Myths of Mundus: Dark Pilgrimage - The Alluvian

Chapter 16: The Borderlands

It had been two days since the group arrived in Bruma, where Nair was instantly taken into care, in the chapel's undercroft. Bologra recieved some medical attention as well but grew tired of the old priests fussing over him, it wasn't long before he stood up and walked out of the establishment, itching to see the blacksmith about installing a bayonet on his arm brace.

It took him some time to explain what he wanted from the old Nord, who seemed confused about the request at first, which only added to the Orsimer's frustrations. After a lot of explaining and negotiating, Bologra was able to modify his arm brace, get a bayonet blade and replace his lost hand axe, with a Nordic one for a pretty decent price.

Arlas and her Orsimer companion opted to stay in Olav's Tap and Tac, after Arlas insisted on visiting the statue of the Hero of Kvatch, which had unfortunately rotted away over the years, to the point that it was impossible to tell if he or she was a man, mer or beast.

Restoration is near impossible as few 'remember' their features and those who do could most likely be lying, the Altmer would be the first to take the credit if they could and historical accounts, even the Heroes' Diary has three 'official' versions, though the legitimate one was supposedly taken by the Thalmor, during their raid on the White Gold tower.

After an interesting but exhausting day, the Bosmer and her Orsimer companion finally took refuge at the cheap inn, taking a seat at the center of the cosy room, by the fire. Cosy, of course, was the polite word for 'incredibly small,' in fact it was so small that Bologra took at least five percent of it, with his large build.

The Orsimer sat at his table, with his arm brace resting on its meager but sturdy wooden surface as Arlas approached, placing the two meads in front of him before taking a seat and rubbing her hands in her lap.

"F-Freezing up here... How do people stand it?" She asked, glancing up to the Orc, who didn't seem remotely bothered by the low temperature.  He simply shrugged as he reached for his drink, knocking some of it back.

"Well, I grew up in Skyrim, it wasn't like this all the time but... Just keep moving and drink lots of ale, that was my secret."

Arlas glanced to her cup before taking his advice, well half of it, though from what she'd heard alchohol was the worst thing that you could drink in the cold, scientifically speaking. Though, then again, if you're drunk, you don't care about the cold.

The Bosmer took a mouthful of the frothy ale, swallowing it back and licking the foam off of her lips before turning her attention back to the Orc.

"What was it like up there?" She asked, finding herself intrigued as she was tempted to visit it some day...

"Skyrim? It's a frozen shit hole, full of racist Nord morons and crazy wildlife and that was before the dragons started showing up."

"Dragons? Wait... Did you see one?" She asked, finding herself to be a little excited at that prospect, prompting the Orsimer to laugh.

"Sort of, one flew over us once... We just saw it's shadow along the ground, got jumpy whenever a bird flew overhead after that." Bologra explained, knocking back some more ale before slamming the mug down on the table, wiping the foam from his beard with his forearm.

Arlas glanced up to the Orc, with a smile, she found his story to be interesting but she couldn’t help but pick up on something…

“Who’s us?”

“Hmm? Oh, Me, my Brothers and my old man…

We lived in one of those Orc forts for a while, until the Old Man kicked the bucket, me and Bugdul hit the road, whilst Besrath hit the road.” He explained, figuring that it would be confusing to an outsider; still Arlas seemed to understand, seeing that Skyrim wasn’t really the Orsimer’s natural territory.

“Was Besrath the Brother you lost?” Arlas asked, though she was pretty hesitant about doing so, given how much of a delicate subject that might be.

“Er… No, that was Bugdul. Asshole got a little big headed, when robbing folks. Made his own bandit clan and everything, I figured we were better off as mercs but…” He then paused and shrugged, knocking back what was left of his ale.

“He knew better, clearly…”

The Acolyte fell silent as she wrapped her comparatively smaller hands around her cup, staring ahead into the fireplace as she sighed heavily.

“To be honest… I kind of envy you, I never had any friends or family growing up, no one close to me has ever died.

It makes things… Hella boring, y’know?” The Bosmer sighed, glancing back up to the Orsimer, who sat as still as a rock, watching her as she spoke.

“Father Lorius found me as a baby, he and his people took me in… Raised me as one of their own, which is both good and… Well, shit.

I mean, it’s not that I’m ungrateful but… I don’t know, I guess I’d just like to go my own way, do my own thing. Help people the way that I want to, y’know? Rather than be tied to the service of some Gods my whole life.” The Bosmer explained, tapping her fingers on the table before retaking her cup and knocking the ale back down her throat again.

“Why don’t you? I mean… You don’t have to be a Priest, do you?” Bologra asked, not knowing for certain but there was always a way out for him, so long as he was big, loud and foreboding enough to intimidate someone into giving him his way.

If that didn’t work, he just beat the crap out of them…

Arlas couldn’t help but shrug at that, she honestly didn’t know at this point. She could drop the priesthood but Lorius would be incredibly disappointed, what would she do instead? She’d just be condemning herself…

But at least she’d be free…

“I’m… I just don’t want to disappoint Father Lorius.” The Bosmer explained, with a sigh, getting Bologra to raise his eyebrows.

“Heh… Too late, you probably already have.”

Arlas glanced up, wondering what he meant by that, though it sounded insensitive she could tell that there was some sort of point behind it.

“Family, they always want you to do what’s best for you…

It’s like Bugdul, wantin’ to be a bandit chief? Best decision I ever made was telling him to beat it, so that I could do what I wanted to do.

I mean, yeah, I’m not the best merc… hell, I ain’t even good but I’m alive and he ain’t and if I die, it’ll be for a better cause than keeping my territory.” The Orc explained, folding his stump arm over his normal once as he leant forward, hanging his head in contemplation.

Arlas remained silent for a moment before nodding in agreement that made sense to her. She could be a healer, without being a Priest. She loved helping people, she could even work with or for the Chapel without accepting any vows.

The Bosmer’s eyes quickly squinted as her heavy eyelids stifled and she found herself uncontrollably yawning, much to the Orsimer’s amusement.

“Heh… Bedtime kiddo.” He mocked, slowly standing up, accidentally knocking his chair over as he did so, whilst Arlas shook her head in protest.

“It’s not even late…” She sighed, though she knew that he was right, they did have a long day ahead of them. Still, she was enjoying this talk, between this and Crovenhoft, she was starting to feel like a normal person, who had friends…

Maybe it could last?

Arlas slowly rose to her feet and looked back over her shoulder to her rooms, snatching Lorwel’s staff from her back as she wandered over to her room, finding herself to be walking in Bologra’s shadow.

The Orsimer followed her over to the door of her room as she opened it and gave her a nod and a smile as she stepped in, he waited at the door as she approached her bed and began to examine her bed, quickly pulling the covers back before turning to her companion.

“This time tomorrow? We’ll be free…”

Bologra gave a slight grimacing smile as he was too tired to emote properly, he glanced down to the floor for a second.

“We’ll see…” He replied, unable to hide his doubt, when it came to Jorane Lorwel’s word.

Arlas couldn’t help but agree with his suspicions but she liked to think that they would be free no matter what; she just hoped that Lorwel wasn’t that much of a traitor.

“G’night, Bologra…”

The Orsimer gave her a nod, slowly pulling the door to a close…

“G’night…”

The gates of Bruma slowly opened for the group as the City Guards opened the way for them; they stood between the two doors as they stared out into the wilderness, which was still being warmed up by the morning sun.

Arlas, Bologra and Nair waited for the gates to fully open before making their way out, Bologra just marched past the guards, not thinking to acknowledge them. Nair was too injured to remember such courtesy, leaving Arlas to give them a respectful nod to thank them before she joined Nair at the back of the group.

She was a little hesitant about leaving the city, even if it was only for a few hours, as Nair was only just on his feet.

He insisted that he was fine and that he’d just need to take it easy but the Acolyte couldn’t help but feel that he was putting on a brave face as he looked like she could knock him to the ground, with a gentle push.

The Khajiit didn’t seem too concerned with his own injuries and simply pushed on, doing his best to keep up with Bologra, who was slowing down a little so that the two of them could keep up.

It was obvious that he was putting in quite a bit of effort to regulate his walking speed as Arlas could tell that he wanted to see the end of this soon, frankly she sympathised with him. Especially since he’d lost his hand to this mad quest as well as his life, Nair came even closer to losing his and Arlas would be lying if she said that receiving that boot to the face was made worth it by anything.

Their journey would be over soon and though that would be the end of many of Arlas’ problems, it would also be the beginning of some new ones. What would she do from here on out?

Being a freelance healer sounded appealing, if Bologra and Nair were willing she could always hire them as bodyguards as neither of them seemed to have plans either, she could give them a trial run for a bit as they were capable fighters and… somewhat pleasant company. She trusted them at least, which is more than she could say for a stranger.

Arlas was still unsure as to whether or not she wanted to leave the chapel behind her, it’s not like she had any ambitions of a family life or to be rich, she was pretty much reliant on the chapel’s shelter and almost endless supply of food.

Still, she couldn’t help but want to be free, she couldn’t help but wish that she could lead her own life and develop her own survival skills and carve her own path in the world. She was old enough to take care of herself and skilled enough as a healer to help anyone that she crossed paths with.

The Bosmer, still undecided, decided to shelve the matter as she focussed on the path ahead as it lead her further north, towards the borderlands between Cyrodiil and Skyrim.

It was at this moment that Nair’s, originally slow and timid walk, came to a slight shuffle as he found himself slowing down. His injuries were flaring up again, prompting Arlas to grind to a halt as she observed him struggling. After a few moments, to check if it was a fluke, the Bosmer stepped in, to check on his condition.

“Nair… Are you okay?” She asked, placing a hand on his forearm, which was place across his chest. His pained expression quickly vanished as he looked to her blankly, like he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Sorry?” He asked, playing dumb as he tried to shrug the crippling pain off.

“Y-Yeah… I’m fine…” The Khajiit winced as he felt a sharp stabbing pain shoot through his rib cage; prompting Arlas to rush around him and take hold of his shoulders as he stumbled back, against a rock.

“Nair… You aren’t fine!” She insisted, looking him over for any sign of his injuries coming undone.

“I knew that we shouldn’t have brought you… It’s too soon!”

“N-No! I’ll be fine… It’s just a stitch is all… fatigue and the like…”

Bologra stopped and glanced over his shoulder, wondering what the hold up was. He turned his head back, over his shoulder and saw that Arlas was fussing over him as usual, whilst the Khajiit sat on the floor, licking his wounds.

Dammit… I told you we shouldn’t have brought the scrote-licker out… Bologra grumbled inside his head, glancing back over his shoulder as his arms swayed from side to side. He was growing impatient at this point, with his goal so close to him, yet he was being held back by dead weight.

“Nair… If you need to turn back…” Arlas began, though she quickly found herself being cut off as the Khajiit raised his hand.

“N-No… That won’t be necessary…” He insisted, forcing himself to his feet, rather hurriedly as he spoke, trying to prove his point.

“I… Just needed a moment is all…”

Arlas just continued to stare at him, fighting every urge in her head to tell him to turn back. The Khajiit had a long way to go before he’d reach the cave’s entrance and if he did make it without incident, he’d still have to fight his way inside and the three of them had no idea what they’ll be up against…

“Nair… You don’t owe us anything, you know that, right?” Arlas asked, lousily hiding her concern with her tone of voice.

“We… I don’t want you getting even more hurt or worse out here.”

Nair glanced down to Arlas’ hips as he felt a little awkward staring at her face, a quick glance before meeting her eyes again, this time with renewed vigour.

“Arlas… It’s okay, I can do this.” He insisted once more before turning back to Bologra, giving him a nod as a gesture to move on.

“Move on my jolly green friend.”

Bologra returned the nod, unable to hide his respectful smile as he did so, he honestly didn’t think that the cat would push on.

Scrote licker’s got stones, I’ll give ‘im that…

The Orsimer turned back to the North, continuing his ascent, whilst Nair picked up the pace again and his Acolyte companion hung back to catch him if he fell. They were so close at this point; it was almost precisely where Arlas had said.

Lorwel was able to implant the memory, like it was her own, like this was a cherished childhood hideout or a former home of hers. It was a rather unsettling feeling that she could have an attachment to a place that she’d never seen before, that her thoughts, feelings and memories could be so easily manipulated.

Either way, as unsettling as this was, it was still majorly helpful, she was glad that she and her companions wouldn’t have any trouble finding the place as that was the last thing that they needed…

Bologra was the first to reach the top of the hill, stumbling on some pebbles as he clawed his way to the top, standing tall at the summit as his eyes fell upon the cave.

He stood, grinning broadly at the cave as he place his hand and stump on his hips, basking in the glory of the group’s victory. They were finally at the cave, the final resting place of Lorwel’s axe and in less than an hour, they would have it in their hands.

