[h3][i]Chapter One[/i][/h3]
[i]Falkreath hold, 21st of Sun’s Height, 4E202[/i]

They had found the barrow’s entrance hidden at the bottom of a ditch in the forest floor behind thick undergrowth, exactly where Sjara had told Hector where it'd be. She had been the one to discover the undisturbed tomb during her rangings and had shared the discovery with Hector over a mug of ale in the inn's common room a few nights ago. It hadn't taken long to gather a party of willing and able-bodied men and women to go dungeon-diving after that. Upon their arrival Hector had decided they would set up camp in the shade of the ditch for a little while to catch their breath and have something to eat. A full stomach was a necessity before exploring ancient ruins and Hector's insistence on leaving Falkreath at dawn probably left more than one person hungry and without a chance to eat their breakfast. 

It was around noon and Hector was gazing at the stone door set into the damp earth. There was no obvious locking mechanism he could see, but no way to open the door that was immediately apparent to him either. Grooves, both geometric and circular in shape, were cut into the stone. He stroked his chin with his gauntleted right hand for a few seconds while staring, his eyes following the grooves, but merely assuming the pose of a thinker wasn’t enough. He -- or someone else -- would figure it out later. No rush. He looked over his shoulder and observed the group for a little while; they were gathered around a campfire fueled with wooden logs that Skall had expertly chopped down into size, eating game that Sjara had hunted down for them, and the Imperial was pleased to hear them talking amongst themselves. Interaction was good for morale. His eyes lingered on Cyrus Vensor IV, wondering what to make of the man and his Stormcloak officer's fur cloak. Hector would recognize that look anywhere for the rest of his life.

He suddenly became aware of the Dunmer's presence, Balen Oril, hovering over his shoulder. Hector looked up at the elf's face and resisted the urge to laugh at his large, bulbous eyes. That would take some getting used to. 

"This is the place," Hector said in a low voice, "but I'm not familiar with a door such as this. Are you?"

The colossally tall Dunmer did not mind Hector’s reflexive and immediately hidden smirk. It was not unusual for people to be unnerved by his prominent gaze; Balen too knew that its intensity could create an almost molesting effect, and he was no exception to its discomfort. Even he himself could get startled by his gaze on occasion, after unexpected encounters with mirrors.
 
Taking a bite from the smoked sardine held by the fingertips of his left hand as an answer to the Imperial’s question, the Dunmer began chewing on the bite, while eyeing the door with an inspective, determined gaze that made him look like he was heavily focused on deducing its secrets. Occasionally, he exclaimed a detached ‘hmm’, as if on the edge of telling Hector the answer. Yet instead he kept looking further, taking his time. Afterwards, he took another bite from the sardine and began chewing it, again, all too slowly. After an eternity spent reducing the bite to an easily gulpable mush, he swallowed it and turned to the Imperial with a smug expression; an expression that one could surely claim betrayed his triumph over the door.
 
"There’s no lock," the Dunmer said, nodding slowly as if to strengthen his claim.

Hector's eyebrows slowly rose while he waited for the Dunmer to speak and make his observations clear. His gaze flitted from Balen's face to the sardine he was devouring, to the door itself, and back again. When Balen shared his brilliant deduction at last and nodded sagely, the Imperial remained quiet for a few seconds and stared at Balen expressionlessly.

"Quite right," he replied in a languid tone. "But I was hoping for something a little less [i]obvious[/i], Balen. I'll ask the Khajiit about it if you think the workings of this door are beyond you," he added. The corners of Hector's mouth curled into a faint half-smile and betrayed the jest in his words.

"Oh, I thought about it myself, but then again, there [i]is[/i] no lock. Thus, she is not necessary at this point," Balen replied to Hector, his voice slightly more passionate as to not annoy the Imperial further with his monotone musing, and entertain the man’s obvious wish to stir him up – Balen was certain that Hector had added that last remark about the cat-woman to poke at his pride and get him to actual work. He put his right hand under his chin to think for a moment, and then twirled the tips of his whisker-like mustache afterwards.
 
"I see two, or rather, three possibilities. One is that those grooves on the door can be activated by pressure. The second is that it is opened by magic, or perhaps a word, but then again, I expect that there would be a riddle if that were the case. The third is that there’s a lever and we haven’t found it yet."
 
