In the Shadows

[Katastrophe]

Photo Credit: Keep to the Shadows by Isriana​

Theme Song: In the Shadows by The Rasmus​

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author's notes​

Unlike my other narrative play-through, The Hunted, In the Shadows will be told a bit differently. It will be written in the first person with much longer (and therefore, less frequently updated) chapters and will follow the main story. Please be aware that this story will contain graphic language and some adult themes, but nothing deserving an 18+ rating. There may also be spoilers for some of the game's main quest lines, most notably the Thieves Guild, so you've been warned. I will follow the game as closely as possible, but I will be taking some free license when I can, mostly in character development with NPCs. This story will also serve to showcase my Pure Thief Build, to some extent.

As always, any and all feedback and comments are greatly appreciated.

Table of Contents:
➤ Chapter One - The Claw
➤ Chapter Two - Bleak Falls Barrow
➤ Chapter Three - The Tablet

 

[Katastrophe]

Chapter One​

The Claw​

Daylight.

There are few moments in life where something so simple, so everyday, can mean so much. Every day, there it is, gracing us with it’s warmth and radiance. At night, that warm is taken, replaced by something cold and dim. However, our faith is renewed each morning as that familiar light breaks over the horizon, filling the morning sky with shades of purple and gold, putting on a similar show in the evening to remind us that it will return in equal radiance and glory. Though it was neither dawn nor dusk (in fact, the overhead sun meant it was more midday) the daylight before my eyes was just as glorious. It represented freedom and life, a life in which every day is now a gift and blessing from the Divines.

“Hold up!” The rough yet gentle voice of my Nordic companion called out to me in a shouted whisper. Off to the side, I saw him take cover behind a boulder and some foliage and I sprinted over to join him. Just as I vanished into the brush, a roar ripped through the sky and a shadow races across the landscape as above us flew a beast of legend - the kind of creature that existed only in the myths and fables of old, the songs of bards, and the stories of children. Above us, flew a dragon. Black as the night with a hide that resembled something of Daedric origin, we went unnoticed as it coasted across the hillsides, vanishing over the mountainsides to the north, disappearing from view. “Looks like he’s gone for good this time.” My companion stood up, brushing off his blue Stormcloak attire which had been thoroughly coated in dirt, mud and blood. “I don’t think we were ever properly introduced, unless you count the list for the block,” he said, letting out a small chuckle as he extended his hand. “My name is Ralof.”

“I’m Garret,” I replied, shaking his hand. He had the grip of a gentle man, one not hardened by war. I could tell because there wasn’t any competitive grip in it, leaving it nothing but a simple handshake from one man to his fellow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Garret,” he said, laughing. He took his axe from his hip and gave it a sharp flicking, crimson droplets splattering the rock behind which we had taken cover. I followed his gesture, cleaning the blade of my own axe. How many Imperials had I been forced to kill during my escape with Ralof? I hadn’t even bothered to keep track, to be honest. Some things are better forgotten. Ralof looped his axe back into his waist band and motioned for me to follow him down the hillside. It was a wonderful idea, considering I had absolutely no idea where I was. “There’s no way to know if anyone else escape, but we’ve got to clear out. Imperials will be swarming this place within the hour, no doubt.”

“Agreed,” I replied, having no desire to deal with any more Imperials for a very, very long time. “So where are we headed then?”

“My sister, Gerdur, runs the mill up in Riverwood,” he answered, his eyes scanning the land for any sign of movement. We weren’t on a road, but there was a definite path. The cave we had left seemed to have been used primarily by the local wildlife in combination with some sort of sewer system from Helgen. It was hard to say what our exit route had been, in all honesty. The whole thing just seemed like one bloody blur. “I’m sure she’ll be able to help you out.”

“Help me? What about you?” It was odd to here Ralof talk in a manner as though he were leaving my company, but what had I expected? He was clearly a soldier caught in this civil conflict - his duty was to his home, not a stranger. I had to respect that. Still, the man had in no small way saved my life. If not for him, I would have died trying to escape Helgen, of that I’m sure.

“I have to return to Windhelm as soon as I can. You should consider joining up yourself - you’ve seen the Empire’s true face, today.” Admittedly, he had a point, but I was no warrior or soldier. I was hardly anything, really. At least, nothing worth mentioning to Ralof. I told him I would consider it, but I didn’t think it’d be in my best interest. “If anyone knows what the coming of the dragon means, it’ll be Ulfric.” I knew little to nothing about this conflict to give that statement any validity. I had heard stories, obviously - how could you not? Ulfric had lead some sort of ruthless campaign against the Reachmen in Markarth - he had slaughtered everyone. Part of me hated him for this, being of Breton blood myself, but I lack any real blood ties to the Reachmen for me to truly care. After that, I knew he had used the power of the dragon shouts to kill the High King. By ancient Nord law, Ulfric was to be the new High King, but the Empire disagreed. They claimed murder while he claimed fair combat. Add to this the late King’s broken promise to allow Talos worship in Markarth and you have all the necessities for conflict.

“See that ruin up ahead?” I stopped and followed Ralof’s point out over the river to a wicked looking ruin nestled in the mountains where the dragon had flown over. At some point in my train of thought, we had came back onto the road. “That’s Bleak Falls Barrow. I never could understand how my sister could live in it’s shadow.” Even from this distance, the Nord had a point. In my time, I had delved into a few dungeons and crypts but this place had something more to it; something evil. “If we’re ahead of the news, we should be fine so long as we don’t do anything stupid. If we run into any Imperials, just let me do the talking, alright?”

“No offense Ralof, but I don’t think your words will outweigh your dress.” At that, Ralof had a good laugh, shaking his head.

“Perhaps you have a point there. Regardless, I’m glad you came with me - Riverwood isn’t much further.” Our conversation, however, had distracted Ralof’s previous observations. There was a howl somewhere off the road and almost instantly, two wolves descended down the hillside upon us. The one in the lead leapt from the last elevated rock towards me, giving me no time to draw my axe. I reached out to grab the wolf by it’s front paws and fell backwards, rolling onto my back against the hard stone of the road, my leg coming up to kick the wolf behind me as I completed the most painful reverse summersault of my life. I had barely gotten onto my hands and knees when the second wolf was lunging towards me with it’s jaws wide open, long, thick strands of saliva dripping from the sides of it’s mouth. I reached out with my hands and managed to grab the sides of the dog’s head, rolling onto my back as it pushed harder, jaw snapping and paws thrashing. There was a quiet thwip as an arrow from Ralof’s bow struck the wolf in it’s side. There was a brief moment when it recoiled and I didn’t hesitate to swing my leg out and kick the beast away, spinning up onto my feet and drawing my axe in time to swing it up and into the neck of the first wolf as it came at me for the second time. It let out an airy gasp and bark before it’s black eyes seemed to glass over and it’s limp body crashed to the road. As I turned to face the second wolf, I saw it already in air, leaping towards me. There was another thwip and I rolled my shoulder as the dead wolf crashed against me, sliding off to lay head-to-head with it’s partner.

“Talos, that was close.” Ralof sprinted over, throwing his bow back over his shoulder. “Are you alright, Garret?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I was a bit occupied poking the small bits of gravel that had embedded themselves into my back and limbs. After the Imperials had captured me, they had stripped me of all my belongings, even my clothes. They had given Lokir and me a pair of ragged clothing that smelled of death. I had assumed these had been used as some sort of execution garb. No doubt my clothes and weapons were being itemized and inventoried by some puffed up Imperial bean counter. “Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, friend.” With a shared nod of thanks, we continued down the road. Fortunately, Ralof had been right and Riverwood wasn’t much further at all. The town was small and rather open, to say the least, but it was better than other towns I’ve seen. There was a stone wall that provided protection on three sides of the town, the fourth open to the river where the lumber mill was. There were a handful of homes here, but nothing fancy. An elderly woman was sitting on the porch of the first house, a chicken roaming the street with a hold guard not far behind it. There was the steady pounding of a blacksmith’s hammer and a Bosmer walked past with his arms full of wooden logs. “This is Riverwood,” Ralof said, the pride in his home showing through his smile. “Looks like nobody knows what happened yet. Come on, Gerdur is probably at the mill.” Ralof motioned for me to follow him as he headed across a small plan bridge, following the Bosmer towards the mill.

“A dragon!” cried out the elderly lady, her attention directed at fair haired Nord who had been walking away from her. “I’m telling you, I saw a dragon! It flew right over the Barrow!”

“I can’t indulge your fantasies right now, mother,” the bard replied, turning back and giving the older woman a small stroke of her hair. “I have to go to work now, so enough of this dragon nonsense. We can’t have the whole town thinking you’re crazy.”

