Myths of Mundus: Dark Pilgrimage - The Last

Chapter 21: Impass
Vallina charged up the staff in her hand, slowly aligning the tip of the staff's head with Arlas' heart. If she was going to kill this little bitch, she was going to do it right...

A small smirk grew across her lips as she readied the charge, her eyes reflected the pulsating red light on the tip of the weapon as she got ready to discharge it. Eventually, the weapon had reached its maximum charge and Vallina fired it, however, she was pre-emptively hit in the back by a spell, most likely a spark or a weak ice spike, causing her to fall forward and misfire, hitting the altar beside Arlas as she threw herself down to the ground to avoid the projectile.

The Altmer slowly pulled herself up, growling and shaking her head in disgust as she did so, wondering what the meaning of this was. She saw Wyatt stood above her, charging a lightning spell in his hand, whilst glaring down on her, looking more than a little enraged.

"D-Damn... Brat! You'll pay for- Urgh!" The Altmer groaned as she felt a 500lbs weight fall on her back, forcing her to the floor again as she was pinned down. Bologra, who was now readying his bayonet in case she tried anything funny, though, in truth, he was hoping that she'd try it, just to give him the excuse.

Arlas pulled herself up to her feet, finding that she had a number of minor cuts on her chin and hands, from throwing herself on the jagged, rocky ground. She grumbled as she did so, feeling like one of the stones jammed into her thigh...

"M-Master Za-Kir!" Wyatt gasped, rushing over to the Elderly Khajiit's side, kneeling by it and checking for any signs of life, Arlas decided to assist him, having a background in healing magic and everything...

"The Old Fool shouldn't have interrupted... Argh!" The Altmer was cut off as Bologra ground her under his boot, causing her to cry out in pain as her body was crushed up against the sharp edges of the stone that made up the floor.

"Nobody gave you permission to speak, bitch!" The Orc grunted, he could honestly do this all day, it made facing those zombies and that nut job worthwhile...

"Is he breathing?" Arlas asked, trying to look for any signs of respiration, whilst Wyatt felt for a pulse.

"Y-Yeah... It's weak but I can feel it..." Wyatt replied, moving his hand away from the Khajiit's nose before looking back to his Bosmeri companion, who was now healing the Elderly Khajiit with an expert healing spell, which swiftly rejuvenated him.

"You're a healer?" Wyatt asked, finding that to be quite surprising somehow, though he hadn't really been told what Arlas could do prior to meeting her, so maybe his surprise was a little strange.

"Yeah... I prefer conjuration though, used to be a Priest at the Temple of the One's hospital."

"You're a priest?" Wyatt asked, he honestly wouldn't have guessed, considering the language that came out of her mouth, whilst she was trying to get their attention earlier and her less than patient demeanour...

"Accolyte, training to be a Priest...

Though, I'm not sure if I'll ever get to be one..."

“Heh, you’re saving lives how can they say ‘no?’” Wyatt asked, forcing a slight smile before turning his attention back to Master Za-Kir. Arlas laughed, faintly but in truth she was still quite conflicted on the issue.

“To be honest, it wouldn’t be them saying ‘no,’ it’d be me…” The Bosmer replied, getting Wyatt’s attention.

“Oh, well… What do you want to do instead?”

Arlas paused and eventually shrugged, she had no idea, if she knew, she’d be doing it by now. She decided to drop the subject, turning her attentions back to her Khajiiti patient.

“Okay… I think he’s stable but I don’t think that we should risk moving him, we’re going to have to go back to Bruma and get a Priest.”

Bologra had, at this point, zoned out completely. He glanced down to Vallina, who simply scowled at the fact that she was trapped beneath the Orsimer’s boot. She remained silent, obviously calculating her next move, however, from the looks of things she wasn’t getting far, not with a 300lb Orc stood on top of her.

“Alright, we’re going to have to send someone back but what about Vallina?” Wyatt asked, looking over to the still Altmer, who’s eyes locked onto him as soon as her name was mentioned. Arlas also glanced over to her, not knowing what to do herself…

“We can’t just leave her, that’s for sure… Bologra has a good hold on her, so I guess that one of us will have to stay with Master Za-Kir and the other will have to run back to Bruma.” She decided, looking back up to Wyatt, hoping that he knew where she wanted him, to which the Breton already did.

“Yeah, I’ll go back to the City and rally up some help, you…”

Before the Breton could finish a surge of energy shot through the open doorway and shot Bologra in the back, he was flung forward and landed with a thud on the floor as the electricity continued to surge around his upper back. Both Arlas and Wyatt looked over to the source of the energy, to see Olan-De in the doorway, a spell ready in each hand.

Vallina scrambled to her feet, immediately looking over to the far corner of the room as she got up, seeing that Arlas’ staff had rolled over to it. The Bosmer also saw it and began to sprint towards it, hoping to beat the Altmer to it. Whoever had control of Lorwel’s staff had control over this entire situation. Realising this Olan-De readied a lightning spell in her hands but was quickly hit by one of Wyatt’s spells to counteract it. The race was on between the two Mer as they narrowed in towards each other. Arlas quickly shoulder barged Vallina, kicking down behind her and hitting the Altmer’s shins, causing her to stumble as Arlas picked up momentum. She immediately crouched down for the staff, snatching it from the ground and quickly spinning one hundred and eighty degrees, driving the wooden staff into Vallina’s left cheek, sending her spinning to the floor before pointing it at her Argonian Apprentice.

“Cut the spells!” She demanded, pointing the staff’s tip at Vallina’s head.

“Now!”

The Argonian glanced down to the Altmer, seeing that she wasn’t going to be getting out of this very easily, she eventually sighed and did as she was told, dispersing the two shock spells in her hands as Vallina rolled around on the floor, holding her recently whacked cheek bone.

“Okay, the two of you, up on your feet! Face the wall!” The Bosmer demanded, shunting the staff forward as a threatening gesture. This prompted Vallina to do so, though she was a little slow on the mark as she was still recovering from receiving a hard wooden stick to the face. Arlas was less than sympathetic as she had them turn around and face the wall, keeping the tip of the staff trained on them until they placed their hands on the wall.

“Wyatt?” Arlas asked, prompting the young Breton to step forward as he rubbed his arm nervously.

“You need to get going, get back to Bruma, get the Guards and a Healer! If you run into any trouble, look for a Khajiit, Nair Quicksilver, he’s a friend of ours and he’ll help you!” The Bosmer instructed him, looking over her shoulder so that she could address him properly. As she finished, she turned her attention back to the two Cultists, the eldest of which was still scowling at the prospect of being held hostage by a girl who was but a mere fraction of her age.

Wyatt nodded, though he stopped to look over his shoulder, seeing his Master on the brink of death, he worried that this would be the last time he ever saw him alive as it was more than possible that the old Khajiit could slip away at any moment.

The Breton turned to the front door and began to make a move but quickly ground to a halt as he heard growling and snarling up ahead, causing him to freeze on the spot, Arlas, Olan-De and even Vallina were somewhat unnerved by it.

“What in… Mora’s name is that?” Vallina demanded, prompting Bologra to sigh as he shook his head and approached Wyatt from behind.

“Dammit, thought I’d taken care of this… Looks like we’ve got some Werewolves left over.”

“Werewolves!?” Arlas snapped before sighing heavily and turning her attentions back to her prisoners.

“Oh great, that’s all we need… We’ve got a pack of feral tribals on top of this snooty bitch as well as the zombies!”

“Ha… And for a moment there, I thought that you had the situation under control…” Vallina replied, smugly, hoping to get under the young Bosmer’s skin even more.

“Shut it!”

“Urgh… I’ll go deal with it!” Bologra grumbled, getting sick of all of this bickering already, the green giant stumbled onwards, hoping to nip this werewolf problem in the butt.

“C’mon kid…”

Wyatt looked reluctantly over to Arlas, not feeling comfortable about leaving her alone with two devious and conniving witches but he figured that he didn’t have much choice, that and Bologra would return soon and watch her back.

Bologra lead Wyatt through the dark, narrow tunnels of the Alluvion’s hideout, keeping communication to a minimum as he still didn’t trust the little runt and Wyatt was too afraid of pissing the eight ft tall Orsimer off.

As they got closer to the entrance the snarls and growls grew more intense as did the sound of claws tearing through flesh and snapping bones. Bologra grinned as he heard the carnage up ahead, it sounded like that asshole from earlier brought his buddies along for the ride…

Wyatt could feel his whole body tensing up as he ventured deeper into the tunnel, terrified that he’d run into a werewolf and get ran through by its giant claws. He was just as scared that his torch was going to give their position away and get them pounced.

Eventually the two of them reached a small clearing at the center of the cave’s complex structure, prompting them to stop as the room was slowly illuminated by the torchlight. The Breton found himself frozen on the spot as he stared at the pack of wolves, that were stood over a mass of maimed zombie corpses, holding the severed limbs in their hands. Ymir took a look at the mort flesh and sniffed it before dropping it down to the ground, noticing the flickering light on the wall, prompting him to look up and growl.

As he did so, two more Werewolves appeared in the darkness, sprinting towards Wyatt at top speed as they jumped up, the Breton yelped and wrapped his arms around his face, getting ready for the impact but he was somewhat surprised by the fact that it didn’t come, instead he heard a wolf’s whine as the creature received a heavy cut from Bologra’s hand axe.

The Werewolf was knocked down to the ground, clutching the large gash in the side of its head as the other one lunged forward and drove both of its claws down on the Orc. Bologra raised his giant tree trunk-like arm up to protect himself, leaving the werewolf’s midriff exposed to a gouging from his bayonet. The arm mounted blade sank deep into the creature’s flesh, causing it to cry out in anguish as the intense pain shot through its body, prompting Bologra to jump back.

