[h3]A Light in the Dark[/h3]

Things quieted down as the attackers’ numbers dwindled, the small group fighting in the dark fending off the Falmer in their own dwelling, their sight reduced sufficiently in the dark. Rhea’s sword was slick with blood, but she’d escaped from harm, in no small part thanks to the brave actions of Gaius and Balroth, who took down the shamans with great risk to themselves. She wiped the blood from her blade with a cloth, more of a rag really, and smiled as she looked around at her companions. They all fought well together, she thought. It would make for a good story later, when they were all safely away from their predicament. She’d look after them and see them through; they were here because of her, and Rhea was not the kind of person who let down people who put their trust in her. Her smile faded as she looked past the walls of their fortification, the lull in the battle allowing her mind to ponder about Daro’Vasora and Latro. It killed her not knowing what happened to them. 

[I]Focus, Rhea. You can’t falter in front of these people. You lose faith in yourself, they lose faith in each other.[/I] she thought, her smile returning as she turned to take a look at the wounded.

The last of the Falmer were exterminated with ease once the mages were dealt with accordingly. Brynja’s chest heaved with each breath, her face slick with sweat as she surveyed the scene. A massacre, truly. Perhaps the fact that their opponents were Falmer made the reality of that statement less daunting.

[i]“Medic!”[/i] the gruff voice of Balroth echoed, catching both Brynja and Rhea’s attention. 

Healing came as second nature for Brynja, she did it without so much as batting an eye. She glanced once over her shoulder at Rhea, who ushered her off with a wave of her hand, she would be fair well, the others… not so much.

“Help me get this pack off.” Brynja said, squatting down so that Rhea could reach her. With two hard tugs, Rhea had freed her rucksack and passed it to Brynja. She set off for Balroth and Gaius, gesturing for the Orsimer to lay the man on the ground. It took her mere seconds to realize what afflicted him. His skin was pale, and he was cold to the touch. Of course the gash on his forearm hinted at the underlying problem.

“Poison.” She murmured, more to herself than to Balroth. She had to act fast if Gaius were to survive the following moments.

“It is your lucky day, Gaius.” She lifted the flap on her rucksack, and discovered at once the source of the wetness she had experienced during the fall. A half dozen of ale bottles were shattered to pieces. She set her jaw firm, her teeth grinding against one another. She dug past the shards of glass for a wooden box buried at the bottom of the pouch. Fate was on their side today. Her potion bottles had survived the fall.

She uncorked one bottle, and pressed it to the man’s lips, forcing him to drink its contents. Once emptied, Brynja focused on cleaning and bandaging the wound. It would heal, and he would survive. She was certain. 

When she had doctored Gaius to the best of her abilities, Brynja turned to her attention to Balroth, “Come find me if his condition worsens.”

With that, Brynja set off on her rounds, tending to all of those who had suffered even the smallest of wounds. She cornered Megana, who insisted she had nothing but a mere scratch, and Alim, and tended to their minor wounds when she spotted two figures approaching from the edges of the fray. She had just finished lecturing the two of them on the importance of keeping their wounds clean, because even the smallest wound could lead to an infection.

She rose to her feet, hand darting to the longsword buckled at her side. Her eyes narrowed in the darkness, straining to see who was headed their direction. There, she could make out the distinct features of a pointed ears… Daro’Vasora. And Latro! Brynja snatched the rucksack off the ground and cleared the distance in eight long strides. Her eyes swept over them, she knew from the way Latro moved he was gravely injured. She took him from the Khajiit and laid him flat on the ground. There would be no one to argue with her, not when someone’s life depended on it.

His abdominal region was saturated with blood. Even though he was naturally pale in complexion, he appeared even more pale, evidence of significant blood loss. Questions whirled around her head but she could not ask them now. 

She dove into the ritual of healing him, cleaning the wound as best she could before she bound his abdomen tight, man-handling him as if he were a mere child. Brynja hovered over him for what felt like hours, she knew that the bandages wouldn’t suffice, and resorted to healing him by magic. It was her only chance. And Latro’s. 

