The taste of blood lingers in my mouth as I step through the shattered gate, the adrenaline coursing through my veins like a wildfire. Dust hangs thick in the air, illuminated by the afternoon light slicing through the debris. Splintered wood and jagged iron litter the ground, the aftermath of my shout painted across the battlefield.
The bandits recover faster than I expect, their shouts of confusion turning to snarls of anger. The first rushes at me, a heavyset Nord with an axe, screaming curses. His movements are clumsy, all brute force and no finesse. I grin, raising my blade, frost streaming in its wake, and sidestep his downward swing. The axe bites into the dirt, and before he can recover, I thrust upward. The blade slips beneath his ribs, frost hissing as it bites into flesh. He collapses with a gurgled scream, the frostbite spreading across his chest.
I pull the sword free, a spray of crimson following the motion, and immediately turn to the next threat. A wiry man with a spear charges, jabbing toward my chest. The spearhead grazes the edge of my cuirass as I step back and circle around him, keeping my blade low. His strikes are quick, but he overextends with a lunge, leaving himself exposed. I parry his spear down, knocking it to the side, and step in close. My blade finds his neck in a diagonal arc, blood spraying across my vision as his body crumples.
Behind me, the rhythmic clash of steel on steel rises as Lydia barrels into the fray. Her spear thrusts forward with precise, measured strikes, driving back two bandits at once. I catch a glimpse of Kaidan on the far side of the courtyard, his bow raised. A single arrow whistles past my ear, embedding itself in a bandit who had been aiming a firebolt at Lydia. He doesn't even look up as the bandit falls.
Inigo's movements are a blur on the walls above—though I have no clue how he made it up there, damn cat. His cloak snaps behind him as he strings another arrow, loosing it into the chaos. A mage crumples from the rampart.
The chaos of battle swirls around me, bringing the world into sharp relief. Another mage emerges from the smoke, her hands glowing with a fire spell. I barely have time to react as she hurls a fireball directly at me. My sword rises instinctively, and the frost enchantment surges to life. The flames dissipate in a burst of steam as the blade absorbs the impact. The mage's eyes widen, realizing too late her mistake. I dart forward, closing the distance in a burst of speed, and drive the blade through her last second ward and into her chest. The spell shatters, and she slumps forward onto my blade, her breath escaping in a wet gasp.
As I pull the sword free, I feel the heat of the battlefield rise around me. Another mage is already preparing a spell, their hands glowing with sparkling energy. A rush of movement catches my attention—a bandit charging toward me with a flanged mace. I pivot, raising my blade to meet him. The frost magic hums through the steel as I parry his first strike, the mace fractures into glittering shards, and I counter with a swift slash across his stomach. He stumbles, blood and steaming guts pouring from the wound, and falls face-first into the dirt.
A mage's firebolt streaks past my head, close enough to heat my helm. I snarl, turning toward them, my grip tightening on the hilt of my blade.
I advance through the chaos, each step deliberate, a predatory grin splitting my face, the thrill of battle coursing through me like lightning. A scream pierces the air—one of the bandits—and I glimpse Lydia, driving her spear into another foe. She's completely on point, shield raised to catch a bolt of lightning hurled from a mage perched on the walls above as its enchantments ripple.
My focus snaps forward as a sharp movement catches my eye—a mage ahead of me, his hands glowing purple. A flicker of energy forms between his fingers, and I know what's coming before it even materializes. A spectral wolf takes shape, its translucent fangs bared as it lunges toward me. I passing-step back, bringing my sword up in a tight arc. The blade catches the wolf mid-air, its form dispersing into wisps of light as the frost enchantment overwhelms the summoning magic. The mage stumbles back, eyes wide with fear. He tries to raise a ward, but I don't give him the chance. I lunge, my blade shattering the barrier and biting deep into his throat, body flash freezing. His scream fades as he collapses and shatters.
As the battle rages on, I spot Inigo darting along the wall. An arrow sails from his bow, striking a mage mid-spell. Their spell fizzles, and they clutch at their throat, tumbling to the ground below.
That's when it happens. A flicker of purple catches the corner of my vision. Pain explodes in my left shoulder, forcing me to stagger. My sword dips as I glance down, a spectral purple arrow protruding through my armor and Oakflesh. A bound bow. My gaze snaps upward, and there, on the tower above, a mage holding a purple bow nocks another arrow of shimmering energy.
I grit my teeth, the pain lancing through my shoulder sharp and hot. My grip on my sword falters for a moment as the mage above nocks and draws, their expression cold and dismissive. I dart to the side, my boots skidding across the rubble-strewn ground as the second arrow whistles past where my head had been a heartbeat earlier.