“Go on kid, fall back!” Bologra called, figuring that he’d need more light and some help from Arlas to take these things on. Wyatt nodded and turned around, making a sprint for it as he lead Bologra back the way they came, the small orange strobe of the torch lit the way ahead, guiding the Orsimer through the darkness.

Olan-De focussed on her hands, occasionally glancing up to her mentor, who was obviously deep in thought. The Altmer always had a plan, something that the young cultist envied about her as well as her more obvious qualities such as her intelligence, her power and her charisma and leadership skills.

The Argonian was somewhat desperate to ask her but Arlas was watching them like a hawk, though Olan-De despised her, she could see why Lorwel made her his champion. She wasn’t the best mage, far from it but she was determined and more than capable.

“Arlas!”

Wyatt’s voice echoed throughout the cave, prompting the Bosmer to look up as she heard the faint patting sounds of feet filling the hallow halls. She frowned and turned her attention towards the door as he ran through, tossing his torch to the floor and readying two spells, one in each hand as he turned to face the door, backing up to be side by side with Arlas.

“Werewolves! They found us!”

Arlas just grimaced, this was all that they needed… She scowled and readied her staff, pointing the tip of it at the doorway as Bologra came barging through. He saw the two mages and threw himself to the floor, allowing Arlas to fire a shot from her staff, hitting Ymir square in the chest and sending him stumbling backwards into the nearest wall.

Immediately after him followed Tait, who was still sporting the large scratch behind his ear. Wyatt fired a lightning spell at him, sending a prickling chain of lightning towards the beast, which jolted throughout his entire body, causing him to recoil and stumble back into the wall.

Bologra rolled over onto his back, just in time for the Watchman to enter the room, who immediately proceeded to throw himself on top of the Orc, falling onto his raised knees, one of which dug deep into his stomach wound. The creature cried out in pain before snapping at Bologra’s face, its teeth missed his nose by mere inches, growing closer with each snap as Bologra found himself helpless, using all four of his limbs to hold it back.

Arlas raised the staff and pointed it at the wolf, hoping to kill it outright or at least injure it enough to release Bologra. She pointed it at the wolf and blasted at him, however, no blast came as the staff didn’t seem to have any power in it.

Arlas cursed as she tossed the wooden stick to the ground, charging up a flame spell in each hand as she dashed forward and began to unleash an inferno on the creature. The Werewolf whined as the fur on his right shoulder ignited, setting ablaze and causing him to roll off of the Orc as he tried to put it out, whacking it repeatedly and pelting it with the dust found on the cave floor.

Wyatt watched from a distance, firing lightning bolts at the weakened Ymir, hoping to keep him down. At this point, he remained oblivious to the fact that he had his back turned on his prisoners, forgetting that Vallina always had a plan. Wyatt felt the Altmer’s arm wrap around his chest, with Vallina’s hand resting just beneath his left pectoral as he was pulled against the Altmer’s body, being held hostage. He then heard the sound of Vallina’s knife leaving its sheath on her belt and saw it slowly emerge from behind him, though he was too in shock to do anything to prevent it.

The Altmer moved her right hand up, so that it was now wrapped around his mouth as she sunk her dagger into his belly, causing him to give out a pained cry, that was muffled by her hand. Vallina repeatedly shushed him as he was pulled down to the ground, sinking the blade deeper into his stomach to ensure that the deed would be done as the Breton was slowly pulled down to the ground, at this point he didn’t have the energy to vocalize and simply stammered and shivered as he was lay out on his back, looking up at his former mentor as both his eyes and lips trembled.

He could see a form of sadness in her eyes as she watched him bleed out before her and sympathetically placed her hand on his shoulder as his eyes rolled back into his head. The Altmer respectfully dragged her fingertips over his eyelids, closing his eyes before his head rolled to one side and he exhaled for the last time.

Olan-De charged forward, zapping Arlas in the back and sending her stumbling forward, the Bosmer fell to her knees, yelping in pain as she landed on top of Bologra, shuddering at the prickling sensation in her back as she kept her hands firmly on his chest. The Bosmer remained still for several moments, panting heavily as the whole room fell silent, with only the heavy breathing of the werewolves filling the void.

She looked up to see the four wolves looking across the room, swiftly prompting her to turn around and see Vallina, covered in blood and stood over Wyatt’s pale corpse. Her eyes widened at this site, seeing that Wyatt was the same age as her, if not younger and yet Vallina killed her so easily. It was then that she knew, that Altmer wasn’t capable of mercy, if she saw the chance, she’d take it, making her just as dangerous as the werewolves.

The beasts began the snarl and howl in Vallina and Olan-De’s direction, trying to intimidate them away from their prey, however, Vallina did not look impressed, readying two lightning spells in her hand, which she shot off along the ground, causing the creatures to lunge forward and snarl some more, taunting her to throw a bolt their way and start a battle.

Bologra slowly sat up and rubbed his head, looking from side to side as he saw the situation that they were now in. A pack of vengeful werewolves, fighting a band of mad cultists and they were the prize…

Bologra grabbed his hand axe as Arlas took her staff, waiting for the first of the two factions to make their move. Ymir, who was eager for his revenge simply snarled at Vallina, growling intensely through his teeth as he twitched his fingers in recognition. Without any prior warning or trigger, the werewolf lunged forward, with an earth shattering roar.

Chapter 22: The Last Dance
It all happened within the blink of an eye, within the split millisecond of darkness all of Arlas' beastly enemies were in the air, leaping through it as they got ready to pounce. Valeria blasted a lightning bolt straight into Ymir's face, however, the Nord proved resistant to it, simply snarling as the electricity singed his nose. He pounced straight on top of the Altmer, bringing his claws up into the air and driving them down, hoping to send them straight through her throat.

Valina struggled under the Werewolves large feet, the toes of which wrapped around her forearms, firmly keeping her pinned down. The Altmer wriggled furiously, scuffing the back of her heels as she kicked along the ground, trying to get any form of leverage to escape being finished off.

Thankfully her apprentice, Olan De was just as quick as she was, she blasted Ymir in his milky eye, sending the beast staggering off to the side, groaning in pain as it reached up for his face, spinning to the ground. Tait was the second Werewolf to enter the fray, if he was a second faster, he could have protected his mentor. Still, he at least had the chance to avenge him and cover him, buying him time. He lunged at the Argonian apprentice, sending her straight down to the ground and snapping at her face, Olan-Die was quick to respond, burning away at the Werewolf's stomach with the strongest flame spell that she could muster, hitting him straight in his wound and sending a large burst of pain throughout his abdomen.

The Watchman decided that two was enough to destroy a few mages and decided to go for Bologra and Arlas. The creature drove both of its clawed hands down towards the downed Mer, ready to drive his fingers through their legs, to prevent them from escaping. Ymir wanted to kill them personally for taking so much from them. Bologra, however, had other plans, the Orc raised his right boot and drove it down, slamming his heel straight into the Werewolf's knee, causing it to howl in pain as it buckled back, with an almighty crunch.

Tait was ready to drive his claws through this meddlesome Argonian's heart, hopefully earning himself first dibs, when it was time to eat. However, his attempt on the Apprentice's life was thwarted, when he found himself being hit in the right shoulder by a powerful lightning bolt, that made him stumble off to the left, snarling as he did so.

Valina, unlike her werewolf opponents did not let up, instead she repeatedly attacked the beast, blasting him in the left shoulder and three times in the chest, eventually knocking him flying onto his back, landing on the floor with a hard thud. Valina quickly ran over to the fallen Werewolf, leaping up on his stomach, her feet firmly placed on his chest as she got ready to fire an ice spike in his head. Tait desperately swatted at her, in a vain effort to try and keep her off but unfortunately found himself pinned to the floor and unable to reach her, no matter what he did.

He saw the Altmer grin as he quickly realized that this move was far more calculated than it originally appeared to be, Tait gasped as she readied an ice spike in her right hand, blasting it straight down into the Werewolf's left eye, almost instantly tearing through his the eye socket and penetrating his brain, killing the Nord instantly.

Bologra swung his axe straight at the Werewolf's stomach, prompting him to jump back in retaliation, much to the Orc's annoyance. Bologra quickly found himself focussing on the beast's audacity. If he'd just stay still and get hit, the Orc could move on to the other four assholes. Using this minor annoyance to fuel his murderous rage, Bolgora charged forward with an enraged yell, slicing across the Werewolf's stomach, causing it to howl in pain and fall to its knees, allowing Bologra to drive his bayonet through its head and finally finish the bastard off.

Ymir slowly rose from his slump on the ground, seething in pain as he did his best to suppress any sign of weakness but in truth, he was exhausted and in a great deal of pain. He hadn't slept for, what felt like, a week and he had more than a few scars, singe marks and burn marks to show for his recent escapades. The Nord slowly turned his attention to the battlefield, sighing heavily as he looked for an update on the battle's progress, only to see the heart shattering conclusion.

Both Tait and the Watchman, Onil, were slain, stabbed through the head by the Sourcer and the Brutish Orc, who slaughtered them like animals. Ymir could do little but watch, which was more than he could do for Angela as his people were slain before his eyes, which welled up at  the realization that he had failed. He'd failed as a leader, failed as a grandfather and most criminally of all, he had failed as a Father.

He had lost everything, Clan, Kin, Honor, respectability, hope and the will to live. Ymir roared in anguish as he charged forward, straight at Bologra and Valina, snatching at them both.

Olan-De looked up and saw the large, one eyed Nord heading straight towards her mentor, fearing for the Altmer's life, she pushed Valina to one side, swapping places with her and finding herself in Ymir's grasp, along with Bologra. Olan-De gasped as she looked up, seeing what the Werewolf had in mind, using its brute strength it smashed the two of them together, crushing them both at the center of its large beastly hands. Of course, the muscle bound Orc was like a brick wall and as a result, the multiple blows afflicted the Argonian the most, fracturing, breaking and eventually splintering multiple bones, her ribs, her pelvis, her arms and legs, fingers and toes as the two of them were bashed together like symbols.