As she knelt beside him, Brynja’s hand emitted a golden light. A swirling orb of pale yellow and golden flecks danced in her palm before she guided the orb to him, the magicka enveloping him entirely. She envisioned the inner tissues and organs sealing shut, while the bleeding yielded. 

After several minutes, Brynja closed her hand, causing the orb to disappear altogether. Though he was still pallid in color, Brynja could see the rise and fall of his chest had steadied. That’s when she turned her attention to Daro’Vasora. While she might not like the cat due to her sassy nature, it was her duty to heal and protect those in this company.

“What of you?” She asked.

The Khajiit had slumped against one of the half-collapsed walls, head rested backwards, a fatigue overtaking over as the adrenaline sapped from her body, a tremble crossing through her body as the fear had replaced what courage she had managed to muster finding her way to safety. She overturned her palms, crimson gashes bisecting across the width of her palms. “I almost didn’t stop it.” she replied quietly, not looking up to meet Brynja’s face. It was almost as if shame filled her, or at the very least the ordeal had diminished whatever smug defiance she clung to like a cloak. Daro’Vasora had survived all manner of confrontations and life-or-death situations and always came out with a grin, her blood pumping with excitement from outmatching her adversaries, but this… it was different. The cruel, twisted monsters that had haunted her imagination for as long as she could remember were somehow worse in flesh.

But she was alive, and she had faced her fear with what she considered ample courage, didn’t she? It gave her enough strength to regain her composure, somewhat. “I won’t be of much use if I’m not able to have steady hands. If it’s not too taxing on you, I’d be grateful for your assistance.” She looked at the others the Nord had tended to. She was not one that Daro’Vasora had pegged as a healer, but people were often surprising if you gave them the opportunity, she found. “I understand that it can be rather taxing.”

With a chorus of grunts following a steady rhythm of his crawling hands, Latro found himself beside the two others. Every other thought in his head begged him to rest while the others screamed at him to keep his thousand-pound eyelids open. “I have a healing poultice tucked in my bags somewhere, Vasora.” He breathed, managing perhaps the most tired and pitiful smile the Khajiit had ever seen. “If you’ll fetch it?”

He threw a pointing hand in the direction of his satchel which lay where Brynja had resorted to jostling him painfully. The Nords even took to the art of healing in a gruff and tough manner, he supposed. That might explain the abundance of scars on everyone in Skyrim, an errant comedic thought crossed his mind. Once she did and brought the bag back, he set himself to the near herculean task- for him in this current state- of rifling through his own possessions trying to find the sealed jars of healing poultices he kept on hand. “Your hands.” He offered his own out to her, tremors apparent in them. “It’s one way to say thank you.” Despite the tired smile and stalwart attitude to his own wounds, he of all people felt his slack tongue and slurred speech. Sleep, rest. He needed it. But his friend needed steady hands. And a thank you, at least in a form she might accept.

With an accepting nod, Daro’Vasora placed her quivering hands into Latro’s. Considering he had nearly been disemboweled and nearly looked like he was about to keel over, he remained courteous and concerned about others. It made her feel somewhat guilty about her usual selfish aims, but it could have also been her own vulnerabilities stemming from entirely too many brushes with death the past… gods, how long had it been? It felt like it had been a week since they’d been trapped down there. [I]Perhaps this is what soldiers speak of, about forming bonds on the battlefield.[/I] she thought idly, her hands burning in pain as she tried to hold them straight. “Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?” she asked, not forcing a smile as much as she thought it might. “You’re the one fixing my mangled hands and you got hurt pretty badly to make sure we both got back safely. I think we make an okay team, don’t you?”

“One for the songs, to be sure.” He chuckled and moved the thin stick he was applying the poultice with away from Vasora’s hands as he shook with a series of wheezing coughs. He took a moment to regain his composure and stifled a whimper before finishing off the last bit of work. “Your hands will heal, but I wouldn’t grip a weapon unless...”