The grin that spreads across my face is sharp and wild, fueled by the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of the fight. My blood sings with the challenge, the pain in my shoulder already dulled by my focus. "All right, then," I mutter under my breath. My gaze locks on the stairs at the far side of the courtyard, leading up to the ramparts. I don't wait. I move.
Sheathing my sword, I reach for a potion at my belt. The mage above tracks me, their bound bow gleaming as another arrow materializes. I zigzag across the courtyard, narrowly avoiding another arrow that slams into the ground at my feet, the impact sending a burst of shimmering energy upward. My fingers fumble with the potion's stopper as I run, the sound of battle roaring in my ears.
A bandit rushes me from the side, greatsword raised high. I react instinctively, thrusting my hand toward them. Lightning arcs from my fingertips, crackling with raw energy, and slams into their chest. They convulse, dropping their weapon as their body hits the ground, smoke rising from their scorched armor. The smell of burnt flesh is sharp and acrid, but I don't pause. I rip my chainmail veil off and down the potion, the liquid burning as it courses through me, and feel the strength return to my left arm. My grip steadies as I reach the stairs, tossing the empty vial aside.
The stairs are narrow, the stone slick beneath my boots. I ascend quickly, drawing my sword again. Another mage appears at the top of the stairs, their hands already glowing with summoning magic. A spectral wolf materializes in front of them, snarling and leaping at me while I glimpse purple to the side. My sword rises, deflecting another arrow from the bound bow and looping down to slice clean through the wolf. It vanishes in a burst of light, and I press forward.
The mage doesn't relent. They're already raising a ward as I surge up the final steps. I dart forward, my sword cleaving through the air. The wolf's disappearance bought me a split-second, but the mage is ready, their ward shimmering as it absorbs the impact of my swing. Sparks dance along the barrier, frost cracking along the magical shield, but it holds.
I don't stop. My sword rebounds, and I twist into the movement, letting the momentum carry me. My off-hand snaps upward, and a bolt of lightning streaks from my palm. It slams into the ward, making it flicker and waver. The mage stumbles, her concentration faltering just enough. I close the distance, driving my blade into her chest as her ward shatters into sparkling energy. The frost enchantment surges into her, spreading rime across her robes as she crumples to the ground.
I barely have time to catch my breath before an arrow whistles past my head, close enough to hear the parting of air. My gaze snaps upward. The mage with the bound bow is still perched on the far tower. Another arrow begins to coalesce, shimmering with ethereal energy.
I snarl, darting along the wall. The ramparts are wide enough for a clear path, but debris litter the stone, forcing me to leap and weave as I run. Each step feels like a gamble, arrows raining down towards me from the tower.
Another arrow streaks toward me. I drop into a slide, my armor screeching against the stone as the spectral projectile sails overhead. The impact explodes against a nearby parapet, shards of glowing energy scattering like fireflies in the dark. I push myself upright mid-motion, my hand reaching instinctively for the chainmail veil, refastening it with a practiced motion as I sprint.
The tower looms closer, the archer's attention unwavering. My left arm twinges with residual pain, but the potion has done its work. I push harder, ducking behind an outcrop of stone as another arrow slams into the stone beside me. The sound reverberates like a thunderclap.
I growl, the grin returning to my face. The thrill of the chase is intoxicating, the anticipation building with each step. My target is in sight, and nothing will stop me now.
I reach the base of the tower just as another spectral arrow punches into the stone above me, spraying chips of rock into the air. The mage leans over the battlement, their bound bow already shimmering with the formation of another shot. I don't wait for them to fire, darting into the tower's staircase.
The stairs are narrow, spiraling upward in tight, uneven stonework. I take them two at a time, the clank of my boots echoing loudly in the confined space. My sword is already in hand, its edge glinting with frost, ready for whatever waits above. Halfway up, the air grows warmer, the temperature rising unnaturally. Magic. I can feel it—pulsing, alive, and malevolent.
As I round the final curve, a spectral wolf is in front of me, its glowing eyes locking onto mine. It snarls, its form shimmering faintly in the dim light. Without hesitation, I bring my sword up in a smooth arc. The blade cuts cleanly through the wolf's body, dispersing it in a flash of light.
I don't slow. Another arrow flies past as I burst onto the top of the tower, my sword raised, so close it brushes the edge of my pauldron, leaving a faint scorch mark. The mage stands at the far side, their bound bow dissipating as they reach for a staff leaning against the wall. Crimson robes and hair trailing behind them.
"Persistent, aren't you?" the mage sneers, leveling the staff at me. The air between us ripples as a torrent of fire roars forth, engulfing the entire top of the tower. I barely manage to throw up a lesser ward, the flames slamming into the magical shield with a force that nearly sends me stumbling back down the stairs. The heat is intense, beads of sweat forming instantly on my brow as I grit my teeth and push forward.