Bolgra quickly found himself tossed to the ground as soon as the Werewolf was done, needless to say, being repeatedly bashed against another person did a number on his back, leaving a number of nasty cuts and several bruises on his back but nowhere near the extent of damage done to Olan-de.

Olan-De was cast down to the floor, landing with a thud as she was. The Argonian lay completely still as blood slowly trickled out of her nose. All life had been successfully beaten out of her, it wasn't clear when she died during the pummelling but it was unlikely that she survived long enough to witness all of it.

Valina sat up, trembling at the sight of the fallen Argonian as she slowly pulled herself up to her feet, shuddering as she saw her lifeless, broken body. The Altmer sighed, shaking her head in despair as she slowly rose to her feet, resisting the urge to cry, grieving would have to come later. Anger would have to come now, she’d have to use this to her advantage, being a man down.

The four of them slowly got themselves together, prompting Arlas to look over to Bologra and give him a nod to ensure that he was ready for the final mile,

The Bosmer, Altmer, Orsimer and Nord charged into the fray, Valina and Arlas charged a spell in each hand, Ardwolf got his claws at the ready, Bologra with his axe and bayonet ready as the four of them clashed at the center of the cavern.

With an almighty roar Bologra threw himself straight into the grasp of Ymir, grappling the large Were creature as he went, thinking quickly, he slammed his rock hard forehead straight into Ymir’s singed snout, crushing it with a stomach churning crunch.

Valina, seeing an opportunity to strike, lifted her hand, with an ice spike at the center, aiming it for either of the two warriors, however, she quickly felt her own hand burn as Arlas’ fireball struck it, knocking her off balance and sending the ice spike the floor.

“Urgh, meddlesome bitch!” She scowled, casting down to the floor and causing it to resonate with electrical energy, creating a tiny storm at the center of the room, prompting Arlas to jump back and think about her next move.

The Bosmer wouldn’t waste her time with small time attacks as most of them would get blocked by the Altmer’s ward or melted by her fire or lightning storms. Thinking as quickly as she could, she conjured up a flame atronauch, aiming it just behind her Altmer opponent, so that she would have to turn around or walk out of her electrical storm in order to face it. However, Valina was quick to predict this and conjured an ice atronauch of her own to counteract it before turning her attention back to Arlas.

Arlas, however, had planned ahead and immediately proceeded to blast at Valina with an ice spike, which hit the Altmer in the shoulder, with enough force to almost knock her down to the ground. Valina seethed as she stumbled back, wrapping her hand around the spike as she repeatedly pulled at it, eventually yanking it out. She examined the bloody end of it before tossing it aside, glaring at Arlas as she charged another set of spells in her hands.

Ymir slammed his right hand straight into Bologra’s shoulder, dragging his long fingernails through the Orsimer’s flesh and cutting deep into it, possibly infecting him. It was fortunate that he wasn’t well versed enough in Lycanthropy to know that that was possible for some strands of werewolf, otherwise it would be a terrible distraction.

Bologra fought back, swiping his own ‘claw’ at the beast, slashing his bayonet across Ymir’s gut before driving his axe down onto the creature. Ymir doubled over as Bologra’s axe came down and slammed into his back shoulders, causing him to give a wounded growl before charging forward and ramming his head into the Orc’s gut, swiftly lifting him up and slamming him back down to the ground. Ymir stopped for a moment, to feel the axe, lodged in his left shoulder, wrapping his hand around it but struggling to get it out, due to the fact that it sent a surge of pain throughout his body, whenever he touched it.

He decided that slaying Bologra was far more important anyway and leapt up on top of him, landing firmly on the ground around him, with his feet on either side of the Orsimer’s hips as he raised his right hand, swiftly slashing across Bologra’s chest, repeatedly with it. Bologra did his best to raise his arms but both his forearms and his chest were cut to ribbons by the Nord’s unrelenting assault, he struggled to find an opportunity to strike.

Arlas charged forward as soon as Valina’s storm dispersed, this time raising her staff, giving it an almighty swing, into the Altmer’s left cheek, almost knocking her straight to the floor as the solid oak-like stick was driven into her check bone. Valina growled in pain as she looked up, blasting Arlas with an electric shock, sending the energy coursing through her. The Bosmer, involuntarily stood still, growling as the electricity coursed through her veins.

Eventually Arlas stumbled back, falling back onto her staff, using it to support herself as she recovered, still feeling her skin lightly humming from the shock spell’s effect. She panted heavily as she slowly looked up, seeing Valina approaching her with a destruction spell in each hand, ready to finish the Bosmer off. Realising this, Arlas quickly readied a shock spell, zapping the Altmer but quickly found that she raised a ward to deflect her attempt.

Valina couldn’t help but grin as she saw Arlas’ power wean with every failed attempt, finding a new found strength in knowing that her victory was secured, she quickly threw a handful of electricity, straight into Arlas’ chest, sending her stumbling back, zapping the Bosmer repeatedly until she brought her to her knees. The Altmer continued to swagger over to her, swiftly lifting her boot up and driving her toes straight into Arlas’ face, sending her flying backwards, landing on her back with a thud.

Bologra continued to suffer under Ymir’s claws, bringing up his arms in order to protect himself but eventually giving up, saving his arms for when he got a chance to strike. Eventually the Orsimer’s arms fell to his side, leaving his face open to Ymir, who threw his head forward, snapping his jaws shut on Bologra’s face.

The Orsimer saw this as his chance, bringing his bayonet straight up, into the Werewolf’s right pectoral muscle, driving it deep into his chest and piercing his lung. Ymir snarled and dropped his head, writhing in pain as Bologra’s bayonet almost completely ran him through. He keeled over, onto his side, landing with a thud as he wrapped his large hand around it, panting and rasping as he struggled to breathe and blood slowly began to trickle from his mouth.

Bologra slowly pulled himself to his feet, wincing in agony as he did so, getting ready for the Old Nord’s retaliation but immediately saw that he was simply lay there, struggling to even move his arm, let alone get back up, onto his feet.

The Orc took this moment to look over to Arlas, only to notice that she was now on her back, wrestling with Valina as the Altmer’s dagger hovered inches as away from her heart. The Bosmer’s strength, what little she had, was quickly weaning, due to the disadvantage she was in, being lay on the ground. Valina pushed down on the blade, putting every ounce of physical strength she had into moving the blade closer and closer to Arlas’ chest. Thinking quickly, the Bosmer shifted her entire body, causing Valina to stab her near her collar bone, instead of near her vitals.

The Bosmer cried out in agony as she felt the sharp blade enter her body, sending an intense shooting pain throughout her torso, prompting Valina to give a satisfied smirk as she removed the blade and lifted it up once more, this time bringing it down on Arlas’ heart.

Arlas quickly brought her arms up to protect herself, though due to her pervious wound, she was significantly weaker and put up little resistance, it almost felt like she was guiding Valina’s hand, rather than resisting it. The Altmer slowly lowered the point of her dagger towards Arlas’ heart, pressing the tip against it, slowly piercing the skin as the blade sank into the Bosmer’s chest.

Arlas threw her head back and screamed, feeling her arms weaken due to the second burst of pain shooting through them as all resistance towards Valina’s attempt to penetrate her heart ceased and the Altmer was now free to sink the blade deep into her ticker and finally finishing her off.

Chapter 23: The Last
Arlas could feel the tip of the Altmer’s blade slowly sinking into her chest. The Bosmer did everything she could to push past the pain and tried not to let it weaken her. It was pretty obvious, even to her, that she was fighting an uphill battle. She had always been physically inept, hours spent neglecting exorcise will do that to you and now her life depended on her being able to withstand this pressure, whilst her limbs turned to jelly as the agonizing shooting pains pulsed through her arms.

Vallina knew this, perfectly well and managed to find the strength to increase the pressure, giving her Bosmeri victim a dark smirk as she did so.

Arlas feeble resistance had almost completely caved in at this point, as she felt another centimetre of blade sink deeper into her chest. The Bosmer closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, just hoping that someone would intervene…

Would Father Lorius ever find out? Would Nair? Assuming that Bologra survived this, he’d have no reason to go back and inform them, in fact it would be more likely to assume that he’d just be moving on.

Her eyes quickly found themselves glancing up to Vallina’s face, which was heavily blurred by the tears in the Bosmer’s eyes, she could see the dark grin that she gave her in response to her obviously terrified expression.

Arlas could feel it, her hands were starting to give way again, the second that they did, she would likely die. Maybe she should give up, move her hands away, so that it would be quick…

This cheery trail of thought was interrupted as a large object appeared, just beside Vallina’s head, smashing straight into her right ear and knocking her straight to the ground, with a thud. Arlas’ eyes quickly darted over, letting her see her saviour as he towered over them both, his chest badly cut up from the scratch wounds and covered in blood, though not all of it was his.

Vallina growled under her breath, dragging her sleeve against her grazed cheek as she seethed, glaring at the meddling pig elf with a great amount of distain.

“C’mon bitch, try taking me on!” Bologra taunted, getting the faintest chuckle in response as the Altmer forced herself to her feet.

“If you insist…” With that the Altmer conjured up a raging electrical storm, practically setting the atmosphere alight as the huge dome of electricity consumed the three of them. Bologra simply charged through, swimming a heavily right hook at the Altmer’s cheek, with enough force to send her to the ground.

Vallina was quick to recover, however and blasted a weak fire ball at the Orsimer’s chest as her agicka was still recovering. Bologra simply snarled as the fire singed his chest, continuing his march over towards the necromancer, slashing at her with his bayonet and scratching her through her robes.

