[center][i]‘’Count only the happy hours. For mortals, they are all too few.’’ [/i]

- Vivec[/center]

Balen knew better than to think of the possibilities that could arise as they entered the tomb shortly after the Nord’s arrival and inane rant, something that Balen viewed as nothing more than an attempt to look intellectual. But, looking down on companions was not a smart course of action, and Balen simply chose to forget it and shut down his mind as they entered the barrow. Following Merci’s light, the group slowly walked down the stairs, in a rather cramped environment (not that Balen expected a grave to be comfortable). Balen followed the group almost robotically, ‘dagger’ in hand. All he thought of was the happy hours. After all, bravery was for the fools, and he needed bravery right now. 

At the end of the descent was a chamber large, dark and foreboding. Balen watched the head of the group, Sibassius, walk towards the center. Nobody, including himself, dared to make a sound. With every step, Balen expected Sibassius to spring a trap – but, as he would learn in a few moments, it was not Sibassius but himself that would start the carnage. And, seconds later (though for Balen, hours), the moment came. The deathly silence was interrupted by the clacking sound of a timeless mechanism, and the following grinding of rocks older than time. ‘’Oh, [b]s’wit[/b].’’

And thus, the dead woke up. As the slow motions of the Draugr led them out of their resting grounds, the Nord roared and started striking at one of the Draugr, before Sibassius called for the group to form a circle. It was fitting that the head of the group (at least, that’s what Balen believed) would spill first blood, and the fight officially started for Balen when Sibassius drove his searing sword into the chest of one of the dead and felled it with that same blow. Moments later, the Nord managed to finish off the restless body that he had peppered with strikes moments before, and exhaled thoroughly. Balen felt alien against the Nord’s rather primitive fighting technique, it was loud, wide – and as Frandar Hunding said, shouting to halt the sands’ shifting only left one hoarse. But it was effective. He had no doubts about that, and the cleft corpse on the ground was its testament.

Balen, on the other hand, was the completely opposite. His fighting, learned from books and books only, with only little real life experience, was not fancy, but was also definitely not as simple as the Nord’s, who seemed to rely more on his natural strength and speed as opposed to technique. And Sibassius, in Balen’s eyes, was the compromise between the two sides. He was trained well, and he had experience as well. It was pleasing to watch – not as much as a Redguard trained in the arts of his natives, but it was definitely a sight better than the Nord’s hacking and slashing. 

The crack of bone underneath the foot woke Balen from his daydreaming about fighting technique and put him back into his body. Balen looked around as the swarm of Draugr walked on towards the group, stepping on the remains of their fallen brothers and cracking them, or simply crushing their legs, stripped of muscle, underneath the weight of their bodies. Then he saw a tall corpse lumbering towards him, bearing a zweihander in one hand. Behind Balen was the rest of the group – he could not move back – if he did, they’d be thrown into the line of fire. And standing still, it appeared, would cause him to part into two, courtesy of a millennia-old sword. 

[i]‘’A thrust is elegant, and a cut is powerful, but sometimes the right action is a head-butt.’’ [/i]

Deciding to heed Hunding’s advice, Balen thrust himself forward against the downwards strike of the immense Nord-corpse, and felt the Draugr’s elbow crack on his shoulder thanks to the weight of the claymore and the frail nature of its bones. Balen pushed the creature with an amateurish strike with his forearm, and saw it fall, its right arm flailing freely thanks to the shattered bones. Balen knew it wasn’t dead, but he didn’t expect it to get up just now. 

[i]‘’Do not lose the melody in rapture of one triumphant note.’’[/i]

Balen remembered this almost far too late, and barely got out of the way of an axe-wielding Draugr, almost tumbling onto the ground. [i]‘’I need practice,’’[/i] Balen thought to himself as he raised his blade against the walking corpse. He was lucky – these creatures were nowhere as fast as living warriors. [i]‘’Strike the throat. Every book advises to strike the dagger into the throat.’’[/i] This ringing inside his mind, Balen lodged his blade arm forward, plunging the oversized dagger into the Draugr’s neck, with the tip protruding through, having cut through the spine. Balen pulled his blade out of the corpse and moved back into the defensive circle as the corpse tumbled onto the ground. His momentary feeling of triumph was humbled after seeing the horde of Draugr still surrounding them. [i]‘’Spirit of Arkay help us.’’[/i]