[h3]The Wayward Thief and Bard[/h3]


Latro and Daro’Vasora ventured farther down the path they’d chosen, still only illuminated by the faint glow of the fungi, and the shadows still holding a sort of malice unto themselves for Latro. It was a quiet walk for the two of them, too busy looking out for any horrors of the deep. Their careful advance through the subterranean passages finally brought them to what may have at one time been a major gathering of Falmer. Dilapidated, empty tents sat lonely in the dark, forgotten reaches. Bathed in pale blue befitting of this ghostly necropolis, Latro and Vasora moved unimpeded.

At first, Latro trusted none of it, but after hearing nothing and seeing nothing for some time, he’d soon distanced himself from his edge. A hand resting on the head of his axe, thumb hooked in his belt now, rather than white-knuckle gripping the haft of it. Soon enough, the barbaric, purely Falmer architecture started to mingle with Dwemer. The angular, mirror-polished copper of the long-forgotten race marred, corrupted, and insulted by yet another.

Upon a pale-grey obelisk of a tablet over-topping at least four meters and stretching outwards a good ten, Dwemeris writing lost on Latro was carved. Like the graffiti on the walls of the Imperial City waterfront district, or the docks of Wayrest, a mural was painted in glowing pale blue over it. Scenes of the Snow Elves being granted amnesty by the Dwemer, the inevitable betrayal by their cruel future masters, the horrors inflicted upon them that would bring Molag Bal pleasure. Latro traced his fingers along the huge mural of history, and witnessing how the pictures slowly and sadly descended into crudeness and simplicity the farther he traced, speechless as to its age. “Rhea would love to see this, I’m sure.”

He stepped back when he reached a peculiar scene, the image of the crudely drawn Dwemer ascending to a gate. Latro shook his head, “One needs eyes to paint.” He breathed in amazement and a touch of pity, “These Falmer have lived down here for Eras.”

Daro’Vasora, had her notes been dry, would have been furiously keeping notes. Instead she was studying the paintings and the carvings closely, the danger from only a few minutes prior a distant memory she was so engrossed in the details. It was an incredible find. “Might have been the final throes of their former selves. They didn’t just go blind overnight, or go feral. Someone must have wanted to record their history in the vain hope that they wouldn’t forget who they were.” The Khajiit observed, fingers tracing along the more crude images towards the end. “Notice how the images are so much more crisp at the start? It’s as if they either were losing their vision over time or just ran out of materials. It’s as if they were trapped here, even without Dwemer interference.”

The Khajiit was in awe of the discovery, and while it wasn’t something she could just stuff into a bag, it was definitely worth taking credit for. It was a tragic story, to be certain, but if one were to hang around ruins and barrows long enough, one would quickly realize that just about everything that ever existed underground was a monument of unspeakable suffering. The tale of the Falmer’s eventual fate was a tale that felt as old as as time, but still there was something somewhat humbling about seeing their feeble last attempts at retaining their sense of selves knowing that their race was about to be erased from the world due to the unspeakable cruelty of the Deep Elves. 

“I can read most of this,” Daro’Vasora said, looking over the writing. “Some of it’s whatever language the Snow Elves used, some words look vaguely Aldmeri, but I’m not exactly a linguist. You realize that we may have discovered the very last writing of the Falmer people?” She asked excitedly, having entirely forgotten the peril that lurked around the corner.   

“Gods...” Latro breathed again. Humbled, was the feeling for which the word kept a teasing distance from the tip of his tongue. His eyes darted about the huge mural like it were an alien landscape with  a thousand-thousand things for the eye to take in. Again, he brushed gentle fingers along one of the letters, tracing its shape on the age-worn stone. “You were right after all, Vasora,” Latro smiled, eyes still taking in the script of pictures like a lover’s first gaze on his future-wedded, “I just may have a song to write when we leave here.”

The romance of writing a poem or ballad of the final scribes and scriptures of the Snow Elves would not have been lost on anyone, the least of all Latro. His enamored gaze was cut short when the booming groan echoed through the enormous chamber they were in, seizing his heart and breath as he hunched himself over before he noticed himself do it. “Come on!” He whispered.

He grabbed Vasora by the wrist and led her along through the maze of tents and Dwemer architecture until they made it to what looked like a small hut of Dwemer-make. Once again, Latro’s heart was pounding and his hand left Vasora’s unsure if the sweat was her’s or his. Probably both. He bunched his hands into fists behind his folded arms to hide them shaking, though he knew his eyes must have betrayed the fact that he was very much intimidated with the spectre of whatever his imagination could paint onto what was out there. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, a dull buzzing in his head and a dry mouth he was growing increasingly aware of and irritated at. He licked his teeth to try to moisten it up but his tongue was dry enough to stick to his teeth.

