgoblin fall to the floor with a loud sound; the beast was trembling from head to toe, barely alive and with severe symptoms of frostbite all over his body. Even if he has managed to survive the freezing temperatures of the Ice Form Shout, it was not without consequences.
Goblin Slayer quickly turned to face the new enemy, still in alert and ready for anything; despite how the Hobgoblin was trembling like a leaf and had lost his weapon, unable to hold it in his quivering hands.
"Allow me", said the Dragonborn, grabbing the handle of the battleax on his back.
Thanks to the open space of the cave, it was possible for the Dragonborn; who was quite tall; to take the weapon out and deliver a downward swing to the slow and trembling Hobgoblin, when the survivor tried to raise from the floor.
Frostblood was a powerful weapon, the pride, and joy of the Dragonborn. It has taken the lives of mortal and immortal alike, cutting through flesh, bone, scale, or metal with the same easiness, delivering cold and sharp death to all the enemies of the Dragonborn.
The Dragonborn was expecting for the weapon to split the head of the Hobgoblin in two, what the Dragonborn was not expecting was for Frostblood to glow red and to cut through the entire body of the Hobgoblin in two like it was made of butter.
Also, the rushing sensation that the Dragonborn felt when the battleax killed the Hobgoblin was way too familiar, it was similar to the rush that he felt whenever his Beast Blood become stronger when he devoured the heart of his preys and felt their power added to its own.
Now, that was something that the Dragonborn did not expect but by the Nine that the Dragonborn welcomed it.
Making a wild guess, the Dragonborn will say that this how was the Daedra had bypassed the restrictions of the original gods of this word. A magic weapon that empowers the user, hardly a novelty in Skyrim, so it was easy to guess that it would be the same in this world.
"To Oblivion with you", growled the Dragonborn, cleaning the frozen blood of the corpse with a swing to the side.
"Maybe this world would not be all that bad", mussed the Dragonborn, leaning the handle of Frostblood over his shoulder. In the lips of the Dragonborn, a feral smile was plastered.
After all, the adventure was in his blood, and right now, he had an entire world to explore at his leisure.
Aye, this could be fun.