“But I saw it!” The Nord ushered his mother inside and I turned my attention back to Ralof. The Bosmer had approached a pile of wood near a chopping block and dropped them to the ground, beginning the slow process of chopping it up into more manageable pieces. As we rounded the corner of the mill, a Nord woman hunched over a table came into view.

“Gerdur!” Ralof quickened his pace and I matched it, doing well to stay behind however.

“Mara’s mercy, is that you Ralof?” she called out, walking briskly over to meet her brother. “Is it safe for you to be here, brother? We heard Ulfric had been captured...”

“Gerdur, I’m fine,” he replied, his tone much more soothing than what I was used to. “At least, now I am.” He threw me a small glance over his shoulder and I smiled, still feeling incredibly out of place.

“Are you hurt? What happened?” Her eyes had fallen to the few splattered blood stains that adorned Ralof’s otherwise blue uniform. “And who is this?” she asked, looking at me. Ralof looked over his shoulder back at me before turning back to his sister.

“He’s a friend, and I owe him my life.” He gave me a smile which I returned before turning back to his sister, his tone switching back to the serious one that I had come accustomed to. “Is there anywhere we can talk? There’s no telling when news from Helgen will spread to the Imperials.”

“Helgen? Has something happened?” Ralof gave her a look and she nodded. “You’re right: follow me.” She turned and began leading us away from the mill, towards a more secluded but open spot at the end of the small island on which the mill had been built. “Hod! Come here a minute - I need your help!” she yelled out to the man on the mill above.

“What is it, woman?” the man’s voice shouted out, his voice punctuated by small grunts as he continued to work. “Sven drunk on the job again?”

“Hod, just come here!” I turned to look back at the mill and a Nord dressed in white became visible over the equipment.

“Ralof? What are you doing here?” he asked, spotting my companion. “I’ll be right down!” Gerdur continued to lead us to a lone tree at the end, the shadow of which encompassed two large stumps. Gerdur took one while Ralof and I sat on another. There was a flurry of movement to the side and I turned to see a young boy and a dog come dashing across another plank bridge from the main part of town.

“Uncle Ralof!” The boy immediately dove into a series of questions regarding Ralof and his equipment, his involvement in the war and other such matters. Typical childhood questions when dealing with someone that you perceive to be your idol. As he answered and talked to the boy while we waited for Hod to join us, I was reminded of the man’s handshake. Here was a soldier in the midst of a war who had not yet been hardened by it. In my experiences, I’ve known many soldiers and warriors, most of which are people who fight for the sake of fighting. Their handshakes are hard and challenging, but Ralof was different. Here was a man who fought because he believed in something bigger than himself and it was only through this sacrifice that he could truly defend it. This man would die for the things he cared about like his family and nation because that is where his loyalties lied. To him, there was no King or Empire - there was the pride of his nation, of Talos, and of himself. As Hod approached, Gerdur dismissed the child and sent him to watch for Imperials from the road we had arrived on.

“Now, Ralof, what’s going on?” Hod asked, stepping up to stand beside Gerdur. He gave the two of us a look over, his eyes glancing between the dirt and blood stains. “You two look pretty well done in.”

“The news you heard about Ulfric is true,” Ralof answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “We were ambushed outside Darkwater Crossing. It was as if they knew exactly where we’d be.” At this, his tone became low and suspecting as if their betrayer lurked in the bushes. This part I didn’t know. I had been working as usual when the Imperials descended upon my small camp out in the woods. Lokir had approached me seeking assistance in stealing a horse, hoping to make for Hammerfell. It was our misfortune that our mark happened to be not far ahead of the Imperials that had captured the Stormcloaks. He wasn’t an Imperial himself thankfully or else we probably would have been killed on the spot. “That was about two days ago.” He looked up to me and I nodded a small confirmation. I wasn’t entirely sure myself, but that sounded about right. “We stopped in Helgen this morning, all lined up for the headsman’s block.”

“The cowards!” cried Gerdur, clenching her fist.

“They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial,” Ralof added, shaking his head. “Treason for fighting for your own people... but then, as my friend here was laying his head to rest, a dragon attacked!”

“You don’t mean a real, live-” Gerdur began, her disbelief palpable.

“I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there. We’d be dead if not for that dragon, allowing us to escape in the confusion.” It was interesting for me to ponder that notion that a few seconds either way, and I very well could have been killed. If not by the headsman’s axe then by the hellfire that dragon had used to scorch the town. “Are we really the firs to make it to Riverwood?” Gerdur looked to Hod who nodded.

“No one else has come through the south road today,” she said.

“Good,” he replied, sighing. It was a good thing - we needed to stay ahead of the news, wait until all those that had been at Helgen were found or otherwise presumed dead. Would I be a fugitive of the Empire from here on, or would I be free to go since my name hadn’t been any their list of beheadings for that morning? “I don’t want to bring you any danger, Gerdur, but perhaps we could lay up for awhile...?”

“Of course, Ralof,” she said, smiling. She stood up and placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Let me worry about the Imperials for once.” She smiled, extending the smile to me. “And of course, any friend of Ralof is a friend of mine.” She rummaged into the pocket of her clothes and handed me a small key on a thin piece of twine. “Here’s a key to our house, should you need a place to stay.”

“Thank you, Gerdur.” I put the twine around my wrist and put a knot into it to keep it tight. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Actually, there is something you could do for me; for all of us.” I nodded for her continue. “The Jarl in Whiterun needs to know about this dragon. Riverwood is defenseless. If you can persuade him to send some troops to help us, we’ll call it even.” I gave a small chuckle, expecting something far worse or challenging.

“You have a deal, Gerdur.”

“Thanks you, sister,” Ralof added, standing up to give her a hug.

“We ought to get back to work, but... did anyone else escape?” She asked, taking a few steps back towards the mill. “Did Ulfric...”

“Don’t worry,” he answered, this time it being his turn to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he made it out alright. It’ll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak.”

“Well, I’ll show them to the house, where everything is...” Hod trailed off, hitching up his pants with a sly smirk.

“You mean drink up all of our mead,” Gerdur said with a grunt of disapproval. “Take care of yourself, brother.” With that, Gerdur headed off to the mill to do the work that Hod obviously had no intention of doing himself. Ralof stood up, clapping a hand against my back, giving me a firm push forward behind Hod.

“Come friend, let us see the house!” He gave me a small wink as he said this and I couldn’t help but laugh. Hod led the two of us through the town to their home in the back where we all took a seat at their table and began drinking. If there’s one thing that Nords to right aside from bashing in the skulls of anything that moves, it’s brewing and drinking fine beverages such as mead. Truth be told, I was never much for drinking. While fine in moderation and amongst the right company, drinking excessively can easily lead to your death. Back in Cyrodill, I had spent a few nights at a pub called The Grey Mare. A companion of mine (his name escapes me) and I had just completed a job, so we went to the Mare to celebrate. He began to drink long after he was drunk. Long story short, the poor man vomited onto an Orsimer’s boots, prompting him to crush my companion’s skull against the stone street outside. I didn’t drink for several months after that. It didn’t take more than a few hours for Hod and Ralof to be drunk to the point exhaustion and it was time to get down to business.


The thing about being a thief is you can’t be stupid. Stupid thieves are dead thieves, and that’s fine by me. Once you get caught, people suddenly become aware of the fact there are thieves in the area - that they can actually be targeted. So not only does the missed mark suddenly beef up their own security, but so too does their neighbors. Next thing you know, the whole town is keeping their doors locked and their valuables in secretive, also locked, chests and you’re spending half an hour just trying to snag a damn necklace. For that reason, I don’t tolerate having my intelligence insulted. I’ve been in the business of thievery for as long as I can remember, and I never get caught. Why? Because I’m not a damned idiot!

The trick to being a successful thief is knowing when and what to steal. You never steal large items like suits of armor unless you have a well thought out plan as to how you’re going to get away with. It’s best to go with what you can fit in your pockets that has value. Obviously, gold coin is always something to take. Jewelry and gemstones are also prime targets. The trick is that you want it to be something you can either use or carry easily. It’s a rule of thumb that I often refer to as the “weight to profit ratio”. Like I said, I’m not an idiot. To be successful, you have to study the market - what sells and for how much. A gold necklace can net you about as much as a low quality suit of armor for much less hassle. You can’t exactly fit an entire breastplate down your pants, now can you?

However, there really wasn’t much in Gerdur’s house that was worth taking. A few small furs and gold coins were all of note. Ralof had a few potions that I was confident his drunken self wouldn’t need in the morning. With the house thoroughly raided, in my opinion anyways, I headed into town. There was a house off in the back that had a few spare arrows, furs and a fine wardrobe to plunder. Call me shallow, but I enjoy looking good. That and I really wanted to ditch the rags I had been forced into since Helgen. The house just in front of that really didn’t have much but this place wasn’t exactly screaming wealth. I thought of burgling the blacksmith’s house but I could hear movement inside.