Balen raised his left hand up to his face, looking meditatively at the remainder of the sardine, lost in deep thought. He then turned his head to Hector, raising his eyebrows for a moment. "The first theory is the easiest to put to test, isn’t it?" he asked, then, having given his advice, threw the rest of the sardine in his mouth. 

"Ah, pressure plates," Hector said and nodded in understanding. Quite advanced for such an ancient society, he thought, but being confined to history had never stopped the dwarves or the wild elves before. He reached out and began feeling and pushing against the grooves and the smooth stone inbetween, methodically working his way down the door. About halfway through something gave and, accompanied by the grating noise of rock-on-rock, the door split down the middle and opened, an unseen mechanism pulling the two halves aside. 

It was pitch black inside. The daylight did not seem to penetrate very far into the corridor that lay beyond, and the air that wafted out was musty, thick with dust and dry as a desert. Hector covered his mouth with his hand, coughed, and averted his head before taking a big gulp of crisp forest air. "Well," he said, and slowly turned back to look into the darkness. "That worked. Thank you, Balen."

"We all do what we have to do," Balen replied, seemingly not come any closer to the door, most likely in hopes of waiting out for the crisp forest air of Falkreath to cut through the sickly air of the tomb with its sharp, pine-flavored gust. And indeed, he kept standing still for a few moments after, looking at the ground with his jaw resting on his hand, and then raised his head back at Hector. "You don’t want to go in so quickly," he said knowingly. "Let’s wait for the air inside to be refreshed. Hundreds of years of death in there, at the very least. It gets you dizzy without you knowing it," he said, turning his head slightly the campfire behind him, gauging his colleagues from the corner of his eye. "You’d be surprised how easily it clouds your judgment and your footing."

Hector looked a little skeptical at Balen's explanation at first, still unacquainted with the nature of tombs and dungeons, but decided to take the Dunmer's word for it and shrugged. "Very well," he said amicably and turned his back to the darkness that awaited them for now. His eyes went over the gathered party and he thought about each of them in turn.

Skall was, should he remain in control of his faculties, very useful to have around. The Nord's great size and choice of weapon reminded Hector of Galmar Stone-Fist, a positive comparison for sure, and Hector hoped that the Thirsty would prove himself just as fearsome in combat. The moniker was a slight source of concern, however. 

Raelynn was a healer and healers were worth their weight in gold, but Hector had already noticed her upturned nose at the filth of the forest floor and the simple, rustic food. Her robe seemed far too beautiful and fragile to be worn by a field-mage and he wondered if she wasn't better suited for a life of comfort and security in the high spires of some fortified institution of magical learning. Only time would tell.

Daro'Vasora was a Khajiit and Hector still associated their race with trouble and thievery, but they were as skilled as they were mischievous and Hector hoped the Khajiit would behave enough to make her inclusion into the party worth it. Other than that he found her hard to read, unused to their facial features and expressions, and honestly did not really know what to expect.

Lord Cyrus Vensor IV... a peculiar man, and Hector once again fixated on the bear that his fellow Imperial wore over his armor. The war was over and Hector had never held any hatred for the Stormcloaks and their rebellion. He understood their emotions but did not agree with their methods. Weakening the Empire would only weaken them all. Skyrim would not be able to defend itself from the Dominion should the Empire fall. All Imperials knew this, or so had Hector thought. Either way, it was good to have another soldier with heavy armor and a thick shield, if only so the rest of the party had someone to hide behind.

Sjara, the "Elf-Daughter", the one who had found this tomb in the first place. She seemed reasonable, if a little restless, and Hector had smiled at her eagerness to get this mission underway. The skill of the Bosmer with the bow was legendary and Hector was sure he would appreciate her markswomanship in the dangers to come.

And last but not least, Balen Oril. Hector glanced up at him from the corners of his eyes. He was the most puzzling person in this party, for sure, and seemed the most out of place, but Hector knew that appearances could be deceiving. Especially when it came to the grim and reserved dark elves. Hector had a gut feeling he would find himself relying on the Dunmer's advice and knowledge quite frequently. 

Hector cleared his throat and stood up straight, grabbing the party's attention through sheer projection of authority. "Good news; this is indeed the place," he said, and gestured at the open gate behind him. "Balen thought it best to wait a little while for fresh air to cycle through and I'm inclined to believe he is right. It is [i]very[/i] dusty in there now. So, enjoy your food for now. Rest while you can. Become acquainted with one another. We leave in thirty minutes."