19th Sun's Dawn Jehanna Early Morning [hr] It was the same damn crow again. The same crow that perched on the windowsill and cawed incessantly at the break of dawn, like clockwork, that woke Fjolte from his sleep. Through drowsy eyes he made out it's form. He always felt that it was just staring at him, doing it on purpose. The noisy ringing from it's sharp beak over and over again until the Nord was up and shooed it with a hand, only to be left with a gift too. A lump of chalk white shit smeared over the sill. Fjolte frowned, but couldn't be too angry at the bird. Today was not a day for sleeping in, and as he looked over his shoulder and back at his bed it pained him to have to get dressed and leave the heavy sleeper behind. A beautiful raven haired and blue eyed Imperial woman. She was simply a visitor to Jehanna and Fjolte had been more than obliging to give her a tour. She slept on her front and he almost lost himself staring at the perfect curve of her naked back, half covered with the sheet and tumbling curls cascading across her shoulders. "Sweet, sweet Renee," he whispered, biting his lip as he fought off the temptation to wake her with kisses up and down her spine. But he had work to do. He dressed quickly, shifting the waistband of his trousers just enough to disguise any lingering arousal from the public eye until the moment had passed. He had to find Gregor -- with no idea of where to look at all. Raelynn had told him he wasn't staying at The Long Well, and to simply bring him along for the job as backup. He'd noted a frost at the mention of him, and he wanted to ask what had happened at the noble event, especially seeing as the deal seemed to have been closed. It took almost an hour of pacing, asking various Innkeeps whether they had seen the Imperial whom he described as being [i]"dark, handsome, and groomed by the God's themselves."[/i] When he came upon the last Inn in Jehanna, he was lucky to see that the man had reserved here - which was just as well, Fjolte had started to worry that he'd just left Jehanna altogether without a word of goodbye. "Yes, I have a Mercurius staying here, quiet man - likes his wine," the hawk nosed innkeep said after hearing Fjolte's description. "Keeps to himself, quite a pleasant guest to tend to," he added from behind a yawn before pointing in the direction of Gregor's room. Fjolte made his way to it, knocking at the door with his huge hand - he barely felt the hardwood on his knuckle even if the thud would say otherwise. "Gregor?" He called out, pressing an ear to the door to see if he could hear signs of life. "You there?" He followed it up after receiving no answer. The door swung open to reveal a shirtless Gregor, glistening with sweat and breathing heavily, a few loose strands of hair dangling in front of his face. One hand was on the door and in the other he held his father's sword, now relaxed by his side. "Fjolte!" the Imperial said with a grin and held out his empty hand for the man to shake. "I would hug you but I don't want to ruin your clothes. Come in, come in!" The room behind him was simple and pleasant, a little more messy than Raelynn's chambers but not nearly as bad as Razul's quarters. There was a book on the nightstand next to his unmade bed and a menagerie of fine tools on the table by the window; in the middle of the clutter was the mithril ring, the obvious target of a thorough inspection that Gregor had conducted recently. His coat and armor hung over a chair and a half-eaten breakfast plate was left discarded on the floor. After eyeing Gregor up and down curiously, Fjolte’s sharp eyes were drawn immediately to the discarded platter of fruit and bread - and having only had himself an apple after an hour of hard work, he made a line for it as he entered. “You eating this?” he asked - not waiting for an answer before he tucked in anyway. “Why are you so sweaty?” he asked, muffled through a mouthful already of bread. He was very curious as to what he’d been getting up to alone. Gregor chuckled as Fjolte began eating his food, but he didn't mind. He wasn't hungry anymore anyway. As for what he was doing, he wasn't finished yet, so he might as well answer the question with a display. "Sword drills," the silversmith said and took up position. The room was wide enough for him to perform five moves in rapid succession, the steel blade whistling through the air as he advanced one step at a time, parrying imaginary blows and beheading phantom opponents with powerful two-handed strikes. Once he reached the other side, he turned around and repeated the process. He was methodical and precise, devoid of the inspiration that a true master swordsman possessed, but rigorous in his clean and clinical application of the drills he knew, and there was a well-practiced rhythm and cadence to his movements. Fjolte simply watched him as he moved, stuffing his face with the leftover breakfast. Since Gregor was not done, he found himself to a seat, and sat spread legged and hunched over - plate in one hand, taking mouthfuls of food with the other hand. “Nice work,” he commented - appreciating the crisp style that the Imperial demonstrated. Fjolte had never been one to take to a weapon like a sword - not even a battleaxe felt right in his hands. He prefered close contact and showing off his acrobatic skills. Most didn’t expect to be bested by a man who didn’t carry steel in his hands, but Fjolte had long realised that his entire body was steel - he’d worked at it enough. Climbing craggy rock faces, swimming, running, lifting heavy weighted objects daily… He was as unpredictable as the wind itself. Something else about Gregor caught his eye now that the man was stripped bare of a shirt - a tattoo on his arm. He hadn’t recognised the artwork before and now seemed as good a time as any to enquire about it; “that’s a nice tattoo too, a beautiful woman,” he commented appreciatively, placing the now-empty plate onto the table behind him. If he wasn’t now bloated with the bread, he might have gotten to his feet to swing a fist or two Gregor’s way and join him in his dance. Gregor finished the rest of the drill and stood up straight, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "Thank you," he said to both compliments. He placed the sword against the wall and wiped himself down with a washcloth. A proper bath would have to wait until later. He turned his arm up so that he could look at the tattoo himself and a wistful smile toyed with his lips. "It's my wife," Gregor said softly and ran two fingers over the lines of the ink. It depicted her standing with her back to him, her raven hair being tousled by the wind that blew across the bridge that day, her dress similarly affected. She had one arm placed on the railing to support herself and the other was raised, her fingers splayed, trying to catch the breeze. "Briar." “That’s some detail that the artist captured on there, you must have sat for a while,” Fjolte remarked. He recalled Gregor’s marriage being something of a touchy subject to him, and he was immediately grateful to have not given some kind of boyishly crude comment about the woman before he’d known her identity - [i]because that always went down well.[/i] “I like it, it’s a classy piece… Suits a man like you…” Should he ask about the wife? Probably not, but he saw the way that Gregor looked at it and the words just came out anyway, “happier times?” He looked up at Fjolte's final words and the smile ran away from his face. The Nord didn't mean anything malicious by it, Gregor knew that, so he just sighed and nodded. "We were young, newlywed, and traveled often for my father's business. We had no worries, no dreams and little responsibilities. There was just time to be ourselves and to be with each other." He stopped himself there and turned his arm down to hide the tattoo from himself. "Those were the best years of my life." Despite the fact that there seemed to be resignation in Gregor's voice, Fjolte always like to believe in hope. He sighed, nodding along with the Imperial's story, staring somewhat longingly into the distance. He could imagine himself in that position too, with a woman special enough to take care of and travel with. Maybe one day he'd have a painting of a memory too good not to put onto his body forever. He stood up, rolling his shoulders to approach Gregor. "I always think that we've never had the best years. They're always the ones to come yet.” [i]She smiled at Gregor, at his question and shook her head before swallowing down the caramel. "No," she whispered back, "are you?"