Somehow, even Bologra knew that this wasn’t going to be easy, it never was, there was probably something blocking their path. The Orc knew that this was coming and hoped that he’d have to slay something impressive for the axe, maybe a dragon or something…

As Bologra’s gaze continued to linger on the cave, he began to notice movement inside; something was slowly and ominously emerging from the cave’s entrance. Its pattern was slow and sporadic as the creature seemed to be walking in zig zags, swaying from side to side.

“Whew…” Arlas panted as she and Nair finally reached the top from behind him, she stopped and turned around, to help the Khajiit up as he finally reached the summit.

“That… Looked a lot easier in my head…”

“Shh!” Bologra hissed, slapping his paw down on her shoulder, almost knocking the Bosmer on her ass as he did so. Arlas winced initially but quickly saw what he was talking about as a man-sized, green skinned humanoid emerged from the darkness, snarling as it did so.

It was a grotesque creature, a re-animated corpse, with several bones jutting out of its rotten torso. It was quite clear that this was a necromancer created zombie, much like the ones that Arlas saw, whilst studying conjuration.

“We can take ‘em, right?” Arlas whispered, figuring that Bologra was the authority on such calls, though she knew that they could. The creatures were slow, basic and incredibly weak but a warrior would probably know the best way to bring one down, none-the-less.

Bologra turned to her and gave her a dark smirk, with a look that questioned the seriousness of that remark.

“Well, we’d suck if we couldn’t…” He replied, slowly straitening his back as the three zombies spotted them, outstretching their arms before snarling at them. Bologra just grinned as he took this as a challenge, marching forward as he got his new toy at the ready.

Arlas glanced back to Nair, who drew his dagger, quickly rushing towards one of the zombies and lunging forward at it, stabbing it with a hefty swing.

She would have observed his progress further, had another zombie not noticed her from afar, immediately growling at her as it shambled towards her. Arlas quickly conjured an ice spike, that lingered in the air for a moment before it was rocketed, straight into the zombie’s head, shattering the front of its skull, leaving its brain exposed.

The Bosmer quickly recharged the spell, once more before firing again and penetrating its brain with the ice spike, serving as a fatal blow that killed it instantly. She watched as the undead abomination’s head jerked back and it fell down to its knees, falling to the floor as its runny brains dribbled out of its skull, forming a puddle around its face.

Arlas’ stomach churned a little as she backed away, to avoid getting her feet soaked in the zombie’s blood, though she was quickly distracted from it, by the sound of hearty laughter.

The Bosmer glanced over as she saw Bologra, holding up his bayonet arm, holding a zombie in mid air as it violently spasmed. The blade was buried deep inside its brain, with the tip of it sticking out of the top of its head; the tip grew larger as more was able to protrude out of its soft cranium as grey matter and rotten flesh slid down the Orsimer’s arm blade.

Bologra just continued to laugh before pulling the arm down, suddenly, causing the zombie’s feet to hit the floor as he jerked his arm back, withdrawing the blade and letting the corpse fall to the floor, with a heavy thud.

The Orc lifted his blade up and examined the blood on the end of it before flicking the bayonet to one side and flicking it off. As he did this, they heard the grunts and struggles of Nair, quickly prompting the two mer to turn their attentions to him.

Nair was lay on his back, with a one armed zombie on top of him, it snarled and gnashed its teeth, mere inches away from his face as the Khajiit used what little strength he had left to hold it back.

Arlas was quick to respond, quickly conjuring up another ice spike, which she swiftly flung into the creature’s temple, causing its head to jerk to the side as its growls were reduced to a gag as its neck was broken, resulting in its head swaying from side to side, waiting to be finished off.

The Bosmer fired one more ice spike, which flew straight into the creature’s rotten ear, tunnelling through the grey matter inside its skull before stopping dead center in its brain.

As the creature went limp, Bologra marched over to it and snatched it, throwing it to one side, so that the Khajiit could pull himself up, wincing as he did so as he looked around for his knife.

“Dammit Khajiit, you can’t even stand!”

“I’m… Fine!” He insisted, coughing some more as he looked around for the accursed blade.

“Damn creature winded me…”

“Yeah, like walking five steps did!

That thing only had one arm and it still kicked your ass, you don’t belong here!”

Arlas sighed and approached Nair, who quickly scrambled to take his dagger, which he swiftly took and reholstered before feeling the Bosmer’s hand rest on his shoulder.

“What Bologra means is…” She paused, glancing up to the Orc with a frown before turning her attention back to the former bandit.

“Nair… Things might get tough in there and we might not be able to save you this time. It’d be a load off of our minds and I’m sure yours as well, if we all knew that you were safe, back in Bruma.”

Nair paused, wanting to protest before stopping to sigh heavily, seeing her point. In truth, that zombie had winded him and he just knew that there might be more inside. They were right of course, no matter how much he hated that fact, he would most likely die out here if he continued to push himself.

“Very well…” He finally sighed, accepting defeat as he scratched his head, taking Arlas’ hand as it was offered to him and he was brought up to his feet.

“I’m… Sorry, that I wasn’t able to help you after all.” The Khajiit sighed, glancing up to Bologra for a brief moment, who didn’t seem to care before turning his attention back to Arlas.

“That’s not true… We wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” Arlas pointed out, though she instantly realised how incorrect that statement was as Nair was more of a hindrance than anything.

Still, he meant well and he had been pleasant company, for the most part.

Nair couldn’t help but chuckle at Arlas’ sensitive tip toeing, which he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“I’m pretty sure that you would have gotten this done twice as fast, without me.”

“Damn straight…” Bologra grunted, much to his Bosmeri companion’s annoyance.

“Y’see? Bologra is never afraid to tell people the truth, when he knows it.” The Khajiit smirked, glancing up to the Orc.

“Take care my friend, come back with that axe… or don’t come back at all.”

“Hah, I might just let you lick it clean.” The Orsimer grinned, getting a slight smirk from the former bandit in response.

“I should imagine that that will be necessary, after you get your grubby finger prints all over it. I’m not sure that Lorwel would accept it otherwise…”

“Yeah? Well, if he don’t accept it, I’ll find some other way to give him, preferably by shoving it up his ass.”

Arlas sighed, with mock annoyance, turning her attention back to Nair, with a longing gaze in her eyes.

“See what you’re leaving me with?”

Nair couldn’t help but chuckle, hanging his head and sighing as he shook it in shame.

“I know… You’re losing your looks and your brains but don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for you, when you get back, with drinks on the table to celebrate.” The Khajiit grinned, turning back and looking over his shoulder.

“You take care cat.” He said, rather cheerfully as Arlas nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, take your time and don’t push yourself.” She added, though it was mostly ignored as the Khajiit couldn’t help but register what Bologra said.

“Oh Bologra, I didn’t know that you cared.”

The Orc just shrugged, scratching his head.

“Well, y’know… I’d hate to trip over your corpse on the way back.” He replied, getting an immediate giggle from the Khajiit as he did so.

“Okay, that I did expect…” He admitted, glancing back over his shoulder and deciding that it was time to go.

“Well, have fun storming the cave.” He added before turning back and departing, shimmying over to the rock’s edge before he began his hesitant descent, leaving the two Mer to face whatever challenge awaited them alone.

As the cat folk disappeared over the ridge, the two of them turned around, losing their smiles, which were quickly replaced with frowns as they saw the dark path ahead.

Arlas quickly drew her staff before marching on in, ready for whatever this cave had to throw at them…

Chapter 17: The Long Way Around

Arlas shivered as she and Bologra stepped inside the cave, like most caves it contained very little but shadow and moisture, making it just as cold in here as it was out there.

As the two of them began their descent, down the cave's narrow tunnels hoping to find the battle axe deeper inside, they head the groanings and garglings of more undead creatures up ahead.

Bologra put his large hand on Arlas' shoulder and moved her back a little bit, figuring that it would be best for him to go first, considering that he was three times her size and that she preferred ranged attacks.

They could hear the flesh footsteps of the creatures as they stumbled around in the dark, it sounded like there were half a dozen of them at least.

"Arlas? Think you could light the place up, I can't see a thing." Bologra whispered, quickly getting a nod from the Bosmer as she did what he asked, lighting a fire spell in her hand.

The creatures began to groan as they saw the orange flicker at the end of the corridor, calling to them and prompting them to turn and slowly begin moving towards the two intruders. Bologra drew his axe in anticipation but he still couldn't see anything.

"Fire!" He called to her, though the Bosmer didn't know what exactly he meant for as second before deducing that he meant 'shoot' instead of conjure up the spell. She fired it into the dark, hitting one of the approaching zombies, square in the chest, igniting it for a second as it stumbled back.

"Do that again, keep it up so I can see 'em!" The Orsimer called as he drew his hand axe, getting his bayonet at the ready as he charged in. Arlas did as he asked and fired into the darkness again, hitting a zombie on the left this time and giving Bologra the ample opportunity to drive his axe into one of the abomination's skulls.

However, the zombie on the right was able to snatch at his arm, wrapping its clammy hands around it before pulling its head in for a bite. Arlas shot another fireballs at the zombie on the left, illuminating it and showing Bologra where the zombie on the right was, so that he could think fast.

He quickly drove his bayonet's blade into the creature's skull, killing it instantly before shoving it to the floor and swinging his hand axe, roaring in rage as he decapitated it, killing it instantly.

Arlas quickly rushed over to his side as the light faded again, coming to a complete stop as it did so to prevent her from hurting herself.

"You hurt?" She asked, getting little but a faint chuckle in response.

"Nah, takes more than that to 'hurt' me... Though I was a little worried that I'd lose my other arm."

"Yeah, it would kinda suck if you had to head-butt your way to victory." Arlas agreed, though she wondered how she'd navigate the cave, without any light to guide them.

"Yeah... Wish we brought a torch as well."

As Bologra said that, the room lit up as several wall mounted torches ignited, simultaneously. This startled the two travellers as they moved away from the walls, falling back and standing back to back at the center of the corridor.

They looked around for any sign of ambush, whilst trying to figure out what was going on, there was clearly some impressive magic behind it.

"Did you do that?" Bologra whispered, though he somehow got the feeling that she didn't as she probably would have done it earlier if she could.

Arlas just shook her head, quickly realizing that they were stood back to back, so Bologra wouldn't be able to see that.

"Erm... No, I... Did you touch something?" She decided to ask, wondering if it was a mechanism, perhaps a mix of magic and technology.

"Nope."

"Then... Who...?"

"I did." The stern, authoritative voice of an Altmer interrupted them, causing them to both jump out of their skins a second time as they turned to the direction that the voice had come from. There they saw a middle aged Altmer woman, adorned in necromancer robes, holding a torch of her own.

"You two should not be here, know that there are no trinkets or treasures for you to scavenge here, I suggest that you both leave and go back to wherever you came from."

Arlas stepped forward, deciding to speak for the group as she knew a little more about magic than Bologra did and presumably more than Nair, were he here.

"Erm... Actually, we aren't scavengers or even adventurers, we're here to retrieve an artifact for the Empire."

The Altmer raised an eyebrow, finding herself to be somewhat curious about this answer as she wasn't expecting it. Still, it was so obviously a lie to her, that she couldn't help but find herself to be amused by it, they were no better dressed or equipped than your average adventurer.

"Forgive me if I do not believe a statement made without proof, by scruffy street urchin and a brute."

"Hey, I ain't scruffy!" Bologra snapped, appearing to have taken offence by the former comment.

"And... We do have proof." Arlas insisted, drawing Lorwel's staff from her back and holding it up.

"A stick is your proof?" The Altmer scoffed, folding her arms as she began to regret coming out to investigate this, she should have just left the lights off and let the zombies deal with them.

"Are they standard issue among the Imperial Guard these days?"

"No, it's the staff of Jorane Lorwel! The Daedra that lives in the tow-"

Arlas was cut off as the Altmer immediately began to look disturbed by the use of that name, she knew who Lorwel was and quite obviously feared him.

"L-Lorwel, he has awoken?" She asked, finding herself to be concerned by the prospect, she took a step forward but still kept her distance between the two of them.

Arlas was somewhat put off for a moment but quickly realized that this worked to her advantage. However, she still wasn't sure that she could trust this necromancer, didn't Lorwel fancy himself to be the prince of Necromancy? If so, these people may be his disciples...

"First of all, tell us who you are." She insisted, not wanting to part with any information before she did.

The Altmer woman stopped in her tracks, pausing as the demand hit her, she figured that it was only fare that she introduced herself and explained her purpose here.

"I am Vallina Jorire, one of the few remaining guardians of The Order of the Alluvion. My people have been here for decades, protecting the Axe that serves as the key to Jorane Lorwel's prison."

