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    Sierra312

    Well-Known Member
    Inside the next room was no lurking monster, but a chilling blast greeted the company, accompanied by the sight of freshly fallen snow. The walls and pillars of the chamber were likewise slick with ice, and the air was still, noise muffled, as the four crunched their way into the heart of the enchanted room, breath visible as steaming plumes in the unnaturally cold air. It was clear some spell lay heavy on this place, preserving in the chamber an endless frost, and, as if confirming this, the same magical green flames flickered in icy chandeliers high overhead.

    The mage, the thief, the warrior and the knight fanned out, warily scanning for the threat that might present itself at any moment. On reaching the center of the chamber the emerald light in the chandelier brackets faded and died, to be replaced by a cold blue glow emanating from the far end of the room.

    This pale shimmer too, receded, and the chandeliers sprang to life once more, revealing an impressive chair on the dais at the chambers end, carved from a single block of ice. Upon this frozen throne reclined a horned figure thrice the height of a man. Two sets of eyes blinked open, lit with a chilling malevolence, and pale lips curled back in a rictus over sharp fangs. It was a giant, but like no giant Sander had ever seen or heard tale of, and the four baleful orbs that regarded them now were yellow, set with slitted pupils like a cats. The monsters skin was almost as white as the surrounding snow, and its chest and shoulders were densely furred with a shaggy mat of dirty hair.

    The entrance to the chamber grated shut behind, and the pallid form lifted itself from the throne, hefting a crude hammer crafted from the bone of some forgotten beast, bound with a scalloped rock head, and thundered towards them.

    "Focus," the knight had told himself, "be faster," and in one motion he knelt, sighted, and sent a crossbow quarrel speeding toward their new enemy.

    The bolt tore a bloody gouge past the monsters jaw, parting the flesh of its cheek with a spray of red, leaving severed flaps of skin and a horrific wound, but the creature continued undeterred, eyes fixed entirely now on the Redguard.

    Sander reloaded, fired, and a second quarrel found its mark in the giants chest. There was no time to load another, and the beast lumbered forward with a snarl, each stride punctuated now by a wheezing crimson exhalation. The knight swept the crossbow onto his back, and sprinted forward, whirling to the side as the monster brought its club smashing down in a powerful overhead swing.

    With a flurry of snow caused by his momentum, Sander sprang onto the haft of the weapon before the giant could recover, running up the creatures outstretched arm and taking a flying leap onto its shoulders.

    The monster bellowed in surprise, dropping the club the knight had used as footing and flailing its arms in an attempt to unseat him. Gripping the creatures head and neck firmly between his legs, the warrior unslung his crossbow and began to reload as the behemoth staggered, roaring.

    Placing the needle sharp tip of the now loaded quarrel at the base of the monsters neck, where vertebrae connected head and spine, the knight fired, sending him and the immense body of his foe ploughing forward into the undriven white carpet as he leapt clear.
     

    MjolnirV

    xDoctor Bob
    The look upon Zhar's face was nothing short of awe. Never had the mage believed Sander would be capable of eliminating a target with such dexterity. Approaching the young knight, Zhar placed a hand on his shoulder and congratulated him on his performance.

    Moving to the beast Zhar inspected it over for an orb, in which he found disappointment. Looking up the mage studied the throne from afar and noticed a glimmer from the top. Upon further inspection Zhar could see the orb encased in the ice, yet it was not out of reach for one such as Zhar. The Khajiit conjured a small flame in his hand and torched the throne, melting the ice and freeing the orb causing it to fall into Zhar's free hand.

    Upon contact with his hand the pale orb began to illuminate before causing a shockwave of energy, blinding the party.

    Once the flash faded Zhar could see that all of the snow and ice with covered the arena vanished and left no trace of its existence. The spot where the throne of ice once occupied now bore an ancient and decrepit throne from an age lost to time, behind which was a dragon claw door.

    Yet again Zhar turned the ancient rings of stone into the correct positions and inserted the key claw. The door gave way and lowered into the earth.

    A long hallway lay before the party. A corridor with neither torch nor brazier. A stretch of hollowed stone without stories carved into the rock. However the far end yielded a glow of light. The light was faint and slowly flickered, signaling a fire. Zhar took the first step into the hallway and did not look back. His pace was a moderate one but his heart was racing, as if it meant to reach the mysterious flame before the mage.