[/i] “Perhaps,” Gregor said, distracting himself by searching for his shirt. He found it half beneath the bed and put it on before turning back to face Fjolte. He clapped his hands together and squared his shoulders. “So, my friend, what can I help you with?” "Work," Fjolte said softly before clearing his throat, wiping his beard free of crumbs. "Raelynn sent me for you. To work with me. She said there's something nice in a tomb a day or two from here and she wants it." He rubbed his hands together, beaded bracelets clicking with the movement. "She wants us to get it." So she hadn’t forgotten about him. Gregor nodded slowly while he digested what Fjolte had said. It seemed like she was intending to honour their deal, despite the way their night had ended. Gregor had been upset and annoyed the whole day afterwards and spent it in his room, quietly fuming with a bottle of wine and a good book, but he had calmed down enough to accept her request. “Tomb raiding, eh?” he asked and smirked. “Like the Indyonus Jason novels? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Give me a moment to clean myself up and get dressed and then I’ll see you downstairs.” "Yes… Those novels…" Fjolte replied, with a raised brow and a shrug. He'd never heard of them. He did as was asked and left the room, closing the door behind him. He took to waiting outside of the Inn, basking in the early morning sun quite happily. The bracers on his legs catching the rays and shining even more than usual. His skin was coated in a light sweat around his brow as he pointed his face in the direction of the warmth, eyes closed. His breathing was so slow, as if he wasn't breathing as all - and all the world around his was quiet. Hands gently interlaced and in his lap, resting soft. Not an ounce of tension sat in him as he meditated, waiting for Gregor. The Imperial appeared after fifteen minutes, washed and groomed, back in his armor and with his sword across his back. As much as the clothes that Raelynn’s tailor had provided were stylish and comfortable, he felt more at home in his sturdy traveler’s gear. Gregor tried to break Fjolte’s meditation with a cough. “What else do you know about the tomb?” he asked. The Nord's eyes opened, and in his post meditative state he appeared more serene than Gregor may have imagined he could, and just as wise and thoughtful as a priest in a temple. His words came out low and soft but from a deeper part of his chest than usual. "It starts as a cave by the mouth of the mountains on the border, where the sea touches. The full moon of this night will steady the tide enough to reveal it." The way he spoke sounded almost like something from the pages of a prophecy, entirely out of his usual tongue - but they were simply the repetition of Raelynn's own explanation. He climbed up from his knees to his full height, "we should leave now or we'll miss our opening." The dramatic quality of Fjolte’s words weren't lost on Gregor and he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, limbering up like an athlete before a competition. “Sounds exciting,” he said with a boyish streak. “I’m ready when you are. Any idea how Raelynn found that place?” Fjolte smirked, he only half-knew her secrets and he knew better than to tell Gregor, but wanted to give him an answer all the same, "she reads messages in her tea leaves - sent down from the God's themselves…" He let that hang in the air for a moment before giving a laugh and slapping Gregor's back. "Truthfully I've no idea, but she has packed us provisions… So I'll thank my beautiful Lady for that," he said, his usual merry tone had returned and he opened his satchel to reveal a slew of various glass vials - in each different coloured liquids shining like jewels. Gregor peered into the satchel and raised his brows. “She’s an alchemist as well, then?” he asked, recognizing the liquids for what they were. He knew nothing about potions, however, and didn’t know what they were for. Well, except for healing, everyone knew [i]that[/i] one, and he did see some vials with red liquid. Surely, that could only be one thing? “Thank her from me as well,” he muttered. "Thank her yourself when we get back, or, she'll be thanking you, I bet." Fjolte shrugged as they headed out on their way, flipping the cover back over his satchel. "An alchemist, yeah she does things - mostly makes tonics and teas and perfumes. Occasionally the good stuff like this." He smiled, happy to have her help, as always. "I suppose now I have a mage up my sleeve I might not need them, eh?" He nudged Gregor with his elbow. So he was to see her again when they got back? Gregor wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He hoped that they could go back to the way they were together before he had gotten up to leave that night, and then he immediately felt guilty for hoping that. It wasn’t right to desire that kind of tension and closeness with another woman. But… he couldn’t deny how he felt. Gregor grit his teeth for a moment before Fjolte rescued him from his thoughts with his elbow. “Hm? Oh, yes, well, that depends on what those potions do,” he said, and looked sidelong at Fjolte’s face expectantly. "Red for healing, she made a blue thing for your magicka… Something or other," he muttered, trying to remember what was in there. "She stopped giving me the green ones after I err…. I may have abused them a bit," he admitted with a slight grimace "but she put two in today…" That prompted a laugh from Gregor. “I’ll make you a bet; if I guess correctly what you abused them for, you owe me twenty septims. If I get it wrong, I owe you twenty. Deal?” "I can't afford to lose twenty septims, Gregor," he answered quickly, a shit eating grin on his face. Sniggering, Gregor clapped him on the back. He enjoyed their easy camaraderie immensely. “Very well, I’ll let you off the hook. That’s actually quite ingenious, you know. It never occurred to me to use stamina potions for that purpose.” His smirk faded a little and he turned more serious. “Does it really work?” he asked. Fjolte had to think about it, and he did so by staring up above. "Well, yes and no. Makes you feel like a God for a short while I'd say. Nothing can compare to just… A good, frantic… thorough, intense, 'can't keep your hands off' experience though. No time for potions when that bell rings…" He bit down on his lip at the thought and shook his head, "you know the type." It was obvious, though it had already been obvious before, that Fjolte was an experienced man in the arena of lovemaking. Gregor nodded and thought back to a few of his experiences with the young girls of Bravil. He thought of Briar as well, on their wedding night in particular. And then he thought of Raelynn and winced -- the way she’d leaned into him after he had unbuttoned her dress. That same energy had been there, but neither of them had acted upon it. “I do,” he said and tried to bring his thoughts back to the purely theoretical application of such a potion. “Good to know. Thanks.” "Well, enough of that talk," Fjolte said, sensing something different about Gregor that him want to move away from it. "We're still a pair of gentleman afterall, doing gentle things, yes?" There was mischief in his eyes, and he already knew that Gregor was excited at the idea of searching for treasure. It would be even better for his Imperial friend if they happened upon some trouble along the way. A bandit or two, or something else. “Naturally,” Gregor replied, glad for the intervention. Fjolte could read his moods well and he was tactful enough to adapt to them. It was a rare skill, and one that Gregor appreciated. He didn’t like to talk