Arlas didn't like the sound of this, they were clearly cultists who worked for him, these people were not trustworthy.

"Why?" She asked, hoping that they didn't give the answer that she was expecting.

The Altmer chuckled, glancing away for a moment as she did so before turning back to the Bosmeri intruder.

"My, you are sharp aren't you? So eager to know everything all at once..."

"And you're so eager to be evasive..."

"Yeah lady, you ain't tellin' us something! Cough it up!" Bologra put in, earning himself a stern glare from the Altmer, who's eyes narrowed on him.

"I didn't as you, beast! I ask that you do not speak of term again!"

Bologra's brow furrowed as he slowly began to march towards the Altmer, though she was taller than him, their eyes quickly met and Vallina immediately felt like she was being looked down on.

"Or what?" He whispered, in a menacing tone, he didn't trust this knife eared bitch, not one bit, if it was up to him, he'd shove his bayonet into her stomach and move on.

"Bologra! That's enough, she hasn't told us anything yet, you're just making things worse!" Arlas snapped, the situation was already tense, without threats and now it was on the verge of breaking down into a battle. The Altmer looked like a quite powerful mage, so there would be no way that they could do battle in such a confined space, like this cave.

The Orsimer continued to stare her down for a moment before stepping back, refusing to take his eyes off of her the entire time, Arlas got in between them, feeling like the mediator of a spat between two children.

"Vallina, what is it that your order is trying to accomplish here? It'd make us feel a lot easier if we knew."

The Altmer folded her arms as her eyes remained fixed on Bologra, narrowing them.

"We wish to acquire the ancient magics that were thought long since dead, Lorwel is an old and powerful creature, knowledgeable of magical arts and practices long since forgotten."

"Like corpse fiddling?" Bologra asked, finding it difficult to resist the urge to mock the snooty bitch, whenever he got the chance.

"Like telepathy, dreamwalking, shroud magic and teleportation... So many things lost to our people, to Tamriel itself, knowledge that Lorwel could restore." She finished by turning back to Arlas, giving the Bosmer a smile.

"How old are you Bosmer? Thirty? What if I told you that in one hundred years, you would be able to wield the powers of a Daedric Prince, have the dream powers of Virmina, be as mystical as Nocturnal herself?" She said, rather softly as if she truly wanted to convince Arlas and sell her on the idea. In truth, she did, there was so much potential in this one, both magically and in terms of her abilities as a leader and a negotiator.

"Mages now are but soldiers and tricksters, they live to serve a lesser purpose as over glorified librarians. They insist on healing one person at a time, when we could be healing whole nations with a wave of our hands. We could defy the constraints of death, hold power without limits.

Lorwel is proof of this, Lorwel was once a man of flesh and blood, who ascended to Godhood through means that are no longer accessible to us. We need the magic to come back, we need the return of old ways, we need the powerful to rise again, to never fear the Daedra or Aedra again as we transcend into Godhood ourselves."

Both Arlas and Bologra fell silent, not exactly sure as to what they should say to that mouthful but both of them knew what to think.

Arlas eventually stepped up, glancing to Bologra with a hesitant glare before turning back to Vallina.

"So... You want to release him?" Arlas deduced, finding herself a little crestfallen, the raw passion behind The Altmer's words made her sound so driven to do good, even if it was misguided. Perhaps they could let her down easy?

Vallina shook her head, glancing up to Bologra who looked somewhat frustrated at the fact that they hadn't killed her already.

"Only if it's necessary, though we need not release him to learn from him... In fact, our position is stronger if we constrain him to his cage, using the axe as leverage."

"No frickin' way!" Bologra snapped, stepping forward and waving his hand across.

"Arlas, you saw what that asshole could do, trapped inside his little statue! If we let him out, he could be a thousand times worse! And look at these people, look at her, she's crazy! You think she'd ever listen to anyone if they said 'don't let him out?' She's nuts!" The Orsimer then drew his hand axe, stepping forward as he raised his bayonet.

"Alright lady, I'm only going to ask you this once! Where. is. the. Axe?" Bologra snarled, getting ready to chop this woman in half if she tried to be evasive again.

"Bologra, stop! I haven't agreed to anything yet!" The Bosmer pointed out, trying to snatch his arm but quickly finding that it was an immovable object, that she had no hope of prying away from the Altmer's face.

"We ain't making deals with these scumbags! We'll take the long way around if we have to, cut 'em down one by one until we get that axe!" He growled, not breaking eye contact with the Altmer as a small grin swept across her lips.

"If that's what you want, I'd be more than happy to oblige..." Vallina replied, slowly raising her hand as she seemed to be readying a spell, however, both of them were cut off as Arlas ran inbetween them.

"Bologra sto-urgh!" As Arlas tried to stop them, she felt something shoot through her body, which swiftly began to stiffen up as she fell back, quickly finding that two hands and eventually two forearms had placed themselves in her under arms and wrapped around her chest as she was slowly dragged away.

Vallina moved back, dragging the Bosmer as she did so, though it was plainly obvious that she wouldn't be able to escape the Orsimer's wrath as he charged in. What wasn't obvious was the fact that several zombies were hiding, further down the tunnel, around thirty of them suddenly appeared from either side of Bologra as he charged in, quickly cutting him off as they gnashed and clawed at the Orc, causing him to jump back.

He swiftly swung his axe and cut one of them down as he began to move backwards, swinging his axe, whenever he got the chance, whilst helplessly looking up and seeing that Vallina was dragging Arlas and Lorwel's staff away, taking her deeper into the cave.

Nair stumbled across the dirt road, leading down to Bruma, it had been some time since he passed Cloud Ruler Temple, yet he was still wandering the road. The Khajiit felt somewhat weakened and exhausted by his trip, in spite of the fact that he had been taking his time throughout.

He glanced up and found that a smile had crept across his face as he saw the gates to Bruma, right in front of him. He looked forward to sleeping the pain off and awaiting Arlas' return, though for all he knew, they probably weren't far behind.

How long had it taken him to get down this hill? An hour? They could have gotten the artifact some time ago, they could've even beaten him to the city...

The Khajiit considered waiting on them, several times but he knew that they could take days to get back, if things got too complicated or they might not come back at all. If it does take too long, it would be better to be in a city, for him and for them. He could at least convince the guards to go and investigate it.

In truth though, Nair wasn't too concerned about them, they could handle themselves a lot better than he could, better than most guards could, that was for damn sure. He needed to worry about himself, about getting a hot meal and some bed rest, so that he didn't slow them down too much on the way back to Cyrodiil...

As Nair's grew lost in his own thoughts, he found himself oblivious to his surroundings, up until he heard a loud rustling noise, coming from his left. He quickly glanced over to it, startled by the sudden sound but found that he didn't even get a glimpse of the stalker before its large paw-like hand pounded the Khajiit's chest, sending him flying back across the road, his head landed inches away from a nearby rock.

Shaken up from the assault, Nair immediately tried to scramble back up to his feet but felt an intense pain in his chest, from where the assailant had struck him. He did his best to sit up and saw that there was an almighty scratch across it, which was several inches long and oozing a great amount of dark red blood.

Nair slowly glanced up as he heard the pounding footsteps of his attacker approach him, immediately looking up to see that it was a ten ft tall, long haired, extremely pissed off werewolf, that was slowly advancing on its prey, with no intent other than to kill it.

Chapter 18: The Ravagers

Nair’s blurry vision stayed fixed on the approaching Werewolf as it finished taunting him, the Khajiit found himself fixated on the spot as the sharp pain burst through his body, his arms were heavy from the fact that he was too weak to move them, his shirt was stuck to his flesh with the sheer amount of blood that drenched it and his vision was fading in and out as the creature got closer and closer.

The Werewolf brought its hand down, into the Khajiit’s stomach, piercing it with two of his sharp claws as it did so and causing him to cry out in pain and throw his head back as his lower jaw shuddered and he went into shock.

He could smell the wolf’s breath as his face drew closer, it stunk of rotten flesh that seemingly clung to his teeth and was quite warm, the strength of it was enough to blow his mane about as it gushed out of the creature’s nostrils.

It was then that Nair felt the tip of creature’s long claw press against his neck as the creature got ready to drag it through his jugular vein and finish him off. He seemed to be taking his time with it, relishing in every ounce of suffering that he was inflicting on the cat for obvious reasons.

Unaware as to where he should look in this situation, Nair closed his eyes as he began to feel the sharp pin prick in his neck, however, the pain was short lived as he heard the sound of something soar through the air and land straight into the wolf.

A silver arrow flew straight into the wolf’s left shoulder blade, causing it to cry out in pain as it dug in and the silver material began to sizzle, burning the beast’s cursed flesh. It groaned and whimpered as it hobbled away, glancing up in time to receive another arrow, this time between its shoulder blades.

The creature’s own vision was blurring now as pain induced tears welled up in its eyes, he knew that he was in danger and that he would have to flee the scene, prompting him to slowly rise up to his feet as he swayed from side to side, barely holding himself up on shaky legs.

It was then that a third arrow pierced his wrist, causing the creature to fall to its right, completely leaving Nair’s vicinity as he tried to flee, turning with his back against the City’s wall as he stumbled back to the North, fighting the pain as much as possible as he tried to get back to his people.

“Now!” A voice commanded, quickly getting the beast’s attention, prompting him to turn around as it saw a shower of silver arrows fly up into the end and descend upon him. His eye narrowed as he saw the site that sealed his fate, twenty or so silver arrows fell down from the sky and most of them fell into his shoulder, chest, wrist, thigh, calf and one in his lower neck, all of which began to burn away at his flesh, slowly burning it away and draining what little strength the creature had left.

The creature swayed from side to side before eventually falling to its knees, curling its injured hand into a fist and placing it on the ground as support, finding that it quickly gave way and forced him to collapse on his chest, sending the arrows even deeper into his body.

He cried out in agony on impact with the ground, hunching over as it felt his whole body fail him, one organ at a time as he lay down on the ground, his weakened eyes fixated on his would be prey as his body convulsed on the ground.

“Hareld?”

Her voice echoed inside his head, calling him back to reality or what was reality, so long ago…

“Hareld?”

The Nord grumbled and rolled over, burying his face into his pillow as he tried to block it out, as much as he enjoyed hearing it the rest of the time, there was mystical cave full of luscious tribal girls that was calling to him.

“Hareld!” The voice grew more stern as the shakings became more violent, causing the Nordic Tribal Warrior to roll onto his back and look up, finding himself to be face to face with Angela.

“Ange… Can’t this wait?” He asked, sleepily, seeing that the sky was still pink, she had no reason to wake him up this early.

“The naked tribe girls need me…” He grumbled before he rolled over again, quickly finding his should to be caught by his fellow tribesman’s hand as her fingers wrapped around the ball of his shoulder and took a tight hold on it.

“Hareld, this is serious! I threw up again this morning!” She snapped, rolling him on his back and forcing him to look her in the face.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

This tore the Nord away from his juvenile fantasies, causing his eyes to shoot open as he sat up and rolled his shoulders so that she’d let go.

“You… You sure? I mean, you’re not just… sick?”

Angela shook her head, glancing down to her stomach before placing her hand on it and looking up to him as her emerald eyes met his.

“I’m certain, it explains so much… It makes sense as well, considering me and Lars…”

Hareld raised his hand, not wanting to hear about that, he was still recovering from this morning’s first, major shock.

“Does Lars know?”

The Chieftain’s Daughter-in-law shook her head, glancing back over her shoulder, making sure that the others were still asleep.

“No… You’re the first person I’ve told, I’m not sure how Lars will take it and I had to tell someone.”

The Hunter nodded and sighed, slowly pulling himself up as he let his sheets fall back, catching them and stopping them from falling any lower than his waist for… his own reasons.

He smiled and took her by the arm, glancing up into her eyes, he missed being included in such things, like he would have been a few years ago, back when he and Angela were inseparable. He was honestly surprised that she came to him first or that she even told him at all, since the two of them hadn’t spoken for weeks and they had barely spoken since Angela and Lars had gotten married as Hareld was swiftly brushed out of the picture.

He eventually gave in and pulled the young Nord woman in for an embrace, it was very rare that Angela let anyone hug her but this was a special occasion and Hareld was the second most important person in her life, so she was willing to make such exceptions.

Hareld relished the moment somewhat as he held the embrace for a few moments as many as he could get away with before Angela would start getting suspicious, he counted the seconds in his head before pulling away and giving her an enthusiastic smile.

“So… When’re you going to tell him?” He asked, letting go of her in case someone walked in, it didn’t look very intimate but people can easily get the wrong idea.

Angela quickly glanced away and sighed, not entirely sure herself, she truly didn’t know how he’d react as the man could be such a puzzle sometimes. Ymir’s reaction was predictable, he’d be overjoyed and then over protective, it’d be endearing and even a little pleasant at first but it’d get old and annoying, real fast.