Latro woke up, a very sudden and unexpected thing for him, to Vasora shaking him. How long had it been? He didn’t have the mind to ask, his thoughts going back to the others and the thing outside. Safety in numbers and light was his only thought. “We have to move.” Latro said more to himself than Vasora, “The others might be getting farther and farther away from us by now.”

He swallowed dryly at the prospect of his own words. Would they find a way out? Did they even know what direction ‘out’ was?

“Easy,” The Khajiit said, an open  concern etched across her features. Normally she’d have little patience for people laying hands upon her and violating her personal space, but the circumstances were extraordinary and Latro seemed like a genuine, well-intentioned sort who simply got caught up in the moment and didn’t want to lose track of her in the darkness. They only had each other to rely on, utter strangers who were trying their damnest to make it back to the others in one piece. When Latro nodded off, Daro’Vasora was concerned for him; if he had chills from the water and his body temperature dropped, he could be very well turning hypothermic. She had to keep him going, for both of their sakes.

“Easy.” Daro’Vasora repeated herself, her voice far more soothing than she felt. “Don’t feel rushed, or panicked. I can see reasonably well, as dark as it is. The cave reflects sounds, and it’ll be easy to spot light when it comes our way. We’ll plan our moves, and just take it steady. Trust me, I’ve been in enough  caves and crypts that getting lost is part of the experience.”

Offering a hand to help him to his feet, Vasora smiled. “So yes, we have to move, but no sense being foolish about it. How do the heroes in your songs act in situations such as this? Always brave and knowing what to do, no? I’m sure the reality is they shit themselves and panicked and struggled through, but that doesn’t mean the songs about them can’t be an inspiration. Besides,” she said, glancing around the area slowly before looking back. “The Falmer scare me half to death. I’m counting on you to get us back without finding more of them, yes?”

Latro swallowed, clearing his throat before taking Vasora’s offered hand, “I have to apologize for whatever I may have done to make you put that on me.” He joked, “I don’t like being this far underground.”

He took a few tentative steps towards the door of the small hut, “So,” He looked around the hut and scratched at his jaw, “We keep walking until we find them?”

“Not without a plan.” Daro’Vasora corrected, quickly gathering her surroundings. She knew Latro would be relying on her for visual navigation, and otherwise, they’d be wandering almost literally blind. She gestured towards the rushing water of the river. “We know they’re upstream, and given that the Falmer presumably mostly rely on scent and hearing, we might be able to mask both if we stay close to the water’s edge and work our way back. Seeing as nobody likes being in the dark and the Falmer are blind, chances are someone has a torch made up. Any objections?”

“I would save objecting to plans when I have any idea of better options.” Latro chuckled nervously. He nodded outside, “You lead.”

The cold, dank air of the caverns added to Latro’s chill down his spine, so intense it caused him to sigh as he looked around the huge cavern. Being outside the hut almost filled him with a pulsing fear and a need to duck back inside. He was tired, cold, and terrified of whatever made those groans and killed those Falmer. Vasora and Latro took their first tentative steps out of the hut. Latro frowned at the darkness as they walked along the river, ever so often looking for any signs of the others… or the Falmer.

Daro’Vasora made sure not to traverse the uneven ground too quickly out of concern for her companion, who was trusting in her to guide the way as the one who could actually see in the darkness. All was silent, save for the steady sound of rushing water that masked whatever footfalls they might have made. While there was a chance the Falmer would be able to stalk them using the river’s voice as cover, the Khajiit doubted it; she periodically checked around to look for movement and was confident their scent would be masked by having been in the water, the grime of their stay in the camp rinsed away and whatever flowed through the water permeated their clothing and her fur; there was a distinctly earthly scent to the pair of them, and it acted as a surprising bit of camouflage. At least it wasn’t a putrid scent.


After a short period of time, much to Daro’Vasora’s surprise, the sounds of battle caught her ear and the faint impression of light danced across the rocks ahead. “Care to wager we found our companions?” She asked, edging closer, pulling her mace free. If they were close enough to be on the periphery of the fight, there was a chance it would draw in some unwanted attention. Realizing her hand was shaking, the Khajiit clasped it with her other hand, crouching low, breathing in deep and slow to try and calm herself. “I do not wish to get involved in that. The things Falmer do to people…” She trailed off, fidgeting uncomfortably. “I’ve never been much of a fighter.”

Latro refrained from commenting on his past at Vasora’s own comment on entering the fray. Even he saw the ghostly, ethereal trails of spells being thrown amongst the shouts whose words were lost among the echoing distance from the fight to the pair watching it. Even now, so far away from it, Latro’s heart picked up its pace.

