Dungeons, Hraf decided, were officially his least favorite place to be. Only beating out forests by a nose, mind, but never the less. He found the cramped area to move in suffocating, and the particular stale quality of the air was harsh on his throat. When he had signed up for this venture, he figured that it wouldn't be any different from the smuggling decks of a ship, or a smuggler's cave. Hell, he had even hidden out in a gutted old Nord ruin once or twice. This was quite different. The stench of death hung heavily in the air, and an implacable feeling of dread was crawling up his spine like a spider. Not that he was afraid, mind, as it took more than an unsettling atmosphere to unnerve a steely pirate captain. Far more pressing was his intuition screaming at him that he needed to leave immediately. He was able to suppress the urge and keep cool, though he gritted his teeth and clenched his shield and sword tightly.

As a trap was apparently sprung, all of the anxious anticipation that Blackbird had been repressing suddenly sprang up. Luckily, he was able to put it to good use by forcing it out at his aggressors. He bellowed as he unsheathed his sword and hacked at the closest draugr to crawl out from its tomb. The undead cretin was stunned and pushed back by each blow, but only for a moment and an inch apiece. The soldier started to bark orders, and Hraf quickly fell in line to form a defensive position. He was less offended by having been ordered about like an inferior, compared to his offense of having been ordered to take part in a completely obvious tactical move. He wasn't an idiot.

The draugr Hraf had been hacking at earlier was now upon him again, scrabbling at his shield with wide, lazy strikes. A little force from the brunt of his shield was enough to send it off balance, and Hraf dispatched the ghoul once and for all with a sharp blow to its collarbone. The draugr was split shoulder to hip, gutting it like a mackerel. Its dissicated innards, little more than grey dust after spending gods-know-how-many years in its tomb, spilled out on the floor, and it collapsed in a heap. Hraf didn't celebrate beyond exhaling forcefully from his nostrils, and turned his attention to the next-closest draugr. He raised his shield in anticipation of the coming attack, the mummified warrior slowly shambling over to him, sword raised.