“He’s going on a hunt this morning, I’m… thinking of telling him, when he comes back, otherwise he’ll think too much whilst he’s out there.” She informed him, looking back over her shoulder again, to make sure that they were definitely alone.

“Look… I know that… This isn’t that big of a deal but I’m afraid of messing it up, I don’t know I just, I’m not used to it I guess. Do you think that you could be there, y’know… to stop me from saying something stupid?” She asked, giving him a meek smile as she lifted her eyes again, which were now begging him for help.

Angela was tough as nails, out in the wilderness, she was a good hunter, a fine tracker and wasn’t too bad of a cook… at least compared to Hareld who cooks everything one extreme or another. The only thing that she struggled with was addressing other people, formally or about important issues.

She preferred to be casual about things, enjoy them over a drink, during a hunt or other pleasantries, too bad that she wouldn’t be able to do two of her favourite pass times for the next nine months…

“No, it’s fine…” Hareld assured her, giving her a smile and a wave of dismissal as he sat up, pausing as he waited for Angela to turn away.

“Erm… I need to get up and I’m…”

“Oh, right…” Angela uttered, turning a little red from embarrassment as she looked away, waiting for Hareld to get up and start getting dressed, quickly sliding into his cotton clothes, not bothering with armour or anything as he wasn’t going hunting today.

“You think I should tell him before he leaves? Or after he comes back?” Angela asked, keeping her attention fixed on the material wall in front of her, so that she wouldn’t see her naked kinsman, though in truth it mattered little as she’d seen him naked a number of times, seeing that they all grew up together, went swimming, hunted, changed and even shared beds over the course of one summer.

Hareld was busy tunnelling his way through his shirt, considering his answer as Angela said, Lars might be distracted by the news if he knew heading out but on the other hand, he should know as soon as possible. Still, what’s another hour going to hurt?

“I think you should tell him, I mean it won’t matter if you screw it up, what’s important is that he knows.” The Nord said as his head slid out of the neck hole of his shirt, straightening his long hair as he pulled the shirt down, straightening it at the bottom as he rose to his feet, being as quick as he could, knowing fully well that Angela was desperate to get going.

His friend looked back over her shoulder and nodded in agreement before turning to the tent’s flap, looking over at the already changing sky, morning was coming and the Hunters would be waking up soon to catch their prey.

“Well… Here goes nothing…” The Nord sighed, taking her first steps over to the tent’s front flap and stopping just short of it, placing her hand against the rough fabric.

“Y’know… Beside the awkwardness of having to tell him, this is the best day of my life…” She sighed, turning back to him and giving him another smile, a smile that Hareld struggled to return. He was happy for her but this just solidified his position as her friend, destroying any chance of them being together after this.

For him, this was the worst day of his life, a fitting punishment for his cowardice as a younger man…

He waited until her back was turned before he sighed and followed her out, getting ready to give Lars the news of his life. That asshole had better be grateful…

The ‘asshole’ in question had just left his tent, pulling the flap over his head as he did so, emerging in his unique tribal armour, it was steel armour, coloured black and trimmed with crimson red, it had two large bulky shoulder pads, with spikes protruding out of the top of them, adorned with the white fur of a slain wolf.

The helmet was a well crafted Nordic Infantry helmet, with Ram-like horns growing out the side of its head. It was quite difficult to get the helmet on, so Lars usually went without it as it held little purpose when facing bears or wolves, it was mostly best at deflecting arrows or intimidating his enemies.

The Watchmen wore a similar, less impressive version of the armour; his version was a commander’s version, which had been passed down from generation to generation, since the Three Faction War. This suit of armour, traditionally, had always been saved for the Chief’s son as the Chief got his own armour set.

Lars was ready to go hunting with his fellow tribesman, who typically went out hunting three at a time. There were seven in total, so they would go out two times a week on average in different groups each day.

Yesterday Angela’s group encountered a wild boar’s tracks but couldn’t pursue it as they ran out of time; the groups were recalled after so many hours, no matter how close they were to catching their prey. If a group didn’t return, then that was a sign that something was wrong and another group would be sent out to retrieve them.

They were hoping to pick up where they left off, hopefully coming back with some bore meat at least as it had been a while since the tribe had been treated to a good feast and they had been quite reliant on transformation hunts recently, hunts that involved transforming into their werewolf forms and running off into the wilderness to slay whatever they could find to nourish themselves.

This usually nourished them for days but was a major risk for the individual tribesmen and the tribe itself. They had already been branded with the name ‘Ravagers’ and were believed to be a clan of feral werewolves, who were constantly being hunted by local law enforcement, bounty hunters and hunters in general, all of which provided a great deal of nourishment for the group members.

“Lars?” A Hunter called as he approached; he was roughly the same age as Lars, if not a bit younger.

“Yes Egil?” The Chieften’s son asked, unable to hide the fact that he was startled by his sudden appearance.

“Are we ready?”

The young Nord nodded in response, glancing over to the other hunter, who was waiting by the front entrance to the camp, he was dressed in the Watchman’s armour, the less impressive green version of Lars’ with a slightly rustic finish.

“Alright, let’s get going.”

Lars began to make his way over to the other Watchman as Egil stood on the spot, quickly looking over his shoulder as he saw Angela and Hareld approach them, looking like they had a purpose.

“Erm… Lars? I think that Angela wants to talk to you…” He uttered, getting the young Nord’s attention and prompting him to turn around, he was understandably confused as Angela was never up at this time of day, she had no reason to be and she wasn’t exactly an early bird, neither was Hareld, who was strangely following her.

“Angela? Wh- Why are you up?” He asked, approaching the Nordic Tribals as they approached, causing his wife to freeze in her tracks as she looked over to Hareld. Hareld gave her a firm nod and a smile as he encouraged her to go on, she gave him a meek smile before turning her attention back to Lars.

“I… Was woken up early with morning sickness.” She began, figuring that answering his question was a good place to start and slightly hoping that he’d be able to put two and two together…

“You’re sick?” Lars asked, sounding a little concerned as it was rare that Angela got sick; it was rare that any of them did. His Wife quickly shook his head, quickly seeing her error as she tried desperately to appease him.

“N-No… It’s… Something else…” She uttered, gesturing down to her stomach as she felt it come alive again, twitching a little due to the awkwardness.

“Lars… I’m pregnant…”

The Nord froze on the spot for a moment, leaving Angela in limbo as he processed this information; however, she was relieved to find that he burst into a joyous sigh and rushed forward to embrace her.

“Angela I…” He gasped again as he pulled away, smiling for the first time in months, since their wedding day.

“I…”

“You need to get your arse out there and fetch me a boar, I’m eating for two now and it’s not easy, considering that little one keeps rejecting his daily rations.” Angela smirked, placing her hands on Lars’ hip and shoulder as she reached up to kiss him on the lips, whilst Egil glanced away, happy but embarrassed and Hareld was just plain embarrassed.

They held it for a few moments before Angela pulled away, broadly grinning at her husband as she backed away, and gesturing to the other Watchmen, who seemed to be growing annoying at being kept waiting, having no idea what was going on.

“Go on…” She encouraged, gently pushing him away with a smirk.

“Dad…”

Lars couldn’t keep the smile from his face, it was harder to resist than the urge to kiss her again, an urge that he was barely resisting at the moment but still, he managed it, realising that the hunt must come first for his wife’s sake, for his clan’s sake and now for the sake of his little wolf.

Lars walked away from his wife, constantly glancing over his shoulder to see if she was still there as he did so, his eyes constantly fixated on her stomach as he tried to imagine what was waiting for him.

The future of Clan Ardwolf…

Lars’ group stopped as they reached the first signs of the boar‘s trail, the more seasoned scout, a warrior by the name of Tait.

Tait was one of the tribes’ most seasoned trackers, who was skilled in the art long before becoming a werewolf, which heightened his senses, improving his perception to the point that it was inhumanly accurate.

Normally a hunter wouldn’t even notice the boar’s presence but being werewolves; the Nords of Clan Ardwolf could sense its presence and follow them three days after the creature had passed through this area. However, this trail, even with their intense senses was growing a little cold and it would take a few minutes to pick it up again.

It was obvious that Egil was somewhat eager to bring up what was on both of their minds, though he was still hesitant to do so. Most of the clansmen saw each other as family, so it wasn’t out of bounds for him to ask but he wasn’t sure how Lars was receiving it.

“I bet that that was a thing to wake up to, huh?” He asked, in spite of the fact that he had gotten started he was still incredibly nervous about addressing the issue, in spite of Lars’ happiness.

“Yeah…” Lars replied, baffled by his odd choice of wording, it was obvious that he was nervous so he chose not to dwell on it.

“I… Can’t remember the last time I woke up to such great news, I can feel it, he or she will be a strong leader, who will lead our tribe to greatness.” He replied, rather proudly at the thought as Tait wandered off, oblivious to the conversation as he entered the bushes on the side of the road, combing the nearby area for sign of the swine’s trail.

Lars took off, following closely behind as the Tracker lead them deeper into the forest, seemingly hot on its trail.

“What makes you think that you won’t lead us to greatness?” Egil asked, getting Lars’ attention as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

“You said that your son… erm… or daughter would lead us to greatness but you’re going to be the next chief, right?”

Lars nodded, that did sound like he was doubting himself, severely. If he did have such doubts, he wouldn’t accept the position of leader, tradition be damned but he knew that he could and must lead these people.

“Well, we’re in some… Dark times, I plan to change that and when my Child has come of age, they’ll be completely oblivious to the hardships we’ve faced. We’re going to need more people, more women especially, even if that means moving on…

I know that my Father doesn’t like that prospect but it’s what we’ll have to do to survive and he won’t be alive when it happens anyway. We’ll grow, get better, have our honour restored and reimburse our numbers and we’ll come back to this land stronger than ever.”

Lars found himself smiling at that prospect, his people had been hit hard by the local authorities, rival clans and natural disasters over the years, though the other clans were wiped out, one way or another, the other two threats have grown even more persistent in recent years, to the point that Ymir is afraid of outside help.

This camp once consisted of two families and now, thanks to taking in outsiders, it had grown to what it is. Ymir was too afraid, after what happened last time they took in outsiders but Lars knew that it was the only way from keeping them from extinction.

“I…” Egil paused, somewhat wrapped up in Lars’ intent, he seemed so sure and so driven to make things right that he couldn’t help but feel inspired.

“I’d love to be a part of that, as much as I love Ymir, I agree with you…

We need to change in order to survive.”

“Yeah, we need to get away from the ‘civilized’ people, the ones who call us ‘Ravagers’ and start anew in Skyrim, go back to our roots and retrace our ancestors, only then can we prosper in this ever changing world.”

“C’mon, keep up! I’ve barely got a trail as it is!” Tait insisted, calling back from far ahead. He had a short temper and little time for sentiment and took his hunts incredibly seriously, he was always aware of what was going on; he had to be, especially in situations like this.

“C’mon… We need to keep moving, I don’t want my first day as a Father to end with us bringing back nothing…”

The group continued to follow the trail for some time before reaching its end, apparently the trail ended at the creature’s corpse, which had been set upon and torn apart by a pack of wolves. This was a crushing blow for Lars’ group as they had no other food source to eat from and considering that Angela was eating for two now, she’d have to go out and find food on her own.

The Nord returned, with his men, marching with their tails between their legs, hanging their heads in shame as they re-entered the camp. The two Watchmen looked up hopefully; one of them jumped up to get dibs on the snout but quickly saw that they had nothing and sat back down again, Hareld sat on his usual tree stump, chipping away at that sculpture of his, that he’d been carving for months now.

“Got nothing?” He asked, rather scornfully as well, he’d always had a thing against Lars, especially when he failed Angela. Hareld would have been the better provider, had he been given the chance, though he often reminded himself that he had the chance but failed to take it.

“We got there too late, wolves beat us to it.” Lars stated, glancing back up as he looked around for Angela, finding that he couldn’t find her, he looked immediately back to Hareld.

“Where is she?”

Hareld paused and closed his hand around the carving, slowly sitting up and placing his knife hand on his knee as he glanced up to his old ‘friend.’

“’She’ is with your old man, telling him the good news… They’ve been in his tent, drinking tea for hours now; I had to get out of there to escape it.” He sighed before returning to his carving, knowing full well that Lars wasn’t going to keep the conversation going, now that he knew where Angela was, such was always the way…

“Thanks…” He grumbled, walking on over to his Father’s tent as his fellow hunters released their equipment.

Lars entered the tent, though he stalled for a brief second before doing so finding himself being in the uncomfortable position of having to inform his wife and father at the same time that he’d failed them.

He paused for a brief moment and sighed before entering, fearing the worst from both of them, a look of disappointment.