about his feelings very much. With Fjolte he didn’t have to. “Though I don’t suspect we’ll be very gentle if we encounter any resistance in this tomb. I’m itching for a good fight,” he said truthfully. “It’s been a quiet week so far. That’s nice too, but… not what I’m looking for on my last adventure.” "Gregor the Great will have his day I'm sure," Fjolte jabbed. Not entirely sure how he felt about Gregor [i]itching[/i] for a fight -- even if it was just as he suspected. "It has been quiet, I thought I'd have seen more of you since the whole noble affair went to well, and since Razul was singing your praises the day after… But it seemed like Raelynn wasn't… In her best spirits after that," the Nord rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He wasn't sure if this was going to upset the apple cart, or if he'd simply been overthinking Raelynn's sourer-than-usual manner. "She's had a bee in her bonnet over something, anyway." “That’s my fault,” Gregor said and looked up at Fjolte apologetically. That much was true. “The evening went well. Raelynn and I made for a good team. I chatted Razul up about the art trade, warmed him up to the idea of selling paintings to Breton nobles, and then Raelynn sealed the deal expertly by wounding his pride and suggesting that we didn’t need him. It was like artistry, really,” he recalled with a smile, and then his face soured. Now for the lie. “But… well, there was this older Imperial couple on the boat and they brought up something about Raelynn’s past that quite clearly upset her. I couldn’t restrain my curiosity and later, when we were walking back to the Long Well, I pried where I shouldn’t have. She didn’t take kindly to that,” Gregor said. Aside from his wife, he felt bad about Fjolte as well. The man was obviously in love with Raelynn. Who was he to stand in the Nord’s way and distract her like that? And, considering his marriage, it wasn’t like there was a point to their flirting anyway. ‘May the best man win’ didn’t apply, because Gregor didn’t even want to win. Or… maybe he did, but he couldn’t. And so it was better to leave certain things -- a lot of things -- out of his recollection of the evening, and leave Fjolte to believe that Gregor wouldn’t be a threat to his chances with her. Because he wouldn’t be. He [i]couldn’t[/i] be. A white lie to keep everyone happy, that was clearly the best option. Fjolte breathed out a sigh of relief, “thank goodness that’s all — she’ll be fine soon then,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I was thinking it was something even worse than that, it’s not often I’ve seen her get this way. There’s only one time I’ve ever… caused her an upset that brought the storm in, shall we say.” He laughed slightly, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “But storms pass on their own,” he smiled, slapping Gregor on the back again. “That’s not comparable to my… fur paw,” he scrunched his nose, knowing it wasn’t the right word, but rolling with it anyway. “I’m glad it went well. She wanted to have me break onto his ship another night and… Well,” the Nord glanced either side of him, lowering his voice. “She wanted me to threaten him, if it didn’t,” he confessed easily, nonchalantly in fact. Gregor wondered how much Fjolte knew about the shipments she was actually peddling -- if he’d still be willing to do something like that if he was aware that the whole thing concerned weapons, and not art. Gregor himself had expected the revelation to bother him the next day, when he was no longer buzzed or in Raelynn’s enchanting presence, but even in his sour mood he had found that it didn’t. It was quite exciting to be on the other side of the law for a change. Or in a gray area, he supposed, because merely selling weapons didn’t bring any harm to anyone. It was up to the persons they were sold to whether those weapons were used for evil or not. That wasn’t Gregor’s responsibility. “Always a backup plan,” Gregor said. “She’s smart, she knows what she’s doing. I understand why you’re so impressed with her. Maybe I should recommend her business to my father, if he ever has any intentions of expanding into High Rock,” he mused out loud, working more to impart the notion on Fjolte that his opinions of her were purely professional. “Maybe you should,” he replied with an encouraging nod. He didn’t suspect anything of Gregor, nothing out of place or strange — Fjolte knew that his new friend was a married man, troubles aside, he was honourable, there would be little that Gregor could say or do that would change that opinion anytime soon, and any worry that Gregor had went completely over Fjolte’s head. He didn’t have the sharp senses of Raelynn - the honed instinct for trouble… ‘Smart, beautiful, sends me off on exciting adventures and then pays me for it. Always on time too, she’s a woman of her word - I’ll give her that,” Fjolte remarked with a confident nod. “A dream situation, honestly,” he sighed happily. “Made better now with good company of course, eh?” Gregor had tried to live his life as an honest man but the reality was that lying came easily to him, and he grinned with all the carefree enthusiasm of a man that absolutely wasn’t going to upset his new friend’s romantic aspirations. “You’re too kind,” he said, relieved that Fjolte appeared to buy his explanations and obfuscations without a hitch. He was only going to be here temporarily, he reminded himself. Best not to rock the boat. Then a sly smirk appeared on his face. “Speaking of good company, I heard you had [i]quite[/i] the time since I last saw you. Those Imperials on the boat I mentioned earlier? Do the names Quentin and Selena mean anything to you?” The Nord scrunched his nose, and a blank stare appeared, “I don’t think so? Who are they?” He asked, looking at Gregor to see the smirk. “Oh God’s what did I do?” He asked, bringing both hands to his mouth. “Is Raelynn angry at [i]me?[/i] I try not to shit on the doorstep when I drink I really do…” “Angry at you? I don’t think so, Fjolte, don’t worry, it was quite amusing for everyone involved,” Gregor said and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “You don’t remember waking up on someone else’s property and making it up to them by moving hay bales for the rest of the morning?” You could practically see the septim drop, as the ghostly white of his apprehensive face regained colour and grew darker with redness. “Oh, yeah, that…” he breathed out, relieved, before laughing. “I had no choice Gregor,” his shoulders shook. “Camile… She was spectacular. I mean-“ he stopped dead in his tracks and looked directly at Gregor with a look that all men recognised. “She was incredible. Just… Anyway… No details, gentlemen things,” he blundered through, wiping his mouth as if it would push the secrets back in. “Farmer Claudius’ wife… I heard her complaining about how loud the roosters were and well, I realised that… It wasn’t the roosters, it was… Camile, and we’d woken up the family and I couldn’t just… Oh Gods,” he laughed, laughing louder the more he thought about it. Gregor laughed too and he shook his head. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that they never learned it was Camile that made all that… [i]noise,”[/i] he said and elbowed Fjolte in the side, as if to say ‘well done there’. “Claudius was quite satisfied with your apologies and the work you put in that morning. He ended up telling the story to Quentin and Selena and they were the couple that Raelynn and I met on the ship. That’s where we heard it.” Feeling mischievous, Gregor added: “And Selena’s of the opinion that you’re free to fall asleep in their yard, something about rose bushes that need tending.” He winked. With quick thought and a wink, the Nord quipped, “just the rose bushes? I don’t mind an older woman,” he said aloud, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I might have to pay her a visit,” he joked with a long laugh before sighing, his tone flat. “She’ll have been embarrassed by that." “If she was, she hid it well,” Gregor reassured him. “And she didn’t bring it up again afterwards.” Talking about her so much brought back some of the things he’d felt that night with her -- things that had been relatively easy to put out of his mind over the past five days, but he was now reminded of in full force. “Let’s get her this treasure, whatever it is, and I’m sure she’ll be over it in no time.” "Yeah, let's just… Do that," Fjolte sighed, the enthusiasm in his voice dwindling as he tried to picture her face - and then tried not too. "Let's just push on, it'll be a few hours yet…" he mumbled, his legs moving faster in the direction of the tomb. [hr] By the time that the two reached the cliffs and ocean, the day had been well spent and night was upon them. A long trek, both with stretches of conversation and then equal stretches of absolute silence. Both men had things to reflect upon, and both needed nature and the elements to help clear their thoughts - blow away the settled dust with a sharp breeze for clarity, even if it more confronting than comforting. Fjolte gazed through at the image of himself humiliating the only person he cared to impress, with nothing more than a joke between Nobles. It wasn't always a nice thing to be the butt of a joke -- he didn't want Raelynn to think of him that way, the simple joker in a deck of cards when his potential was to be so much more than that. Maybe it wasn't Raelynn who was embarrassed. Maybe for the first time, it was Fjolte. He shook it free as he and Gregor walked through a ravine that the sea had carved through the mountain. It was steep, slippery, and salt licked. They could walk only one at a time for the path was so narrow and rugged. It made the Nord's bare hands sore to hang on to the sharp edges, but as he stepped through just some more, he felt it widen, and the familiar crunch of sand under his foot. As they made it through, and out onto the secret cove - only revealed when the moon was full, he couldn't help but notice how… Romantic of a scene it was. Under the moonlight the sand was white, caressed with blue as it took to the ink darkness of the night. It was beautiful, a secret semicircle under the height of the hanging cliffs. A slight swam over the sand too, reflecting spots of light, crystals that had been exposed from the worn rock glittered. It was a midnight paradise. It took his breath away, and Fjolte could have bathed in that feeling for a while had he been alone, but Gregor was behind him and they had a job to do - and they were against the clock too. Soon the tide would come back through and drown the beach and all of it's secret splendour in a cold, harsh abyss once more. He didn't want to be beneath that. "Come, Gregor," he said, pointing over to a clear cave entrance - marked by an archway of rough amethyst and quartz jutting from the rock. "We should keep moving unless you need to rest before we head in?" “Nonsense,” the Imperial said in-between deep, heavy gulps of air. The descent through the ravine had left him exhausted; his fingers were trembling with the exertion and he was quite severely out of breath. The mere sight of the cove alone made the trip worthwhile, however, and the natural beauty that surrounded them perked him up a bit. He was eager to see what the tomb that awaited them looked like. Who made it? Who was buried there? What, exactly, was the treasure supposed to be? Gregor clapped a reassuring hand on Fjolte’s shoulder. “I’m right behind you.” "Yeah, stick behind me I'll take care of you sweetpea," Fjolte jibed. He did enjoy the brotherly banter he had with Gregor, neither of them seemed to take a thing the other said seriously for the most part, until it was time to be serious - and then they handled their issues like men. With another joke, a drink, and a clap. The Nord was the first to step down into the cave - once again the ground beneath him was slippery - eroded so smooth it was like walking on sheet ice. The walls too, were hollowed smooth. Wet, and like clouded glass. Thick walls of clouded and smoked glass. He took one step that threatened to knock him onto his back - footing too hard to find, and if he was going to be bowled over he'd bring Gregor down too. He reached behind himself, trying to grab the Imperial to help steady himself but he saved himself in time, his hand finding a crack in the wall. "Careful," he panted, pulling himself back up, his fingers gripping the crack hard. If he'd had a torch to hold up against the wall, he might have had reason to fear any further exploration. He might have noticed that the crack was one of three, dragged through the rock… Following rather cautiously, especially after Fjolte almost fell over, Gregor kept his hand against the wall and took small, measured steps forwards. “What in the hells is this place?” he asked out loud, though he did not expect his friend to know the answer. Instead, Gregor conjured a fireball in his hands and sent it down into the cave. It screamed through the tunnel for a while until it impacted on level ground. It was hard to tell from this distance, but Gregor suspected that it was solid rock down there and not this slippery half-ice, or whatever it was. “There, see?” he said to Fjolte. “Just a little ways down and then we’re in the clear. Come on.” “The cold asshole of High Rock apparently,” Fjolte answered - watching the fireballs trajectory until it stopped, following the smoke laden direction with Gregor still behind him. Instinctively, the man held a hand out behind him - his palm flat, to prevent the Imperial from walking ahead. As they came to end of the initial tunnel, Fjolte realised he had been slouching, unable to stand to his full height until now and he felt the stretch in his back as he stood upright. It wasn’t nearly as slippery anymore and he found his footing quite easily. “Well then,” he began, surprised to see that it wasn’t nearly as dark as he’d expected it to be, the shine of the walls held the moonlight all the way through, lighting the way with an opalescent quality. “Raelynn’d be fucked if she had to do this herself, she’d never get through that shit in those heels of hers,” he commented dryly walking the designated path with little trepidation. He was too aware of the fact that time was against them. “So, any guesses on the treasure she wants?” he asked, making polite conversation. The idea of Raelynn even making it out to the cave entrance in the cove was already ridiculous, let alone descending into the underground tomb complex, and Gregor chuckled at the thought. "She didn't tell you exactly what she's looking for?" he asked, surprised and a little concerned. His eyes went around the fluorescent walls and his ears strained for any sound that could tell them what to expect. He thought he could hear running water. "How will we know that we've found what we're looking for?" “A plate of some kind,” Fjolte answered, immediately thinking of a plate of food - which, would be incredibly welcome indeed. “She said we’ll know it when we see it, in that kind of... “ he stopped, glancing down with a smirk, “mysterious way she does. When she gets an idea, or when she’s feeling excited...” He continued forwards the sound of dripping water becoming louder the more they explored. “You done anything like this Gregor?” he asked, with hopes of good conversation, before stepping forwards. The Nord felt a puddle beneath his feet that just seemed to get deeper with every step. “Shit,” he hissed, as before long he was up to his ankles. "Not quite like this, no," Gregor replied, distracted by their environment. He was glad his boots were waterproof when they began to wade into a layer of water. "I hope the tomb hasn't been flooded…" he muttered and conjured another flame in his hands so that they could see better what they were doing. Ahead of them the tunnel opened up into a vast underground grotto. The same half-light that clung to the walls in the tunnel spread across the high, vaulting ceiling of the cave like spiderwebs. Water poured out of the rock in several places, falling down for dozens of yards before ending up in the lake that spread from the mouth of the tunnel all the way to the other side of the cave. It was as beautiful