The firestorm relents for a moment, and I dart to the side, my ward faltering as I dodge another surge of flame. The mage doesn't give me a second to recover, their staff already glowing with the next attack.
The mage doesn't relent, staff flaring as another torrent of fire erupts, roaring toward me with an intensity that threatens to sear the air itself. I sidestep sharply, the flames licking at my armor as I thrust my hand forward and release a crackling Lightning Bolt. The arc of electricity streaks through the air, colliding with the mage's hastily erected ward. Sparks scatter, and the sheer force drives him back a step, the sneer replaced by a flicker of irritation.
"Impressive," he snarls, the words are barely out of his mouth when he raises his free hand. My eyes narrow as another spectral wolf materializes, its fangs bared and its ethereal body rippling like a mirage. It lunges without hesitation, and I twist to meet it, my sword coming up in a sharp arc. The blade slices cleanly through its form, dispersing it in a burst of cold light, but the delay costs me. A fireball explodes on a hastily conjured ward, the shockwave throwing me backward.
I hit the stone hard, the wind knocked from my lungs. My vision blurs for a heartbeat, but instinct kicks in. I roll to the side just as a firebolt detonates where I'd landed, the heat washing over me in waves. My muscles scream in protest as I push myself upright, gritting my teeth against the pain lancing through my side.
The mage laughs, his confidence growing as he takes a step closer. "You should've stayed fighting the bandits, little warrior."
I stagger to my feet, the tip of my sword scraping against the stone as I steady myself. My purple eyes lock onto his black ones. "You talk too much," I rasp, the hoarseness in my voice a reminder of the FUS that shattered the gate below.
I raise my hand; a Lightning Bolt lances out and hits the shimmering ward he summons with a crack as I dart forward, closing the distance faster than he expects. He raises the staff defensively, but I feint low, drawing his attention downward. At the last moment, I switch direction, elbow twisting to bring my sword around and down. The blade bites into his shoulder but the robe he is wearing shimmers with enchantment and it's not deep enough to incapacitate.
He hisses in pain, clutching the wound as he stumbles back, frost creeping over his crimson robes. His staff flares again, summoning two imps made of fire that materialize in bursts of heat on either side of him. The imps screech, their clawed hands igniting with flickering flames as they charge.
I have seconds to react. My left hand rises, and a Lightning Bolt leaps from my palm, striking one imp square in the chest. It explodes into embers, but the second is already on me. I bring my sword up just in time, the blade catching its flaming claws mid-swipe. The impact sends a jolt through my arms, but I punch forward, driving the sharpened crossguard into the imp and reducing it to ash.
I twist back toward the mage who had used the distraction to prepare another spell, his staff glowing ominously. I barely have time to register the growing heat before a stream of fire surges toward me. There's no time to block or dodge—I throw myself into a desperate roll, the flames scorching the edge of my cloak as I come up on one knee, panting and glaring.
He sneers, his arrogance growing as he sees me on one knee. "Still standing?" he taunts, voice dripping with disdain. The staff crackles in his grip, its tip flaring once more. "Let's change that."
I don't give him the chance. Springing forward, I close the distance between us with a three-step, making sure to exaggerate the body movements, slamming my sword against the shaft before the spell can fully form. Sparks shower between us as the force of my strike sends the staff clattering to the ground.
His eyes widen, panic flashing across his face. I press the advantage, bringing my sword around in a tight arc aimed at his midsection. He stumbles back, narrowly avoiding the blade, and extends his hand. A Ward springs to life just as my follow-up thrust connects. The sword meets the glowing barrier with a sharp crack, the impact reverberating up my arm.
The ward holds, but only just. His teeth visibly clench as he pours more energy into maintaining it, hand trembling under the strain. "You're persistent," he spits, their voice edged with frustration.
"And you're losing," I snap, driving my sword against the ward again. The magical shield flickers, fractures spidering across its crystalline surface. I don't let up, raining down blow after blow, each strike chipping away at the ward.
He screams in desperation, left hand snapping out from where he was using it to help stabilize the ward. A spectral wolf materializes at my side, its jaws snapping at my arm. I twist away, snarling. I drive my elbow into the wolf's head to disorient it before pivoting. My blade swings in a wide arc as I do so, cleaving through the wolf's shimmering form. Its body dissipates in a flash of light, leaving me with a clear path to my real target.
But the mage is already moving, I lunge to close the distance, but he's faster. A fireball erupts from his palm, and I barely manage to throw up a Lesser Ward, feeling my magic reserves drain dangerously low. The spell detonates against the shield, the impact throwing me back with a force that leaves my ears ringing.