Vallina jumped back as the tip of the rusty blade skimmed over her collar bone before roaring and unleashing a hail of lightning, towards the Orsimer’s face. The speed of the lightning meant that Bologra wasn’t agile enough to avoid the projectile and ended up facing it, head on. The lightning quickly engulfed the Orc, quickly singing his flesh, almost bringing him to his knees as the electricity danced on his skin.

The Altmer kept up the stream of lightning, mostly to keep him at bay but she got the feeling that enough exposure to the lightning bolt might just be enough to kill the brute. The damage inflicted on his body brought Bologra to a standstill as he did his best to shield himself from the damage but knew that there was very little that he could do.

The electricity eventually overwhelmed him, bringing the Orsimer down to his knees. He wasn’t an expert on magic but he knew enough to know that all mages eventually ran out of brain stamina as he would call it. All that he had to do was tough it out and wait for that moment…

If it ever came…

Bologra struggled to keep himself conscious after the onslaught of magic. His head swayed from side to side as he felt his consciousness slipping. His vision quickly began to dim as his ears rang, he could feel his consciousness fading from his grasp.

Bologra shot a glance over to Arlas, who lay at the center of the room, the Bosmer was incredibly still at this point, feeling somewhat nervous for her safety. Was he doing all of this for her corpse? It was in jeopardy, considering that it lay in the den of the most insane necromancers this side of Tamriel. If he died now, everyone would perish with him. He’d be another failure, a dead warrior who failed his companions when they needed him most and worst of all, he’d have been taken down by some knife eared, girly ponce elf in a skirt.

He wouldn’t have it!

Bologra gave a pained, enraged roar as he charged forward, shoulder barging Vallina in the face and causing her to stumble back. The Altmer keeled over backward, though she only made it half way to the floor before she felt a large surge of pain shoot through her body and heard a loud, wet crunch.

The Altmer found herself gasping in pain, her lower jaw began to shiver as she went into shock and she slowly looked down to see what was the source of the pain. As she looked down to her stomach, she saw three large claws protruding out of it, with bloody gently dripping off of the tips.

Vallina’s traumatized eyes quickly shot up to find Bologra’s, which were, not too surprisingly, unsympathetic. Realising that she had no lifeline and that she was completely at the beast’s mercy, the Altmer simply closed her eyes and waited for the killing blow, which Ymir gladly dealt. With an almighty slash, Vallina fell to the floor, like a ragdoll, landing in a heap as she did so, leaving Ymir and the murderer of his daughter-in-law and grandson at the center of the room, staring at one another as they got ready to move in for the kill.

NO words were said as the time for talking had long since passed, both parties gave an almighty roar as they lunged forward, leaping into the air, where they both met, delivering the killing blow.

Within a flash it was oer, the Wolf and the Orc landed with a thud on the ground. Exasperated, the two of them panted heavily, knowing the outcome of the fight. With a heavy sigh, Ymir keeled over over, falling to the ground as the large wound in his stomach began to release a steady flow of blood, staining his grey fur.

Bologra simply sighed as he felt a great burden lift from his shoulders, the battle was won and his quest had come to an end.

Almost…

The Orc looked over to Arlas, who still lay at the center of the room, her chest barely moving as breathing grew harder for her.

“Heh… L-Looks like we kicked their asses.” Bologra smirked, slowly shuffling over to the sleeping BOsmer. The Orc felt some abdominal pains, prompting him to bring his stump down to the throbbing spot as he kept some pressure on it. He could feel it growing wet as the leathing on his brace began to absorb the blood.

“N-Nair… He’s gonna… Be so jealous…” The Orc panted, slowly falling onto his knee by the Bosmer’s side, looking down at her sleeping form.

“When he finds out… About this…”

Bologra’s eyes suddenly stiffened as he saw how pale Arlas was, was she even breathing? The Orc found himself growing concerned and held his hand out over her mouth, trying to find some evidence that she was indeed still alive.

“Arl… Arlas?” He asked, gently placing his hand on her shoulder and giving her a slight shake, feeling another surge of pain shoot through his gut.

“A-Arlas, c-c’mon man… Don’t make me carry your sc-scrawny ass!” The Orc yelled, his voice trembling with worry as he could feel his own wounds overwhelming him.

It didn’t take long for Bologra to keel over, landing with a thud on his side as he began to cough heavily, wheezing rather loudly as he lay by the Acolyte’s head as his own vision began to dim. The Orsimer knew what was happening, he and Arlas were left alone in the dark, where they would die from their wounds. After everything that they had done, in the end everyone failed…

He continued to defy fate, keeping his head an inch or so off of the ground as he did everything in his power to keep his eyes open but after a few minutes, he found himself growing even weaker before Bologra knew it, everything faded to black.

Chapter 24: The Pilgrim's Return
Arlas' eyes slowly opened as she awoke to immediately find herself wrapped toe to chin in a thick bed sheet. It was incredibly warm, even if it did restrict her movements completely.

The Bosmer didn't mind being practically mummified in the warm duvet, she knew that she wouldn't be able to move for some time yet. She simply turned her attention back up to the stone ceiling, sighing heavily as she did so, where on Nirn was she? Why was it so dim and cold on her face? In spite of the dull lighting and the frostie air, Arlas felt quite cozy from the slightly warm glow of the fire place.

Though Arlas was curious as to where she was, the Bosmer didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave the safety of her bed, that and she didn't feel like she had the strength to escape the duvet's coils.

All that she would be able to do was lie motionless and wait.

After waiting for half an hour, Arlas heard a loud clunk and a creak as the door to her room slowly opened and someone entered, carrying a tray, a fact given away by the chinking of the pots as her carer bumped into the door and rocked his tray.

They wandered over to her bed side, the sound of the soles of their shoes clapped and clopped, growing louder until they immediately stopped by her bed side.

The Nord glanced down to the supposedly sleeping Bosmer, looking mildly surprised as she was seemingly staring back at him.

"Oh, good, you're awake." He said, cheerily, turning to face her.

"We were hoping that you would be, the Healer said that the potions should waking up by now."

"Well... Looks like they were right..." Arlas replied, sounding incredibly drowsy still as she could still feel the potion's effects on her.

"Who are you people?" She asked, wearily, her eyes narrowed as she lifted her head and tried to get a better look at her surroundings. She appeared to be in a small room, which was nicely kept but ultimately felt creepy, she couldn't help but get the impression that she was underground as well, due to the cold air.

"Oh, forgive me... This must seem incredibly disorientating for you. I am Father Hermes, Healer of the Chapel in Bruma. You were brought here after you were found by Captain Kaith and his men, you and your friend were inches away from death."

"M-My friend? You mean Bologra?" Arlas asked, feeling like she was being a bit mean spirited not recognising Bologra as her friend as the guy had saved her life, multiple times, she just hadn't really had chance to think about him as such as she hadn't be able to rid herself of the Orc long enough to form and opinion on him over the past week, needless to say this felt like it was happening too fast to keep up with.

"The Orc, with one hand and a short fuse? Yes, he received some rather taxing injuries in the caves but he came back around quite quickly.

In fact, he was the first patient who we had trouble keeping him down, he seemed adamant that he left immediately... Something about an axe or something."

"G-Geoth's axe... We were sent to collect it, it's... Important." Arlas explained, sympathizing with the Nord's confusion.

"Where is he now!?"

"Gone, long gone, he stormed out ranting and raving about the Axe and whatnot, that was the last we saw of him." Hermes replied, with a shrug, he didn’t seem too fussed as it was hard to show any genuine concern, when your patient doesn’t even stop to ‘thank you’ for saving his life before rushing off.

“Did he say where he went?” Arlas asked, seeming incredibly concerned, though she didn’t know why. He could’ve waited for her, couldn’t he? Or did he want to get away? Was that the plan all along? Suddenly she didn’t feel so certain about the whole thing.

“I’m afraid not… I couldn’t get a word out of him, other than what I’ve told you. And… As nice as I’m sure that he is, I didn’t want to get in his way.”

“That’s… Pretty wise.” Arlas sighed, falling onto her back as she looked up to the ceiling, blinking a few times as she thought on it. Maybe Bologra was afraid that they were on a time limit, no one was watching the axe anymore, so anyone could take it. Maybe he wanted to get to it before some adventurers did. Maybe he’d be back soon…

But how long did he need? He could’ve done it in a day, was he in trouble? Or had he decided to return the axe to Lorwel on his own? Though it was disappointing, she honestly would have preferred to be able to wash her hands of this mess, it wasn’t her battle to begin with but considering how much effort she’d put into getting a hold of Geoth’s axe, she was hoping that she could see it through…

The Bosmer just sighed heavily, finding herself being startled by the loud ‘clunk’ of the door opening as metallic boots hastily stepped in.

“Hermes?” The Man asked, stepping in and revealing his yellow Bruma guardsman uniform, however, his was a different design to the other guards and he was seemingly wearing different materials, making his uniform seem a lot more formal and slender, his pauldrons were also made of steel instead of Iron.

“When you get a minute, could you look at Daner? The stupid arse picked at last week’s cut on his hand and made it bleed again.”

This prompted Hermes to sigh, knowing fully well that Daner was going to kick up one hell of a fuss as he healed his hand shut, like a lot of Nords, he was quite distrustful of magic, even magic that kept him alive.

“I’ll get to it in a bit, our guest has just woken up and I want to ensure her comfort before leaving her to fend for herself.”

“What, she’s up already?” The Captain asked, stepping inside and peering over the mountain of duvet she was buried under. Arlas was originally shocked by the Nord’s face suddenly appearing above her but she quickly frowned, growing defensive against his intrusive nature.