    This is it. Everything Zhar has worked for is coming to fruition. The burial chamber of Lord Lodbrok and the answers I have been searching for.

    As he neared the flame Zhar could see that it was but a small candle set beside an old wooden door. Reaching out the mage pushed on the door to see if it was locked,to his surprise it was not. Looking back Zhar let the smile upon his face tell his comrades that the end was near. With anxiety coursing through his veins Zhar threw open the door.

    The Khajiit's smile quickly faded for what the mage found on the other side of the door was not the burial chamber of Rangar Lodbrok but a small room with little more than a stone table at its center. Carved into the table was three cavities that bore the same shape of the orbs from the past three chambers.

    As Zhar placed the orbs into their respective cavities he muttered curses and complaints to himself, illustrating his hatred of tombs and the cruelty of the tomb's architect. With the last orb in place the table resonated briefly and a loud clang could be heard from some far off place, as if a mystical tumbler was locked into place.

    Stepping back from the table Zhar frantically scanned the room anticipating the next doorway to be made known. However no door materialized from the darkness nor did any of the walls give way to a hidden tunnel.

    Letting down his guard Zhar gave a sigh of discontent. "Blasted magic... This place displeases me."

    Leaning forward the mage placed his hands on the table to plan the next course of action. But once he made contact with the table a phantasmal hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. Looking up with fright Zhar could see the face of an apparition smiling at him.

    "Greetings, Adventurer. At long last somebody had discovered my prison..."
     

    MjolnirV

    xDoctor Bob
    Whirling backwards, Zhar yelped with fright and fell to the ground.

    "I do not intend to harm you. It has been so long since I've had the pleasure of speaking with one of the living. Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Ragnar Lodbrok, once the Royal Battlemage serving the court of King Harald of Skyrim."

    With that the apparition gave a sweeping bow and recovered.

    "Now tell me who you all are and why you have come here. There is no treasure to be found within these hollowed halls so you must be here for something else."

    Regaining his composure Zhar got to his feet and dusted off his robes before speaking on behalf of the group.

    "Lord Lodbrok, this one is called Zhar and I am a wizard from the College of Winterhold. These are my friends: Sander, knight of the Frostfount family, Kjorvir, a strong Nord warrior, and Elsa... she..er, well she is a great aid in reaching the unreachable. We have come to discover the truth regarding the legend of Archmage Gauldur."

    The name "Gauldur" caused the apparition of Lord Lodbrok to lose the lighthearted smile it once bore.

    "Ah, yes... he was a good man and a wise mage. I greatly admired his accomplishments. Such a pity what happened to him..."

    "We were hoping you could help us with that," Zhar removed all of the notes and tomes he had collected regarding the Gauldur Legend and placed them upon the table so Lord Lodbrok could look them over. "In this era, being the fourth may I add, we know nothing of the events following the Archmage's death. In our records it tells of the sons of Gauldur assassinating their father and dividing his magical amulet between themselves and of you hunting down the three sons."

    As the mage spoke, Lodbrok looked over all of the parchments and books Zhar put out; with each reading the spirit grew more and more disgusted.

    "This is an atrocity, I must fix this. The King had the Archmage eliminated because the Jarls took to his wisdom, his Lordship feared a new Moot would convene and his sons would lose their rightful place at the throne. So he ordered Lord Geirmund, the King's personal battlemage, to cut the Archmage's throat in his sleep. The King planned on pinning the murder upon Gauldur's sons however that did not work. Jyrik caught Lord Geirmund leaving the Archmage's quarters at the time of the assassination and he told his brothers Sigdis and Mikrul of what occurred. So the three fled and hid in their respective camps planning revenge. The rest you can figure for yourself. Lord Geirmund hunted the brothers with his battlemages, myself included. When Lord Geirmund fell with Sigdis I was appointed his replacement as Royal Battlemage. What we did to those boys never sat well with me. For years it festered in my body, a growing plague that engulfed my soul. In my waning years of life I told my second-in-command, Rollo Black-Beard, of what I had done. Now Rollo was a very strong and ambitious battlemage who eyed my position as Royal Battlemage and as it would turn out, he informed the King that I could no longer be trusted with the Gauldur secret. From there I was assassinated in my bed chambers by Rollo and buried here in this tomb."