I hit the stone hard, my back slamming into the low parapet at the edge of the tower. The world tilts for a moment, and I struggle to focus, my vision blurring at the edges. The mage looms above me, his face a mask of triumph. "You should've stayed down," he hisses, lowering tier staff—must have reclaimed it while I was flying—where flames start to build, I gather my breath in preparation to shout.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement—a glint of metal. A crossbow bolt streaks through the air, slamming into the asshole's shoulder and spinning him around. He staggers, clutching at the wound, and I seize the opportunity. Forcing myself to my feet, I explode forward, my sword coming into high guard.
The mage snarls, his expression twisting into fury. "Enough!" He shouts slamming the butt of his staff against the stone, and the air around him warps. Four Flame Atronachs materialize in bursts of fire, their forms flickering with an otherworldly heat, though I have no time to admire their otherworldly forms.
I skid to a halt, my sword lowering slightly as I take in the new threat. "Shit," I mutter under my breath. My grip tightens on the hilt of my sword.
The Flame Atronachs close in, their bodies radiating searing heat that makes the air shimmer. Their flickering forms are beautiful, each movement trailing embers that dance like fireflies. The closest one raises an arm, and I barely manage to dodge as a stream of flame erupts from its hand, scorching the stone where I stood moments ago.
The mage sneers from behind his summoned creatures. "You're outmatched. Just die already."
I grit my teeth, scanning for an opening. The Atronachs have me boxed in, their fiery forms circling like wolves around prey. I raise my blade in one hand defensively, feeling the heat licking at my armor, and summon a crackling Lightning Bolt into my free hand. With a snarl, I hurl it at the nearest Atronach. The spell strikes true, its energy crackling through the creature's body. It flickers violently before exploding in a burst of flame, leaving only a smoldering scorch mark.
Before I can celebrate, another Atronach lunges, its molten claws swiping at me. I sidestep, slashing out with my sword. The blade bites into its fiery torso, dispersing its form in a rush of heat and light. Two down.
The remaining Atronachs close ranks, their movements more aggressive now. One unleashes a fireball, and I throw up a Lesser Ward, the flames slamming into the magical barrier. The impact forces me back a step, my boots scraping against the stone. The second Atronach takes advantage of my falter, hurling another fireball that clips my shoulder as I twist away. The heat sears through the steel, and I bite back a curse as pain flares up my arm.
My gaze snaps to the mage, his face calm, almost smug. The tip of his staff glows brighter as he prepares another spell, clearly content to let his summoned creatures wear me down. His confidence is infuriating, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus. These damn Atronachs are in the way, and I can't get to him like this.
I retreat a few steps to position the Atronachs between myself and the mage. My boots scrape against the stone as I maneuver, my sword raised defensively. The fiery creatures hiss and advance, their molten forms radiating searing heat that makes the air shimmer. One lunges, clawed hands igniting as it swipes at me. I sidestep, my blade coming up in an arc to deflect the blow. Sparks scatter as steel meets molten claws, the impact rattling my arms.
The second Atronach unleashes another fireball, and I lean back, the flames roaring past me to detonate harmlessly against the parapet. But the other Atronach takes advantage, barreling into me with searing force. The impact sends me sprawling, the heat radiating from her molten body pressing against my armor like a forge. My back slams against the stone, the air forced from my lungs. Before I can react, one of her claws clamps down on my sword arm, the heat instantly searing through the steel and into my flesh beneath. A strangled cry escapes me, the pain blinding for a heartbeat.
I twist sharply, driving my armored knee into her torso with all the force I can muster. The strike jars her just enough to create space, and I seize the opening. My free hand darts to my belt, drawing my dagger. With a snarl, I drive the blade upward into her chest. The Atronach shudders violently, her fiery form flickering before dissipating in a burst of flame and lightning.
I roll to the side as the remnants of her heat scorch the stone where I lay, gasping as the pain in my arm flares anew. My sword hand trembles, the skin beneath my gauntlet blistering and raw, but I grit my teeth and force myself upright. I come up on one knee, panting, the weight of exhaustion pressing against me like a leaden cloak. My body screams for rest, but I don't have that luxury—not yet.
The mage doesn't move, standing at a safe distance with a smug expression plastered across his face. His staff hums faintly, its tip glowing as he prepares another spell. He's watching intently the other Atronach having retreated to his side hovering just in front of him, savoring his victory before it's even complete.
He thinks he's already won.
My grip tightens on the hilt of my sword, the frost enchantment pulsing faintly under my fingers soothes the burns. My throat still burns from the earlier shout, but I can feel the power stirring within me again, coiling like a predator ready to strike. I rise to my feet, the Atronach darts in to finish me and I grin.
I draw in a deep breath, the weight of the battlefield around me fading into the background. The power builds in my chest, raw and unrelenting, and I release it with everything I have.