Lars stepped inside to see Ymir sat on his cushions, with a tea set at the center of his tent, the Old Man seemed to be into a deep conversation with his Daughter-in-law, their laughter filled the room.

“Sigfrid if it’s a girl, Sigfried if it’s a boy.” Odin insisted, playfully as he took another sip of his tea.

“I prefer Sigrun to Sigfrid.” Angela shrugged, thinking twice about sipping hers as the stuff tasted like Land Dreugh piss, a comparison that she did not make lightly.

“Leif.” She then said, the name just hit her.

“Leif? That for a girl or a boy?”

“Boy, I think… But it wouldn’t be a bad girl’s name.”

“Ha, let’s try not to give our girl a lad’s name; there are plenty of good Girl’s names already, no need to…” Ymir cut himself off as he saw Lars enter, causing his smile to grow even more.

“Ah, perhaps Lars has had some thoughts on this, whilst on his hunt…” He said, cheerfully, slowly rising to his feet.

“Perhaps he’ll be willing to share them with us, over dinner.”

Angela nodded as she rose to her feet, turning around with a matching smile which quickly faded as she saw Lars’ face.

“Lars… What’s wrong?”

“We didn’t get anything, we found the boar but wolves had gotten to it first and what was left was rotten.” He then stopped and sighed, glancing up to his Father.

“We ran out of time, so we had to come home empty handed…” He muttered, his voice grew deeper and more solemn as he found himself to be glummer.

“Well, we’ll have to send another team out then, Angela can’t go a day without eating, not whilst she’s pregnant.” Ymir insisted, thinking practically like he always did, he looked over to Angela as he spoke, thinking only of her and the grandchild at this point.

“Father, we can’t send a team out in the dark, it’s…”

“Necessary, we can send Hareld, Tait and Iver down to the river to catch some fish, a good slaughter fish’ll tide her over.” Ymir insisted, though was cut off as Angela got inbetween them.

“Or I could just go out and get something to eat myself, there are all sorts of creatures on the silver road, all of which I can handle easily by myself. Hell, there are bandits on the road to, if push comes to shove, I could always eat one of them.”

Ymir folded his arms, not liking this one bit, he didn’t like the thought of Angela leaving the camp ever again but she was a warrior and no warrior would sit in their tent whilst their people lost a war, no Nordic warrior at least...

“Angela…”

“What? I’m only a few weeks, at the most! It’s barely even affecting me; I can go out tonight and get some food, surely!” The Nord protested, finding herself to be regretting telling everyone so soon, maybe she could have gotten a few more weeks of freedom out of it before she did tell everyone.

Ymir sighed and hung his head, she was capable as a warrior and in werewolf form she had no equal, she was one of the tribe’s best, pregnant or not and she would most likely be back within the hour, it was foolish to worry over it.

“Alright…” Ymir whispered, slowly looking back up to her and giving her a hesitant nod of approval.

“But you come back to us as soon as you’ve fed, okay?”

Ange just smirked at him and shrugged, not knowing what else she was going to do.

“Of course, the Silver Road’ll lose its appeal after an hour anyway…” She replied, turning back to Lars and kissing him on the cheek as she patted him on the shoulder.

“You’re okay with this?” She asked, making sure that he was before she head out, though she would probably have to defy his wishes, not knowing what else to do. Her Husband just nodded, even he, as protective as he felt right now, couldn’t refuse her hunt, nothing had changed with her, she’d gone out on her own to eat before and nothing bad had come of it.

Why should now be any different?

“Great, you two can discuss baby names until I get back.” She concluded, stepping away from them both before running outside, heading straight into the wilderness so that she could transform in peace…

After finding a secluded place, Angela began to strip in the middle of the forest, throwing all of her clothes to one side to avoid tearing them. In truth, she was somewhat excited for the thrill of the hunt again, hoping that Hircine would bless it and reward her with a great bounty.

Hunting was always more rewarding as a werewolf, that ravenous hunger was so hard to satisfy that any catch was a worth one. She called to the beast inside her and brought it forth, feeling its punch and stumbling backwards to its affects, slowly swaying from side to side as she began to transform.

She erupted into a purple aura and grew several feet tall before taking on the form of the wolf in full as all traces of her humanity swiftly faded in the flash of an eye and she stood tall as a Queen of Beasts.

The transformation was far less painful than the other kinds of Lycanthropy, probably because it was brought on willingly, offered as a gift from Hircine himself. Angela snorted as she lifted her head up and began to sniff the air, sensing that something wasn’t far off…

She could smell sweat and blood, definitely human and definitely close by…

She slowly began her journey deeper into the forest, taking two steps forward before crouching down and getting on all fours before taking off into the wilderness, her four paws pounding the earth beneath her with every step of the way.

The Werewolf began to pick up multiple scents converging on her targets; they smelled familiar, somewhat like her…

Wolves again!? Come to steal my kill? Not this time you greedy bastards! She picked up the pace, practically leaping through the forest as she bound her way over to the Silver Road, desperate to reach her prey before her lesser brethren.

The Werewolf reached the side of the road and took cover behind some bushes, she was a Khajiit on the road, sat up against a tree, barely defending himself from a pack of wolves. He was clearly a bandit, who had recently failed to rob a passing traveller and had paid the hard way, his injuries were clearly caused by something blunt, none of these injuries could be inflicted by wolves.

She continued to watch and saw that the Khajiit was barely holding the canines off, perhaps she could wait for them to finish the deed before rushing in herself and getting a feast. The Cat didn’t have much on him, neither did the wolves for that matter but together they should satisfy her hunger and the hunger of her child.

He’d managed to kill one of the wolves, though it was purely by fluke, there were two more left and it definitely looked like his luck was going to run out, afterall, he’d never be able to inflict any damage on her, given the condition he was in, he’d never be able to reach.

He managed to deflect another attack, to her surprise, cutting the wolf across its face this time and knocking it, with a yelp, to the floor, however, he was instantly beset upon by a third wolf, that went for his throat.

However, to her surprise the wolf was hit in mid air, by a powerful lightning spell as An Orsimer arrived on the scene, shortly followed by a Bosmer with a bo staff. The Orc swung with his axe, completely missing it due to the clumsiness of the swing; the wolf retaliated by biting his left arm, that was seemingly missing a hand.

It chewed, fruitlessly on the protective layer around the presumably amputated limb, causing the Orsimer a great deal of amusement.

“Ha, stupid mutt!” He bellowed, driving his axe into the creature’s skull and killing it instantly before tossing it aside as his Bosmer finished one of the dying wolves off, with a blast of her staff.

The display was incredibly impressive and Angela felt cheated out of her meal, Hircine had handed that Khajiit, a lowlife cutthroat, who was going to die anyway and a bunch of savage wolves and it was all taken away from her by these two… whatever they were.

She would assume that they were the bandit’s accomplices but they seemed too well equipped and well dressed in comparison, whoever they were, they were stealing food from the mouth of her child. Outraged as she was, Angela couldn’t help but question her chances, even in werewolf form, that Bosmer was a competent mage and that Orc was as big as she was, it would be a tough fight, even if it was achievable.

The Orc was maimed and the Bosmer was young and weak, she didn’t underestimate any enemy but that much was true. Angela needed the food and that Orc alone was enough food to last her and the baby throughout the week.

She eventually sighed and gave in, realising that she had to do this, not just for her or even the baby but for the Tribe as well. Ymir and Lars would stop at nothing to get them food and she knew that that may involve risking the lives of her fellow clansmen…

Reluctantly, she slowly rose to her fee, ready to descend on the group and take them out as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

Kyne… Please forgive me…

Several hours had passed, since Ange had set off for her hunt, the group members were concerned enough when she left and now they were terrified that something had gone wrong.

Lars was unstoppable as soon as the hour mark had passed or what he deemed to be the hour mark, he knew that there had to be something wrong and he had to go out and see what it was, whether his comrades agreed with him or not.

Ymir, unsurprisingly, agreed to send him, Tait and Iver down to the Silver Road to investigate, Tait being their best tracker and Iver being one of few hands that hadn’t been out through the remainder of that week, the group seemed solid.

Tait practically lead them straight through the wilderness, never stopping as he knew each step, after transforming, Angela wasn’t exactly discrete about her tracks and her scent was so strong that any werewolf would think that they were in the room with her.

They knew what trail they needed to follow, leading up to the Silver Road, she did make it, which was more terrifying than it was relieving as the prospect of her being killed or captured was stronger than ever.

The group appeared at the site of the skirmish, finding a destroyed bush, where Angela had lay in ambush and three dead werewolves as well as a lot of scuff marks on the ground. It was obvious that Angela had been in a fight involving wolves but it couldn’t just be the wolves, wouldn’t she have stopped to take and/or eat the corpses?

“Tait?” Lars asked, though his voices sounded more like a demand as the Tracker scanned the ground, looking for any sign of the Chieftain’s Son’s Wife.

“Something… Something went down, I… see two, three more footprints, a big guy and a smaller guy and another guy who was injured. I think that Angela might have gotten caught up with some bandits.”

“You sure they were bandits?” Lars asked, concerned that it might be Legion or Werewolf hunters or worse at this point as this all seemed so… suspicious.

“N-No… But they’re most commonly sighted on these roads and nobody here was wearing metal armour, at least not on their feet.

There’s some blood by that tree, so I think that she wounded a guy, if she did hurt them, then it was most likely a bandit. You know her; she’d never go after travellers or risk the camp by going after the legion.”

“Yeah, where’d they go?” Lars snapped, wanting to get to the point, her time could be running out, if it hadn’t already…

Tait slowly followed the tracks to the right; it appeared that they doubled back on themselves, though it was unclear as to why. They most likely retreated after coming face to face with a werewolf; at least he hoped that that was the case…

“They went north, towards the inn!”

Lars nodded, turning straight towards the direction of the inn as Tait jumped up and placed his hand on his shoulder, pushing him towards the bushes.

“C’mon, stick to the foliage, so that we can get the drop on them when we catch up!” The Tracker insisted, pushing Lars to the sidelines before the three of them sped on, hoping to catch up to Angela before anything happened to her.

Lars charged on ahead, his chest and stomach were hollow, his heart and head were pounding and his fists were shaking and aching from the fact that he was crushing them, due to the immense pressure and stress brought on by his Wife’s disappearance.

The Nord pushed on through a few yards up the road, sprinting the entire time as he did so, until he finally reached the inn. They knelt down in the opposite foliage, staring out from afar as they got ready to continue looking for the trail, however, they immediately noticed that they didn’t need to…

Hogtied to an iron pole hung the beastly corpse of a werewolf, hanging outside the front door, like washing or a trophy or a pig on a spit. Its head lay back, with its large jaw hung open; the only part of it moving was its fur that blew in the breeze…

Lars felt himself hollow, like a fish that had been gutted, his own mouth mimicked hers as it fell open and his rib cage turned inside out on the spot. His wife, his strong, intelligent, brilliant wife and his child had been cruelly slaughtered, left to rot in her wolf form and hung up like a prize, like game!

Never before had Lars seen anything that shredded every positive feeling he could ever grasp, his wife, a woman who woke up this morning to the realisation that she would be a mother and the child that she carried inside. Now both of them were gone, taken from him, ripped from his desperate hands and hung out like mere soulless animals without any respect shown to them or the suffering that their deaths had caused him.

The Nord felt the bridge of his nose ache, he felt his eyes start to sting as tears welled up inside them and his knees slowly rose him up to his feet, however, he felt his hand slap on his shoulder, stopping him from acting.

“Lars!”

“Get off of me!”

“Lars! I know, believe me, I do but you need to use your head!” Tait growled, prompting Lars to turn to him and punch him straight in the nose, knocking him on his back.

“You don’t know anything!” He bawled, tears rolling down his face and smearing his face paint, he quickly turned his attention back to the inn but found that Iver had lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the Nord’s chest and holding him down.

Tait slowly rose to his feet, clutching the bridge of his nose, amazed that the punch didn’t bust it open or break it as he did so.

“Lars, listen to me! I do know one thing, one thing that changes this completely! These people are group of three at least, we can’t take them down on our own but I do know one thing that we can use to our advantage…”

Lars paused, turning to the Nord as he swung Iver off, his enraged eyes fixed on the Tracker’s.

“What!?”

Tait glanced up, with an enraged look of determination as he clenched his fist and veered off to his left, turning his attention back to the inn.

“I know that one of them is a Khajiit…”

Clan Ardwolf stood around their fire pit, with Ymir and his Son stood at the center.