“Well, good morning little lady.” He said, rather cheerfully, obnoxiously so, as if he was aware of how awkward this was for the both of them but just didn’t care.

“How are we this morning?”

“Well, I feel like shit…” Arlas replied, honestly, her complaint came out as a slight grumble as she felt incredibly awkward.

“Ha, considering that you were stabbed in the heart, I consider it good that you can feel anything at all.” Hermes laughed, turning over to the Captain, folding his arms and giving him a smirk.

“I believe that you owe me five septims, Frost-Heart.”

“Oh, crap… I thought you’d forgotten!” The Captain snapped, begrudgingly reaching for his belt and drawing a small coin purse, he quickly tossed it to the Priest, who snatched it out of the air and pocketed it, much to Arlas’ amazement and disgust.

“W-Woah, you two had a bet going as to whether or not I would die in the night!?” The Acolyte snapped, though she was incredibly weak and unable to shout, she still managed to speak in a tone that made them feel uneasy.

“Erm… Well… Not exactly.” Frost-Heart began, glancing off to his left.

“You were in a bad way when they brought you in but Hermes said he’d have you out of bed by week’s end. I called bullshit and bet him five gold that he wouldn’t and now I’m gonna go thirsty tonight.”

“Oh, good, that makes me feel so much better…” Arlas sighed, falling lax as she stared back up at the ceiling, still feeling a slight stinging sensation in her chest.

“Don’t worry about the Captain, his idea of a winning horse has three legs and an ear missing.” Hermes smirked, getting an indignant ‘hey!’ in response.

“Hey, I had it on good authority that that horse had a chance, nobody told me that it only had three legs.”

“Of course, it wasn’t like the name ‘tripod’ was a clear giveaway.”

“Well, it could’ve been referring to something else…” Frost-Heart corrected him, giving him a knowing smirk, only to get a disapproving frown in response.

“How’d you know where we were?” Arlas asked, hoping to divert the conversation back to important things, rather than the Captain’s poor gambling skills. This got a look from the two of them as they turned to face eachother, not knowing who would be the best person to tell her. Hermes was on better terms with Arlas but being Guard Captain meant that breaking this kind of news came with the territory, in the end they stopped and agreed to tell her together, giving eachother a silent nod before turning their attention back to her.

“We found a Khajiit on the road, he was… badly hurt. One of the Ravagers attacked him, almost killed him there and then but we got there first, shot him down with a dozen silver arrows.”

“Khajiit!? You mean, Nair!? Is he okay!?”

The Captain didn’t have the words to answer that question, so he fell silent.

“He… Lasted for a minute or two but there wasn’t much that anyone could do for him, he told us about Crusader’s Rest, about you and your friend and… passed on.”

The news hit Arlas like a ton of bricks as she felt herself being hollowed, her limbs went weak as she felt herself feeling a dozen emotions at once, resulting in her breathing going deeper and a little more rapid as she fought back a flow of tears as she felt a wave of emotional and physical pain for her friend.

Hermes fell silent and looked back to the Captain, giving him a respectful nod, to indicate that they should probably be left alone. The Captain nodded respectfully and backed away, slowly turning back towards the door as he stepped out of it, returning to his station.

Arlas wished that she could move but the cut on her chest prevented her from doing so, she was forced to lie in one position, motionless, on her back as she stared up at the blurring ceiling as the tears slowly slid down her face.

The morning began like any other Imperial City morning, the son rose high in the east, turning the sky a fiery pink as night transitioned to day. Many merchants had already started their day, setting up their counters and making sure that their stock was checked and organised as the first shoppers began to rear their heads out of their front door.

As the first shoppers made their way through Talos Plaza, they found themselves coming face to face with a frightfully unexpected sight. Walking with a high pithed squeak in his wake as he dragged the war axe behind him, Bologra Blackbeard slowly stomped through the courtyard, moving slowly towards the Imperial Palace district.

He hadn’t washed since his encounter with Ymir and Vallina and thus he had a great deal of dried blood clinging to his chest. Not that he gave a damn how he looked… or smelled… he had a job to do, he had to get this stupid axe back to the White Gold Tower.

As he got half way there, a crowd had gathered around him, all of them seemed horrified at the ghastly sight of him, a number of overdramatic screams could be heard from the back ranks and the sound of  muttering was almost deafening.

The Crowd was forced to disperse, however, as it was soon drowned out by the clatter of hurried grieves as the Imperial Guardsmen rushed on over towards the Orc, longswords drawn and ready for anything.

“Halt Orc!” One of the Guardsmen demanded, a senior officer, brandishing a warhamer.

“State your business in the Imperial City!”

Bologra came to a halt, his bayonetted hand hung loosely by his side, slowly swaying as he hung his head, panting as the three days of travelling, without a break or anything to eat caught up to him.

“Sir… Orb…” He panted, struggling to even speak at this point, due to the sheer exhaustion of his journey, dragging this axe, that was the size of a teenager along behind him.

“Sir… Who? Y-You mean Councillor Aube?” The Guard Captain grumbled, stroking the grey stubble on his chin.

“Bloody Hell, what has that boy gotten himself involved with now?” He uttered, shifting his gaze upwards towards their Orsimer guest.

Bologra’s head snapped up as he took a tighter hold of the Axe, fixing his eyes on the surrounding guardsmen with a look of intense rage.

“I’ve got his axe!” He announced, throwing it into the air, where it flew for a brief second before falling to the ground with a loud clattering sound, making he more dramatic members of his audience gasp in shock as he did so, a number of guardsmen even jumped back but managed to stay their hands, however, the Guard Captain didn’t even flinch.

“Huh… Never figured the Councillor to be an axe man, looked more like a Quill weaver to me.” The Captain mocked, observing the axe from afar as he tried to figure out where it and its Orsimer wielder even came from. The axe looked ebony to him, though an older design, circa third era, maybe. He only knew, because there were a few old weapons in the armoury that resembled it.

“Tell me, what use does Councillor Soir Aube have for an old war axe?” The Captain asked, folding his arms and looking at Bologra quizzically, raising an eyebrow in the process.

“Dammit, couldn’t he have just told you idiots that I was coming? Look, it’s an enchanted axe, that is needed to stop an ancient daedra, who’s trapped inside a statue, from killing everyone inside the White Gold Tower!”

The Guard Captain gave Bologra a blank stare as if he had just spoken in gibberish, he honestly had no idea what to say or do in response to this as in his forty year career as a guardsman, he’d never heard anything quite so… insane in his life.

“Just ask your boy, Orb, he’ll tell you!” Bologra added, suddenly getting the impression that they found his story a little difficult to believe. The Captain fell silent and hung his head, sighing heavily, this Orc had been civil, for the most part and he knew Councillor Aube by name, if he was just a mere barbarian, it would be difficult for him to use such a ruse.

“Alright, I’ll take you to see Councillor Aube… But any funny business…”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you’ll make me real sorry…” Bologra grumbled, shaking his head with a smirk as he stepped forward, towards the tower, the Guard Captain looked back to his men and sighed heavily, shaking his head before following the Orsimer through.

Bologra lead the guardsmen towards the White-Gold tower, making no attempt to deviate his course along the way. Needless to say, the unorthodox group got a few people to turn their heads, some even repeated the original reception that he got when he entered the city but all in all the Orc went unchallenged.

After walking for twenty minutes or so, they finally reached the Green Emperor way, unlike before Bologra had no intentions of stopping and continued to march on, immediately making his ascent as he went up the stairs. The Palace Guards tried to stop the Orc from entering but were quickly told to stand down by the Captain, who just wanted this over with. It was a good thing that he intervened as Bologra would have picked them up and thrown them to one side, if they stood in his way.

Bologra stepped inside, hitting the door as hard as he could with his forearm as he marched into the corridor, outside of the Elder Council chambers, again, the council wasn’t in session and so the chamber was empty.

“Where’s Orb?” Bologra asked, seeming quite indifferent about the whole thing as the Guard Captain joined him by his side, giving him a shrug.

“I am unsure, he’s probably getting ready or attending to some of his other duties.” The Guard Captain speculated, gently scratching what little hair he had left, still clinging to the back of his head.

“Still snoozin’ you mean…” Bologra grunted, fully turning his attention towards him.

“Fine, gimme my axe and I’ll deal with this myself.” He snapped, snatching the battle axe out of the clueless guardsman’s hand, holding it just below its head.

“Y-You can’t be serious, I’m not going to let you loose around this castle Orc, Daedra or no Daedra, in fact, there being a Daedra here is more of a reason not to let you go!”

“Oh, so now you believe me!?” The Orc growled, for him it was a case of too little too late, he wasn’t waiting on some poncy councillor to get out of bed, have a cup of coffee and to get his ass down here to stand there umming and erring.

“Calm yourself, I can send some of my men upstairs to retrieve him, we’ll have this whole situation taken care of within…”

“Within what? An hour? Screw that, I know exactly what needs to be done.”

“What ‘needs to be done’ is you calming down, I will not have you raising your voice in the Elder Council chambers or intimidating my guards!” The Captain snapped, taking a step closer to Bologra, aware of the fact that he was twice his size and dangerous but uncaring towards this fact.

“Oh, that so old man? Do you say that to every friggin’ mouse that comes by as well?”

“Yeah, there are a lot of mice, in the dungeon, where you’re going to end up if you don’t stop making a spectacle of yourself!”

“Gentlemen, please!” A voice called, a voice that echoed throughout the chamber, like the kind of voice that was meant for this chamber. Both the Guard Captain and Bologra looked over their shoulders, looking quite shocked at the sudden appearance of the man.

The Man appeared before them in dark blue ceremonial robes, adorned in a number of patterns. He was incredibly well dressed and he stood confidently before them, arms folded, giving them a stern look. Beside him stood a familiar face, Soir Aube stood by his side, looking incredibly sheepish.