So, to review the rules...

1. Don’t be stupid.​

2. Size is not relative to value.​

3. Never rob a house when someone is home.​

I decided to check in at the local tavern, a place called The Sleeping Giant. It was fairly standard as inns go: the keeper behind the counter, the help, the town drunk and a bard. At this moment, the help was chewing the barkeep out about how their mead was going bad, so I decided not to get anything to drink. I normally prefer to sit and drink and pick some pockets but I could already tell this was going to be dud. The bard, however, approached me not long after I had entered and his song had finished - a decent rendition of Ragnar the Red.

“Excuse me, sir?” he asked, stopping just shy of ‘creepy’ distance. “You’re new in town, correct?”

“Aye, that I am,” I answered, doing my best to act natural, as they say. “But I’ll only be in town for a bit, I’m afraid. I have business in Whiterun.” It’s always good when you’re drifting to have some sort of alibi for why you’re in town, why you’ll be leaving soon and, if possible, when. People are fairly believing of strangers who seem respectable enough and if you can sync everything up nicely, you won’t become a suspect until long after you’re gone and with the goods. There’s a fine line, however, between blending in and being known and walking that line is an art form in and of itself.

4. Have an alibi.​

​

“Even better,” he said, smiling. He reached into his pocket, producing a small, folded piece of parchment. “I’ll spare you the details, but there’s a woman, Camilla, whom I’ve been courting for some time. However, Faendal has been spending far too much time with her. I’d like you to give her this letter and say it’s from him. Can you do that?”

“What’s in it for me?” I’m not one to do such menial tasks unless there’s proper compensation. The bard hadn’t been suspecting this one, which was a shock to me, so he considered it for a moment before snapping his fingers, his eyes alight.

“How does a day’s worth of my tips and any favor you need sound, friend?” Though I doubt he made much in tips at a place like this (and with what talent he possessed), the favor sounded useful. Favors can quite often be worth more than any treasure you could possibly obtain. There was once a man in High Rock who looked surprisingly like me. He had managed to wrack up quite the gambling debt that he could no longer afford and, being a spineless coward, had no hope of losing the thugs that were set on beating their winnings out of him. He had managed to spot from his his house outside of town before anyone else and made his proposal: if I set to ruffing these thugs up to the point that his debt was forgotten, he’d ‘owe me one’. I agreed and told him to meet me back at his home just after sunset and he could return the favor. I went in and ruffed them up and spent the evening robbing the town blind. Everything that wasn’t bolted down was put into a sack, but I kept the real goodies on my person. At the end, I let someone see my face and headed back to the house where I gave the man the sack and told him that it had been my traveling gear. I wanted to leave it with him for the night. He agreed, and I was gone, leaving him to be arrested a few minutes later.

“Sounds fair enough, a favor for a favor.” I smiled, taking the letter and shaking the man’s hand. We’ll just consider that gold a tip of my own, eh lad?” He nodded and I promptly turned out of the not entirely worthless tavern and back into town. Night was beginning to fall and I wanted to be out of here by morning. I figured I could head to Whiterun and do that favor for Gerdur and then go from there. I’m not a bad guy, really. How I make my living is just seen as... questionable.

That left only the biggest mark, the general store. In my experience, general stores are often your best sources of large hauls as they carry the most variety in goods and sometimes the most valuable. The downside is stores are often meticulous about their inventory and once they notice things are missing and that you’re conveniently out of town, you’ll be in trouble. Riverwood, however, is a small town and one that I had no intention of returning to. Surprisingly, the door was still open. You might consider it breaking my third rule by entering, but this is deferent - it’s always better to examine marks before actually committing the burgle so that you’re more efficient. The last thing you want is to waste time trying to find things worth your time. As I approached the door, I could hear arguing from inside.

“Well one of us has to do something!” There were two people in the room, a male and female. The man was behind the counter, the woman was the one yelling. They had the air of a bickering couple.

“I said no!” exclaimed the man, slamming a fist on the countertop. The iron helmet wobbled, the light from the candles flickered. “No adventures, no theatrics and no thief-chasing!” Perhaps now wasn’t a good time after all...

“Well what do you plan to do then, hm? Let’s hear it!” The woman was quite visual in her arguing, her arms flying up around her as she continued to yell.

“We are done talking about this!” It was then that the man’s eyes finally noticed me, standing silently just inside the doorway. “Oh, a customer...! Sorry you overheard that.” He gave a jerk of his head to the woman he shook her head, scowling with lips pursed, but she let it go and moved to take a seat at the table by the fire. I took a quick glance of the room as I approached the counter, trying to take it all in at once. There wasn’t a whole lot to be had in plain sight - mostly just a few low quality armaments, plenty of food and drink, but a handful of potions caught my eye. I could also see that there was a second floor but I doubted much was up there. A lot of shops were actually converted housing, the store taking up the first floor while living quarters were often sectioned off or on another floor. It was really a 50/50 split as to whether or not the real loot was up there or if you’d just find a bunch of clothes and silverware.

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” I said, giving the man a large smile. I had gathered a variety of things from my burgling as well as the excursion through Helgen and I would no doubt need a much different variety of gear to proceed on. “If you don’t mind my asking, what was that all about?”

“Oh, well, y-you see,” the man began, stuttering. It was obviously an uncomfortable subject for the man, but not one that was off the table for discussion. “We did have a b-bit of a... a break-in the other night... but we still have plenty to sell! The robbers were really only after one thing.” Again, Rule #1: Don’t be stupid. Though they hadn’t been caught, these burglars had stolen something that obviously was very important or at least immediately noticeable.

5. Avoid things that will be missed quickly.​

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I was really just sorry that someone was making my life more difficult. “Do you mind if I ask what was stolen? Perhaps if I see it, I can return it?” Or keep it, whichever...

“It was an ornament, solid gold,” he began, instantly having my attention. “It’s in the shape of a dragon’s claw, but I doubt you’ll find it. The thieves headed up to Bleak Falls Barrow.” In my life, there are few instances where the world just seems to loop together, guided by the strange hand of fate or destiny. I’ve also come to learn that destiny can be a fickle bitch.

“Perhaps I can retrieve the claw for you?” It was something worth asking only because the outcome could only improve my current situation. I already knew what the mark was and where it was. Perhaps there could be some added value here.

“Would you?” he asked, his eyes glinting like gemstones. “I’ve got some gold coming in from my last shipment - it’s yours if you can bring my claw back!” Jackpot.

“This is your plan?” scoffed the woman from behind me. She obviously doubted my ability.

“Yes, and that means you won’t have to go,” the shopkeeper sneered back, smiling.

“Oh, really?” she said, standing. Any man could note her pose and tone, a state of being shared by all women who are accused of being wrong. If I were to give you a list of rules for women, the first rule would be ‘So long as you are the man, you are always wrong’. “Well, I think your friend here could use a guide.” I had to admit that she had a point, however small. I knew where Bleak Falls Barrow was as Ralof had pointed it out to me earlier (that destiny thing, remember?) but as for actually getting there, I had no idea.

“Wha- no... I...” the man stammered, apparently reading my mind. “Oh, by the Eight, fine! But no further than the edge of town!” At this, the woman shot the man a smirk before standing up, stopping as I held up my hand.

“Before we leave, perhaps we could do some business?” Once more the man’s eyes gleamed like diamonds and we spent the next few minutes talking shop, bartering prices and exchanging goods. All in all, I made away with a fairly generous amount of coin in my pockets and a few potions. Never underestimate the power of potions - they’re amazing things. When all was concluded, I motioned for the woman to follow me out the door and into the night.

“The road to the Barrow is just across the bridge at the edge of town,” she began, obviously enjoying this. “You can see it from here, though - just over the buildings.” She pointed up to the black, skeletal structure that stood out against the white, snow covered mountains. I nodded and she began leading me through town, continuing her story. “Those thieves must be mad hiding up there, really. Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls and who knows what else!” Traps I could handle, but trolls...? I could hope she was only exaggerating but really, she had to have been. No half way intelligent group of thieves would claim home to one currently in possession of a troll. That, or they killed it, which I doubted. “Still, I wonder why they only took Lucan’s claw... I mean, we have plenty of other things worth just as much coin.” Somehow, I doubted that but I didn’t want to disclose that with her. Perhaps the entire shop was worth a solid gold ornament, but no single piece. That, or it was well hidden.

“What do you know about the claw?” Aside from the obvious value, I was growing quite interested in this object. Even if there was nothing else of real value in the shop, there were other things. For a thief, especially a group of thieves, to simply skip over all of those items meant that money was not their primary objective.

“Well, Lucan found it about a year after he opened the shop, but he never quite explained where he got it.” She bit her bottom lip, thinking, probably realizing just how odd this whole situation seemed. “He’s a tricky one.” She shrugged and we continued down the road until we reach the bridge where she stopped. “If you cross over and follow the road left, to the northeast it, will take you straight to the Barrow.”