Everyone who didn’t already know, Ymir, Egil and especially Hareld fell silent, most of them stumbling back as if the weight of the blow was physical. Either way, the camp fell silent…

“Murdered?” Ymir asked, his voice was nothing like it was before, weakened, broken, just like he and the rest of his tribe was…

“But she… She was…”

“Hung up like a trophy by those damn savages!” Lars snapped, though his angered voice was broken up by his grief as he began to look around, it was clear that the sight of Angela’s dead body had traumatised him to the point that he was a shaking wreck.

“They murdered her, on the side of the road and hung her body out as a trophy! Like killing her was sport!” He bawled, turning back to his father as he panted, blood shot eyes fixated on the old man; his face was pale, highlighted by the black war paint around his eyes and nose.

“She…” He paused to swallow, his anger slowly faded away as grief took hold, resulting in him breaking down into a trembling wreck, resulting in Ymir turning to one of the Watchmen, who took his leave as he approached Lars, placing his hand on his back and leading him towards his tent…

The group was left in silence as everyone processed the information given to them, some where a step ahead of others, such as Ymir. The Old Nord’s right hand tightened into a fist, which looked strong enough to break open a boulder as he winced, his own pain slowly ebbing and flowing into a rage of a man betrayed by his Gods.

“So… What’re we going to do?” Egil asked, hesitantly, being the first to say what a lot of other Tribals were thinking. This prompted Hareld to step forward, taking center stage for the first time in a long time, enraged by this outcome but even more so by this question.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious! We go back to that inn, whilst they’re sleeping, the whole pack and we tear it and everyone inside apart!” He demanded, instantly winning the crowd over, who were thirsty for blood or any form of vengeance.

“And what!? Get ourselves cornered? Killed? Are you insane!?” Ymir snapped, bawling in a voice that he had never used against one of his own people before as he marched over to the boy and snatched him by his collar, pulling him forward, so that they were face to face.

“Let’s get one thing straight, I’m in charge of this camp, I say how we do this and your way is goddamn suicide! I’m pissed but I’m not ready to throw my life away over this!” He snapped, shoving the young, long haired Nord to the ground as he turned back to his people.

“Here’s what we’re going to do!

We’re going to grab that Khajiit and we’ll bring him back to this camp and we’re going to kill him! Then, when his people show up to collect him? We’re going to kill them as well!

We’re going to gut them and hang them up, like trophies for all of the outsiders to see! If these savages want to play it that way, then we’ll show them that they were being outplayed from the start!

They call us Ravagers, beasts in men’s clothing! Let’s show them what we really are! Let’s show them that they were completely and utterly wrong, because we are far from beasts imitating as men, we are Wolf souled warriors!

We. Are. Clan. Ardwolf!”

Clan Ardwolf erupted in a unanimous angry cheer, as Egil, Tait, Iver and the Watchmen backed him, ready to take vengeance upon these travellers and the savage society that spawned them. Everyone but Hareld was ready for war, for vengeance…

Hareld didn’t care, it didn’t matter to him anymore…

Angela was dead and the worst day of his life had gotten a whole lot worse…

Angela… Hareld thought as he closed his orange werewolf eyes, letting them leak a few tears as his fingers recoiled in pain.

I failed you…

His final thoughts lingered on the strong warrior he grew up with, the many hours they spent together, the nights that they shared a bed, the closest he’d ever been to being with her the way that he’d always wanted to.

If he had been stronger, if he had told her how he felt, if he wasn’t such a coward…

Maybe things would’ve turned out differently…

Hareld’s life ended on that note as Bruma’s guard Captain drove a sword through his skull, killing him instantly and ending his suffering, both physical and emotional. He pulled the sword out of the creature’s head as he backed away, slowly turning over to Nair, who lay on the floor with several severe abdominal wounds, which were fountaining blood.

“I need a healer over here!” The Nord Captain bawled as he knelt down by Nair’s side, placing one of his hands on his shoulders.

“It’s okay Khajiit, the werewolf is dead… A healer is on his way…”

“N-No! I-It’s… Too late…” Nair groaned, swallowing heavily as he snatched out at the Captain’s arm, staring up into his eyes.

“M-My friends… Are in danger…” He whispered, forcing the Nord to make eye contact with his pleading gaze as he did so.

“Werewolves… S-Stalk them to…

On… The boarder… In a cave…

Arlas… B-Bologra… Don’t… kn-now…” The Khajiit’s final breath was used to form those words as he finally exhaled for the last time and his head rolled over to the left as he expired, just as the healer approached.

“I’m here, what-“

“It’s too late.” The Guard Captain snapped, quickly turning his back to her, with a determined and somewhat angered look in his eye as he knew exactly what order to give.

“But I need you to do something else, go to Lawrence, tell him to assemble a team and meet me outside the city walls within the next ten minutes!”

“Wh-What should I tell him?” The Healer asked, knowing that Left Tennant Lawrence would need a reason to drag everyone out of bed and send them marching into the wilderness.

The Guard Captain paused for a moment before narrowing his eyes, giving the young Imperial a faint smile.

“Tell him that I know where the Ravagers are and they’re cornered!”

Chapter 19: Crusader's Rest

Bologra stumbled back, making his way out of the caves as the heard of Undead abominations slowly shambled towards him, swaying from side to side as their moans filled the caverns, quickly becoming deafening. Even with his size and stature, the Orsimer couldn't take on this many zombies at once, he'd have to fall back and find a way to destroy them all.

He couldn’t even see where Arlas had been taken, he knew that it was towards the back of the cave but didn’t see what way that bitch Altmer had taken her. The sea of undead definitely blocked his path, obscuring his vision and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he’d either have to face them, once he reached the mouth of the cave.

The Orc decided to press on, fully turning back around and running through the cave. Bologra was, by no means, a fast runner but he could outrun these shambolic creatures, that slowly shuffled along behind him.

He pushed himself, until he reached the mouth of the cave, desperately bursting out of the cave as he began to look, desperately, from side to side for any semblance of an advantage. A large boulder that he could drop on them or block the cave’s entrance with, to create a bottle neck and concentrate the flow.

His search was short lived as he heard the echoes of undead moans, emitting from the cave, prompting him to realise that he was going to have to act fast. The Orc spun around, his hand axe at the ready as he saw their shadows dance on the wall, he knew that he was in the fight of his life, not only that but this was just the beginning…

As he readied himself for the attack, he kept his focus up on the cave, his eyes narrowed as he got ready to take on the horde, slowly closing off his awareness to the rest of his surroundings. This left him open to attacks from behind and a hidden enemy took advantage of this, quickly leaping out from behind cover and pouncing the Orc, hitting his chest with its large hands and pushing him to the ground.

Bologra cried out in both rage and shock of being randomly attacked from the left, his opponent was around ten feet tall, with a strength that possibly surpassed his and judging from the way that it handled him, it was pretty pissed off.

He immediately looked up to see that he had been ambushed by a werewolf, the beast had him pinned down and was eyeing him, tilting its head and snarling as it moved in and gnashed at his face with its large, rotting teeth.

It had its arms grappling around his shoulders as it tried to bite the Orc’s face, prompting him to wince and dodge as it brought its snout down, missing his head by inches. Eventually, the surprise wore off and Bologra thought to smash his forehead into its nose, seconds after its maw had snapped shut, resulting in a crunching sound that sent the beast’s head off to the left.

Bologra then readied his bayonet and drove it upwards, sinking it into the creature’s body and causing it to cry out in pain and jump back, landing on all fours, which quickly became three as it wrapped one of its hands around its wound, hanging its head and whimpering as it nursed it. The blade had gone in deed but it was narrow and didn’t hit anything vital but it was still incredibly painful for the creature.

The Orsimer wasted no time rising to his feet as he got a good look at his opponent, he began to wonder if this was another member of Clan Ardwolf, did they all carry the werewolf curse, like the Companions?

Either way, this werewolf had picked the wrong moment to try and tangle with him as the Orc was not in the mood to be trifled with, he looked around for his axe as the werewolf recovered and found it almost instantly, he rushed over to it and picked it up before looking back to see that the werewolf had now gotten over his wound and was staring the Orc down.

Bologra was ready to get even with the beast, he’d battle it to the death here and now but Arlas needed him and he had a bigger problem… The Orc slowly backed away from the werewolf, weapon at the ready as he began to circle it, so that the creature’s back would be against the cave. The Beast’s eye was seemingly trained on the Orsimer, giving out the occasional snarl as it fixed its eyes on him, getting ready to go in for the kill.

They stared each other down for a moment as the inner wolf stirred inside both of them, the two warriors challenged each other and the rabid beast inside them was itching to accept it as their eyes locked onto each other.

However, it was then that werewolf began to hear the moans, coming from behind him, something was slowly moving towards him, from the distance. The creature turned back and saw a tidal wave of undead creatures pour out of the mouth of the cave, its eyes widened before narrowing as the creature began to snarl at him.

Their numbers were surprising but their impertinence was insulting, he was finally about to face the one that had destroyed his tribe and these soulless vessels had chosen this moment to attack him? He then turned back to Bologra but quickly found that the Orc, who knew that the zombies were coming had charged into the wolf, shoulder barging into his chest and knocking him back, he roared in fury as he did so, using his orc rage to amplify his strength.

The werewolf gave a pained growl as it stumbled back and was immediately beset upon by the undead, who began to claw at his back. The creature spun around and struck out at them with his tree-like forearm, knocking several of them flying as he did so but sadly it wasn’t enough to stem the tide and more immediately took their place.

His claws swept across their faces and bodies, sending one corpse after another flying off in different directions as the creature tore through the horde, quickly finding itself to be fatigued by its injury and unable to ‘refuel,’ due to the fact that his enemies were built up of disease riddled rotten flesh.

Bologra, on the other hand, was slowly strafing his way around the creatures as he made his way over to the mouth of the cave. He looked up as he saw the werewolf get overwhelmed by the undead creatures and couldn’t help but smirk at the sight, he hoped that it was the old man but this one had both of his eyes, so he doubted that.

The Orc turned his back on the wolf and rushed inside the cave, doing his best to ignore the fact that he had caught the attention of a dozen straggler zombies, who were following him inside.

Bologra returned to the point where he had been beset upon by the undead and immediately noticed a door ahead of him, he got ready and tightened his fist, ready to even the score. He wondered if these mages saw what was going on out there or if they were oblivious to his survival. Either way, he cared little as it didn’t matter, it was going to stop them from getting a bayonet up the ass, that much was certain.

He pushed on through, pressing his large paw against the door as he forced it open, ignoring the loud creak as he did so as he peered inside, seeing that it lead to a large room, which was seemingly empty.

The room had been formed naturally in the rock, just another part of the cave, which seemed a little off to him. This room was ‘’’huge’’’ wouldn’t they use it for something? Even if it was just storage space to keep a few of their zombies in?

This felt suspicious to him, resulting in him looking for the nearest exit, so that he could progress fast without falling into any traps. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough and he heard the door slam shut behind him, prompting him to jump out of his skin as he turned back in time to see the wooden door slam shut against its rickety frame.

“Hmm… A rage driven soul, hell bent on destruction.” A voice echoed throughout the chamber, resulting in Bologra slowly turning from side to side, looking for the source of the taunt.

“Servant of Jorane Lorwel or no, the question begs as to why you seek his axe… Considering that you are maimed and incapable of using it.” He continued to ponder, in his condescending tone, Bologra quickly realised that the voice was coming from behind him, prompting him to turn around and see a middle aged Imperial man in Necromancer’s robes floating behind him, with a punch-worthy smirk on his face.

“I’ll show you what I’m capable of, asshole! Tell me where Arlas is before you end up wearing that smirk on the underside of my boot!”

The Imperial tutted and shook his head, not relenting his smirk as he did so, in fact Bologra’s threats just made it grow.

“Your friend is with Vallina… But you’d needn’t concern yourself with her, it isn’t like you’re ever going to see her again.” The Imperial began to move his arms around, creating purple aura around them as he formed a seal of some sort, a purple circle with various daedric symbols on the inside.

As he finished doing this, Bologra noticed that there was a fog in the air, resulting in several copies of the Imperial forming around him, before he knew it seven copies appeared around him, slowly floating in a circle.

“I am Quentin Nuncious, Former Master Wizard of the Mage’s Guild and the left hand of Valina Jorrire.” As Quentin spoke he and his copies slowly began to circle around Bologra, resulting in the Orsimer being trapped in a nauseating cage, that never stopped moving, with bars made out of black robes and long, grey, balding hair with tired eyes that remained fixed on him and of course a creepy grin.

“I’m Bologra Blackbeard and I couldn’t care less!” The Orsimer grunted, trying to figure out at this point which one was the real Quentin as he’d lost track some time ago as they were all moving so fast.

“Of course you don’t!” Quentin snapped, all seven copies spoke at once, overwhelming the Orc’s ears as they all spoke in unison, their scorn was pretty disorientating to anyone who wasn’t used to hearing a voice saying something from all angles.

