Underground wasn't the norm for Ungimros or anyone else he'd grown up with, and enormous, intricate tombs would have been an absurdity in Valenwood, where Bosmer were fed to people, beasts, plants, or fungi, and most others met the same fate. Burial in stone struck Ungimros as selfish and fearful; primitive. This had no value to those still living.

The tomb's air was stale, and mildly noxious. Nothing green to breathe anew, and nothing red to breathe the old; it had simply filtered through stone, and dust, and root, and corpse. Sound acted unnaturally with no sky above the ceiling, and no windows in the walls. Light could only ever come from their group, and the only things that could react were their predators. Everything was wrong.

But, the Imperial had imagined coin here, and Ungimros had agreed, along with everyone else. So here he was, with his bow already drawn when corpses began to walk out of stone caskets. Backing into a circle to fight was a thing Ungimros had never needed to do before, and he bumped into someone - a Dunmer, he thought - while they moved into the formation. He heard Merci call for space, which struck him as a bit rich, given the circumstances, but knew he needed some also. To that end, Ungimros elected to call on his only friend.

Using his bow hand to hold an arrow he'd already knocked, he held out his then-free hand. He made his fingers reach into a place that was not the crypt; nor indeed Nirn or even Mundus. He could feel something like the humid, electrified air just before a storm, and feel wind. Finally, he found a patch of fur, and grabbed hold, communicating only an emotional need for violence. His hand performed the motions despite visibly being still in the tomb, only a blue glow to indicate it was not.

A bubbling, rumbling sound stemmed from his hand, but sounded far away at the same time. Some small amount of blue-purple light danced on his arm, the magelight above them keeping its influence small. The Bosmer shoved his ensorcelled hand out in front of him, and a sound between cracking, popping, and tearing heralded a spectral wolf between Ungimros and a few walking corpses.

Not wasting any time, both Ungimros and the wolf-shaped daedra attacked. The wolf worked at the legs of a draugr, snapping and barking to taunt it, and trying to bite its knees out when it missed with a greatsword. The sap elf loosed an arrow between another draugr's faintly glowing eyes, and grinned, until he realized the corpse found the arrow merely a stunning annoyance.

Ungimros reached into his quiver to find a particularly marked shaft, took it, knocked it, and aimed. A broadheaded glass arrow [i]fwip[/i]'d into a draugr that was closing on the Bosmer, and sailed through the creature's neck, piercing its spine. It fell forward and snapped the shaft under its weight. Ungimros cursed the inevitable cost of refletching and reattaching that head, but made a mental note to retrieve it.

When he looked to his spectral wolf, he saw the beast had successfully severed a knee and grounded its own enemy, but now had two rotten hands around its half-substantial head. When a magically filtered but still fleshy [i]crunch[/i] came from the wolf's head, the beast's light blue form dissipated back into whatever its home plane was. Satisfied the draugr was slowed enough to ignore, Ungimros returned his attention to the one with an arrow in its head, which was shambling towards him.  No time to knock an arrow.

Suddenly, there was firelight in the room, and the druagr turned to see it. Ungimros did not. He pulled his glass broadhead from the other corpse's kneck, cutting his hand in the process, and put the broken arrow through the draugr's spine, same as it had gone before. The corpse fell, backward this time.