Well, he had no taste for thinking like that now, even in the midst of this skirmish. “And maybe we should break even and thank each other then.” He smiled and leaned back to rest on his satchel. His stomach still held tenderness to it and he winced as he settled into his final position. “We shouldn’t be thinking of jumping back into the fray either way. I don’t plan to.”


Setting herself back, Daro’Vasora looked to the man with tired eyes. “C’mon. You can’t think that we’re avoiding anything at this point. I doubt the Falmer are going to screech at us,” her tone shifted to something much more raspy and shrill, “‘O great ones! You slain our overlord, please let us show you the escape and please accept this voucher for The Winking Skeever for free salmon bites and a tankard of ale for your troubles!’” suddenly, the Khajiit coughed into her arm due to the strain in her voice. “I’m just going to wrap up my hands and break every single fucking bone along the way if it means I get to breathe fresh air again.”

“I’ll watch you do it and sing a song about it after.” Latro smiled, submitting to his fluttering eyelids more and more as the time passed, “I’ll split the pay, of course. Seventy-thirty?”

“In my favour and you have a deal.” An impish grin crossed her feline features. “So, think we should tell Rhea about our discovery, or are we just cashing in on that one ourselves?”

“Who’d believe the tale [i]but[/i] her?” He said, trying to shift into a more comfortable position and wincing when he found the opposite, “Who in Oblivion’s planes would believe half of this shite?”

A lazy gesture towards Judena was afforded. “Our token Argonian, for one. I’ve actually gone to her for assistance in identifying relics before. She may be missing half of her mind, but what’s left is actually quite… well, impressive, really. I may or may not have pointed Rhea in her direction when she was looking to put together the expedition.”

“All these amazing people and I was hired because I like to play with bugs, mud, and mold.” Latro chuckled, “I’m sure not many people mind my lute though. It passes the time.”

“I say we tell her. Maybe when we get back, we can find some way to get down here and secure the site. Or some of the others can, I can barely stand sitting at my workstation in the entrance chamber and I’ve had my fill of this place already.” He offered.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve always found bards to be some of the most invaluable people around. Music’s good for one’s soul, especially when the other offerings are Nords talking about how great their names and beards are. I’m in accord, I’d rather someone else comes down here to look at our find, because goblins, Draugr, and all sorts of other nasties are one thing, the Falmer… I try not to think about them. I’ll find them interesting from afar, kind of like how I’d rather count the teeth in a dragon’s skull when the rest of it isn’t alive.” Her head turned. “And speaking of Rhea…”

The Imperial came over to the pair, crouching beside them, a relieved and warm smile across her comely features, her hair somehow still managing to look well-groomed despite everyone looking like they had been through a half-dozen street brawls in a monsoon. “I’m so relieved to see you two made it back. I have to say, you frightened me a bit, but it looks like there was nothing to worry about. You both were chosen because you’re capable. How are you holding up?”

The Khajiit raised her hands, palms facing outwards, the paultice shimmering in the magelight floating above. “Unlike Latro, I didn’t come as close to seeing what I had for breakfast again, but not for a lack of the Falmer trying. He was the one that kept that enviable dream from becoming a reality. You all looked like you had the time of your lives without us.”

Rhea chuckled softly, a flighty feminine laugh. If Daro’Vasora didn’t know any better, she’d think Rhea was about as genuine as a high-class lady of the night in some of the higher-class neighbourhoods of the Imperial City. Physically, she was without obvious flaw and her voice and disposition were immaculate. It bothered the Khajiit to some degree, although she wouldn’t be so petty as to ever bring it up. She didn’t give much care to the standards of humans, but she knew how humans, and elves, treated those they perceived to be things of beauty. It just made Khajiit, Argonians, and Orsimer kin when it came to being taken seriously in anything that was considered socially acceptable.