“I’m used to your kind, the kind who don’t care about anything unless its on your front door, devouring your young! If I had, had my way, we would have ‘’’crushed’’’ the Thalmor! We would have a united Empire, still owned by the people that founded it!”

As the Imperial prattled on, Bologra found himself to be wincing at the sound of his voice, his brain couldn’t keep up with seven people all talking to him at once, from such a close proximity, whilst spinning all around him, it was making him dizzy.

“The tactics of General Serian would have won us the war! But apparently they were ‘immoral’ and ‘evil.’ Nobody cared that our people were dying, just to keep the Altmer at bay, nobody cared that we lost our empire to those fascists!

Nobody. Ever. Cares!”

Bologra had had enough of this, his brain couldn’t take it anymore, he felt like he was going to throw up from just looking at the spinning Imperials and the constantly dithering was scrambling his brain…

“Will you shut up!?” The Orc snapped, swinging his hand axe up at the nearest Quentin and causing him to explode into a purple cloud and the other copies, along with the original to vanish.

The Orsimer stood, panting on the spot, slowly calming himself down after that… overhaul. He found that sanity was regaining and that his headache was slowly starting to disperse. If he endured that any longer, his head would have probably exploded…

He heard flashes of energy around the room as several copies of Quentin began to appear all around him, one after the other, in different point throughout the room, quickly surrounding him again, he looked up to the nearest one, who stared down on him with a disapproving frown.

“Now… That wasn’t very sporting, was it?” The ‘Former Master Wizard’ pouted, sticking his lip out after he spoke. This resulted in Bologra growling in frustration as he tightened his grip on his hand axe and charged forward, getting ready to swing at the nearest copy, in the hopes of hitting the real ‘Quentin.’

The copy, however, to his surprise, quickly readied a spell in his right hand, that he immediately unleashed on the approaching Orc, hitting him, just beneath his left ribs with a crackle of lightning. The Orsimer stumbled to his right as he felt the electricity shoot through his body, tickling his nerves, resulting in minor discomfort as he approached the Master Wizard and swung his hand axe at his feet, growling in fury as he did so.

The copy dispersed, exploding into a purple vapour, like the last one, leaving five to dispatch, one of which was the real Quentin. Bologra wasn’t a mage but even he knew that killing the real Quentin would kill off the remaining fakes but how would he tell which one was real?

They all seemed so… Life like…

However, to Bologra’s surprise, all five Quentin copies raised their hands and unleashed a lightning storm down upon him, quickly draining away at his strength and life force. The Orc quickly stumbled back as he felt the weak spells hit him, slowly draining him of everything as he felt himself grow weaker by the second. On their own, they weren’t very damaging but in unison they were devastating, to the point that Bologra knew that he wouldn’t last a minute out there.

The Orsimer jumped out of the way, diving behind the nearest jagged rock as he did his best to keep his head down, watching as the lightning bolts dispersed.

Quentin, who was rather impressed with the manoeuvre, sent two of his copies out to retrieve the Orc, observing with a smirk as he watched them slowly float around the room, appearing at either side of the Orc as they hoped to finish him off.

However, to their surprise, Bologra was ready for them and immediately threw his hand axe into the head of the nearest copy, causing the copy on the left to explode into another shower of purple vapour. He then roared as he thrusted his bayonet into the right copy’s crotch, again causing it to disperse instantly.

“Fool! By destroying my copies, you only make the remaining copies more powerful!” The copy on the left laughed as the trio broke apart, slowly circling around Bologra, hoping to keep him at the center, so that they could blast him from all angles, like shooting fish in a barrel.

However, what Quentin probably wasn’t aware of, was the fact that only one copy spoke, giving it away. The one on the left, the remaining one, was the original. The Orc grinned as he quickly rolled over to the side and immediately jumped up to his feet, ignoring the searing pain on his right shoulder and pectoral muscle as he charged in towards the Imperial, moving from side to side to avoid the lightning spells of the copies before stopping just short of the real Quentin and plunging his bayonet into his stomach.

Quentin’s eyes widened as the blade sank into it, doubling over with a look of shock on his face as his two copies dispersed as he felt the blade pierce his vitals. Bologra couldn’t help but grin, triumphantly as he heard the copies disperse simultaneously, proving that he had won the battle, his reward was watching this asshole as he lurched forward, clinging to Bologra’s arm with his trembling hands.

The Imperial Master Wizard slowly looked up to Bologra, his eyes wide and his bottom lip trembled as he went into shock, quickly realising that he was going to die. He gave out some shaky breaths, glancing down to his stomach wounds and shuddering as he did so before looking back up to look the Orc in the face.

The one-armed warrior gave Quentin a toothy grin as he relished in the Wizard’s suffering, glad to see that his annoying smirk had been removed from his face. However, to his surprise, Quentin’s face quickly reverted as the smirk returned, forming into a grin of his own as the Master Wizard exploded into a purple mist.

The explosion startled Bologra, prompting him to stumble back as he shook his head in disbelief, taking in the shocking revelation for a brief moment before feeling a powerful lightning bolt hit him in the lower back, causing him to fall forward, through the remaining traces of the mist and land on the floor, with a thud.

“Honestly, did you think that I’d make such a base mistake?” Quentin mocked, darkly as he materialised behind the Orc, quickly conjuring up some more lightning spells in his hands.

The Orc growled as he heard the Imperial’s voice, moving his hand to a nearby rock that he used as support. The shaky hand wrapped around the stone, quickly resulting in his arm buckling and him slipping as he looked around to see the Master Wizard floating over him, with a victorious smirk on his face.

“You should have known better than to assume that Master Wizard Nuncious would be bested by a brutish pig elf!” He goaded, getting ready to finish the mer off, with one last blast to the back of the head.

However, Bologra didn’t consider this to be over yet, realising that he had a projectile in his hand that could do quite a lot of damage, if thrown right. Wasting no time, the Orc rolled onto his back as he looked up to Quentin, hurling the rock as he did so.

The stone flew through the air at a great speed, the jagged edge cut through the air until it eventually found its target, hitting ‘Master Wizard Nuncious’ between the eyes. The Rock caused his head to jerk back as it left a nasty gash on his forehead, cracking his skull and dealing a great amount of trauma to his brain.

Quentin’s face changed to a shocked expression as the spells in his departed arms vaporized in his hands and he slowly fell onto his back, landing with a thud on the floor as his open eyes stared into the void of death and his face remained vacant, whilst his head rolled to the side.

Bologra quickly scrambled to his feet as he looked the dead wizard over, poking his pelvis with the tip of his boot as he adjusted his bayonet, with a smirk.

“Guess you should’ve gone with ‘death by pig elf.’” The Orc snorted, spitting on the dead Imperial’s chest before walking away, heading straight to his hand axe. He knelt down and picked it up, slowly rising to his feet as he clutched the axe’s handle, glad that he didn’t lose it after just paying for a new one.

The Orsimer then turned back to the door behind him and got ready to proceed through it, knowing that it probably wasn’t going to get much easier from here on out.

Lars stumbled back as another cluster of bodies flew across the clearing, snarling at the unrelenting horde of creatures as they drew in on him. The Werewolf was used to enemies that weakened as they fought but these things just kept coming, feeling no fear or pain just a desire to kill.

He envied them in a way…

The Nord knew that only had two options, do his best to fight through, at least until reinforcements showed up or flee but he knew that the latter was not really an option, Angela must be avenged, his pain and rage must be satisfied.

He slowly pulled himself to his feet, knowing that he’d have to face the horde head on, if he wanted to reach the Orc. This was his only chance, there was nothing else to fight for, nothing else to live for as his life had already been taken from him.

With an enraged roar the Werewolf charged in, swinging its arm and engulfing a large cluster of zombies in the blow, sending several of them flying in various directions. However, the strike was slow and rather clumsy, due to the fact that he was incredibly fatigued and as a result, he left himself open to the horde of undead that quickly fell forward and stumbled towards him, snatching his fur and clutching it in their cold, clammy, brittle fingers.

However, as he became overwhelmed, he heard a heavy thud as several others landed to his left and right, followed by an intense growl. Before he knew it, the majority of the zombies went flying through the air as they were struck with an almighty swing, slicing them open and tearing them apart in the process.

Tait and the other Watchman charged forward, throwing the undead aside before Ymir charged past his son and threw himself into the fray, feeling his strength returning and his confidence improving, Lars stepped into the battle, hanging back as he threw his timed swings, which were somewhat weakened and clumsy from the stab wound dealt by Bologra in their earlier encounter…

Bologra stepped into the back room, hand axe at the ready as he kicked the rickety, fragile wooden door off of its hinges, bursting through it. As he stumbled into the next room, he found himself immediately coming face to face with an unexpected sight.

Just in front of him was a young, Breton Necromancer, a young man with short red hair, green eyes and freckles. He didn’t look old enough to be here but he was wearing the robes…

He quickly raised his hands, prompting Bologra to charge forward and shove the forearm of his arm brace against the boy’s throat as he quickly pushed him to the ground, landing on top of him before he pressed the tip of his bayonet against his throat.

“Where is she!?”

The Breton gulped, wrapping his long, slender fingers around Bologra’s arm brace as he swallowed, panting heavily as he felt the sharp point of the Orc’s blade dig into his flesh.

“Sh-She’s alive! B-But Vallina has her... and in a few minutes, she’ll have finished the ritual! We need to move!” The Breton stammered, swallowing hard again as he tried not to show how repulsed he was by Orc’s breath.

“We? What’s with all this we crap?”

“You won’t… Make it on your own…” The Boy assured him, doing his best to bring Bologra’s bayonet an inch away from his trachea but found his attempts to be fruitless.

“Killed your Imperial didn’t I?” The Orc said, with a smirk, though he didn’t want to admit it, that fight did take a lot out of him and considering that there was at least three of those cultists kicking around this cave, he’d likely struggle to bring them all down.

“Quentin? He isn’t even the worst…” The Breton insisted, speaking quickly as he lingered in his precarious position.

“L-Look… I want to save Arlas to, sh-she was the one who sent me to find you!

We were going to make it out together but then Vallina found us, she took Arlas… I don’t even know what she has planned for her but whatever it is, death is the least that we can expect for her.

I know you don’t trust me, I-I wouldn’t either… But you ‘’’will’’’ need me, if you want to save her.”

Bologra paused for a moment, considering his options, he could quite easily run this whelp through, if he wanted to. Best case scenario, he has one of these cultists on his side, worse case scenario this boy dies first…

Either way, it was somewhat win-win for Bologra…

The Orc eventually nodded, seeing the logic and reasoning behind it as he slowly eased off the Breton, rising upright before immediately returning his blade to its position.

“Let’s get one thing straight, if you try and screw me, you’re gonna wish that I killed you here and now, got it?”

The Breton nodded, not knowing what else to do as Bologra rose to his feet, the Necromancer was forced to pull himself up, wincing as the pain of the jagged rocks shot through his back and made his sigh heavily as he dusted himself off.

“Alright… Th-This way…”

Chapter 20: Alluvion

Arlas slowly awoke to find that she was in a dimly lit room, her arms were strapped down to an altar of some sort, the straps were leather from the feeling of them and they were so stiff that they cut into her flesh.

Buckling at their restriction, Arlas failed to fully sit up, forcing her to stay lain prone, with only her head free to look around the empty cave, she quickly found herself panting from the panic of being thrown into this unusual situation.

"H-Hey! W-What's going on!?" She called, pulling at the leather straps as hard as she could, in an attempt to loosen them, however, this just hurt her as the seemingly rock hard straps began to lightly saw through her wrists.

The Bosmer wasn't accepting this and as a result she tugged heavily at them again, causing the buckles to rattle against the stone as she threw her head back and cried out for attention, like a baby, craving it.

After hearing her cries the door swung open, casting an intrusive golden light across the room, which shone straight into her eyes, causing Arlas to wince as it did so. The light was obscured by a single robed figure, who slowly wandered over to her. Arlas half expected the members of Vallina's cult to all wear hoods, like the pretentious assholes that they were...

This particular cultist appeared to be a Khajiit, a tiger-like cat, with a large and grand mane, his face adorned in some rustic jewelry. He glared down at her, with a displeased look, he clearly didn't appreciate her interrupting him.

"Yes?" He asked, sounding just as annoyed and disinterested as he looked.

Arlas glared back, clearly not in the mood to be looked down on and talked down to, she gestured to her restraints.

"What do you think I called you in here for!? Release me, right now!"

The cat's nose twitched in response to that question as he stared ahead, it became somewhat apparent how old the Khajiit was, she assumed that Vallina was the eldest, being a middle aged Altmer and all but this Khajiit looked like the most Elderly member of the Order, who's fur was going grey.