as it was alien and unsettling. In the center of the lake appeared to be their goal: a structure clearly built by the hands of civilization, half-submerged, crafted from ominous black rock. Gregor was about to open his mouth to comment on the walkway he saw just beneath the surface of the lake that would lead them to the tomb-structure when something moved in the water. He doused his flame and ducked into the shadows of the tunnel, motioning for Fjolte to do the same with urgent chops of his hand. Whatever it was, it was huge. Gregor was reminded of a giant crocodile or something similar with the way it lazily cut through the stillness of the lake without disturbing it. "Shit," Gregor whispered, eyes wide. He'd fought Spriggans and wolves. This was different. He didn't know what it was, but his instinct told him that it wasn't any normal creature. Fjolte saw it too. The moving shadow under the already dark surface. “So, er… are you feeling like being brave?” he whispered in Gregor’s ear as they both got down and into cover. He peaked again, over at the treasure in the centre and noticed that there was a single hole in the top of the cave that was letting the moonlight pour in. Just one beam of light that hit did centre of the black rock. He found it a beautiful place too, but in the way that only meant it was threatening and dangerous. Beautiful to look at a painting of a place like this, hung on a wall in a safe, warm, and comfortable living space. It felt too daunting to be in it. The rock face here was slimy, he noticed as he placed his fingers on it to steady him. Algae and moss growing through the cracks and flaws in the surfaces. “What the [i]fuck[/i] is that thing?” he whispered again, his voice heavy with the stress of it. “I don’t think this is going to be like the bandit camp…” Before Gregor could say anything, the creature tipped over in the water and began to disappear beneath the surface. The angle of its descent meant that a long, powerful tail snaked out of the water, and like the arm of a man slowly waving farewell, it slipped into the black pool and the beast vanished from sight entirely. Without its movements in the water the cave took on an entirely unearthly quality, so dead and motionless was it. It was even more terrifying now. Where was the monster? If it was swimming around below the surface, out of sight, it could strike at any moment… "I don't know, but we need to distract it," Gregor whispered. "Otherwise I fear it's going to ambush us on the way there." He pointed at the moonlit monolith in the center of the lake. "Any ideas?" Fjolte brought his thumb to his lips, and furrowed his brow. “As much as I appreciate your sword skill Gregor, I’m the acrobatic one here. Fast too, I can make it to the.. Plinth plate thing…” he gestured with his hand in it’s direction. “Can you throw magic? Make a sound in another tunnel... “ he groaned, he wasn’t the best at thinking up plans - and he looked down at Gregor with expectant eyes. The Imperial was the clever one, and there was something about Gregor that had Fjolte believe he was certainly more cunning than he had let on so far. “I don’t want to split up from you,” Fjolte finally uttered. “We’re stronger together if that thing gets to us. Two of us, one of him. Why don’t we just damn well get the jump instead?” Looking around the lake Gregor could see that there were several tunnels and underground rivers that all ended up there, as if the cave was a nexus for whatever complex subterranean system had formed beneath the cliffs, but none of them were particularly easy to get to without swimming and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe there was merit to what Fjolte said. Sometimes the simplest solutions were the best. "We don't know where it is, though," he said and rubbed his chin. "But I agree that it's probably best if we don't split up. I can throw a fireball to the other side of the cave and see if that grabs its attention, and then we make a run for it together?" “We’ve got one advantage, that’s that we know that it’s here, but it doesn’t know that we’re here… We should be as sneaky as we can. Fuck, Gregor. I don’t know, is this damn thing worth it?” He whispered, looking at the strange rock again. He didn’t want to let Raelynn down but he also wanted to at least return to her. The creature was massive and unknown. He had his fists and a few shots of bottled vigour. He clenched his jaw, eyes scanning the room for any sign of it reappearing. Gregor looked at Fjolte with a steady gaze. There was steel in his eyes, though it was hard to say if he was brave or fearless. Raelynn's perfume hung in the halls of mind, thick and cloying. He could feel her against him and hear her whisper of gratitude in his ear. "I'll not have Fjolte Soriksen known as a coward," Gregor hissed and clapped the Nord on the back. "We can try to sneak across the walkway but if it senses our ripples in the water I'll drive it away with magic and we make a run for the island… tomb… whatever that is. If we have to fight it, let's do so on solid ground, and not in its own territory. Agreed?" Fjolte’s head tilted slowly and he shook his head, “I’m not a coward! But come on…” He closed his mouth and his nostrils flared as he eyed the structure as if he was working out how quickly he could reach it. “You’re not fighting it alone, no screaming heroics -- none of that shit. We fight it together, agreed?” The Nord didn’t wait for an answer, it wasn’t a question, not really. That was an order, and he made sure to be the first to skulk out from the shadows and make his way out across the tomb, quiet as a mouse. For being such an imposing and large man, he could be as quiet as a whisper. He didn’t even breath, just moved step by step - one at a time. Of course he wasn’t thinking of fighting it alone. Gregor rolled his eyes and followed Fjolte, doing his best to emulate the Nord’s movements -- the excruciatingly slow way he managed to put his feet down into the water, especially, was impressive. It barely reacted to the weight of him. Gregor looked down at his own boots and stifled a growl of disappointment. He wasn’t being quite as sneaky as Fjolte was, and his eyes furtively searched the surface of the lake for any disturbances. But his search was in vain. It moved below the water, staring up at the stone walkway and the faint, shimmering light of the rock dome beyond. Its eyes were cold and cunning, devoid of mirth or sympathy or fear -- only an eternal hunger resided there, for it was an immortal spirit of the Daedra cloaked in flesh and bone, a fragment of Mehrunes Dagon with a single purpose: to devour. The Daedroth was not like any other predator, however. It knew what these fleshy intruders were after. It was the same thing that any mortal that had ventured into these caves was after. For more than two hundred years, the hellish beast had made its lair in the lake, venturing out into the sea to hunt, or waiting patiently for anyone or anything -- horkers, sometimes -- to delve too deep, where only its jaws and teeth were waiting for them. If it narrowed its eyes and looked closely… yes, ripples, crossing the walkway slowly. It waited. They had made it over the walkway, the entrance to the tomb was only just big enough for Fjolte to squeeze through. He held the bag tightly so that the bottles would not rock and clink from within the fabric. It was so still, just too still, and through the gap was just a staircase. A simple staircase, spiralling into further darkness. The Nord looked over his shoulder to ensure that Gregor had made it. Where boots would shuffle on stone, his did not and he crept down the stairs like a shadow man, barely taking a breath as he did so but remaining ever alert. At the bottom there was only more tunnel, no prize yet. He looked back at Gregor once again with an expression that said more than words could; [i]what now?