“Y-Your majesty… F-Forgive me.” The Captain bumbled, falling down to his knee and bowing his head as the other members of the guard did the same.

“Pautius, it isn’t necessary… I was actually just wondering what the commotion was, it looked like it was getting very heated.”

Bologra looked somewhat surprised at the Emperor’s demeanour, he’d heard quite a bit about him over the years, learning that he was apparently a bit dim and had a very strange sense of humour. At one point his own advisor turned against him, out of fear that he’d run the empire into the ground. Ever since the Advisor’s arrest, things had been going into decline, many think that the man is just a mere figurehead and that his advisors are starting to run the show from behind the scenes.

Gods, Bologra hoped that that was the case…

Patuius rose to his feet, straightening his back as he stood up straight before them. If he knew that he was running into the Emperor today, he would’ve given his armour a good polishing, ordered his men to do the same, it doesn’t matter if he’s planning on turning you into a lizard, you still need to look your best for the Emperor.

“Hey Orb…” Bologra began, ignoring the old fart in front of him as he wanted ‘Orb’ to help him banish Lorwel and everything else was trivial at best.

“I found your axe.”

“So you have…” Soir uttered, taking a step forward and examining it, with a keen eye.

“It looks even more impressive in person… I so wish that we could have some time to study it, if the Emperor’s life wasn’t at risk…”

“I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t be paying me…” The Orc replied, shorty, getting Aube’s attention.

“I apologise, yes… We can get to work right now, i-is Arlas with you?”

“Nah, she got hurt at the Pilgrim’s Cave place, that Altmer bitch stabbed her in the heart. She’s sleeping it off, Healer said she’d be up in a week or so…” Bologra listed, assuming that Soir would know anything about what he was talking about.

“Right, so we ready to get moving?”

“My friend, we are right behind you.” The Imperial Councillor said, with an encouraging smile.

Bologra stepped into the basement, ducking his head under the low beam as he did so. It felt so strange that he was last here five days ago as it felt so much longer, it felt more like a weeks ago, due to the long, sleepless nights on the road.

As he stepped inside, he could feel the Daedra’s energy slowly radiating from the statue, probing his soul. The Orsimer seemed to ignore the sensation as he wouldn’t have to stand it for long if he just got this over with. With that attitude in mind, he approached the petrified figure of Jorane Lorwel, standing before him with his most prized possession.

Soir Aube, the Emperor, Patuius and his guards all stood patiently behind him, though Patius quickly decided that this wasn’t the place for the Emperor and began to usher him out of the chamber, so that he wouldn’t be exposed to the Daedra’s corruption.

“Huh… You not going to, Orb?” Bologra asked, glancing back over his shoulder to see that the Imperial was getting comfortable, rather than running away with his tail between his legs, like one would expect.

“Not exactly, no. The Emperor being susceptible to mind control is a dangerous prospect but nobody would notice or care if it happened to me.” He shrugged, slowly growing a smirk across his lips.

“That and my mind is stronger than the Emperor’s.”

“Heh… And here I thought that those lips were for kissing his ass.”

“Only when he’s here, now go on; let’s get this over with before that Daedra does any more damage.”

Bologra nodded in agreement, knowing that he couldn’t have said it better himself, he turned back to Lorwel’s statue and approached it, readying the axe in his right hand.

“Ah… My Pilgrims return, what joyous news!” He began, seeming delighted at the sight of Bologra or moreso the axe in his possession.

“Nah, just the one pilgrim, Arlas couldn’t make it… And we lost a man…”

“Minor sacrifices for a greater cause; place the axe in my hand!”

“Woah, if it wasn’t for Arlas your stupid axe wouldn’t be here! Now what about my hand?”

''“Your hand? Oh, yes, yes, I can restore it, once I am revived. Just give it to me!”''

Bologra couldn’t help but smirk, he felt like he was holding a chicken leg above a whining dog, jumping up on its hind legs and slobbering at his feet, it felt somewhat good.

“What, did you forget our deal? You are planning on keeping to it, right?”

“Surrender.

The.

Axe!” 

Every word hit everyone in the room like a heavy door, knocking the wind out of the soldiers and causing them to fall back, coughing heavily as they got a taste of Jorwell’s power, even Aube was on his hands and knees, coughing heavily.

Bologra, however, just stood before him, defiantly, glaring at the failed god with a look of venom, the likes of which he’d never given anyone else before.

“What did you just say to me?” He whispered, sounding like he was on the verge of using the axe in his hand, which he very much was.

“Do you want to be re-united with your hand or not!?”

“I’m not sure, are you even gonna give it me or are you just gonna kill me?” Bologra asked, again, sounding like a bull, ready to charge.

''“Ignorant fool, the axe is the key! With it I can unlock my '' hidden potential and be free of this retched form! Your hand can be restored, your comrades can be resurrected, you can command power beyond your wildest fantasies.

All that is required is that you offer the axe to me.”

Bologra glanced down to the axe, seeming somewhat disinterested in it at this point, prompting him to take a tighter grip on it.

“You want it?” He asked, his tone dripping with bitterness as he began to lift it.

“Well here!”

With an almighty roar, Bologra swung the axe around and drove it down, slicing it through Lorwel’s stone hand, causing it to fall to the ground and shatter as Jorane’s malfested screams echoed throughout the chamber.

''“S-Stop! I command you! This disobedience can only lead to your downfall, cease this infernal rebellion at once!”''

This didn’t seem to appease Bologra, oddly enough, again, he gave an almighty roar as he swung Geoth’s axe horizontally, a great deal of effort, using only one hand but it was totally worth it as the swing shattered Lorwel’s stone head, sending tiny rock fragments flying across the room.

With his stone avatar seriously damaged, Lorwel’s body began to crack, with several minor and large crunch sounds, a red light began to pour out of his body, growing more and more intense until it filled the room. Soir Aube and his guards shielded themselves as the intensity of the light grew to solar levels before ending in an explosive finale as the Daedra’s statue shattered into a thousand rock fragments.

Within the blink of an eye it was over, Lorwel’s avatar had been completely destroyed and the entity inside was seemingly destroyed along with it. Bologra stood on the spot, panting heavily as he kept a tight grip of his axe, finally dropping it down to the ground as he rested his arm.

After a few seconds he shifted his head back up, keeping a murderous glare on the statue’s remains.

“Do not give orders to me!” He snapped, clutching his now free hand as he watched the last of the rocks roll away. No lesser Daedra was a match for him, no trinkets were worth his pride and he’d rather cast his own hand off than pledge it to the surface of a pretentious lesser Daedra.

Justice had been dealt, the Empire was now safe and most importantly, Bologra had bagged himself a Daedric Prince, shame that he couldn’t keep his stone head as a trophy.

“It is done…” Aube uttered, taking a step closer towards the rubble as his guards cautiously followed from behind, the Imperial knelt down to check the rock’s composition.

“It’s a shame that we couldn’t salvage the statue but so long as the Emperor is safe, it’s a worthy sacrifice.”

“Yeah, well it was an ugly statue anyway… You should get one of me, holding his ugly head up on my bayonet, that’d look great on your round table.” The Orsimer suggested, still sounding quite enraged from his encounter with the Daedra.

“Ha, you have good taste in statues, I’ll give you that.” Aube chuckled, rising to his feet with a fragment of the avatar still in his hand, which he continued to examine.

“What is it?” Bologra asked, mildly interested in what relevance the rocks had at this point.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s… still warm, there’s still some energy inside of it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… I can feel it, pulsating in my hand…” Aube noted, pocketing the rock and giving the statue another look over.

“I should pass it onto the Mage’s Guild for further study.”

Aube turned to face Bologra fully at this point, ready to address his actions, though brass, they saved the White-Gold tower and possibly the Empire from Lorwel’s influence. He felt that was worthy of recognition and a reward.

“I believe that congratulations are in order, however, though I’d rather congratulate you both… Will Arlas be able to join us?”

Bologra shrugged, he didn’t ask but he assumed that she would, assumedly she would arrive in a few days, probably infuriated that Bologra ditched her.

“I think so, soon as she’s up on her feet, I imagine that she’d want to get down here and see if I screwed it up or not.”

Aube simply chuckled in response, wondering if those words truly reflected Arlas’ opinion on the Orc, though he somehow doubted it. He was rash, aggressive at times and took few things seriously but he was not incompetent.

“If she has such concerns, I am sure that they are unfounded…” He assured him, slowly turning him away from the collapsed statue as he lead him away.

“Come, I think that we’re all in need of a drink…

I certainly am.”

Chapter 25: Aftermath
It took Arlas another week before she was stable enough to travel, though that time was hardly wasted, during those days she spent her time reflecting, discussing her adventures with Hermes and occasionally Frost-Heart. It took a great deal of contemplation to decide whether or not she wanted to return to the priesthood, the only place she fit in but was that true? She never truly did, she was sure that she was seen as an embarrassment by some, she was uncouth and uncaring about the pomp and ceremony of being a priest. She just wanted to help people… To be of use and she could do that without the Priest’s robes, in fact she may even be better at it.

The day before she left, she and Hermes arranged a burial for Nair, she and Hermes were the only two attendants but she knew that he wasn’t exactly close to anyone else, he was barely close to them.

Given the importance of her quest, Frost-Heart agreed to pay for Arlas’ carriage back to the Imperial City, saving the Bosmer a great deal of walking, after paying her respects to Nair for the final time, Arlas boarded the wagon and bid her farewells before she was hauled back to the Imperial City.

After four hours of travel, Arlas had arrived in the Imperial City, a sight that looked alien after being away for the best part of two weeks. Still, the Bosmer did her best to push past it as she needed to get to the White-Gold Tower and see the aftermath of Bologra’s return.