"I fear that that wouldn't be very wise, Arlas, given that there would be nothing to stop you from being a danger to us or yourself." The Khajiit pointed out, folding his arms as he did so.

"Wait... How do you know my name?" The Bosmer asked, somewhat confused.

"Vallina informed us of everything that transpired between her and your party in the caves... I figured that it was only polite for me to remember your name." The Khajiit's tone grew a little warmer at this point, much to Arlas' frustration as she didn't know what was going on and didn't appreciate things growing familiar for them or her so quickly.

"Where... Am I even? Where's Vallina?" She then paused and gasped, quickly realizing that she was alone in the room.

"Where's Bologra!?"

The Old Khajiit raised his hand, halting her barrage of questions as he brought his hands together, pressing them against his stomach.

"You are at the 'Crusader's' rest, a cave on the boarder between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, where the axe that bound Jorane Lorwell has rested for three hundred years.

Vallina is with Quentin and Wyatt, discussing your friend, the Orsimer, who appears to have survived the undead Horde that Vallina threw his way.

And... Though you didn't ask, you should probably know that I am Master Za-Kir of the Alluvion, senior enchanter and mentor for some of the younger apprentices."

Arlas tried not to be too rude about it as she didn't ask, though she was just glad that she wasn't being tortured right now. She was somewhat thankful for that at least but still craved her freedom.

"Wait... Y-You said that they have plans for Bologra? They aren't... going to kill him, are they?" She asked, it suddenly dawned on her as her eyes retracted and she turned a little pale at the thought. The last thing that she wanted was more people getting hurt or even dying, because of her.

"Vallina has deemed it necessary... So I fear that they may try to kill him, yes." Master Za-Kir sighed, he didn't want to lie to her, even if he found the prospect of murdering someone for trying to rescue their friend to be abhorrent, in truth he found a lot of things abhorrent in Vallina's rule.

Arlas's stomach hollowed as he spoke, feeling like she had been gutted and that her soul had been ripped out and thrown away, leaving what was left exposed to the elements.

She tried to grab at Za-Kir again, though this time it was at his hand, forgetting that she was bound due to the shock of the news and instantly feeling the sting of her restraints, because of that.

"No! P-Please! Call it off! Whatever they're doing, you need to stop them! I'll do whatever you want, you can come back with me, to the White Gold Tower if that's what it takes! Nobody has to die!" Her eyes were fixed on his as they were the only thing that could grab the old man at this point, due to the fact that she was heavily restrained.

Master Za-Kir moved out of impulse but quickly relaxed again, finding himself heavily sighing as he did so as he as he brought his hand up to his chin, gently stroking his beard.

"Please... I just want to get the axe and go, that's all that we came here to do."

"You plan to give Lorwel the Axe?" Za-Kir asked, finding himself to be skeptical of her goal, no matter her motivations behind it.

Arlas shook her head, with a stern expression, over her dead body she'd let that damn Demon have the axe!

The Khajiit pondered on what she said but didn't have long to do so as the door opened and three more of the cultists walked in behind him, lead by Vallina, one of them was a young Breton, with short brown hair, who walked in side by side with an Argonian.

"Za-Kir!" Vallina called, though her voice relaxed a little as she saw Arlas still lying on the table, it was obvious that her concern wasn't really for the Khajiit or Arlas rescuing herself. The Elder Khajiit slowly turned around as he saw the Altmer enter, raising his eyebrows as she approached, he clearly despised the intrusion and was equally as cynical about her motivations.

"I was starting to grow worried, I sent you in here to investigate some time ago..."

The Cat cleared his throat as he furrowed his brow, quickly turning to attention as he stood before the Altmer, who was already stationary, bearing a slightly cocky smirk.

"I was once head of Bruma's Mage's Guild hall, Vallina, I believe that I can handle myself against an apprentice Healer..." The Khajiit replied, his warm tone masked his disgust at her suspicion, it insulted Za-Kir's honor, the prospect of him betraying them so easily, despite his reservations.

Vallina chuckled, though it was obvious, even to Arlas, who couldn't see her fact that there was a layer of tension beneath the surface of the conversation between herself and Za-Kir. The Altmer stepped forward and began to examine The Bosmer, who lay out in front of her.

"You!" Arlas snapped, fighting her restraints again, though quickly simmering down as she felt the pain of the rope burn on her skin.

"You... D-Drugged me! Let me go, now!"

Vallina couldn't help but be amused by Arlas' determination, though the Altmer was far from threatened. She'd dealt with a lot worse in her time...

She slowly bent over and rested her hand on Arlas Arlas' forehead, gently wrapping her hand around her mostly shaved head.

"I'm afraid that it's not that simple child... Even if you weren't a threat to us, you can still be of use as leverage."

"L-Leverage? Against Bologra!?"

Arlas paused for a brief moment before she began to laugh, quite forcefully, throwing her head back as she did so, the Bosmer's cackle echoed throughout the chamber before she finally sat up and looked Vallina in the face, with a grin.

"Are you insane!? Bologra will charge in here, no matter what! The most you'll achieve is just making him even angrier and even that isn't a good thing, since the guy could probably beat a Giant senseless!" The Acolyte pointed out, her face returned to her previous scowl as she spoke, she clenched her hands into fists, ignoring the fact that her braces were now digging into her flesh.

"If you want to live..."

"I do not require leverage against that Ox Brained fool, I've sent Quentin to deal with him... I was talking about using you as Leverage against Lorwel.

It is quite obvious that he sees some value in you, that is something that we can most certainly use against him. If we cannot, we can still use the axe as a bargaining chip..."

"That... Daedric Monstrosity doesn't give a damn about me or Bologra, he sent us up here, because we're expendable to him! If you bring that axe more than ten feet in front of him, he'll end up taking it off of you and killing you with it before setting himself free and becoming an unstoppable force of destruction!

You might think that you know him, up in this little cave of yours but you don't! I've looked him in the face, I've seen the madness and evil in his eyes, you can't beat him with deceit, because that's his game and he's one of the best players imaginable!

Now, if you don't want to die at the hands of Bologra or Lorwel...

Let.

Me.

Go!"

Arlas voice echoed, throughout the chamber, making Wyatt shudder a little on the spot, being the youngest, he wasn't used to confrontation.

Vallina just stared the Bosmer down, clearly frustrated with her insolence, it didn't take her long to turn to her left to her Argonian friend.

"Olan-de, could you go and check on Quentin's progress... I believe that he should be done by now."

'Olan-de' graciously nodded, crossing her arms over as she took a bow before leaving the room and leaving the Altmer to her prisoner, the Altmer took a step closer towards Arlas before leaning over her.

"I saw the marks on your faces, you think that the bandits that you fought to get here were anything like us? You know, I honestly thought that you were wiser and calmer than your Orc, I was even going to offer you a place among us but now, I..." She sighed, realizing that Arlas was bringing her down to her level, she decided not to say anymore.

"Your Orc won't be coming and once Quentin is done with him, we'll decide your fate!"

"Vallina... I thought that we planned to-" Za-Kir interrupted, only to be cut off himself by the Altmer's scowl and a wave of her hand.

"Za-Kir, she is an enemy of our people, she knows where we live, she plans to take the axe to Lorwel and she also has shown hostile intent towards us! I know that it's difficult for you to ignore that bleeding heart of yours but could, just once in your damn life, do as I say!?"

Za-Kir nodded and fell silent, placing both of his hands in the sleeves of his robes as he did so, hanging his head in shame.

"I am sorry, Vallina..."

The Altmer didn't even dignify the old Master with a response, instead she glanced down to the floor, like her response was clear but she was hesitant to say it.

"Za-Kir... Prepare the Litany..."

The Khajiit's eyes widened as he stepped forward, amazed at how quickly this had transpired.

"But the Litany is... It is a last resort! It was never even meant to be used! It was meant to save lives, not dest-

G-God's blood, you actually think that you can deceive him with it?"

"Don't argue Za-Kir! Just have the ingredients ready for when I get back!" She hissed, marching off out of the room, to see what was taking Olan-De so long. The Altmer walked with a put on confident strut at this point, clearly trying to hide the fact that this was all falling apart. She had a rampant Orc and a hoard of missing zombies, there was no way that he killed them all in this amount of time.

Something else was going on... She was sure of that...

Arlas waited for Vallina to leave, slamming the wooden door shut behind her as everything was left in silence, after she gave the Altmer a minute to get out of earshot, the Bosmeri Acolyte snapped her head back to Za-Kir.

Za-Kir's face quickly changed as soon as Arlas' eyes fell upon it, a look of disgust and pain but more than anything, determination...

"Wyatt?" He asked, immediately turning to Arlas and marching over to the walls as he began picking alchemical ingredients and stuffing them into a goblet.

The young Breton stood to attention, straightening his back as he turned to the Elderly Khajiit, giving him a slight nod.

"Yes, Master?"

"I need something done and you're the only one that I can trust..."

"A-Anything..." He said, though he got the feeling that he will regret that, he didn't want to inflict the Litany's affects on anyone...

"I need you to go to the exit and intercept Arlas' friend, the second that he leaves the chamber, with Quentin. Say whatever you have to to bring him here." The Old Man continued, collecting some herbs in his finger tips and dropping them into the cup.

"Hurry!" Wyatt nodded and quickly ran off, much to Arlas' surprise as the Khajiit approached her, standing over the stone slab that the Bosmer lay on.

"Wh-What's going on?" The Bosmer demanded, though her voice was almost failing her, due to the shock, in spite of this fact Za-Kir wasn't very quick to answer her question as he began to undo her restraints.

"Vallina's gone mad... That much is for certain, none of us are safe here, me, Wyatt, Olan... Least of all you..." He explained, quickly undoing the buckles around her wrists, to reveal the rope burned skin underneath them, which stung like hell as they were exposed to the open air.

"I... What is the Litany?" She asked, rubbing her badly rope burned wrists as she did so, whilst Za-Kir rushed around her and began to work away at her feet.

"It's dark magic... Used by the Herlean Bodysnatchers of old, the Litany of Mavrik grants the reader the ability to possess a living host." The Khajiit explained, speaking as quickly as he could, whilst moving as quickly as he could as he began to work on the second buckle by her left ankle.

"How does possessing someone else 'save lives?'" Arlas asked, confused by a number of things but that was mostly on her mind.

"The potential host has to read the first verse and has to accept the second reader's soul into their body. In the event that one person is dying and another's body is needed to save them..." Za-Kir sighed as he took off the last of the straps, lifting her foot out and resting it on the slab.

"In an ideal world, we would be able to make the choice, where someone willing to die could swap places with another...

Or at least, so I thought, when I was a younger man..." He sighed again as Arlas swiveled over the table, letting her legs dangle over the side as she hopped off, still rubbing the rope-burned skin.

"I've since learned that there is a reason that some things are out of our control..."

"I could've told you that..." Arlas sighed as she let go of her wrists before turning back to the Elderly Khajiit, sighing heavily as she did so.

"Somehow I wish that I could have had more people like you at the start of all of this..." Za-Kir admitted before remembering where he was and the current situation.

"There's no time...

We must hurry and meet up with Wyatt, he should be with your friend by now."

Arlas nodded, both determined and eager to be free of this place, she gestured for Za-Kir to lead the way, prompting him to turn to the left and start walking over to the door, where a the Khajiiti Master met a red, ethereal missile, that hit him square in the chest.

The Khajiit cried out as he stumbled back, feeling the effects of the Staff of Lorwel as the energy coursed through his body, causing the khajiit to grow weaker and weaker as the staff attacked every cell in his body.

"Za-Kir!" Arlas gasped, quickly turning back to the front door, to see that Vallina was stood there, holding Arlas' staff that was now trained on the Bosmer herself, who now stood frozen on the spot as she stared the head of it down.

"Bloody predictable! For a wise old man, you sure picked a poor time to cross me!" Vallina snapped, marching into the room as a fire lit up in her eyes.

"Quentin is dead! That brute of an Orc killed him, a victory that'll be short lived, I'm sure.

I think I'll lead him here, let him see you both strung up before his very eyes, so that he can see you both dying before him before I finish the bastard off!" The Altmer snapped, quickly raising her staff and pointing it at the Bosmer's face.

"I was hoping to use the Litany to take your form before heading back to the White Gold Tower but once I tell Jorane Lorwel that I killed his former champion and then present him Geoth's axe, I'm sure that he'll be more than inclined to favor me! He'll probably forget all about you, as will the rest of this world, when you and your treacherous cat become rat food in this place!

Two Hundred years of planning and waiting are about to pay off!" As she finished yelling she soon found herself grinning as she began to charge the weapon up, ready to finish Arlas off with a shot to the chest.

Myths of Mundus: Dark Pilgrimage
Chapters	Orsimer Descending - The Silver Road - The Ravagers - The Alluvian - The Last - Epilogue