[/i] The darkness was so oppressive that even Gregor was beginning to question the wisdom of their perseverance. He hoped to all the high heavens that Raelynn hadn’t been aware of how dangerous the tomb might turn out to be. An intrusive thought popped into his head -- what if Raelynn had sent them here to rid herself of two disappointing associates? -- that wouldn’t leave and Gregor grit his teeth silently. Fueled by an irrational anger, Gregor moved around Fjolte and took point. The interior of the structure that revealed itself after they crept through the tunnel was one of the strangest things that Gregor had ever seen. Blocks of stone were arranged in asymmetrical patterns to create a three-dimensional labyrinth in a large, underground space; a path back up, but irregular and unpredictable. The cave above them had been natural but this space was carved out of the rocks by artificial means; the walls were smooth and rose to a flat ceiling at a perfect ninety degree angle, and it was illuminated by strange, blue lights hanging from the walls that Gregor couldn’t identify. Stairs, platforms and ladders connected the stone blocks and created a winding, meandering path towards… well, towards what? Presumably their prize would be at the top of the path, but Gregor couldn’t be sure. Why would the staircase have brought them deeper into the earth, only for this illogical design to lead back up again? Who had made this place? How old was it? The sound of running water was even stronger here and Gregor realized that a river flowed through the floor, cutting it in two, and higher up there were large, wide aqueducts that criss-crossed from wall to wall, carrying more water through the rectangular void in the bedrock. “What in Oblivion…” Gregor muttered. Something had changed in Gregor, Fjolte could feel it. He was on the cusp of anger or rage and maybe that was fueled by fear and anticipation of the unknown. Whatever it was, Fjolte was keeping a sharper eye on him now. It wasn't until Gregor spoke that Fjolte really took notice of their surroundings. He was a man who loved nothing more than sprawling mountains and dense forest - but this tomb took his breath away. He was speechless for a moment as he stepped out into it. "You ever seen anything like [i]this[/i]?" He asked, his mouth hanging open as he eyed up the same path back up. "We're going that way," he said -- pointing his finger in the direction before stepping hesitantly towards it. “Absolutely not,” Gregor replied. The whole place was a marvel of masonry and geometry in ways that he had never seen before. Gregor followed Fjolte as they headed towards the start of the path upwards. They crossed the river that flowed through the room across a small footbridge -- the water was streaming quickly, evidently on its way further down into the earth. Gregor wondered where it all ended up, and doubted that it was a mystery that would ever be discovered. Behind them, the Daedroth rose from the river -- hulking and massive, taller than a troll and heavier than Gregor and Fjolte put together twice over. The sounds of its movements were drowned out by the noise of the speeding water and it climbed onto the floor with slow confidence, saliva dripping from its crocodilian fangs… Fjolte hadn't seen a thing like it either, definitely not in Skyrim, and even he'd travelled around there too in tombs, tunnels, and caves. Nothing had been this incredible to behold. But he couldn't shake the feeling free of how wrong it all was. His gaze journeyed to the corner to see a shape - white and thin. A skeleton, the remains of perhaps the last person who'd disturbed the tomb. A poor adventurer who would be as eternal as the walls around him. As he focused on him, he caught a glimpse of his weapon too, a long steel rod that had seen better days - worn by the water and by time. It was speared into the ground beside him. The Nord said a quiet prayer, wondering if he and Gregor were the first to find him… What a grim thought. If they were to die down here too, how long would their bodies remain without visit? How long would their families mourn. He began to speak, to draw Gregor's attention to the bones. "We're not-" as he turned to look the Imperial's way his eyes shot wide open and his pupils so shocked by it they shrunk to the size of dots over his irises, "alone!" He finished, louder - at the glimpse of the behemoth of a creature behind them. So silent it was, it was damn fate that had Fjolte turn his head. That damn pile of bones were the remains of a hero of this hour. "Watch out!" He cried - stepping to Gregor's side, never away. What greeted Gregor when he whirled around, drawing his sword in one fluid movement as he did so, was a mass of teeth, claws and scales. For a moment he was sure that the impossible had happened and that the dragons had returned from the mists of time to hunt them down underground, and then his panicked brain made sense of what he was looking at. Or at least he realized that it wasn’t a dragon. Gregor had still never seen anything like it and he yelled in alarm while he did the first thing he could think of: blanket the creature in flames. There weren’t many animals in Tamriel that weren’t afraid of fire. The Daedroth not only shrugged off the assault of magical fire, it opened its maw and unleashed a belching gout of flame of its own, so powerful that it dispersed Gregor’s -- by comparison -- pitiful spell. The Imperial backed away immediately and pulled Fjolte with him, practically leaping out of the path of the fires of Oblivion. Maybe it [i]was[/i] a damned dragon after all. “Up, up!” Gregor yelled and ran, thoughts racing frantically. “I have a plan!” Fjolte didn't need to be told twice. It was climb, or be eaten by fire, he knew what he preferred. With ease he squatted down to his haunches, holding position for a second before he sprung up, easily clearing at least half of his own height in an impressive jump that landed against a partial platform which he then hung from, before pulling himself up. He would scale this easily, but Gregor couldn't. Not anywhere near as fast and Fjolte wasn't leaving him behind. "What now?" He yelled. The Daedroth was much quicker in the water than it was on land and even with Gregor’s lack of acrobatical climbing skills, the two of them were faster than the beast as it clambered after them. “Keep going!” Gregor commanded. “We have to use its weight against it -- find a way to make it fall!” He was confident that they had enough tools at their disposal between Fjolte’s fists and his own sword and sorcery. It was just a matter of execution. Much to his surprise, however, the Daedroth eyed them both warily as they continued to put distance between themselves and it and it leapt into the water of one of the aqueducts, which carried it out of sight and beyond the walls of the chamber. Gregor watched it go, panting hard after Fjolte had pulled him yet another level higher, and shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.” "You and me both," Fjolte breathed as they reached another level. "We have to find better ground. [i]FUCK[/i],” he shouted out. Not liking one ounce of the situation. If they ambushed here, the fall would be enough to severely injure them - they had to find a more advantageous spot. "What in Oblivion is that thing Gregor? It's like an Argonian fucked a bear and then that thing fucked a horker and they fucked the Argonian again--" he spat as he kept going. One foot in front of the other. Again and again. "Come on, faster." “I don’t know,” Gregor said once more in-between his heavy breathing. It was impossible to keep pace with Fjolte and he was beginning to regret not taking his athleticism more seriously when he was a youth. He was strong, of that there was no doubt, but not suited for an obstacle course like this. “But I don’t think it’s an animal. The fire breath, the way it looked at us…” Something clicked. “Mara’s mercy, I think it’s a Daedra,” he said breathlessly. “It must have been down here for centuries.” Fjolte cast a sidelong glance at Gregor, running his hand over his face to sweep away his hair. "How are we going to kill it? It shook off your fire like it was nothing." There was scorn in Fjolte's eyes as he kept running, jumping, climbing, and dragging Gregor with him. The