“I see, thank you ever so much Miss...?” It suddenly dawned on me that I had no idea who this woman was.

“Oh, right!” she said, clapping her hands gently before extending one to me. “My name is Camilla Valerius. Pleasure to meet you, Mr...?”

“Dok,” I said, shaking her hand, “Garret Dok. By chance,” I began, fishing a note from my pocket, “do you know Faendal?”

“Oh, Faendal?” she repeated, smiling and blushing softly. “Yes, yes - I know him. Why do you ask?”

“He asked me to give this to you,” I said, handing her the piece of parchment that the bard had given to me. She took it, opened it and read it. Her eyes widened and I watched them go back and reread it before she grew visibly furious. “Why that little... pointy eared ass!” She took a deep breath to calm herself before tearing the letter up and scattering the pieces to the wind, turning to me with a smile. “Thank you delivering that, but I should get home to my brother... he can be such a child.” I thanked her one last time before watching her walk all the way back to the shop, slamming the door behind her with such force that the sign at the shop swung violently. I shrugged and headed back into town to the Sleeping Giant. The bard was sitting with the town drunk in a chair, gnawing away on some sort of sandwich.

“Hello again, friend,” I said, approaching the bard and placing my right hand on his right shoulder. “I was hoping I could have word...?” The bard looked up to me and nodded.

“But of course! Have a seat.” He waved to the seat between himself and the drunk.

“Alone?” I pushed, giving him a small nod. He got the hint and motioned for the drunk to get lost. I watched him waddle over to a nearby table and collapse onto the bench, his hand blindly grasping out for the nearest bottle. I took the drunk’s seat, the smell of alcohol seemingly engrained into the wood. “I delivered that letter for you. She was... unhappy, to say the least.”

“That’s great news,” the bard answered, digging through his pockets to produce a small bag of coins. “As promised, my tips for one day of work, and of course your favor.” I examined the bag and gave it a small bounce as I took it. It couldn’t contain more than 30 gold pieces. “My name is Sven, by the way.”

“My name is Garret, Sven, and that favor is exactly why I wanted to talk to you this evening,” I said, pocketing the small bag before reclining in my chair, examining the room. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this part. “Are you aware of the robbery over at Lucan’s shop?”

“Of course,” he said, arching his brow. “Camilla told me about it the very next morning. Why do you ask?”

“Because Lucan has offered me a great sum of money for the retrieval of the claw from Bleak Falls Barrow,” I said, reaching into my bag and producing my own bottle of mead that I had lifted from Ralof’s house, taking a small sip. “If you accompany me, we’ll split the gold 50/50 and you will, no doubt, receive a very special gift from Camilla,” I offered, giving him a small wink. His face flushed for a moment and he pondered this offer while I drank. The man was a fool, but not completely. He knew the dangers (however exaggerated) of the Barrow but for a man who made next to nothing in tops, gold can be a powerful persuasive tool. That and the probability of sex. That’d be a rule for men, however, and I don’t care to make that list. Too insulting.

“I suppose I do owe you, don’t I?” he asked and I nodded in turn. He considered this for another moment before nodding, extending his hand out. “You have yourself a deal, Garret.”

“Excellent,” I said, shaking his head and downing the last of my bottle. “Then I urge you to get some sleep as soon as you can, because we leave at daybreak.” He nodded and immediately gathered his drum and lute and headed for the door, for home. I headed up to the barkeep and request a room for the night for a small fee and proceeded to my room. By no means am I a fighter or warrior. As most men and woman are in this age, I’m trained to defend myself and that’s where my talents stop. Normally, I stuck to petty thievery - I rarely ventured openly into danger in search of treasure, though I had done it a few times before. Regardless, this was going to be a dangerous job and there was no doubt about that. However, the money could make the entire thing worthwhile. That, or the mysterious claw itself. That’s really the life of the thief, however, and what it all boils down to:

6. Always weigh the risk against the reward.​

 

[Katastrophe]

Out of curiosity, does the font size or type make this difficult to read? Would the default be better? I'm not personally a fan of Verdana but Times New Romance is either too large or too small on this forum, and I'm unsure of Georgia is large enough... It seems a bit small to mean, but legible. I'll change it and stick with default if that seems to be the consensus.

Thank you!

 

[DrunkenMage]

Out of curiosity, does the font size or type make this difficult to read? Would the default be better? I'm not personally a fan of Verdana but Times New Romance is either too large or too small on this forum, and I'm unsure of Georgia is large enough... It seems a bit small to mean, but legible. I'll change it and stick with default if that seems to be the consensus.

Thank you!

Font seems fine to me, but I have young eyes

Interesting story, can't wait to read more.

 

[Katastrophe]

Font seems fine to me, but I have young eyes

Interesting story, can't wait to read more.

Haha so we're in the same boat. Hopefully someone else will speak up.

And thanks you, I'm enjoying doing it. It took me a good chunk of time to write this while I played through it - lots of time spent in the menu while I typed up. But I'm okay with that.

Working on the second chapter tonight.

 

[Assassin99]

You can count on me liking it kat yet another great jornal

 

[Katastrophe]

Chapter Two​

Bleak Falls Barrow​

I awoke early the next morning with a terrible pain gripping my stomach - the realization that I hadn’t really eaten anything in over a day. I pulled myself out of bed and put on my clothes (stolen) and my boots (also stolen) and prepared myself to leave the room. To tell you the truth, I’d rather have left last night. Once you go on a crime spree, it’s best to leave town almost immediately, but like most things, there’s a fine line. If you leave too suddenly, you’ll be the first suspect. If you stay too long, you run the risk of getting caught with the goods, and you can’t really sell your loot. In honesty, you don’t want to start robbing the minute you blow into town but I broke that rule only because I was in need and had no intention of coming back here.

7. Know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em.​

The Sleeping Giant was mostly asleep when I woke up. The female help that had been around last night was nowhere to be fine and I was alright with that. She had been watching me like a hawk the entire time I had been in this establishment as if she knew what I had been up to, or trying to do. Some people just have that sense about them and no matter how good your disguise, they’ll see right through it. You always have to watch out for people like her. The barkeep, a man who’s name I had overheard to be Orgnar, was still up and about and kind enough to provide me with some a pint of mead, some cooked beef and bread for a reasonable price. I made it into a fairly enjoyable sandwich which I promptly devoured before Sven approached me from the back of the tavern. Had he even gone home?

“I’m ready when you are,” he said, sitting down beside me. He pulled out another sandwich tucked away within his shirt pocket and began to munch on it while I finished mine up.

“So tell me, Sven, can you fight?” It was a question I had been considering throughout the night; one I probably should have concerned myself with long before this moment.

“Well, I’m really more of a lover, not a fighter,” he said, his eyes having that distant look, focused on a Camilla somewhere in his mind. “But I can defend myself, yes.” I didn’t want to ask from what because I feared the answer might be something like ‘a bug’ because I couldn’t see Sven drawing his weapon against a bandit and coming out alive. Not without me, anyways. I finished off my sandwich and slammed back the last of my mead before standing up.

“Let’s get going, then.” Sven followed me out into the dark of the early morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and that was good - the odds of anyone noticing anything missing were slim. We headed out of town the way Camilla had showed me the previous night, heading across the bridge. There was a sign post here that was covered in signs pointing in all direction, a useful thing to know. I determined that Riverwood had to be fairly close to the center of Skyrim for this many directions to be listed. We headed up the path and rounded a corner, but I immediately fell into a crouch and motion for Sven to get back. Once I had come around the corner, I had spotted the front half of a wolf behind a stone marker but thankfully, it didn’t appear to have noticed us. I removed the hunting bow from my shoulder and carefully notched an arrow, sneaking out from behind the bluff. I lined up my shot and fired, the arrow striking the wolf in the throat. It stumbled and let out a rasp before finally keeling over.

“Excellent shot!” Sven said, clapping me on the back. I thanked him and asked him to skin the wolf for me - I wanted to scout ahead incase there were any more lovely surprises up ahead. The path up to the Barrow was hardly a path and was more just a smooth bit of land along the side of the mountain. Various rocks had fallen, obstructing this ‘path’ and making maneuvering difficult. Thankfully I had left the footwraps behind in place of these boots because I could only imagine the pain my feet would be in. The only really thing denoting this as a path were the handful of piled stone markers that ran along the side. As I rounded a corner, a tower appeared off in the distance. Had I really not noticed this until just now? Surely it had to be visible from Riverwood. I decided to wait until Sven caught up, which wasn’t long, carrying a small wolf pelt with him.

“There’s a watchtower up ahead,” I said, jabbing my thumb over towards it. Sven craned his neck to get a better look and nodded. “These thieves... do you know anything about them?”