The city was still left standing, which was a good sign, though it was more than possible that Lorwel could have taken it without spilling a drop of blood, if he had his full power, he could have possessed the Emperor. Arlas didn’t know if entering the tower single handed was such a good idea, for all she knew, this could be a situation like the Tharn Crisis and she could be the only one who knew about it.

Still, it was equally as likely that things turned out well, the Bosmer had no evidence of either but she’d be lying if she said that she was optimistic. It would’ve been better for her or even Nair to come back alone but Bologra could be more than a little… rash…

The Bosmer entered the White Gold Tower, with some trepidation, due to the fact that she was still in the dark about the outcome of Bologra’s quest, she was kindly reminded that only the first floor was open to the public, by one of the guards as she entered.

As she stepped inside, she saw a number of palace guards calmly patrolling the hallway, marching intensely from room to room. The Bosmer almost felt bad for interrupting them, given how focussed they were on their patrol routes but decided that it was for the greater good.

She approached the Imperial Palace Guard, who immediately stopped, giving her his full attention. Non of the Guardsmen seemed to recognise her, though she didn’t recognise them either, so for all she knew, they could have been a completely different set of guards.

“Hey, erm…” The Bosmer fell silent, feeling incredibly out of place, after she was left out of the picture for the best part of two weeks.

“Councillor Aube is expecting me.” She finally said, feeling incredibly official all of a sudden.

“Your name?”

“Sister Arlas.” She said, in truth she wasn’t a proper sister yet but he didn’t need to know that.

“Very well, wait here.”

With that the Guardsman left Arlas alone, she stood awkwardly, sticking out like a sore thumb as the only person in the room who wasn’t wearing armour. She gently scratched her arm as she waited for the Councillor to join her.

After a few moments she heard the loud clunk and creaking of one of the hallway doors as the Imperial Palace Guard stepped out, seemingly alone. He marched over to her, with a purpose, causing the Bosmer to feel a little concerned at the prospect that she’d just handed herself over to a corrupt government.

“Sister Arlas?” He asked, as if he didn’t have her attention already.

“Y-Yes… Will Councillor Aube be coming down?”

“No Ma’am, he’s requested that you go to him, he’s waiting for you in his office.”

Arlas raised an eyebrow, feeling more than a little confused by this, being invited to the forbidden floors of the Imperial Tower, something that few had the privilege of doing.

She began to feel even more suspicious but knew that if she was walking into a trap, she couldn’t back out now, too many guards surrounded her and she didn’t have her living, breathing battering ram to keep them at bay. Knowing this, she gave the Guard a stern nod, ready to face whatever lay in store for her.

It was a long climb, up to the top of the Imperial Tower but Arlas and her Guard Friend finally reached the right floor, Arlas had no idea what number floor it was as she had stopped counting around the twentieth, apparently the Ayleids constructed this tower and they most likely had very muscular legs from having to do this crap every day.

Arlas followed the Guardsman as he reached Councillor Aube’s front door, he slowly raised his hand and gently tapped his knuckles against it, to get his attention. There was a four second delay after he knocked, though it felt like an eternity to Arlas, who wasn’t exactly sure what to expect.

After having four seconds of speculation time, the muffled voice of Soir Aube leaked through the wood as he beaconed them in. The Guardsman respectfully nodded to Arlas before opening the door for her and keeping hold of it to allow her passage. The Bosmer gave him a meek but grateful smile as she stepped inside, immediately seeing the Councillor behind his desk.

“Arlas, it’s great to see you back on your feet.” Aube beamed, almost as if he had been anxiously waiting for her all that time or for no time at all, like she was only a few hours late, instead of a few weeks.

“How’re you feeling?”

Arlas did her best to sugar coat it, she doubted that he really cared but it was difficult to sugar coat a knife to the heart easily, so she had to be at least a little bit honest. She shrugged and pressed her hand against her chest, which still felt incredibly strange to her.

“Feels a little stiff… hurts sometimes but it’s getting there. I think the rest did me good.” She replied, giving the Councillor a shrug.

“What about Bologra? And the Emperor and Jorwel? What’s happened to them?”

Aube quickly raised his hands and pushed down with them, indicating that he wished for her to calm down, as he gave her an assuring smile.

“Everything is fine Arlas… Bologra returned with the axe and used it to destroy Lorwel’s avatar, severing his connection to Nirn and banishing him. His actions were… a little rash but they seem to have saved the day.

Nobody was hurt and the axe is being kept in the Imperial Vault, along with the fragments of Lorwel’s statue, each is kept separately of course, we aren’t taking any chances and we’ve even sent some of the samples off to the Arcane University for further study.

As I said, we have everything under control.”

“What about Bologra? Where is he now?”

“He’s… Around, he checks in every day, making sure that you’ve arrived, I’m sure that he’ll be relieved to know of your safety. Any longer and I think that he might have gone up to Bruma, after you.”

Arlas couldn’t help but chuckle at that remark as the Orc seemed pretty eager to be free of her. She couldn’t help but be resentful towards him for ending their quest, still it would have been illogical to wait for weeks, possibly months for her to get better, assuming that nobody would take the axe in the meantime.

He did the right thing without a doubt but that didn’t mean that she liked it.

“I’ve been waiting for the both of you to be here before I… addressed your contributions to banishing Lorwel. I won’t lie Arlas, few know the gravity of the situation and even less know how important your roles were in protecting the Emperor and the Empire from Daedric Influence, you have our eternal gratitude.

I am more than happy to grant you any boon that you desire, plus Imperial Crafted armour and weapons of the finest quality. I must confess, I… Am a little unsure as to what a Sister of the Chapel could want in return, this should be… interesting.”

Arlas could see what he meant, though in truth, she was definitely unsure as to whether or not she belonged in the cloistered life of the Chapel. Being out there, seeing it all, helping people like Nair and seeing the Ardwolf clan’s destruction, it made her so much more eager to get out there and…

See the world, explore, assist whenever possible and most importantly, live freely. Still, she had the ability to decide what she could have to get a head start, she could have anything she wanted or needed in order to get a head start.

“I’m… Not sure…” The Bosmer uttered, bringing her hand to her chin as she thought on it but Aube quickly waved her concern away.

“Don’t trouble yourself over it now, have a drink and a meal and a good night’s rest before deciding. I’m sure that Father Lorius will be eager to see if you’re okay or not.”

“Yeah…” The Bosmer uttered, not sounding all that convinced as she sighed, folding her arms and shrinking a little into a less confident huddle.

“We can’t all be like Bologra, knowing exactly what we want all the time.” The Councillor smirked, getting Arlas to look up in confusion before finding herself giving in and smirking a little at the thought of it.

“What did he want?”

“He said that he wanted to go to Morrowind, asked me to give him as many arms as he could carry so that he could kill as many creatures as possible. It is a shame that he wasn’t born during the time of the great Cliffracer Cull, I’m sure that his service would have been invaluable.” Aube chuckled, causing Arlas to break into a slight laughing fit as she imagined him running around the hillside, swiping at Cliffracers as they flew around his head.

However, the joy was shortly lived as the reality of the situation came crashing back down, she found herself still troubled, feeling like leaving the Priesthood would be disrespectful to Lorius and all of the other people who put so much time, effort and energy into getting her to where she is now.

She let her guard down and Aube immediately noticed the solemn look on her face and found himself unable to resist intervening.

“Something wrong?” He asked, testing the waters.

“N-No… It’s nothing…”

“Normally, when people say that, they’re deflecting the question and not answering it.” Aube pointed out, getting the Bosmer to meet his gaze.

“Nah, it’s… just… It doesn’t matter.”

“Hah, that doesn’t stop anyone else from bringing things to my concern, please; you’d be surprised at how significant this might be, even if it’s just in comparison to some of the nuisances that I’ve had to deal with over the years.” Aube replied, giving the Bosmer a shrug as he found himself to be curious about her concerns, from what little Bologra had told him, she had quite a few reasons to be concerned, few of which could be considered trivial.

“Please… What’s on your mind?”

The Bosmer remained reluctant to share but decided that she was cornered, she must want to on some level, because she brought it up. She sighed heavily and glanced from side to side before folding her arms and falling silent.

“I’m… Thinking about leaving the Priesthood…” She explained, feeling a little ashamed for saying it, like she was stabbing Father Lorius in the back.

“Maybe taking my healing skills out on the road, living for myself and helping the people that I want to help, y’know?” She explained, hoping that that made more sense aloud than it did in her head.

Soir didn’t know what to expect, so this wasn’t too shocking for him to hear, in fact it seemed more than rational for someone so young, especially in Mer years to not want to tie themselves to a Priesthood at such a young age.

“I do know, I understand perfectly.” The Imperial said, respectfully as he rose to his feet.

“I take it that you are… conflicted as to whether or not you are shirking your duties to the nine by taking this path?”

Arlas nodded, he knew her better than she did, she decided to remain silent and listen to what advice he had to part with.

Aube slowly walked around his study, admiring the many ornaments on display as he thought on it for a moment; he’d pick up a small figuring, examine it for the millionth time that day and then gently place it down. After a few minutes of walking in circles, he had finally come to his conclusion.

“Hmm… Are you aware of the story of Martin Septim?” He asked, pausing to allow the Bosmer to answer, though it came pretty quickly.

“Of course, I work less than a few feet away from his remains.” The Bosmer replied, with a smirk, prompting the Councillor to chuckle somewhat.

“Well, I’m sure that you’re aware that he was raised as a priest as well? He was Brother Martin before the Hero of Kvatch found him and helped him find his true calling.” The Imperial explained, hoping that she could see where he was going with this.

“I am not a believer in destiny or fate but I do believe that there are a lot of people like Martin, who when they’re called away from their original calling find their true place in the world and achieve great things.