    Through Lord Lodbrok's entire telling of the truth Zhar was scribbling down notes that would later be used to publish his account on the Gauldur Legend. Taking his note in his hand Zhar thanked the spirit for his help and ensured him that his aid will bring changes to Skyrim. He then gathered his belongings and made his way to the door.

    Before taking one step into the hallway Zhar felt a numbing sensation creeping through his body, soon his legs failed to budge and his arms froze in place. The Khajiit was under a paralyze spell. At the far end of the hallway a hooded figure stood with his hand glowing orange, soon the parchment in Zhar's hand dislodged and flew through the air, finding its home in the mysterious figure's hand. "I do admire your efforts, mage, but this information must not be revealed. My family has been keeping this tomb hidden for thousands of years and I am not about to let such a long lasting tradition end because of one curious cat!"

    Turning the hooded figure fled the party in hope of escape
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    "I do admire your efforts, mage, but this information must not be revealed. My family has been keeping this tomb hidden for thousands of years and I am not about to let such a long lasting tradition end because of one curious cat!"



    Elsa was pissed off. No, she was livid, fuming, she was murderous. This shadowy bastard was on his way to getting a lap full of arrows if he kept this up. As she fought against the invisible hold around her body with sheer will and stubbornness, she sent a few choice curses to whoever was within hearing range. This of course meant that all three of her companions were subjected to the tempestuous ranting of their rather small companion.



    As the faceless voice faded into the ether Elsa quieted, hot tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. There was no way in Oblivion that she was just going to die down here. Not without kicking up a fuss at least.



    After what felt like an eon of silence the thief huffed a weighted sigh and blinked.



    She blinked.



    It seemed as though the mass paralysis was beginning to fade. A twitch of a finger here, a fluttering of a muscle there. Elsa had never felt quite so happy when she managed to shift her foot against the dusty floor. As she slowly regained control of her own body she began to think. Focussing her eyes in the dim light Elsa scanned every inch of the space around them. She'd been trapped in enough dungeons to know there was always a way out. There had only ever been a doubt when they had been unfairly hindered by their mysterious antagonist. As soon as she could Elsa darted forward. Her things lay forgotten on the ground as nimble fingers began to search for the familiar hints of a way out. It varied from tomb to tomb, Elsa assuming it to be a result of the changes in engineering over the years. This tomb was old, very old. She could only imagine what primitive tools were used to carve out the haunted faces within the stone that encased the wayward band of adventurers.



    Not looking away from her task Elsa called out to the others, "We're looking for a latch, a button, a lever or a hidden handle or pull chain within the mouth of a carving. Judging by the age of the stonework I'd say a lever will be the most likely, but it may well be hidden by magic. Magic seems to have pervaded every blasted inch of this rotting pit of misery. Ah, no offence meant Zhar." Sending an apologetic look over at the Khajiit Elsa returned to studying the floor, her toes probing for any sign of anything untoward. Even a pressure plate would be welcomed, so long as she didn't have to feel as though she were trapped in a wholly airless tomb of their own making.
     

    MjolnirV

    xDoctor Bob
    Once as the paralysis began to fade Zhar's body began to fall forward, getting caught mid stride threw the mage off balance and had to catch himself. Stumbling forward he ran into the door of the room which had thrown itself shut and locked itself into position. Lifting himself from his wreck Zhar fumed with insults and curses that would have impressed even the most belligerent drunkard.


    He dusted his robes and massaged his temples in hopes of quelling the fury that boiled within his very own veins.


    "We're looking for a latch, a button, a lever or a hidden handle or pull chain within the mouth of a carving. Judging by the age of the stonework I'd say a lever will be the most likely, but it may well be hidden by magic. Magic seems to have pervaded every blasted inch of this rotting pit of misery. Ah, no offence meant Zhar."


    Zhar shot a glare at the Nord, but quickly softened his gaze to a mere shake of the head and a small smirk. Turning to face the center of the room Zhar sought the guidance of Ragnar Lodbrok yet the apparition was no where to be found.


    The hope within Zhar began to fade little by little with each passing second. He feared dying within the tomb, he despised being defeated by a stranger, and most of all he hated himself for putting his friends into this disaster.