“Not really,” he replied, shaking his head. “They just came in and came out.” This was an interesting development. Could they have just been heading through the Barrow and happened upon the claw, or did they have some prior knowledge that it was there? Regardless, the Barrow was important to them for some reason. They could have just as easily headed to another town or a cave or something - why choose such a large and possibly dangerous location? Something about all of this didn’t sit right with me and under normal circumstances, I’d have hired some burly bodyguard to assist me but I had neither the time nor the resources. I’d be lying, however, if this didn’t intrigue me to continue on further. While most thieves are simply happy stealing for wealth, others like myself enjoy stealing for other reasons, such as the mystery within the objects we could steal. This was one such occasion.

“I don’t suppose these thieves will be willing to trade for that claw then.” I had hoped to strike some sort of deal with these thieves: give me the claw, let me return it for the gold, steal it back and give it back to the thieves. I had enlisted Sven in the hopes that I could trade him for the claw as insurance but the more I thought about this, the more I realized my plan wasn’t going to work and I’d have to take it by force. I motioned for Sven to crouch down and we moved on towards the watchtower, stopping just behind a small rock that jutted out, providing us with good enough cover. Thankfully, the sun had yet to rise and the wind at this elevation was kicking up drifts of snow. From here, I could see all that I needed to: a single thief, dangerous looking, was leaning against a tree just at the end of a bridge that led out to the tower, across which another thief, female and armed with a bow, was pacing.

The mind of a man is an incredible thing, honestly. It’s through our senses that we experience the world, but it’s only through our minds that this sensory information is examined, understood, and responded to. If you can feed the mind improper information, you can have a lot of fun. Most Bretons are known to be exceptional mages and what not - I believe that’s what my mother had hoped for me, but I had no desire in strange magic. I once had a friend of mine blow himself up as a child when he was practicing, and the whole thing turned me off. I had, however, become fascinated in a particular tree of magic that had proven quite useful to me over the years and that was Illusion. From the safety of the rock, I cooked up something particularly nasty and let it fly at the man leaning against the tree. There was a brief moment where the impact of the spell caused him some alarm, but it was the effect that really did it for him. In his mind, changes were occurring. Certain parts were become locked down while others amped up. Mentally, the man was reverting to something animalistic, something aggressive and, in a flash, he pounced up on the female archer. She never knew what hit her, but I did - the man’s warhammer was more than enough to crush her skull against the stone bridge with a sound akin to squishing a berry. A single arrow from me to the man’s throat, and he went down just as quickly as his former partner. Throughout this whole ordeal, and after, Sven remained silent. The death of someone, especially when it’s a murder, can be a horrible thing to witness.

“For the record,” I began, speaking as the two of us marched through the stone to the tower itself, “I do not condone killing. These people, however, will not hesitate to kill us. I’m acting in... preemptive self defense, understand?” Sven nodded, giving me a weary smile. I got the feeling that he did understand and, on some level, he agreed... he just didn’t want to. I grabbed the archer’s discarded bow and threw it to him. He caught it deftly and examined it before throwing it over his shoulder. “Know how to use it?” He nodded, and that was good enough for me. “Stand guard for a bit - I want to check the place out.” I left Sven back at the bridge and began the slow, steady process of slinking through the watchtower. There wasn’t much until I got to the second door and another thief, this one in iron armor, saw me. He was an Orsimer, letting out a terrifying howl, smacking his mace against his shield before charging down the stairs towards me.

There was no time to draw my weapon. The Orsimer raised his mace high and swung it down and it was all I could do to leap backwards out of the way, but in typical Orsimer fashion, he wasn’t to be stopped. When the arc of his swing completed, he immediately brought it back up. With my back already against the wall I had nowhere to go but back outside onto the wooden planks that wrapped around the back of the tower. I arched my back to avoid the mace as it collided with the stone wall, the place where my head had been only moments earlier, a shower of gravel cascading over my head, down into the dark valley below. I slipped and fell flat on my back, laying there at the mercy of the Orsimer who raised his mace for another strike. I rolled and slid down the planks, the sound of splintering wood coming from behind me. I scrambled to my feet and began sprinting back down the stairs and across the bridge.

“Sven!” I shouted, the roar of the Orsimer growing louder. “Shoot the bastard!” Sven turned around and I could see his eyes widen - my pursuer must not be far behind. He notched and arrow and drew the string back and I immediately fell into a slide, unable to keep myself from looking back to see the armed Orsimer not five feet behind me, arms pumping, saliva dropping from his over-extended bottom jaw. I watched as an arrow struck his exposed shoulder, causing the left side of his body to fall behind. His ankle twisted and snapped, the Orsimer falling to the bridge with a crash and a roar, his mace rolling from his grip. He rolled onto his back as I scrambled to my feet, watching as he gripped the arrow’s shaft and snapped it at his skin. I reached for my axe with one hand and pulled his helmet off with the other, bringing my axe down into his throat. He let out a gasp, blood spurting out in a wave, but his eyes didn’t fade. He reached back and swung, his armored fist colliding with my neck as I tried to avoid the punch. I fell to my side, gasping for air as the Orsimer pulled my axe from his throat and let out a wheeze. As I kneeled in the snow, gasping for air, I watched him try to push himself up before his muscles gave and his body stopped. Sven came over and helped me to my feet and I let out a final cough before grabbing my bloodied axe, slipping it back into my waistband. I grabbed the Orsimer’s mace and tossed it to Sven, tell him to once again wait.

“Are you sure about that, Garret?” he asked, motioning to the Orsimer. “What if there’s more thieves?”

“There’s not,” I shouted back to him, already climbing the steps to go back out onto the wooden ramp. There was a large section of wood missing up by the doorway. “They’d have heard that fight. I’m beginning to think these aren’t thieves, Sven.” At the very top of the tower was a chest that contained simple loot: a few gold coins, a potion and a fresh pair of iron gauntlets which I promptly put on, adjusting the straps to find a proper fit. When I came back down, Sven was nudging the body with his toe.

“What do you mean they’re not thieves?” he asked, following behind me as we continued further on down the makeshift path. The sun was just beginning to rise and we needed to get in before we lost the element of surprise.

“Your typical band of thieves aren’t warriors,” I explained. As we approached the Barrow, the wind began to pick up, howling along the mountain, kicking up even more drifts of snow. Excellent conditions for us. “Nor do they usually strut around in armor like that. No, these are hired help for the real thieves.” Sven nodded his understanding, but he didn’t really understand or else he’d have asked the question I was debating in my mind already: why would thieves feel the need to hire thugs? Were these bandits purely to defend him, or did the thieves require them for something within the Barrow? I was once again filled with the desire to both leave this nonsense behind and also explore it deeper. This Barrow held something very important to someone and I needed to know what it was. There’s value in importance after all. As we got closer to the Barrow, Sven and I dropped slow and snuck up into some stone slabs that had been buried in the snow, ruins from something constructed that hadn’t survived the passage of time.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sven asked, peering out from the stone to inspect the place. I pulled him back and took his place. I couldn’t see much - the Barrow was set pretty high up and was obviously large. Simply put, there was a lot of area I couldn’t see. I could, however, see one bandit pacing back and forth along some sort of overlook.

“We need to get higher,” I explained, pointing up through more rubble. The mountain rose up at the rear of the Barrow and looked like an easy enough way to get up without being detected. Sven nodded and followed me like my shadow through the rubble and up the hill. We crept along the ledge out to the final column before I took a good look of the area. There were three more thugs here: the archer I had spotted earlier, long out of my sight, another nasty looking Orsimer pacing in the middle, and what looked like a Nord pacing not far from us across the top of the staircase. I pulled back behind the column, smiling. “I can handle this, Sven. Watch.”

I leaned out from the pillar, arrow notched in my bow, and fired. The arrow struck the stone column a few feet above the Orsimer’s head - a perfect shot. The sound of iron on stone made a loud enough clank to draw the attention of the other two thugs who were not jogging briskly to assist their Orsimer friend. I dropped my bow and once more began to brew up a particularly nasty spell, hurtling it at the Orsimer. To him, the two bandits jogging to him were no longer his friends, but his assailants. The first to reach him, the Nord from the steps, was the unfortunate one - a single slash from the Orsimer’s great axe split through the man’s fur armor, slicing through his chest and spewing blood out like a fountain. The female thug, the first one I had spotted, let out a shriek and as the Orsimer turned his attention to her, she drew her bow and began firing off as fast as she could. She hit his left pectoral first, then his gut, then his right bicep and then his axe came down on her collarbone. She let out a scream of pain as it drove her to the ground, a swift boot crushing her face and muffling her screams between broken bones and blood. A stomp silenced her for good. One last arrow struck the Orsimer, my arrow, in his back. All at once, the pain from his wounds seemed to catch up with his brain and he let out a howl, collapsing atop his former ally.