There was a time, perhaps, that Latro would have charged into it with a fervor of an elk bull against another to show dominance, but that time was not now. “It’s best you look to our other companions for that.” Latro swallowed, the sheen of a mage armor spell slowly enveloping him as he closed his eyes and sighed to concentrate on the process.

“What say we announce ourselves to them and pull back upriver?” He offered, “the stream flows from somewhere above-ground.”

“Maybe, but how far does it go? For all we know it traverses the entire mountain range.” Daro’Vasora sighed, her eyes locked on the scene ahead. “As much as I hate myself for saying this, I think we would be incredibly stupid to not regroup and plan ahead. There are a few Falmer left, maybe we could surprise them where they’re thinnest? It’ll give the others an opening and we might not have to fight many…” she trailed off, looking over at Latro expectantly, perhaps to have her talk her out of being foolish. As exceptional as his company had been the last who-knows how long, she felt like it was much more in her interest to have safety in numbers. Her luck wouldn’t hold out forever, and sooner or later, she’d run into Falmer. It wasn’t something she wanted to experience alone; the thought nearly was petrifying.  

“A friend once told me that you should never take a man at his front when you can take him at his back.” Latro nodded, “The time might have come that we’re their hope.”

Latro cleared his throat and wondered if Vasora heard him gulp at the prospect of harming another, even the Falmer. His encounter with the stone monolith gave them far too much humanity for his liking, reminding himself that these Falmer were not the ones that made it. A far cry from them. “Well.” Latro slowly cracking each of his knuckles, “We’ve scant time to debate the pros and cons, my friend.” And even he was surprised at his hard words.

They traversed the distance without sound enough that it brought Latro and Vasora huddling behind an outcropping of stalactites close enough to hear the chittering and screeching of the Falmer as if they were a stone’s throw away. Looking out from behind their cover, Latro saw that they were. Five of them hunkered down amongst the stalactites at the edge of the skirmish, screeching and hollering at the violence taking place. He sunk back behind the cover, huddled next to Vasora and worked to steady his nerves. “Steady yourself,” He whispered, “There’s no other choice in this.”

He took a few more precious seconds to bunch his hands into fists a couple times before crouching low and emerging from behind cover. As he got closer to the five Falmer, he felt his limbs becoming looser, his heart beginning to beat a more steady pace. He wrapped one of his arms around the neck of one from behind, wrapping his other hand around the thing’s mouth as he dragged it away from its comrades. He tightened his arms grip around its neck as it clawed violently but uselessly at his hardened skin in a panic that should’ve sickened him, placing his other hand behind its head in a choking vice and quickly sunk his weight while tightening his squeeze. He felt the bones in its neck pop and grind before it went limp and heavy. He let go, letting it crumple to the ground unceremoniously. He looked to his hands and swallowed, [i]they aren’t people[/i], he thought, over and over.

The Khajiit’s heart pounded mercilessly in her chest and her throat felt tight enough that it threatened to stop drawing air, but she was a part of this plan, and salvation was on the other side of the monsters of the deep. They were twisted approximations of something that was once proud and noble, and now they were ghouls that preyed on any who would dare venture into the deep, monsters driven by their baser instincts like feral animals. Daro’Vasora would have no problem killing them, for the alternative was so much worse.

Latro took one down from behind, dragging it away before subduing it, and its friend must have noticed that there was a sudden absence there as it turned around. The Khajiit closed the gap, clasping her mace with both hands as she put all of her might into a swing, smashing the creature across the face with the heavy studded steel head, breaking apart it’s upper jaw and fracturing a part of the skull. The sudden thud of the now dead body crumpled on the ground, falling beside the other remaining three Falmer. Daro’Vasora stepped back, switching to a one-handed stance, ready to lash out at any of the weapons or exposed arms for the one that turned to face her, a hideous face hidden behind a crude chitin mask. She let out a hiss, her ears pulled flat against her skull as she prepared to fend off a blow. The thing charged at her, howling in its unknowable tongue and it tried to hew her across the chest and belly, swinging wildly with its sword. The Falmer, though of exceptional hearing, were at a sizable disadvantage when it came to typical fighting doctrine; it was hard to block and parry when the only thing you had to anticipate was the sudden sound of displacing air.

When the Falmer made an above-head thrust, trying to drive it down into the Khajiit’s chest, she easily side-stepped the strike and brought her mace down into the exposed elbow, shattering the bone and disabling the arm. The Falmer shrieked in agony, only to be silenced when Daro’Vasora brought her mace back across the thing’s temple, causing it to collapse suddenly as the flesh and soft bone gave in to the blow.