    Moving to the table Zhar laid his palms upon the stone work and watched as Elsa scoured the empty room for some means of escape.

    I'm failing her.

    Turning his gaze he saw Kjorvir and Sander regaining their composure and forcing the blur of magic from their minds.

    I've let them down.

    Turning back to the table Zhar stared blankly at the orbs, their internal magickas spiraling in an endless sea of Aetherial force.

    This has been all for nought. The great failure of Zhar.

    Closing his eyes Zhar fought back tears, his throat tighten to damper the sobs.

    Stupid Cat...




    The mage's muscles began to tense. His finger closed in on his palms, claws digging into the skin. Zhar's lips began to curl back, baring the primal fangs that were hidden by sophistication and self control.

    The Khajiit opened his bloodshot eyes and looked into the red orb before him. Within which an elemental dragon formed from pure flame stared back at him, it's eyes burrowed into Zhar's soul, a primordial ferocity began to stir within. The dragon open it's jaws and roared, from it's throat an eruption of fire hurdled it's way to Zhar.

    Clasping the dragon orb within one hand Zhar let loose a thunderous roar and threw the orb at the sealed door in a fit of rage. The orb struck the door and fell to the floor without a single mark scarring its shell.

    Zhar stood there panting with rage, each gasp of air sent his nostrils flaring. His heart pounded in his head, just like the war drums back home.

    Boom.

    Boom.

    Boom.

    Boom.


    CRASH!

    The room shook. The wall opposite of the door rattled, it's vibrations defining. After a few minutes the sound ceased and the wall became still. Zhar stood baffled staring at the wall... But then it struck the mage. A krin grew upon his face. "I hate this place."

    Moving to the table Zhar grabbed the other two orbs and dropped them to the ground.

    CRASH!

    The wall awoke once again but this time it began to rise. Once the wall fully opened and the dust settled a tunnel lay exposed before the party.

    "This one found the way out." Zhar said as he picked up the orbs and stowed them within his satchel.
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    "This one found the way out."

    Elsa stared numbly at the wall, or rather, the empty space where the wall had once been. She remained rooted to the stone floor as Zhar retrieved the orbs and tidied them away. A muscle in her jaw ticked in irritation. She felt burning heat spread and bloom across her face and neck. Subconsciously her fingers flexed around her bow, the soft leather of her gloves barely whispering in the stifling damp of the tomb.

    She closed her eyes.

    She was ten years old, nursing a burn on her ankle from an errant gout of flame the fisherman's son had shot off. they had been "hunting" a deer and it had startled when Josiah had kicked a pebble across the ground. It had taken them both by surprise, but Josiah had been the one to lash out in response. The deer had escaped fine, it's dappled hide disappearing into the Cyrodillic woodland. The long grass and Elsa however had been less fortunate, and it was only after she had managed to put out what could have been a forest fire with her meagre water skin, had she noticed the agonising pain engulfing her right foot. After that day her father had forbidden her to talk to Josiah. The boy had been sent away, up north, to be with "his own kind". Her father had instilled a fear of magic into her that day. His lesson hadn't taken root, but it had left her with what she regarded as a healthy suspicion of the arcane.

    She took a deep breath. She was imaging blood running down her wrists as her knife found it's way into the hooded bastard's jugular. Elsa opened her eyes and fought to quell her temper. Losing her head down here wouldn't accomplish anything. Stalking forward her lips were curled into a foul sneer. "I hate this place."
     

    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    "AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

    Kjorvir was the last to break from the effects of the paralysis, and his roar came to a massive crescendo as he tore his legs from whence they were rooted. It was the sort of roar that would send men cowering, and the reverberations in the chamber seemed to last as long as the roar itself, with the sounds of glass shattering on the edge of his hearing. Kjorvir knew that it had only been a matter of seconds, or minutes, but the wait had felt like months as he struggled to stretch his limbs from the seemingly lengthy pause.

    By the time the Nord had finished recovering himself and regaining his bearings, the passageway had almost fully revealed itself, and Kjorvir let out another almighty racket as he followed the others towards whatever else stood before them.

    "YYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!"
     

    MjolnirV

    xDoctor Bob
    Once the party has come together Zhar moves towards the exposed passage and peered into it's depths. The tunnel is dark, illuminated by only the torch light in Lodbrok's room. The air feels heavy and damp, a mildew like aroma saturates the walls and acts as a barrier between the tunnel and the room.