"FUS!"
The Thu'um tears through the air, a shockwave of pure force that slams into the Atronach like a hammer. Their molten form shatters instantly, embers and fragments scattering across the tower in a burst of light and heat. The wave continues, crashing into the mage's hasty ward with the force of a battering ram. The shimmering barrier fractures, holds for a single second, then shatters, and the mage is flung backward like a ragdoll. He crashes into the rampart with a sickening crack, his staff clattering to the stone and its glow fading to nothing.
The air is eerily still for a moment, the aftermath of the shout leaving the battlefield silent. I don't hesitate. I rise and dart forward, my boots pounding against the stone, ignoring the protests of my battered body. The mage is trying to rise, his movements sluggish and pained, but I'm already upon him. My sword arcs downward in a decisive strike.
He raises a hand in a feeble attempt to cast another ward, but it's too little, too late. The blade cleaves through his defenses, biting into flesh with a hiss of cold. The mage's body crumples, lifeless, as I pull the sword free, steam rising faintly from the wound.
I stand there for a moment, my chest heaving, as the heat and tension of the battle begin to dissipate. My legs tremble, and the taste of blood lingers in my mouth, but I allow myself a grim smile.
The adrenaline starts to fade, and the world crashes down around me like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. My body feels like it's been torn apart—my chest heaves, every breath ragged and burning. Blood pools in my mouth, the metallic tang making my stomach churn. I lean heavily against the wall, my left arm trembling as it grips the stone for support. My throat feels shredded, each swallow a jagged stab of pain.
I spit blood onto the cracked stone beneath my boots, the deep red a stark contrast to the pale frost creeping over the mage's body just a few steps away. The taste lingers, sour and bitter. My head pounds, my vision blurring at the edges, but I can't stop the grin that spreads across my face. That second shout… It had taken more than I thought it would, but it proved I could use the shout more than once at full force, and I was getting better.
I glance down into the courtyard, taking in the scene below through the haze of pain. Lydia stands near the center, her spear resting against her shoulder as she surveys the aftermath. Her helm is off, her hair clinging to her sweat-slicked face, and I can see the faint lines of exhaustion etched into her features. Kaidan is crouched over a bandit's body, rifling through their belongings with methodical efficiency. Lucien lingers near the gate, his crossbow lowered but still held in his hands, as though he's not quite ready to believe the fight is over—I'll need to thank him, that bolt may have saved my damn life.
Inigo is perched on the rampart opposite me, his bow resting across his knees, his keen eyes scanning the surrounding forest for any sign of movement.
I finally push off the wall, forcing myself upright. My legs feel like lead, but I manage to steady myself, wiping the blood from my chin with the back of my hand. Then, I shout down to the others with a hoarse, rasping voice, "Well, that was fun!"
Lydia glances up, arching an eyebrow. "If you say so, my Thane," she replies, her tone dry as ever.
Lucien's laughter echoes faintly from below, a nervous edge to his voice. "It was certainly exciting!"
Inigo's response comes with a bemused chuckle. "My friend, you and I have very different definitions of fun."
I shake my head, a grin tugging at my lips despite the raw, burning pain in my throat. Stepping away from the rampart, I focus on the mage's lifeless body slumped against the crumbled wall. Frost clings to their robes, the once-vibrant crimson now muted and brittle under the icy sheen. My joints protest as I crouch down, the adrenaline fading to reveal the weight of exhaustion settling into my limbs.
The first thing that catches my eye is the staff. Polished black wood, smooth as glass, with a large red crystal embedded at its top, it gleams faintly even in the dim light of dusk. It hums softly as I lift it, a faint vibration running up my arm, the enchantment within alive and waiting, it's a fireball staff if I had to guess, and it could prove useful— what a good way to thank Lucien for saving my life. Tucking it under my arm, I continue the search.
The faint shimmer of a gold ring draws my gaze next, snugly wrapped around the mage's pale, frozen finger. I pry it off carefully, holding it up to the light to examine the carvings etched along its surface. It has a ruby set into it and glimmers with a faint red magical light. Health enchantment? Something subtler? Hard to say without closer study, but I pocket it all the same.
As I rise, my gaze lingers on the mage's body. They'd been strong—strong enough to push me to my limits, strong enough to make me bleed. If they'd made a few better moves, if the others below hadn't fought so fiercely, this battle might have ended very differently.
The thought lingers as I turn and descend the spiral stairs, the staff resting against my shoulder. It reminds me how weak I still am, how far I have to go.
I step down into the courtyard, blood still pooling in my mouth. My throat feels raw, like I've swallowed shards of glass. Spitting the taste onto the ground, I catch sight of Lucien bounding toward me, his face lit up with an expression of unbridled enthusiasm. His crossbow is slung haphazardly at his side, his arms flailing as if trying to pull the words out faster.