I believe that you are one of these people Arlas, I see it, Bologra sees it, Lorius sees it and believe that even Lorwel saw it. Travel, learn more, make use of your talents and better the world around you. It’s not like you cannot come back to the Priesthood once you’re done.”

Arlas fell silent, finding herself smiling a little, she was thankful that she didn’t have much of an ego, because that would have been a lot to take on board if she did. Still, it did feel like she had had her vision cleared, like the condensation had been wiped off of her view of the world, she smiled and nodded respectfully.

“Th-Thank you… Councillor.” She said, giving him a respectful nod as she placed her hand on her chest.

“I… I guess that settles it, it’s time for me to leave the city, leave Cyrodiil maybe…”

“And raise hell with Bologra?” Aube chuckled, knowing that the two mer were more than likely to part ways at the end of all of this but the image was a humorous one, none-the-less.

“Heh, I think I’d just get in his way.” The Bosmer replied, shaking her head with a smirk.

“I was thinking… Valenwood? Summerset? Don’t know, just always wanted to see them.” She shrugged, slowly drawing Lorwel’s staff and examining it.

“Hmm… Do you need this? For your… vault?”

Aube thought on it for a moment, looking at the staff from afar but he eventually shook his head with a smile.

“I think you’ve earned it, though let’s just keep that between us, okay?”

Arlas nodded with a smile, appreciating his faith as she sheathed the destruction staff into its holster on her back.

“Well, thank you, Councillor, for… everything.”

“I don’t believe that I have done anything for you, not yet anyway. Something I hope to rectify in the near future.” The Imperial replied, taking a step forward and placing a hand on the young Bosmer’s shoulder.

“I believe that the one receiving the thanks should be you, Sister Arlas.”

Arlas stopped him to raise a finger, halting him in his tracks, with a slight smirk.

“I won’t be Sister Arlas for much longer…”

“So, just Arlas then?” The Councillor asked, with a raised eyebrow.

The Bosmer then shook her head, folding her arms and giving him a shrug as she worked up the courage to correct him.

“Arlas is my surname, when I was Sister Arlas it made sense but… it’d feel a little weird now. I’m not a Sister anymore, so I guess that just makes me Lianne.”

Aube chuckled and shook head, seeing her reasoning and somewhat agreeing with it, it felt weird being called ‘Aube,’ even when it was called for. In truth he wished that people called him Soir sometimes but he had to keep his respectable position open as much as he didn’t like it.

“Well, I’ll let you go, so that you can get on over to the Merchant Inn before Bologra raises hell in there. He said he’d be waiting for you with a fine tankard of ale.”

“Heh, well, I guess I earned it.” She smirked, feeling Aube take hold of her hand and slowly lift it up, placing something heavy and metallic inside.

“Here, before I forget…” He began, letting go of her hand and revealing that he had placed a gold coin at the center of it, it was a lot smaller than standard currency and heavier, making it seem more like a medal.

“The seal of the Empire, a sign of good faith to ensure that our friends are always looked after. Keep it close and use it well and you’ll always have a roof over your head, wherever you go.”

Arlas wrapped her hands around the seal and gently placed it into her robe pocket, giving the Councillor an appreciative nod and a smile.

“Thank you.”

Arlas went straight from there to the Merchant’s inn, where she was re-united with Bologra. She informed him of Nair’s passing and of her decision to leave the Priesthood, non-too surprisingly; Bologra took both of these things pretty well and seemed more eager to get her to the table, to pour her a drink.

The two of them spent their last night as a team killing as many of their brain cells as possible, drinking eachother under the table. It was a long battle and no clear victor was announced, in the morning a debate was started as to which one could claim to be victorious, a debate that still rages to this day.

Arlas
Arlas returned to Father Lorius and informed him of her decision, surprisingly her mentor made no attempt to dissuade her; he pulled her in and embraced her before helping her pack her things and arranging her transportation to the south. After packing, the two of them stayed up for hours, they talked nonstop over a glass of port as the Bosmer informed him of her adventures. Her tales didn’t exactly help the Priest with his doubts but he realised that she was a happier and stronger person than ever. The two of them spoke long into the night before retiring as Arlas crawled into her bed for the last time, she curled up and closed her eyes, dwelling on their last night together.

She almost didn’t want to go but knew that she had to as a traveller, she would see him again, she’d write often and think of him always.

The Bosmer left the next morning, after a tearful goodbye from Father Lorius, she left his arms and stepped out into the Imperial City as a different person, she was no longer Sister Arlas and was now Lianne Arlas, travelling healer and adventurer. She went to the White Gold Tower and spoke to Aube one last time, having decided what she wanted as a reward, the Imperial’s reaction didn’t truly convey his emotional response to her request but he executed it without hesitation.

By noon Arlas had hit the road, heading south, back to her people’s homeland.

Bologra Blackbeard
Bologra collected his weapons a week after asking for them and awaited patiently for Arlas’ return. As soon as she left his life, seemingly for good, he armoured himself up and took up arms and marched straight up to Morrowind to pick a fight with the first poncy knife eared house soldier that looked at him funny. He eventually found what he was looking for in Solstheim, where he challenged some soldiers of a Great House and ended up taking down scores of them before eventually becoming overfaced by their numbers. He was taken to the dungeons, where he was approached by one of senior members of the house, who informed him that they were quite impressed with his brute strength, skill and resistance to physical damage. He gives Bologra a mercenary job, which lasted around a week before he got bored of it and left.

He continued to travel from there, until he one day encountered a group of strange creatures patrolling the roads. Intrigued by their magma-like structure, Bologra got himself ready for a fight. Without any warning he let out an enraged cry and charged at the unknown soldiers, spit flying from his mouth and clinging to his beard, fingers wrapped tightly around his hand axe and a murderous lust in his eyes.

What happened from there is a tale for another day…

The Wolf Rises
After Lorwel’s defeat, the Silver Road became a peaceful place, where little happened. With the Ravagers gone and the nearby cultists dispatched, no threats remained in the area and not enough time had been granted for new ones to be established.

Taking advantage of the calmness of the region, a cloaked man walked along the road, a Nord with long, fair hair, who hung his head, concealing it in the dark. He marched along the dirt road. He kept his eyes fixated on the path ahead, until he came up to a hastily patched up wooden door.

Few knew what really inflicted this damage on it but he did as he was at the heart of all of this, when it began. The Nord felt the heat off of the lamp, hanging off of the window as he stepped inside, doing his best not to look at the inn’s sign as it swung triumphantly in the air, displaying the worst moment of his life as a moment of glory for weaker men.

Lars stepped inside Crovenhoft Inn; his hard heavy boots gave off a slight thud with each step as he slowly paced across the room. He got a great deal of intrigue from the patrons, who swiftly snapped their heads around to investigate the troubled looking warrior as he made his way over to the counter.

He stopped just short of it, resting his elbow on it as he leaned over and waited for some attention from the tavern’s owner, who was busy preparing something over the stove. He cursed and grumbled as he nearly cut his fingers half a dozen times, either ignoring or finding himself oblivious to Lars’ presence.

The Werewolf grew impatient and brought his hand to his mouth, deeply clearing his throat, hoping to get the Breton’s attention. This consequently startled the still quite jittery inn keeper as he turned around, immediately coming face to face with the second most unfriendly patron in the region.

“Y-You, y-you’re supposed to be dead!”

Lars just glared at him, furrowing his brow and narrowing his eyes.

“Am I now? Who decreed that I should be dead?” The Nord asked, seeming somewhat enraged at the prospect that his death is being treated as something that ‘should be.’

“W-Well… There’s been talk, about the Werewolves, all of them were found dead up at Crusader’s Rest. I… Didn’t mean to cause offense, I just… I just wasn’t expecting one of the Ravagers to walk through my door.” The Breton spluttered, bumbling and fumbling around his words as he tried to find the right ones to appease the enraged Nord behind the counter.

Lars strangely didn’t take offense to the title of ‘Ravager’ in fact he almost revelled in it. He was now a thing of fear, an urban legend, this gave him power, a sign of respect… no, better than that, fear.

“I know that, I was there… But the rumours are false; I was among the dead but not one of them.”

“Clearly…” The Breton uttered, feeling very uncomfortable

“So… Have you come here for a drink?” He followed up, nervously, gently rubbing his hands together as he felt a little ill all of a sudden. The Werewolf began to look around, seeming to be scanning the room with his eyes.

“Yes… I am rather parched, though I will also need a place to stay, whilst we recuperate…”

The Breton nodded, taking a bottle and tilting the glass as he poured the Nord a drink, however, he quickly fell silent and shot his head up, looking incredibly concerned by the vagueness of that last comment.

“Recuperate?”

“Yes.” Lars replied, politely but rather forcefully taking the drink from his hand and pressing it to his lips, taking a sip of it before lowering it down to the table.

“My people and I will need some time to gather, rebuild.”

“Your… People?”

Lars’ eyes slowly rose up to meet the Breton’s causing him to shrink and back away, silently clearing his throat as he began to squirm under the Werewolf’s icy gaze.

“Of course… Clan Ardwolf have been kicked back down to one man, many times before, we’ve even survived our own extinction.” He stopped to knock his drink back, slamming the copper cup down on the table as he slowly rose to his feet, causing the Breton to back off as he struggled to predict the Nord’s next movements.

“We are a family…” He explained as an aura began to take effect around him and he slowly began to alter, his body changing form.

“And like every family…

We are connected through blood!”

With that, Lars immediately shifted into an eight foot tall Werewolf, resulting in the Breton barkeep screaming and stumbling backwards as the Werewolf leapt up into the air and landed on top of him, every patron in the room either ran out of the inn screaming or drew their weapons and took their chances. The massacre ended with a harrowing howl, which echoed throughout County Bruma, signalling the Ravager’s return.