“Head down and check the bodies for anything useful,” I said to Sven, clapping him on the back. “I’m going to head inside.”

“Be safe,” he said, his face once again stricken with horror from the murders I had committed. Honestly, I don’t like killing. Admittedly, we probably could have snuck past all of them and headed inside but I couldn’t run the risk of being flanked. People are creatures of habit - we like to find routines that we can get ourselves into. We wake up, we eat, we work, we socialize, we sleep and the more structured these necessities can be, the more comfortable we are. When you can, you should always figure these out for every mark you make. You need to know their habits and schedule better than they do and you need to abuse it. However, life is chaotic and things rarely work out as well as they should, but if you can scout the situation out, you’ll almost always be better off. In this instance, I didn’t have that luxury - I was jumping in blind and I needed to cover all of my bases.

8. Always scout your mark whenever possible, for days if necessary.​

Inside, I learned at least part of the reason why the thieves had hired thugs. I entered a mostly collapsed entry chamber, wide open with barely anything left standings. Columns lay crumbled across the floor, a few holes in the ceiling allowing the early morning sun to stream in and piles of snow to collect on the floor. Most curious, however, was the vast multitude of Skeever bodies littering the floor, as well as two dead thugs. Up ahead there were two more thugs by a fire of some sort, arguing. I ignored the bodies for the moment and continued on, sneaking up behind a column not far from the two thugs to eavesdrop.

“What if Arvel doesn’t come back?” the female one asked. “I want my share from stealing the claw!”

“He’ll be back,” the male reassured here. “Until then, just stay here and keep a lookout.” I had to keep from snickering at that one as I brewed up another spell, launching it into the female thug. Her companions words had not reassured her as she drew her dagger and launched into an attack agains her comrade. She took him by horrific surprise, getting in a few good stabs before her shoved her away, giving himself room to draw his sword. She didn’t let up and charged back at him, skewering herself on his sword as he lifted her body from the ground, her abdomen sliding down a few more inches before he dropped his sword and companion’s body to the ground, collapsing against the pillar behind which I hid, clutching at his oozing gut. In a flash, my axe was around the pillar and slicing open the wounded man’s throat, his body sliding down against the stone to lay with his partner’s.

There wasn’t much to be looted in this empty chamber, aside from the tails of the skeevers. One bandit had been carrying a steel sword that was still in fine condition, so I took that one. I prefer axes but I could tell that my blade was getting dull so the upgrade was necessary. The thugs themselves had a few coins and lockpicks, but a locked chest near their camp had some decent coin and a garnet - excellent treasure items, as I mentioned before. There was a sudden draft as Sven opened the door, his arms full with a few coins, arrows and a handful of lockpicks.

“What happened here?” he asked, looking around. “Did you do all this?”

“Not at all,” I said, laughing. “Guess this place has a bit of a skeever problem.” I decided not to tell him that the two thugs he was standing over had been alive up until a few minutes ago. “Take what you want and let’s get going.” Sven wandered around for the place for a few moments before finally picking up the axe and shield that were laying near the camp.

“Alright, let’s move on.” That was good enough for me and on we went, deeper into the Barrow. The tunnel ahead had been lit by someone, presumably the Arvel the thug had mentioned, though the place seemed ready to collapse. Many of the side tunnels we encountered had caved in, leaving us with very few choices for direction. There were a few more skeevers left to rot along the path and I had Sven removed their tails for me as I crept further. I didn’t bother to loot anything from the ceremonial urns that had been left for the dead. It’s a rule that I have to never disrespect graves, but that’s up to you. As we made our way ever deeper into the Barrow, my mind began to wonder back to what the two thugs had been talking about. There was someone named Arvel, presumably the leader, who had gone ahead of them. By the sound of it, he had been gone longer than expected, which meant one of a few things: he had either died or otherwise held up, he had found what he had been looking for and left, or he was still down here, lost. Just then, we rounded a corner and saw another thug in the next room at the bottom of a staircase. Sven made to notch his bow but I motioned for him to stop and stay put while I crept to the bottom of the stairs.

The next room was fairly small and simple in design with a main chamber, a gate lowered just across from the door with a balcony that ran along the far side. Up by the balcony there were two statues of what looked like faces containing images of animals. There appeared to be a place for a third but it had been torn free, now embedded into the floor below. On the left there were three triangular columns that bore similar, if not identical, markings. There was also a level in the center of the room that the man pulled, the sounds of mechanics clicking within the walls and then a rapid succession of arrows shooting from small crevices within the room, each tip embedding into the man’s skin. He trashed about, seized, and fell backwards dead.

“What in Oblivion was that?” Sven asked, sprinting down the stairs to examine the man.

“It was a trap,” I said, examining the man’s pockets. He didn’t look like an Arvel to me and it seemed rather unlikely that this was as far as the man had gotten. This meant that the real Arvel had already gotten through this little trap and actually reset the damn thing behind him. The whole thing was beginning to make sense now. Arvel had stolen the claw and hired these thugs to clear out the Barrow of the Skeevers. He had then gone ahead of them and actually made it so he couldn’t be followed. He had no intention of paying these thugs or sharing anything with them. I looked between the stone statues hanging above the balcony and the columns to the side and made my way over, slowly rotating the columns to match.

“What are you doing?” Sven asked, obviously puzzles. He was staying far, far away from that level.

“Opening the gate,” I replied and, with the last stone in place, headed to the level. This cause Sven to back peddle his way out of the room entirely. I held my breath and pulled it, the only sound being made was that of the gate sliding upwards. “Shall we?” I asked, motioning towards the gate. Sven took a few hesitant steps out as if we were being lured into an even more sinister trap before he finally caught up the pace and followed me through.

The room beyond wasn’t much to speak of, containing only a chest that had a few gold coins, a soul gem in some sort of candelabra, but the table held something interest: a big titled “Thief” by someone named Reven. The first page mentioned that it was part of a series so I shut it and put it in my bag with two other books I had taken from Helgen during the confusion. Reading has always been a passion of mine, to tell you the truth. You can also learn a surprising amount from such things as books, if one is so inclined. As I was putting the book away, I could hear scuttling from the wooden, spiral staircase that Sven had been inspected. A skeever came into view, leaping for Sven who bashed it away with his shield before bringing his mace down upon it’s skull, crushing it with a sound not unlike the two thugs from the watchtower earlier. There was more scuttling and I rushed to his aid, drawing my sword. With the overgrown rats forced to climb their way up the stairs, dealing with them was more than an easy attack. With our pest problem under control (and their tails collected), we headed down the flight of stairs.

“Is... is someone coming?” The voice came from deeper into the crypt but nearby, more than simple panic in his voice - this was fear, mixed with a desperate glint of hope. Sven and I immediately stopped, which was fine because it gave me the opportunity to take a vial and scroll from the table here. “Is that you Harknir?” No answer. “Bjorn?” Still no answer, his desperation and fear rising. “Soling?” He was at his boiling point now. I motioned for Sven to remain quiet and together we began to creep deeper down. “I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help...!” So this was Arvel, and he hadn’t died after all. At least not yet. I motioned to Sven that we could get up, but this was mostly because the wall was becoming increasingly dense in spider webs, a very disturbing feeling. As we rounded the corner, the webbing only got denser and I began to feel a sinking in my stomach. Just why had Arvel gotten held up and why did he need help...? With a few swings of my blade, we were free to enter the next chamber.

The walls here were covered in a thick webbing that entangled all that had been here, from the tables to the urns that lined the walls. A few egg sacks populated the area as well as the webbed corpses of man and beast with a few bones added for good measure. There was also what appeared to be a Dunmer suspended in the webbing across the room and that was when the spider descended. Ralof and I had fought off a handful of the things during our escape, but nothing compared to the sheer size of this one. Even without fully extending it’s legs, this beast was taller than I was. A lot meaner, too. Almost as soon as it’s legged reached the ground, this creature was coming at us. It didn’t really settle on a target, moving towards me but jabbing one of it’s many, many legs at Sven. However, when Sven raised his shield to block the strike, he got it’s full attention. I imagine it had to have felt much like stubbing your toe on an iron brick. It turned towards him and pulled it’s leg back, this time bringing it down with enough force to knock Sven onto his back. It raised it’s leg back for another jab and that was when my sword plunged down into the creature’s abdomen. Almost immediately, one of it’s back legs flicked out and struck me in the chest, hurling me backwards into one of it’s eggs, the squishy sac denting with my weight. It turned towards me but Sven’s mace crashed into one of it’s legs, making it lopsided. As it tried to put the leg back under itself, Sven struggled to his own feet. The spider saw this and gave him a swift kick as it had done to me sending him sprawling backwards.