beast on their tails. He didn't want there to be a dead end ahead of them. He felt almost like if he got enough height… He could jump down and tackle it. That was what he started looking for - a route to scaling the wall to get a jump - if Gregor's plan sounded like it wasn't going to work. “It’s got a tough hide so the flames didn’t work, but everything is vulnerable to momentum,” Gregor explained. He was practically dragging his feet with quiet desperation and his face was bathed in sweat, loose strands of hair sticking to it and getting into his mouth. He kept spitting them out, his arms too heavy to raise them to his face. “I know more spells, stronger spells -- a fire rune that detonates with force, ice spikes to drive it back, and there’s my sword…” He paused and took a deep, burning breath. “And there’s you. We’ll have to dance with it, maneuver so that it’s with its back to a drop, and then make it trip and fall. Does that make sense?” "We're going to die running from it at this rate!" Fjolte called out, stopping - rummaging through the bag to grab a vial of the green potion for Gregor. "Drink it. Drink it now or you'll never reach the top." With trembling fingers and shaking hands, Gregor uncorked the vial and threw back the contents without question. Almost immediately he felt an invigorating strength flood his limbs and he could breathe without pain. “Wow,” he said and looked at Fjolte with wide eyes. “She sure knows what she’s about. You know, I can see why you’d use this for -- nevermind,” Gregor muttered and stopped himself. The stamina potion was getting to his head and making him giddy. He had to focus. He threw himself after the Nord and found that he was able to pull his own weight again. “Let’s go, let’s go,” he said, both to encourage himself and Fjolte. Pleased to see Gregor in better shape, the Nord felt more hopeful about the inevitable fight with the creature. It only then dawned on him that Gregor had said it was a Daedra, he never thought he'd see the day. He didn't know what he thought… Only survival and blood now. Only fighting his way out and finding the prize for Raelynn and making it out before the tide came back in, down here - he'd lost sense of time, direction, and what was real. Finally they made it to the top of the steep path, and even Fjolte was feeling the sting and burn through his lungs - his face red and hands scraped - bleeding. But there was still fighting to do. "Gregor…" he mumbled out through his breaths as the Imperial got to level ground too. With a bloodcurdling roar, the Daedroth emerged from the aqueduct next to the highest platform just as Gregor scrambled to his feet next to Fjolte. There was no stealth to its movements anymore; it burst through the surface of the water with great force and launched itself across the gap between the aqueduct and the platform, landing with an almighty crash and digging its long claws deep into the stone to keep its footing. They were so high up and the Daedroth so large that the top of its head scraped against the ceiling when it rose to its full height. Every instinct in Gregor’s body told him to run in the face of such an apex predator, but the Imperial snarled and drew his sword again. The Daedroth spread its arms wide and roared again, declaring its challenge to the two intruders. “Shut up,” Gregor hissed and prepared an ice spike in the palm of his empty hand. Fjolte simply charged for the Daedroth - running fast and hard towards it, using a rock to build momentum, like Gregor had said, timing his jump as Gregor powered up his ice spike. The Nord flew towards the Daedroth’s side, with his powerful leg outstretched to hit it. He just wanted to get it to turn, so he’d annoy the thing like a gnat — confident he could move faster than it could. He’d annoy it, whistling kicks and punches while Gregor worked at it from the distance. The fear changed. He was no longer afraid of the thing, he was excited by it. Adrenaline coursed through him as he made contact with it’s scaled body - landing a vicious thud to it’s elbow before he used the same momentum to throw himself back - away from its claws. “Now Gregor!” Gregor obeyed and unleashed the ice spike spell, which slammed into the distracted Daedroth with great speed. Most of it shattered on impact, such was the toughness of the beast’s scales, but it recoiled from the blow with a loud hiss and scratched at its shoulder where the very tip of the spike had buried itself. The Daedroth turned to glower at Gregor and made to charge him, but Fjolte was in the way. Enraged, the beast dashed into a sudden shoulder charge that sent the Nord flying after hitting him square in the chest. Gregor’s heart sank into his shoes but Fjolte wasn’t thrown clear of the platform, if only barely. He wasn’t out of danger, however; the Daedroth came after him with slavering fangs and gleaming claws. “No!” the Imperial yelled and charged, all self-preservation forgotten in the face of his friend in need, sword raised high overhead and catching the blue light brilliantly. Recognizing the bright steel as something dangerous, the Daedroth backed away at the last second and evaded Gregor’s two-handed downward slash, and it was forced even further back as Gregor went on the offensive, repeating the same perfected, rhythmic movements as he had been drilling in his room. Until the Daedroth decided it had had enough and lunged forward with its hideous maw, forcing Gregor to abruptly drop and roll away, lest his head be crushed between the Daedra’s jaws. He hoped he’d bought Fjolte enough time to get back on his feet. It took a moment for Fjolte to find his bearings, he blinked fast as his head hung over the cliff’s edge, but his body kept him on the platform. The realisation of the drop sent his heart racing. The charge had knocked him for six and his eyes landed on another skeleton in the distance. In the brief quiet he wondered if that was Gregor and he was waking from the dead, centuries after the Daedra had attacked him. That thought was as fleeting as anything, and reality came back to him as the Nord drew himself to his knees, a sharp pain ran down his shoulder. That would have to be seen later, it felt almost as though the joint of his shoulder was filled with crunching sand. He had no choice but to take his own stamina potion, and he scuttled out of the way of the Daedra while Gregor danced with it. He was cutting through the air with his steel, and as the liquid worked its way through Fjolte’s body - he felt every muscle tense and his heart pumped faster. At his side, the body of another fearless warrior who had fallen. Was this one the friend or companion of the one down below? Laying at the side of this warrior was another tool, and in his current state, with every sense heightened, adrenaline flaring out of control, he took the tarnished steel into his hands and ran for the Daedra, who had managed to force Gregor to take to the ground. “For Sovngarde!” He called out, the blood of the Nords coursing through him, wild and untamed — magnified by the potion. He appeared at the side of the Daedra just as it was about to take another swipe at Gregor - Fjolte swung first, the old steel singing through the air until the flat hammerhead made contact with the face of the beast, powered by the amplified strength and resolve of the Nord. The Daedroth screamed in pain, part of its face caved in by the terrible blow, as blood and mucus spurt from its destroyed left eye socket and teeth dangled uselessly from its upper jaw. Gregor grinned and leapt back to his feat. "For the Emperor!" he yelled, invoking the battlecry of his own race, and swung his bastard sword at the battered monster. It caught his blade in midair, good eye turned towards him, burning with agony and rage. Dark blood ran down its arm as Gregor's steel cut into its fingers, but before the Imperial could react the Daedroth drove the claws of its other hand into his side. He gasped, eyes wide and mouth agape, as shocking pain lanced through him. Gregor could heal himself, Fjolte knew that much, but it was going to be damned useless unless