Sundas, 25th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Klimmek

"You wanna run that by me again?"

The cold snap had come early this year. We usually have another month in Ivarstead before the frosts come, but the season had already been cold. Could barely keep my hands on the fishing pole all weekend without feeling frozen to it. Knee acting up. Doesn't help that I'm getting on in years either., So I'd finally given up, and warmed myself at the inn for a few hours. Pilgrims had been few the past months on account of the war, but Wilhelm always keeps plenty wood stocked for the fire. And plenty of rumours to keep conversation interesting.

But this?

"You're telling me," I say to Wilhelm, "That mage from a few months back didn't actually die, he was the one haunting us. And that the old Hall of Stories wasn't a dead end, but a lock keeping an entire Barrow of Draugr from swarming our town?"

"Kyne's word, Klimmek."

I pause, take a swig of ale. "Orkey's balls, you're as terrible a storyteller as you are a liar. I saw that bloody ghost myself a dozen times. Saw right through him. Ain't no man alive can do that, less there's a damn hole in him. And ain't no way in Sovngarde you've the guts to take on a single Draugr, let alone a cave full."

"Never said I did, did I?" He says, polishing an already clean glass. Always needs something to do with his hands, he says. "Was those two in the corner there, names Uthgerd and Talao. Don't believe me, ask them, sure as Oblivion convinced me."

"Aye," I say, glaring, "think I will at that." Thankfully, the hours in front of the fire eased the ache in my bones enough to make my way over to the.. unlikely pair. A hulking Nord woman, and a willowy man, Breton by the look of him. Maybe Imperial. Were they a couple of late pilgrims to see the Greybeards? They're chatting comfortably, chowing down on some of Wilhelm's fare. If he's having me on and I'm interrupting them for nothing, I'll bury him up to his neck in cow dung while he sleeps.

"Pardon. Wilhelm tells me you've an interesting tale to tell of our Barrow. That true?"

Instantly, the man beams, as though Sanguine himself had just offered him every pleasure in the world. But the woman groans, though I can see mirth in her eyes. "Gods above, man, I've had to listen to Talao tell that story a half-dozen times already. Not sure I can take another fanciful retelling of our trek through those ruins."

"Hush, Uthgerd. The man wants a tale, and I'm always delighted to entertain an audience." He turns to face me, though the woman continues with her meal. After introducing himself - "Talao, Bard Extraordinaire" - he launched into his tale. "We arrived in town in the early afternoon, too late to make the climb to High Hrothgar, but not nearly early enough to end our day. So we made our way here to the inn, to exchange stories and rumour. That is when we heard tell of your town's haunted Barrow. Our curiosity piqued, we set off for Shroud Hearth Barrow, cold and forbidding even in the afternoon sun. Down a flight of stairs and behind a portcullis, we saw it. A spectre. A ghost, shining blue as the sky and insubstantial as a cloud. 'Turn back,' quoth he. 'Turn back!' Undeterred, we opened the gate and crept forth, finding its lair, where it lay, sleeping."

"Sleeping?" I repeated. "A sleeping ghost."

"Aye, with a snore that could wake the dead. No pun intended."

"Yes it was."

"Quiet, Uthgerd."

I cross my arms, unsatisfied. "Never heard of spirits needing sleep before."

"Nor I, good Klimmek. Nor needing a blazing fire in their hearth, nor an alchemical lab, nor quill and ink and parchment! But we saw all this and more in that room. Including a wine bottle that my companion happened to stumble upon rather noisily." This was said with a meaningful glance toward his companion, who merely responded with a rude gesture, though without malice. I like her. Talao laughed as well, continuing, "Needless to say, the 'spirit' was roused from its slumber, picking up a very solid dagger from its side, and staggered toward us, screaming and threatening us. Very creatively, I might add. Unfortunately for him, Uthgerd prefers to strike first and ask questions later, if ever."

"Someone had to, with you cowering behind me," she said through a mouthful of mutton.

"I did no such thing. I just didn't want to be in the path of that giant cleaver you call a sword. As that poor sod's head learned as it was cleft from its body. At which point, it lost its aetherial glow. Well, both parts... you get the idea." He pulls out a vial from his tunic, blue and shining. "We recovered this beauty from his table. A complex little potion that made him pale and transparent as a ghost to scare of the locals while he searched for a treasure within the Barrow. His journal, which I gave to your barkeep friend, seems to suggest that he lost his mind along the way, and convinced himself he actually was a guardian of the tomb. Damn sight spookier than an actual ghost story, should you ask me."

Gods above. What a story. But... "Prove it. Listen, I've been round the mountain a good many times, heard my fair share of tales. Anyone could fake a journal and a glowy potion."