I took this opportunity to dive under the spider, it’s two large mandibles swiping past my ankles. It began to stomp around as it tried to gain sight of me but I was already busy at stabbing the creature’s underside with the dagger I kept on my leg. A disgustingly sticky green blood oozed from each wound and dripped down the blade and my hands and my arms in globs. It screeched in pain and then part of it suddenly collapsed. I looked through it’s maze of legs to see Sven standing over the collapsed portion and heard him yell as he brought his mace down upon the spider again. I quickly scrambled through it’s goo and legs to get out from under it as Sven gave the creature a final blow to it’s skull, scattering it and sending a splash of that green blood out in a wave. I moved to the creature’s rear to retrieve my sword while Sven inspected it to make certain it was dead.

“Good work!” Arvel called out to us, squirming against the webbing that held him. “Now get me down!” Sven and I shared a glance and I told him to search the area for anything he could find while I approached Arvel. “Now if you could just cut me loose...”

“Are you Arvel?” I asked, and this took the thief aback.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, pulling harder against the restraints that held him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Garret, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I mockingly held out a hand for him to shake and when he didn’t shake it (naturally, since his arms were bound), I shrugged and lowered it. “I understand you stole a golden claw from Riverwood?”

“Yes, that!” he exclaimed, his eyes suddenly alight again. I knew that look well. “I know all about it! The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories - I know how they all fit together!” So indeed I had been right and this claw had been stolen for a greater purpose than just simple wealth. Arvel obviously planned on telling me all this and offering to split the loot, no doubt trying to leave me behind or betray me as he had done the other thugs. “Just cut me down and I’ll show you!” I turned back to Sven who was busy rummaging through an urn.

“Sven!” I called out and he immediately ripped his arm from the oversized pot. I motioned for him to come over before turning back to Arvel who did not look amused. “Meet Arvel,” I said, extending my arm out to encompass the Dunmer who hung from the webbing in the doorway that led deeper into the Barrow. “Arvel is the one who stole the claw, aren’t you Arvel?”

“Uh, well, yes... I did,” he stammered, the old panic creeping back into his voice, “but only because of how important it is to the Nords! You can understand that, can’t you?” This time he was directing it at Sven. Nords were particularly proud of their heritage and would often take great lengths to see it restored. Sven was far from your typical Nord.

“He’s offering us a split of what this claw hides,” I explained, pointing past Arvel and the webbing, deeper into the crypt. “However, I believe he also promised this to the thugs he hired to clear this place out and then abandoned them. So, what do you think we should do?” Sven was silent for a moment, looking back and forth between myself and Arvel as if one of us was a liar, before he finally spoke.

“I’m going to go back and search the other room some more,” he said, his eyes sizing up Arvel one last time before resting on me. “I think this decision is better left to you.” I nodded and Sven walked back through the sliced webbing doorway to the previous hall leaving me to turn back to Arvel with a devilish grin.

“Just you and me, eh Arvel?” I could see the Dunmer’s eyes widen and he began to trash violently against the webbing.

“What are you doing!?” he shouted, his voice now consumed by that fear. There was no glint of hope here. In a fluid motion, my sword ran it’s way through his chest while my left hand pressed over his mouth to muffle his screams. He trashed even more now, his efforts serving only to drive the blade deeper through him. Slowly, he began to slow and then stop, his body sagging against the webbing as the last bit of life faded from him. I carefully cut him down and began examining the body and, sure enough, the claw was there, stuffed in a small satchel along with a journal. I flipped to the last entry which talked about the claw and how it was some sort of key to Bleak Falls Barrow. I gave the claw a glance and noticed three carvings on it’s palm of a bear, a dragonfly and an owl. I shrugged and tossed the claw into my bag, taking the journal to the nearby candles and setting it on fire, tossing it to the stones.

“Sven, come on! We’re moving on!” After a few moments he emerged from the webbed arch and walked to me, his attempt to avoid looking at Arvel’s body was obvious. It was a strange thing, really. I thought back through it and realized that Sven hadn’t killed a single person. Animal, sure but people...? Sven wasn’t a killer, that much was clear. I realized that it must be my speech about Camilla that spurred him forward and this was only proven by his first question.

“If we have the claw, why don’t we go back to Riverwood?” I shook my head, buying myself those precious few seconds with which I constructed the second part of my speech.

“Camilla has no idea where this claw came from or how Lucan came to posses it,” I said, taking the claw out from my bag and showing it to him. “Don’t you want to be able to return to her with that knowledge, or even a treasure hidden here? You can’t give her the life she deserves as a simple bard, Sven - not in Riverwood, at least. You’ll need a solid foundation with which to start your life with her. With this claw, you can give Camilla peace of mind and perhaps even more treasure than I offered to you. So what do you say, Sven...? Shall we venture a little further?” Sven considered this for a long time, glancing down at Arvel and his cold, surprised expression. Finally, he turned to me and nodded his agreement.

9. Always lie. Always.​

 

[Assassin99]

Awesome post

 

[Katastrophe]

Chapter Three​

The Tablet​

“I don’t think I like where this is going.” I hated to admit it, but I had to agree with Sven. As he ventured deeper into the Barrow, something felt wrong Very wrong. We had just entered the actual crypt for the Barrow, small hollows all along the wall where bodies of ancient Nords lay dead for Divines know how long. The room was surprisingly well lit and maintained and I wondered if Arvel had made it down here and come back, but I doubted that. He probably wouldn’t have made it past the Draugr.

As he neared the center of the room, there came the sounds of movement all around us. We both stopped and looked and our eyes fell on two separate but equal sites - bodies were waking up and getting out of their hollowed burial beds. What was worse is that they were armed. I shared a look at Sven and we both nodded, plunging into a battle against our own risen foe. I tried to bring my sword down upon the Draugr but it raised up it’s shield, surprisingly strong for a pile of undead bones. It bashed my blade away and brought out it’s own axe at me, slicing part of my shirt as I tried to leap away. With it’s next attack, I was more prepared, stepping aside to avoid the swipe, my off hand grabbed onto it’s wrist while my sword came down onto the Draugr’s elbow, slicing through in a cloud of fleshy, gray smoke as the bone snapped. I tossed aside the arm and bashed it’s face with the hilt, stumbling it back and allowing me the time to run it through. I pushed the monstrosity off of my blade and turned to Sven with his hands full.

He had been dueling a particular aggressive Draugr with a sword but I could see another, this one armed with some ancient and deadly looking battle axe, approaching him from behind. I stomped on my conquered Draugr’s hand, shattering it’s finger and releasing it’s grasp on the war axe. I swooped it up from the ground and threw it in a single motion, embedding it in the third Draugr’s back as it was raising that giant blade. It howled and turned towards me, swinging out that axe in a massive arc. I ducked, slid, and ran this Draugr through as well, tossing aside the body just in time to see Sven, still oblivious of his second assailant, shattering his Draugr’s face with a single swipe from his mace, sending the body straight to the floor.

“Well done, Sven,” I said, patting him on the back.

“Well done!? We just fought Draugr, Garret!” Sven had reached a sort of conundrum within himself, and I could see it. While these were once living men and women, were they still to be considered as such even if they were undead?

“And we’ll no doubt fight more. So now we know, Sven - let’s keep going.” I didn’t want to give Sven the option to go back, to leave me. Of course, with me having the claw, he couldn’t and I didn’t think Sven the type to try and take it from me, if not just out of fear for his own life. Fact of the matter was that I was going to keep going deeper because my curiosity had all but consumed me. There was a great mystery surrounding this place and I intended to discover what it was.

So it was that Sven and I battled our way deeper into the Barrow, a task that was much easier said than done. Draugr seemed to be waiting for the duo at every turn and in every possible spot. Caskets would burst open as they passed, someone would be stalking around, already awakened, but most simply rose from more hollowed out tombs in the walls and often in groups of two or three. After our first few encounters, we began to develop a sort of systematic approach to dealing with them one by one, often involving Sven drawing their attention with his shield and mace, allowing me to go at them. It worked well for us as Sven was clearly still debating within himself on whether or not it was right to be killing Draugr but me? I had no qualms killing anything that posed a threat. Eventually, we came to a door.

The room within was just a long and low hall with an arched ceiling, some sort of hieroglyphic art carved into the sides. Sven was awestruck, hanging back and examining all of the different drawings. They were, more or less, the same drawing with slight variations. At their core, they depicted a central figure flanked on either side by what appeared to be militia but their actual meaning was lost to me. This had to be the Hall of Stories that Arvel had mentioned because at the end of the passage was what interested me the most - some sort of door. It had three rings in the center that wrapped around a central piece within the door that had the markings of a claw, three small holes in it. Each ring bore a marking identical to those on the palm of the claw but the order was wrong. It was a simple puzzle and maneuvering the rings was a simple task that went unnoticed by Sven. When I placed the claw into the central piece and gave it a push and a turn, the outer two disc spun until they all matched the mark of the owl and then the door began to clunk down once... twice... a third time and it began to slide down as smooth as stone against stone can be.