"That was extraordinary!" Lucien exclaims, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement. "Absolutely extraordinary! Do you understand what just happened? You—Dragonborn—shouted the gate to pieces! The implications are staggering!"
Before I can respond, he launches into what I know will be a relentless stream of information. "The Thu'um, the Voice—it's a gift, a birthright! The Nords claim it stems from divine blood, but that's only part of it. The story of Alessia, the pact with Akatosh, the Emperors of the Septim line—it all connects! Do you know what this means? The Dragonborn isn't just legend; it's history! Tangible, real—"
"Lucien," I croak, cutting him off, "breathe."
Reminds me of fucking Alex, damn autist.
He doesn't. "Do you feel different since you learned? Is there a connection to the gods? Akatosh, perhaps? Or Talos! Do you feel a pull to the Greybeards? You must go to High Hrothgar! Imagine what you might learn!"
I groan inwardly, reaching under my arm and grabbing the staff I'd looted from the mage on the tower. With a single motion, I toss it to him. "Here," I mutter.
He fumbles the catch, barely managing to grab it before it hits the dirt. "What—what's this?" he asks, blinking in confusion.
"A staff," I reply flatly.
"Yes, I see that, but what kind of—"
"For walking, obviously," I cut him off with a dry smirk. "It's enchanted—fireball, I think. Play with it later."
Lucien stares at the staff, momentarily distracted. "An enchanted staff..." he murmurs, turning it over in his hands. But then his gaze snaps back to me. "Wait—don't think you're escaping my questions!"
"I'd rather face another mage," I mutter, brushing past him as Inigo approaches with a knowing grin.
"My friend," Inigo says smoothly, "perhaps let him rest before questioning him?"
I nod at him in gratitude as I glance around, taking in the scene as I wipe blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. "Loot what you can. Gold, weapons, anything useful. Lydia, you're with me. Let's check the inner fort."
Kaidan, as usual, grunts in acknowledgment, already rummaging through the bandits' belongings with practiced efficiency. He tosses aside a broken sword before pocketing a pouch of coins, muttering something under his breath about better-paying jobs.
She nods, tightening her grip on her spear. "Understood, my Thane."
Turning toward the inner fort, I pause briefly at the steps of the tower. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals Lucien already testing the weight of the staff, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. Inigo is cleaning his sword, while Kaidan is still methodically looting bodies. The chaos of the battle is fading, replaced by the methodical calm that always follows.
The doors to the inner fort groan as I push them open, the sound echoing ominously in the stone corridor ahead. A faint, musty odor greets us, mingling with the acrid tang of smoke drifting in from the battle outside. Lydia moves beside me, her shield raised and her spear angled low, ready to strike. The soft clink of her armor is the only sound besides the faint creak of the wood beneath our boots.
I glance at her, tilting my head toward the darkened hallway ahead. She nods, her expression unreadable beneath her helm, but the tension in her stance tells me she's as ready for an ambush as I am. The flickering torchlight barely reaches the far corners of the corridor, leaving pools of shadow where anything—or anyone—could be hiding.
Together, we move forward, our steps careful, deliberate. The silence presses in, every creak of the floorboards beneath us amplified tenfold. I shift my sword slightly, the weight of it familiar and reassuring.
The first room we pass is empty—a storage area filled with crates and sacks of grain. I motion for Lydia to cover the hallway while I step inside, scanning the corners for any signs of movement. Nothing. The room is still and undisturbed, save for the faint scurrying of vermin in the shadows.
Returning to the hallway, I gesture for her to follow. "So far, so good," I mutter.
We come to a fork in the corridor—one path leading deeper into the fort, the other toward what looks like a barracks. I hesitate, listening. A faint sound drifts through the still air: a muffled shuffle, barely audible. Lydia catches it too, her head tilting slightly.
I slam my boot into the door, splintering the wood as it bursts inward. The men inside jerk in surprise, their panicked faces illuminated by the flickering light. Three of them, all poorly armed and visibly shaken. One reaches for his axe, but his hands are trembling too much to grip it properly.
"No one else has to die," one of them stammers, backing away toward a bunk. His words reek of desperation, and I see the truth in their eyes—they're cowards. They didn't join the fight outside because they feared for their lives. I sneer in disgust.
One of the bandits—a wiry man with a dagger—moves to lunge at me, his desperation overriding his caution. I sidestep easily, bringing my sword across in a strong arc that catches him mid-stride. He crumples to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
The other two hesitate, their courage faltering. Lydia doesn't wait for an invitation. She steps forward, her spear thrusting cleanly into the chest of the woman who had been reaching for a shortsword. The woman gasps, a short, sharp sound, before slumping to the ground convulsing.