[I]It’s rather hard to get people to buy your relics when they think you stole them from someone who didn’t stop breathing six-hundred years ago. Well, if everyone’s going to think I’m a thief, might as well act… my, you’re being petty, aren’t you? Good. Means you haven’t lost focus.[/I]

“Those cuts look uncomfortable, but I can tell you’re in good hands. But yes, we had quite the skirmish on our hands, but as I’ve said before, we’ve a capable group among us.” Rhea said, placing a hand on Latro’s shoulder. “And how do you fare, Latro? You look like you’ve had quite the adventure.”

Latro looked up at her and smiled as genuine a smile as someone who was suffering from hypothermia, blood loss, and physical and mental exhaustion could. The only word that passed his lips was the only one that truly summed up how he felt, “Yes.” Still struggling to stay awake, he couldn’t know if what came out was legible, but in his head, his lips and tongue worked in perfect harmony to utter one last message in this wink of consciousness, “Vasora and I, we saw something down here… tablet… paint...”

“It’s much more interesting than he’s making it out to be.” Daro’Vasora interjected, shaking her head at the Breton’s state. 

“Well, now you’ve got my interest.” Rhea grinned, rising up. “We are down here to explore, and it sounds like you two have gotten quite the lead on the rest of us. If you can find us the way, I’d be pleased to take it into account. Who knows, maybe it’ll lead us to an exit.” turning from the duo, she made an announcement. “I’ve made a decision, everyone. We’re going to rest for an hour, considering no one seems to be in the best of shape to continue on. I’ll keep watch, I just want you all ready to continue on and your wounds dressed. No sense in rushing along if we can’t fight. I’ll be up here if you need me.” Rhea said with confidence, as if they’d simply reached a plateau after a long hike. Climbing up the rubble to the half-section of intact roof, she was out of sight in moments, presumably watching diligently like a hawk for further attackers.

Daro’Vasora shuffled over until she was sitting next to Latro, leaning into him and using his shoulder as something to rest her head against. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re just less hard than the rock.” she said as she shut her eyes and let out a long sigh.


[hr]

[I]Some time later…[/I]

Up and rested, the group set out, surprisingly rejuvenated from their brief break. While the pain and wounds still persisted, it seemed like everyone was as good as they were going to get and now that everyone was still together, there was a much more positive energy than before where uncertainty and fear ruled. Even Daro’Vasora seemed to have bucked most of her fears, likely thanks to her proximity to the others and having woken up without being dragged off by monsters in the dark. 

Faster than it felt heading the opposite direction, Daro’Vasora had found the dwellings her and Latro had discovered before and the paintings and carvings that she had deduced the Falmer made. “So, Rhea… feel strange looking at what might very well be the last coherent thoughts of the Snow Elves before they turned into savage beasts?” Daro’Vasora asked, a well-chewed bone from a bygone meal once again comfortably between her lips. 

The Imperial was speechless, for a change. She traced her fingers along much like Daro’Vasora and Latro had done before. After a spell, she whispered. “This is… incredible. This must have been done while the Snow Elves were taken as slaves, forced to live and work down here. Someone didn’t want them to be forgotten.”

“A fate no one wants.” Latro said, still not exhausting his store of awe at the sight of the huge stone tablet, “The words of either peoples are lost on me, but the pictures are all too obvious,” he paused, eyes looking back at the drawing of a Dwemer ascending to a gate, “Or most of them are.”

“Indeed.” Rhea nodded while crossing her arms and tapping her chin with a finger as she looked at the tale unfolding before her on the stone, “Obscurity is a death all its own.”

“How macabre.” Latro muttered in response before he looked around at his surroundings, “Appropriately, though.”

Daro’Vasora was busy trying to air out her water-logged journal to no avail when suddenly, she stopped dead still, save for her ear pivoting. A look of grave concern crossed her features as she hastily shoved her journal back in her pack and headed past the wall to look towards where she thought she heard a familiar and ominous sound. “Everyone, quiet!” She hissed, staring into the dark, her fingers pressing hard against the stone for support.