She had just enough time to see another of the Falmer rushing at her with a spear, rushing at her with reckless abandon. Having no other option, she caught the shaft as it came at her, the blade threatening to dig in through her leathers, and the thing had freakish strength for something so emancipated. She yelled in alarm and fear, struggling mightily as the jagged shaft bit into her hands, slickening them with blood. 

“Latro!” 

He turned his head to see Vasora at the mercy of one of the Falmer, the thing struggling but slowly gaining the advantage to run her through her belly with his spear. No matter his qualms with this bloodshed, he would have no part in letting the person that helped him through this ordeal die in front of him. In four quick and long strides he was on the Falmer. One hand shot out to knock the spear off it’s glacier-quick course and the thing turned it’s head. Before it could finish its shriek Latro cuffed it in the left ear with his hardened fist, sending it stumbling and off-balance to the right before Latro’s other hand was brought down in a lightning fast downward hook that caught the thing into solar plexus.

Devoid of the ability to draw breath, Latro added to its misery by chopping at its throat with his stone-dense hand, ruining its wind-pipe as it collapsed. He rushed over to Vasora, putting a hand on her shoulder and nodding to her, “Can you fight still?” It seemed callus from his own tongue, but the time for checking over wounds was later.

Even now, the three left were far past the stage of surprise and well into bearing down on the duo. Two rushed Latro and he was barely able to duck below a swing of a chitinous mace before throwing himself aside at the wild slash of a sword that came a finger’s length from opening him. While he lay on the ground, the one with the mace leapt to stand over him and he felt the chunks of rock sting his face as he moved his head. A well-placed strike to the groin put the thing on its arse, squealing breathlessly.

The sword-wielder came at him too fast for him to counter and the point of his sword skittered across his belly painfully. Latro grit his teeth and let out a yelp, but managed to grasp the blade of the sword in his stone-dense hands, struggling with the Falmer over control of the weapon. Latro reeled back with his head and brought his forehead cracking against the thing’s brow, Latro’s mage-armor being the one to take credit for his still standing while the thing stumbled backwards disoriented towards Vasora’s fight. The Falmer who was recovering from having its genitals possibly pulped was finished off with Latro’s knee splitting apart the skin and fracturing its skull from a running start and Latro’s hands keeping its head steady for the blow.

Daro’Vasora’s hands were slick with blood and it was hard gripping onto her mace, prompting her to slip her wrist through the strap to retain control over the weapon while the Falmer that had cut Latro stumbled her way. She brought the mace into the thing’s gut, forcing it to keel over as viscous, dark blood drizzled from between its crooked lips. Unable to bring her mace around for a strike from above she brought her elbow down viciously into the nape of its neck, causing the Falmer to collapse to a knee. 

Unrelenting, the Khajiit kicked the Falmer hard in its flat nose, prompting it to fall backwards, sword slipping from fingers, and stepping forward triumphantly and filled with an unexpected vitriol, she brought her heel down into its throat, once, twice, and again and again, collapsing the windpipe as the thing struggled feebly to grab at her ankle, weakening with each blow. Blood had splattered across her trousers and boots, but she didn’t care. She stood triumphant over the monster of her nightmares.

Realizing that Latro was badly hurt, Daro’Vasora regained her senses and rushed to him, immediately seeing the gash across his abdomen. “No, no…” she stammered, alarmed. “Is it deep?” she asked, eyes wide with concern.

 The adrenaline already leaving him, he brought his hand to his stomach and it came back stained red. He gulped and sighed, all at once feeling the pain and the mage-armor spell dissipated with the loss of constitution at the sight of his blood, and quite the amount of it. If it were not for his mage-armor, he would be dead and skewered on the end of a Falmer sword. “N-no,” the words shakily coming past gritted teeth, “the mage-armor. My stone-skin, I’ll live. What of you?”

Glancing at her shaking hands, a sharp pain radiated from numerous cuts and gashes that were still openly weeping blood. “Considering the trade off of mangling my palms and fingers would be to have been run through, I think I made a sensible choice. It hurts immensely.” She said, sucking air between pointed teeth. “Come on, we’re still in danger out there. I’m with you, let’s get to the others. Someone’s going to patch us up.”

Helping Latro to his feet and throwing his arm over her shoulder, Daro’Vasora got her bearings; the others were a few dozen meters away, she estimated, and a few ugly bastards between them and safety, but the Falmer seemed occupied and oblivious to what had transpired. With an effort, both took off, fighting through immense pain to reach their refuge. It was all they had left.