The last bandit—a young man barely more than a boy—drops his mace and raises his hands, his face pale. "Please," he begs, his voice shaking. "I didn't want this."
"Should've thought about that before you joined them," I mutter. My blade arcs downward, swift and final. The young man crumples, joining the others in silence. I may have let him live if he had tried to surrender during the actual battle.
I wipe my blade clean on the edge of a bunk and glance at Lydia. "Let's move. The inner fort won't clear itself." She nods, her expression grim.
-MD-
-MD-
-MD-
The heavy wooden door creaks open, its groan echoing ominously in the dim hallway. The air inside is thick, stale, and reeks of mildew, old blood, and something acrid that tingles unpleasantly in the back of my throat. I step in first, sword raised, with Lydia close behind. The flickering torchlight barely illuminates the scene.
The sight that greets us is macabre. A long wooden table sits at the center of the room, and on it lies the body of a Nord man. His chest cavity is split open, and crystalline formations have grown from the torn flesh, jagged and faintly luminescent. The light from the crystals refracts off the walls, painting the room in an otherworldly glow.
Lydia stiffens at the sight, her knuckles whitening as she tightens her grip on her spear. "Milk drinking mages!" she spits, her voice low and filled with venom. She glances at me hastily, her face flushing. "Not you, of course, my Thane."
I smirk despite myself, stepping closer to the grotesque sight. "I'll forgive the lapse, Lydia," I say dryly, my attention shifting to the body. "This… isn't normal."
The crystalline growths almost seem alive, pulsating faintly as though feeding on what little energy remains in the body. Stormcloak armor is strewn about the room, some pieces piled carelessly in a corner, others lying discarded near the table. A torn banner bearing the Stormcloak emblem lies crumpled beneath one of the overturned chairs.
"They were using them," I mutter, gesturing at the armor. "The Stormcloaks were here before the bandits. The mages must've overtaken them, turned this place into…" I wave at the table, my lips curling in distaste. "An experiment."
Lydia edges closer to the table, her expression twisted with revulsion as she inspects the crystals. "These bastards," she growls, "they're worse than the bandits. Trying to use magic to… gods know what." She straightens abruptly, shaking her head. "We should press on. There's nothing here but their filth."
"Agreed," I say, turning my attention to a reinforced door at the far end of the room. Its iron bands gleam faintly, the lock untouched. Whatever's behind it must have been important. I glance back at Lydia. "Get ready. Let's see what else these bastards were hiding."
Her spear rises in readiness as I channel my magicka and hear a faint click from the lock.
The door creaks open, and I step inside, immediately struck by how out of place the room feels compared to the rest of the fort. The smell of spiced wine lingers faintly in the air, mixing with the scent of old parchment and something acrid, like burned herbs. This wasn't just a room; it was a haven for someone who clearly valued comfort—and power.
A massive bed with thick fur blankets dominates the left side of the room, its dark wood frame carved with swirling, intricate designs. Across from it, a heavy desk is piled high with papers and scrolls, some half-rolled, others scattered haphazardly. A candleholder, tipped onto its side, has dripped wax across the edge. Beside it, an empty goblet lies discarded, as if abandoned in haste.
A tall bookshelf leans against the far wall, packed tight with leather-bound tomes. I glance at them with longing, knowing I likely wouldn't be able to take more than a few. A closed chest rests in the far corner, its latch slightly ajar, and a rack by the door holds a dark, fur-lined cloak, still damp at the hem.
Lydia steps in behind me, her spear angled protectively, her eyes scanning every shadowed corner. "Feels too...civilized for a bunch of bandits," she mutters. "Didn't expect curtains." She gestures to the deep red fabric hanging over a small window.
"Everyone likes their comforts," I reply, stepping further in, my boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. The entire room feels tense, as though it's waiting for something. My eyes flick to the bed, and despite the heaviness in the air, a grin tugs at my lips. "Feel like relaxing?" I ask motioning at the bed.
Lydia shoots me a look, her face carefully neutral. "Sorry, my Thane, you don't quite tickle that itch."
I chuckle and shake my head. "Suit yourself."
I stride toward the chest in the corner, curiosity prickling at my mind. Dropping to one knee, I flip the lid open, its hinges groaning in protest. Inside lies a modest haul: a scattering of gold coins that glint in the faint candlelight, a few rough gemstones—mostly garnets and amethysts—and a ring. I pocket the gold and gems, holding the ring up to the light. The faint hum of enchantment resonates against my senses. No telling what it does yet, but it's mine now.
As I turn and rise, Lydia approaches the bookshelf, her spear resting casually against her shoulder. She eyes the rows of books with a skeptical frown, brushing the spines of a few with her fingertips. "What kind of bandits keep a library?" she mutters to herself.