Shortly, steady serious of [I]thump. Thump. Thump[/I] was heard, followed by a bellowing groan that seemed to reverberate through the entire cave. The Khajiit slumped back against the wall, her teeth grinding against the bone, somehow audibly against the approaching sound. The cries and frantic footfalls of Falmer were heard once more, not far from where they were, and like a flash in the pan, a bright blinding light was seen a few hundred meters out, searching around like a spotlight. Sometimes as it passed, the silhouettes of scattering Falmer could be seen. “Everyone, listen.” Daro’Vasora said, looking everyone in the face with grave concern. “Latro and I saw whatever in Oblivion that thing is when we first got out of the water. I think it may be some Dwemer construct, but what’s important is that light is fatal. A Falmer got spotted by it and impaled, which I usually consider a good thing, but it also might mean any one of us.”

The groaning got closer, and vibrations could be felt; whatever the thing was, it was colossal and seemed to be moving along the ceiling. The light was starting to get worryingly close. 

“There’s a larger structure up ahead, I don’t know if any of you can see it in the dark, but it’s about 300 paces ahead and whatever it is is where the path leads to. I think it has to be safer than being out in the open like this.”

As Latro’s eyes grew more focused in the dark, he indeed could see a towering structure looming in the darkness like the hazy suggestions of mountains in the distance. “I see it,” Latro said, looking back towards the groan, “I see it, let’s go.”

“Let’s.” Rhea’s voice had gotten to the two just before she did, laying a hand on their shoulders, “Lead the way, Daro’Vasora.”

With that, they took off at a steady pace, Latro cursing at himself for barely being able to keep up with his still-healing body. They ducked behind cover in a large gazebo-like structure just as the light swept over the crumbled pillar they hid behind. Latro was grateful that the pair chose catch their breaths here, as he didn’t know how much of this running his legs could take before they refused to carry his weight. Something wet dripped onto his forearm and his features betrayed confusion. Holding out his hand, another drip splashed his palm. It was slick, almost viscous. “L-Latro...” Rhea whispered so softly yet so terrified.

Latro looked up and his eyes met the snarling teeth and quivering lip of a Falmer. Another drip of saliva tapped his forehead and he swallowed nervously. Another of the booming groans resounded through the vast chamber they were in and the Falmer moved to clamber to where he and his two companions chose to hide. The Falmer’s hand grasped Rhea’s shoulder firmly making her yelp and immediately cover her mouth. Latro gripped and twisted one of the thing’s ears and hauled it down to them behind the downed pillar. Not thinking of any other options in the half-second he had, he shoved his other hand down the thing’s throat before it could screech in alarm. He brought a fist into the air and down to smash its throat closed and shoved it away from him.

Latro held his fists to his chest as they quivered. He took solace in one thing, he was nowhere near being used to taking the life from anything again. Rhea’s pointing finger and Vasora’s eyes flitting about the shadowed nooks and crannies of the rocks and structures extinguished that much too quick for his liking. “More.” Rhea breathed, exhaustion and frustration apparent in her voice.

The groaning was almost deafening at this point, vibrations filling everyone's’ chests as the thing loomed perilously close. Knowing that time might have been running short, they had to move. “Only thing I can think of that would keep the Falmer out here where they can be caught rather than inside that structure is there’s a locked door or a blockage. I need to get there so we have some hope of getting out of the open. Any volunteers to keep the drooling creeps off my back, or do I have to wander off on my lonesome?” Daro’Vasora asked, plenty of urgency in her tone. 

"Do it." Rhea replied, having regained her composure after the shock of her unexpected Falmer encounter. "The rest of us need to clear a path and keep the Falmer away from us. Just stay out of the light!" she said, rising up from behind cover and moving past the next bit of rubble to one further along, being mindful of the searching light.