“What did you do?” asked Sven as he tore himself from the drawings and came to examine the new passage before us.

“I’m leading us to that treasure, Sven,” I explained. I placed an arm around his shoulder and led him up the stairs, the golden claw finding it’s place back in my bag. Neither of us were prepared for what laid ahead of us. The room at the top of the staircase was a massive cavern, a few columns here and there gave it the look that it had once been constructed but it was hard to imagine anything suffering from such decay. Some columns lay crumbled, a few patches of cobblestones were on the floor but beyond that, this initial room was just cut straight from the stone with no sort of artistic design other than ‘open’. The real shock, however, was just inside. As we made our way through the open cavern, flocks of bats flew over our heads, up and out through a large fissure in the ceiling which let light flood in and illuminate what lay before us.

“By the Nine!” Sven exclaimed as we drew nearer and it was all I could do to refrain from repeating it. My pulse was quickening and that feeling that my hands were around something great was consuming me. This was why I had traveled so far into this hellish place and killed so many of those thugs - I knew it. We crossed a stone bridge and ascended a small staircase the wrapped around the edge of the circular platform in the center. Here, in the ray of light from the outside world, was some sort of wall, covered in carvings and some peculiar, scratched text. I had no idea what any of it said, but one word stood out to me, a word that seemed to pick at something in the back of my mind. It was like I knew something but couldn’t remember. As I tried to examine the wall further, there was a loud pop sound from behind me.

Sven had been examining a chest nearby what had appeared to be a sarcophagus and, not surprisingly, had awoken whatever was laying to rest within. What emerged was another Draugr, but one that seemed to be far more vicious than the others. Blue orbs lit it’s eye sockets, a fowl chill rolling from it’s mouth as it rose to it’s feet, armed with a shield and a sword that gave off an identical chill. Sven stumbled backwards from the chest, raising his shield just in time to block the swing from the Draugr. Where the sword hit, ice began to spread along the shield’s surface, crackling and splintering like a frozen fire. With a heave, Sven pushed the Draugr back and raised his mace to swing but the Draugr was too fast, it’s own shield crashing against Sven’s face, sending him sprawling out onto his back. I loosed the ancient axe from my waistband, a spoil of war from our journey here, and charged the Draugr.

“Fus,” it said, inhaling, it’s weapons lowered, “Ro Dah!” A force erupted from deep within the undead’s chest, a wave of wind sending dust and debris into the air. When that force connected with me, I stopped and stumbled to my knees in an attempt to stay on my feet. This Draugr was indeed far more vicious. As I struggled back to my feet, it walked over to Sven who was doing the same and delivered a kick to his face so forceful that I could hear his nose shatter, a crimson splatter spreading out across the stone and his shirt. It reached down and grabbed Sven by his collar, hoisting him off his feet and that’s when I made my move. I got up and sprinted for the Draugr who saw me coming from a mile away. He held his sword up and swung wide, the side of my axe deflecting the blade, blocking it as I closed the distance, grabbed it’s wrist with my offhand and swung around it, my axe striking into it’s left shoulder blade. It let out a howl and dropped Sven yanking it’s arm back around, causing me to lose my balance and go stumbling back to the floor, barely able to hold onto my axe. Sven stirred on the ground which meant he was still holding onto consciousness, regardless of how weak that grip was.

With Sven no longer a threat, the Draugr turned on me, those fiery blue orbs dancing with a sick and tainted glee, chilled fog rolling from it’s open mouth as it stalked across the platform towards me. I swung my axe and it raised it’s shield, blocking and counter swinging. I leapt back and swung again and it was the same thing. On my third swing he blocked the blow and bashed me backwards with his shield and my back felt stone. He reached out and grabbed my throat with his off hand and I could do nothing bash against his shield and grope at those undead claw-like hands with my other hand. He pulled his sword back and thrust it forward, the blade driving through my left shoulder until it hit stone. I let out a scream, choked back by the Draugr’s gripped and watched as ice began to spread across my skin around the wound as a chill gripped me, no doubt due to the ice that surely was spreading through my blood but there was nothing I can do. It tightened it’s grip around my throat and those flaming eyes seemed to smile at me as it squeezed.

That was when Sven’s mace collided with the left side of the Draugr’s skull, the sound of bones splintering and shattering filled my ears. The whole monstrosity fell to the side, leaving me pinned there against the rock as Sven straddled over the undead bringing his mace down upon nearly every square inch of it, crushing every bone his mace touched. He was screaming the entire time and crying too, I think. It was hard to tell with his shattered nose and blood streaming down his face. There was just his eternal shouting, punctured only by grunts and the sound of bone snapping - he was a man possessed. I dropped my axe and grabbed the sword’s hilt with both hands and pulled it loose from the stone, ripping it from my flesh and tossing it to the floor. I surge of red surfaced over the blue and white of the ice around the wound and I fumbled through my bag for one of the healing potions I had lifted from someone’s house in Riverwood, uncorking it and pouring the entire thing into my shoulder. I could feel the liquid mending the wound with a welcomed warmth compared to that ice. It was around then that Sven finally stopped swinging and fell to his knees at the feet of the Draugr and wept blood and tears into his hands.

“You saved my life, Sven,” I told him, picking up my axe and moving behind my companion, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t have made it here without you.” With a single swipe, my axe dragged it’s way across Sven’s throat and he collapsed on his side, blood pouring out from him in waves. His eyes twitched towards me and he made no attempt to speak but his eyes said more than enough. “Sorry Sven, but it was always going to end this way.” I kneeled down beside him and he reached out with one of his hands, grasping at the cloth of my pants, his eyes searching for answers. “It was nothing personal,” I told him, taking his hand in my own. It was already starting to feel cold. “Just needed a helping hand. But I got what I came for and I’m not willing to share this with anyone. You’re a loose end, Sven. I hope you understand.” Something in his eyes told me that he regrettably did, but it didn’t ease the fact that he was dying - that he had been betrayed. I watched him for awhile longer, blood pushing it’s way out of his throat it bursts until it finally ceased and his eyes stopped their twitchy movement.

* * *​

“Lucan? It’s Garret.” It was long after dark when I arrived in Riverwood and there wasn’t a soul in the town’s streets. There was some shifting inside, the sound of a tumbler, and than Lucan appeared in the doorway and ushered me inside. Camilla was sitting at the table by the fire, as usual. I had to make this quick and simple. “I have the claw, Lucan.” I reached into my bag and produced his golden claw, setting it on the table. I also put down a few rings and gemstones that I had recovered during the raid of the Barrow, careful not to pull out the stone tablet by accident.

“Ha ha, there it is!” he shouted, snatching the claw up and examining it with the same excitement as a child on his birthday, cradling a new and expensive toy.

“I also want to trade you these trinkets I acquired from the Barrow, if that’s not a problem?” It wasn’t a problem and by the time the three of us left the Riverwood Trader, I had nearly doubled my money and Lucan was as happy as happy as ever. The two were off to the Sleeping Giant to celebrate and, unfortunately, I couldn’t stay because I had to be going. Camilla had asked about Sven and I told her that I hadn’t seen him after I left the inn last night. I told them I was going to say farewell to Gerdur and took my sweet time walking to their house, dipping into the shadows of Riverwood Trader once they were out of sight. Once I had picked my way into their home, I stole every bit of cold coin I could find but most importantly, I took that claw back. It was nearly an hour before I was walking out of Riverwood with my pockets lined with gold, the golden claw nestled nicely next to the stone tablet that I had found on the Draugr that Sven had saved me from. It showed a marked map of Skyrim, that strange scratched writing carved into the back. Something had told me that this tablet was the real treasure within the Barrow - the thing that Arvel had been after but for the moment, I knew that I wouldn’t get much for it in any shop. No, it was but a puzzle piece to acquire the real treasure but beyond that, I knew nothing.

I decided that my best course of action would be to head to Whiterun. I might be a thief and, to some extent, a murderer but I reiterate the belief that I am not a bad person. In this world, we’re all just making our own way through life and trying to find what we’re good at, what we enjoy doing. I enjoy stealing - always have, always will. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to get the job done and keep yourself under the radar and that’s all that I’ve been doing. I would have rather let Sven live but I couldn’t risk him telling someone about what was here in the Barrow and having it come back to me. You can’t be a thief when you’re some sort of public figure.

 

[Assassin99]

Great post

 

[Katastrophe]

It was a shorter one but... eh, it balances out.

 

[Jarl Jordan of Whiterun]

When will this be updated?

 

[Anouck]

Looks great . If there would be a book based on Skyrim I'd definitely read it. It would be as succesfull as The Lord Of The Rings