I chuckle, stepping up beside her and running my hand over the spines of the books, pausing as I spot a few with promising titles. "Not just any books. These are mostly magic guides." My fingers stop on a worn, leather-bound volume. The embossed title reads A Guide to the Path of Restoration. I pull it free, flipping it open to skim the contents. Healing techniques, ward structures—useful, I may not be the most inclined to this path but Lucien…. I grin. "Lucien's going to lose his mind when he sees these."
I set it aside and scan the shelf further. Another title catches my eye—A Treatise on Bound Weapons. "Perfect," I mutter, pulling it out. Bound energy was one of the paths I was most interested in.
The third book stands out for its sheer boldness: On the Art of Spellcrafting. "This one's ambitious," I remark. My grin widens as I add it to the pile. "This has to be the most useful one here"
Lydia tilts her head, her tone half-amused, half-wary. "Should I be worried about you and Lucien experimenting on us in our sleep?"
"Only if you're afraid of waking up with a tail," I reply, grinning as I tuck the books into my satchel. "In all seriousness, though, this is good stuff. Restoration, bound weapons, even crafting spells, they're valuable."
She shakes her head, muttering, "Magic. Always seems more trouble than it's worth."
Her attention shifts to a Dwarven spear leaning against the corner of the bookshelf. She picks it up, testing its weight with an approving nod. The golden shaft gleams faintly in the dim light, intricate engravings spiraling down to its wickedly sharp tip. A grin spreads across her face as she gives it an experimental spin. "Now this," she says, "is a fine piece of craftsmanship."
I glance over, smiling faintly. "You're more than welcome to it."
She straightens, gripping the spear with renewed confidence. "Thank you, my Thane," she says, the grin still tugging at her lips.
I grin, shouldering the weight of my satchel filled with magical treasures. "All right, let's finish up here. No telling what else this place has waiting for us."
As Lydia and I step out into the courtyard, the remnants of battle lie scattered around us. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood, mingling with the acrid scent of scorched stone and charred flesh. The late afternoon light casts flickering shadows across the wreckage, painting the scene in hues of gold and red.
Kaidan stands near the center of the courtyard, sitting on a bandit's body. His armor is splattered with blood, though he seems unfazed as he polishes his sword. Lydia moves past me, her new spear resting casually on her shoulder as she joins him, likely discussing their findings in hushed tones.
Lucien is nearby, seated on a broken barrel, the fireball staff cradled in his lap. His face is a mix of exhaustion and excitement as he examines the glowing weapon, muttering to himself. He barely looks up as I approach, too engrossed in his thoughts.
Inigo is perched on the rampart above. His bow is slung across his back, and his keen eyes scan the surrounding forest for any sign of movement. He gives me a quick nod when our gazes meet.
I take a deep breath, letting the tension seep out of my shoulders as I survey the scene. The fort is ours now, the battle won, though the cost lingers in the ache of my muscles, the rawness of my throat, and the faint sting of burns beneath my armor. My hand instinctively brushes against the pommel of my sword, its frost enchantment faintly thrumming from the fight.
"We'll rest here for the night," I declare, my voice hoarse but firm. "Might as well make use of the beds while we can. Rest. Regain our strength. Tomorrow, we move on."
There's a collective exhale, as though my words have lifted an invisible burden. Lydia nods, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the grime smeared across her face. "Understood, my Thane," she says, her voice steady.
Kaidan grunts in agreement, "Not a bad idea. Been a hell of a day."
Inigo's grin is faint but genuine as he leans back, his tail flicking lazily. "I'll keep the first watch while the rest of you enjoy your beauty sleep, my friend. Someone has to keep the spiders away."
Lucien glances at me, his expression still troubled, but he manages a nod. "Right… rest," he murmurs, though his hands still tremble as they grip his new staff. He doesn't move immediately, his eyes flicking toward the looming walls of the fort as though expecting something more.
I step closer, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder. "You're alive, Lucien. That's what matters. Take the win." My voice softens, though the edge of command remains. "There'll be more battles. More chances to prove yourself. For now, breathe."
He swallows hard but nods again, a faint flicker of determination returning to his gaze. "Right. Breathe."
I turn away, the weight of the ring in my pocket, the hum of the books in my satchel, and the faint thrum of my sword's enchantment all serve as reminders of what we've gained here. Power. Knowledge. Tools to face the next challenge.
I lift my gaze to the horizon, where the sky bleeds into deep shades of crimson and gold. Somewhere out there, more battles await. More enemies. More victories to be claimed.
AN
An unfortunately short chapter
I do have a dirty P word under the name MandTeKad that is 3 chapters ahead - should be 5 ahead before the end of the week, just need to edit them