"Ysmir was a great hero! You do him honour in your dedication to the cause, old man! And I will drink to that!" Skall raised his flagon in a toast before throwing his head back and draining it empty. As he did so he felt his vision blur but for a moment... perhaps he had been a little over hasty in that. No matter, it couldn't have been so long, he would still have time to take a piss, maybe find a stream to drink some water from to clear his head a little. It would be fine. Skall tossed the emptied flagon to the floor behind him, its usefulness to him now outlived. His huge hands went to his knees as he began to get up to follow through on this notion when the calm and authoritative voice of Hector Sibassius rang out through the clearing.

"Let us be off," Oh fuck it then, looks like there wasn't any time, what was the worst that could happen?

Skall was to be at the front of the party with Hector, a position he was happy to take, more glory to him. The Cat had gone ahead of them and they were supposed to be looking out for green leaves - though Skall did not think it would be that important. All this sneaking and avoiding, it wasn't the true Nord way. Real Nords faced their foes head on, they didn't skirt around them. He wasn't scared of any traps they might find down there. He hefted his axe and held it at the ready in both hands, as long as he had this and his courage, he would prevail.

Through the great stone portal they went and began their descent into the dark bowels of the earth. The air was close as the stone walls rose up around them. The light of the morning behind began to fade to nothing, until it was replaced by the unnatural and eerie glow of the Werelight of mages. Skall had seen little magic, but this he knew. Still, it unsettled him. In many ways he would have preferred the smoke and fumes of a burning torch. Magelight somehow seemed cold, seemed... dead. 

Slowly, they wound down and around the corners of the rough-hewn rock passages. Skall stood behind Hector, and almost walked into the back of him when he suddenly stopped at one of the turns. A trap, pressure plates on the floor. Skall stepped over it with his long stride, trying his best not to stumble as he did so. He made it over safely. Now he was down here in these tight and confined tunnels he didn't know if he wanted to face every foe. Maybe Sibassius had it right and caution was the best option. It was too tight for both him and his axe, he wanted space, space to breath. He wanted to piss as well, but by Nine Divines he would not stop to do it here!

Onward they went again, and time and time again they came across more of these traps. Pressure plates, tripwires, Shor knows what else! As he gingerly made his way over one, Skall took note of a gap in the rock, no wider than a hand span. Inside he could see the glint of a steel blade almost as tall as a man. Was that what would come swinging out if he lost his footing now? There was no way of avoiding such a thing in such a small space. His chest felt tight, he needed space, he needed it now.

And then the walls opened out. The tunnels gave way to a large circular chamber. Skall barely heard what Hector said in his haste to get away from those awful narrow tunnels. He followed him across the chamber to where it was safer, as they approached the other side, he realised just how badly he need to piss. As Hector shook hands with the Cat he clenched his bladder, and as he did so his foot skipped over the edge of a rock he had missed. He stumbled, and his foot landed a few inches from where he had meant to put it. There was low grinding sound as Skall felt the pressure plate sink beneath his weight.

"Shit..." He muttered to himself as the crash of stone falling to the floor echoed throughout the hall. A blast of cold air extinguished the Magelight and Skall turned to see the Draugr advancing from their sarcophagi, all drenched in the red light of the ancient torches that had also returned to life so suddenly. Sibassius called for them to stay calm and stay together. But the mixture of fear, surprise and alcohol in Skall's mind had the adrenaline pumping. This was what he was good for, this he could cope with. Battle, face to face fighting. This was was what Nords did. This was what he did. For the first time that he had entered the caverns, Skall smiled.

"VICTORY OR SOVNGARDE!" He roared, and launched himself into the fray.

He charged past the Dunmer who was beginning his engagement with a single Druagr, his blade deep in the creatures guts, and dived into a group of three. Furiously Skall launched a series of long swinging attacks with his two handed weapon. The papery skinned and corpse like monsters wielded swords and axes, they were horrifying, but none could get inside his reach. He drove them back towards the centre of the room before one was not quick enough and lost the hand it held its axe in to his blade. The limb flew away as the bones cracked with sound dry sticks being snapped over the knee.

Skall closed the distance instantly and kicked the stumbling Druagr to the ground by planting his boot into its chest. As he did so a sword blow grazed against his fur bracer. The Druagr towards the centre of the room swung again and Skall only just caught it on the haft of his axe. He let out a roar and pushed back against the bind with his superior strength, overpowering his undead opponent. He used the rear of his weapon to strike at its face and it fell back away from him.

He span on his heels as the Druagr behind him thrust at his exposed back, a second later and it would have run him through. This was sheer luck. The Gods looked kindly on babies and drunks they say. It was true this day. He sidestepped as the edge of the blade ran along his unarmoured bicep drawing a thin line of red. As the blade moved past him, Skall hooked it with the curved blade of his battle axe and pushed it to the floor. The sword fell from the Druagr's grasp and it was now defenceless. Skall raised his axe above his head and brought it down on the Druagr's head with sickening crunch. The exposed skull split with ease and a foul smelling black liquid that must have been whatever was left of the creature's brain began to leak out as its eyes went dark. 

Skall took a breath, the battle haze clearing, when suddenly a great weight smashed into him and almost brought him to his knees. There was a Draugr on his back. One arm hung uselessly over his shoulder, ending at the elbow, whilst the other clawed at his throat. Its skeletal fingers dug into his neck. He couldn't breath. It had his throat. He couldn't breath! Bucking and shaking like a wild ass, he tried to dislodge the unwelcoming hitchhiker, but couldn't. Skall fell to one knee and felt his grip slipping on his axe, his vision going dark as his air supply dwindled. 

No. He would not died down here in the dark, he couldn't. He wouldn't just another dead adventurer no one would ever know or care about. He had so much more to do in life. So much more to show the world. To show the them that he was worthy. In his delirium he though he heard laughter. No! Skall's elbow flew back and smashed into the leering face of the Draugr choking him. 

It fell to the floor and Skall fell on top. His axe tumbled to the side, forgotten as they began to grapple. Skall was heavier and pinned the undead monster to the stone flags. One arm was over its throat, holding back its mouthful of biting teeth. Its breath reeked of death and decay. His other arm struggled at his side looking for his dagger. He could not find it. The Druagr worked its arm free and began to claw at his face again. Skall let another battle cry and forgoing traditional fight methods, slammed his head into the Druagr's face. He did it once, and again, and again, and AGAIN! The room span, his vision blurred. The Druagr's skull was a broken pile of bone and black ichor. The foul smelling substance was smeared across his forehead and face. But he was alive and the Druagr was not. 

Skall turned back to see the fighting as his hand reached for his fallen axe.