he had the time to do so. He was reminded of the potions, and without a second thought, Fjolte shoved Gregor out of the way and towards the wall while the Daedra readied itself for another attack. He shoved the satchel too into Gregor’s arms. The fall would hurt him, but better that than he get hit again. “RED ONES,” Fjolte called out, his deep voice carried through the whole labyrinth. He dragged the end of the war hammer over the stone ground. It was an alien feeling - holding a weapon in his hands. After he’d only mused on such a thing earlier that day, but he needed reach and power. It was a kind stroke of fate that had left him such a weapon when he needed it. He adopted a stance to hold its weight, looking th Daedra dead in its last eye. “Oi,”he yelled at it, tapping the steel against the rock beneath him as if it were a bell. The creatures head cocked from side to side and it roared again. Fjolte went for another swing, his own back was turned to the edge of the cliff as he tempted the Daedra that way. He hoped that Gregor was alright - but too preoccupied to look. The Daedroth, more cunning than a low beast, recognized that going toe to toe with the hammer-wielding mortal was dangerous. Instead, it breathed a plume of fire at Fjolte, hoping to envelop the Nord and burn him to a crisp -- or see him fleering off the edge and into the chasm below. Meanwhile, Gregor repeated Fjolte's words in his mind, clinging on to consciousness, fighting through the pain, shock and blood loss to pull the healing potions from the satchel. His side was entirely soaked with crimson and a pool of blood began to form beneath him. His head was spinning and his ears were ringing. Would be become another skeleton here? He simply tilted his head back and dropped the contents of the potions into his throat, one after the other. That brought some vitality back to him and color returned to his ashen cheeks, the magic within the potions already working to stem the bleeding and knit the puncture wounds back together. He pressed his hands to his side and added his own magic to the mix. Fjolte needed him. It was one dramatic end or the other now, and Fjolte, threatened and cornered by flame or a fall took the option to drop, if Gregor had any chance to finish the deed or get out, it was this. “Ugly piece of shit,” Fjolte spat as he saw the mouth of flame open, he took one last swing, failing to land his hit before he fell over the edge of the cliff. The Daedroth approached and looked over the ledge, turning its head so that its good eye could see what had happened to its enemy. “Over here,” a low growl sounded from behind, and the Daedroth turned its head slowly to see the other man back on his feet, sword at the ready. The monster bellowed in frustration and charged, tired of fighting and eager to retreat with its prey between its jaws to a place where it could heal. Gregor dropped into a low stance and waited, adrenaline surging through his limbs. Every split second felt like an eternity while the Daedroth’s claws and teeth closed in on him. He remembered what his father had taught him about fighting against a mounted enemy. Using those lessons against a crocodilian behemoth seemed like a strange application of techniques, but he was sure that the same principles applied. Momentum, defense, evasion… Gregor breathed out and moved. He expertly spun out of the Daedroth’s path and turned his dodge into a devastating two-handed strike, a wide slash that whistled through the air with the promise of evisceration while the blundering Daedra barreled into thin air. Hector’s old steel came through and the spinning blade ripped right through its shoulder, ribs and abdomen, sending an arterial spray of blood across the platform. The beast howled in pain and its calculated charge turned into a headlong dash as it lost control of its own momentum, skidding across the platform and over the edge. It managed to hook the claws of one arm into the stone and held itself there through raw strength and force of will, fighting to hoist itself back up, the claws of its feet scratching uselessly against the sheer rock surface, finding no purchase. Gregor dropped his sword and raised his hands, still stained with his own blood, a great and terrible wrath etched upon his face. Each bolt of lightning more powerful and brilliant than the last, Gregor unleashed a barrage of violent magic against the Daedroth, the claps of thunder slamming into the walls of the underground labyrinth and echoing with great force. Gregor added his own voice to the noise and roared out his fury, pouring every last drop of magicka he had within him into the assault. Finally overwhelmed, the muscles of the Daedroth gave out as shock magic wracked its body and it plunged into the depths of the structure, bouncing off several bridges and platforms on its way down, each crash accompanied by a sickening crunch. It landed on the floor, nothing more than a limp sack of meat and bone, before dissipating into a cloud of crystals, its immortal soul banished to the realms of Oblivion. Fjolte hung from the handle of the war hammer with his eyes closed as the barrage of thunder and lightning ricocheted around the walls. It was as if they were outside, in the midst of a terrible storm. Each clap made him flinch, but in spite of that he could sense the danger fleeting. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the Daedra plummeting beside him, and he almost thought he would be wrapped in its body and dragged down with it... The pick of the hammer had held good in the rock. He’d thrown it in with enough force that it had left behind a cobweb of cracks against the glacial stone. Danger gone, he dragged himself up at last, his bloody and torn hand appearing first over the cliffs edge - landing on the flat ground with a loud slap. He heaved himself up, and when his weight was on the platform, he pulled free the war hammer, and looked at Gregor, panting. “It’s done?” “Oh Gods, you’re alive!” Gregor exclaimed, flooded with relief, and scrambled to drop to his knees next to the Nord. He helped to pull him fully onto the platform and sat back, nodding. “It’s done,” he said, still trembling and looking pretty pale in the face, but otherwise seemingly alright. “May it never return.” "Yes…" he panted, his own shoulder shaking and swollen. "I'm alive… Wasn't going to let you hog all the sweet gratitude…" Fjolte puffed out, slightly delirious from everything. Still, his hand moved and he gripped Gregor’s hand in turn, shaking it firmly. “We have… Get the plate. The tide… Soon.” “Right, yes, the treasure,” Gregor muttered and climbed to his feet, swaying in place as he looked around. As strange as this tomb was, whoever had constructed it had fortunately not gone to great lengths to hide the plate and Gregor found it, or what he assumed what had to be it, in an alcove in the wall, next to where Fjolte had unceremoniously dumped him to heal himself, along with a collection of strange and unrecognizable objects. Had it been an offering to the dead, placed at the end of a difficult climb? There was symbolic value to that, Gregor mused while he stuffed the white plate into the potion satchel, but who knew what this place really was? He returned to Fjolte and helped him back up. His magicka was spent but there was still one healing potion left in the satchel, and he gave that to Fjolte. “Drink up, and let’s go.” Unlike the stamina potion, when Fjolte took a sip of Raelynn’s healing tonic, he felt nothing but serenity flood through him. To the point that every drop of fury and excitement he still felt just seemed to be diluted in the warmth of the restoration the flooded him. His shoulder tingled, and the swelling went down - but it was still uncomfortable. He was sure it could be seen to by proper hands soon enough, they had to make their way out now — and he was all too happy to leave the place, and the memory of the terror behind. There was one thing he couldn’t leave behind though, the damned steel war hammer, and he slung it over his shoulder with that small flicker of Nordic pride burning.