His grin widened further. "I was hoping you'd say that. Try not to scream like Fastred and Bassianus did last time."

I scoff, but he pops the cork on the bottle, drips a single drop into his open mouth, and then swallows. I barely keep my seat as his frame shimmers and disappears. Behind him - through him, rather - I can see Uthgerd draining a mug of ale, grimacing. "This is the fifth time in the past hour he's pulled this stunt. I'm hoping it damages his brain like it clearly did that damn fool in the Barrow."

"Hence why I'm drinking so little, Uthgerd," Talao says as he shimmers back to... being solid. "That and the need to keep enough to try and reverse alchemize the stuff, and make it better. Void salts, most likely, but who knows what else."

"Well," I say. But that doesn't seem like enough. "Kyne's tits, I'm convinced. Unless you're the best damn juggler I've met."

"Oh, friend, you've not heard the half of it."

"And then what?"

"We entered the main crypt, a long path lined with sarcophagi, and two raised plinths. One step, and the lids burst open, and fifty Draugr poured forth."

"It was hardly a dozen, Talao, and they came out staggered." That was Uthgerd again. Every so often, she chimed in to comment on something Talao would say. Truth be told, it was downright hilarious, especially with how frustrated it made the bard.

"Damnit, woman, have you no grasp of the concept of hyperbole?"

"Never even heard the word before."

Talao made some odd kind of choking noise as Uthgerd ordered another drink - another thing, the woman could hold her alcohol. "Fine. A dozen Draugr - the killing of which is still no small feat! - rose from the tombs, and were summarily slaughtered by Uthgerd. Then, through one last gate, we attained our final goal. A spacious room, dominated by an enormous stone monument, a single ray of light illuminating a chest, filled with glorious treasures. Pieces of gold older than Septims existed, jewelry, even a fancy sword for Uthgerd."

"Needs a bit of tempering," she says, unsheathing said sword, "but the enchantment on it is strong." For a thousand-year old blade, it seems in damn good shape, and it has a whitish-blue sheen to it that was obviously unnatural.

"I didn't even know she could recognize enchantments, let alone work enchanted metals," Talao said to me in an exaggerated whisper.

"I have a sword in my hand, Talao. Maybe not the safest time for quips."

"Ah, but your life would be so dull without those quips. You know this to be true." Turning back to me, he continued "To wit, we found a shortcut to the entrance and made our way back here in triumph. Tonight, we revel. And tomorrow, we climb to High Hrothgar." With that declaration, he drains his mug with satisfaction.

"By Talos," I mutter. "That was quite an adventure indeed. To think such plots could happen even in a town like Ivarstead. I must thank you for taking care of that scoundrel for us as well. Wilhelm!"

"Klimmek!"

"Grab another round for these two, on me."

"Told you."

"Shut yer yap." He laughs, reaching for the ale. "You said you're pilgrims, aye?"

The two look at each other a moment. "Of a sort, I suppose," Talao says. "We are obviously heading to meet the Greybeards, if that's what you're asking."

"Well I don't suppose you could do me a favor of a sort as well?" Wilhelm drops the round of drinks at the table, and I stretch my leg out, uncomfortable. Guess I'd been so wrapped up in the story I hadn't noticed the stiffness. "Y'see, I usually take some supplies to the Greybeards every few weeks as... I guess as a bit of a tribute. They have their own food and such, but things like cloth and fish, they can't get up there. But my knee isn't what it used to be. You two can clearly take care of yourselves; could you take the supplies with you tomorrow? In return, I'll pack you a few trout from my stores for a meal. Far better fare than this place, or what you'll find on the slopes, I assure you."

"Seems reasonable enough to me. What say you, Uthgerd?"

"Anything's better than that wolf meat we tried to eat yesternight. So gamey I could barely chew."

"Sounds like a yes to me! Shake on it?"

He grasps my hand with both of his. He has the most interesting calluses I've ever felt, the tips of his fingers only. "Great. We'll meet at dawn at the south bridge. You should reach High Hrothgar before dusk, even if you take a few breaks on the walk. And trust me, you'll need to."

With another smile and a wave, the two retreat to their room. I pay my tab and, reluctantly, head back outside. The cold hits me like a punch to the gut, and my knee begins aching again instantly. Gods, it's as if we skipped Autumn altogether and hit Winter without so much as a greeting. Plants aren't near ready for harvest, but they'll wither in the ground if this keeps up. Never enough time it seems. Always feels like there's less of it to go around every day that passes.

Out in the far distance, I hear some beast scream, and another answers.