    Casting candlelight upon himself, Zhar looks back to his comrades before leading them into the tunnel. Steadily the party makes its way down the passage, the thin film of water that has covered the cavern floor forces Zhar to watch his footing.

    After some time the party comes across a thin stream of light coming from up ahead. Eagerly curious Zhar quickened the pace and approached the source of light which, upon discovery, is two old iron clad doors with a small gap between them, offering a escape for the light on the other side. Looking through the gap Zhar sees Draugur shambling around a large burial chamber, at the center of which a great stone coffin with its lid propped against the side.

    Pressing his weight against the iron doors, Zhar cannot manage to move them. Standing upright Zhar turned back to his friends.
    "Draugur up ahead. Does Kjorvir mind aiding this one in opening the door?"
     

    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    After almost slipping over at least half a dozen times on the way through the tunnel, Kjorvir slid to a stop as his shoulder clattered into the door. The mage struggled, but his frame was not the same as many of his feline kind. Many Khajiit were massive slabs of muscle, itching for a chance to tear or pull or lift, but Zhar's lithe limbs were more suited to holding parchment or delicate movements associated with with arcane.

    Upon his request, Zhar stepped aside slightly while maintaining the gap in the doors. With little more than a second's thought, Kjorvir raised his shield, and turned it perpendicular to himself, unashamedly ramming the edge of the shield into the gap. Once the steel and wood had scraped its way in a certain extent, Kjorvir simply leant on the shield and applied some force. After a click from the shield's fixings and a creak and outpouring of dust from the door's ancient hinges, the opening began to expand, pouring a cold yet welcoming light into the passageway behind them. With every creak from the shield and emerging gaps between the fixings and the shield's sturdy material, Zhar shot a worried glance at the Nord. Between shunts, Kjorvir offered his reassurance.

    "Don't look so... concerned, friend, it'll... bend back."
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    Elsa stifled a grin at Kjorvir's battlecry. "Well put kinsman."

    She relegated herself to the rear of the party, hanging back aside Sander, taking comfort in his bodily presence. It was reassuring to her, that their party consisted of such brutal characters. While finesse and will could take you so far, it was sometimes that case that a situation called for a heavier hand.

    Such as now.

    As Kjorvir battled with the door Elsa took a moment to admire the tomb their were ensnared within. The the presence of foul magic tainted her reverence for the location, and despite the fact that she often turned a profit by exploring and raiding barrows such as this, she held a deep respect for her ancestors. She had never once taken a coin from the linen wrappings that shrouded the dead, nor would she dip her hands into the coffers and burial urns that had been placed with reverence and mourning. No, had she done so it would have been crossing a line.

    For now she allowed herself to brush the walls with her fingertips, one hand resting on the pommel of a dagger as she examined the corpses that lay dead in their alcoves. Once you adjusted to the smell of must and decay it was incredibly fascinating. Elsa often found herself imagining the process the ancient stonemasons had undergone to provide such a worthy home for their glorified dead.

    She was jolted from contemplation as a final grunt of effort announced that Kjorvir had succeeded in his task. Stepping back she grasped an arrow from her quiver and looked ahead, her stomach muscles clenching at the sight of those hollow blue eyes and desiccated limbs, still grasping the weathered and rusting blades their kin had buried alongside them all those years ago.
     

    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    With a final shove, Kjorvir felt the resistance of the hinges finally relent as the doors swung open. Dust from the ancient, warped door frame gave way to the foul odour of the undead, and the Nord let out a splutter as he readied himself and led the charge against the lumbering obstacles.

    As he took his first steps into the corridor, he noticed the heaviness of his limbs. The companions had been in this place a long time, much too long for Kjorvir's liking, and the lack of natural light was beginning to make him feel disorientated and groggy; then there was the after-effects of the paralysis he had just broken from. It had felt almost as though he was treading water for the first few steps, but his efforts in opening the door had seemingly rejuvenated his muscles enough to feel about as good as they could be expected to in the circumstances. The enticing thought of an ale crossed his mind, and the fantasy fuelled his rage as he began his assault on the monsters standing between him and the mysterious figure who had led them there.

    Following a few powerful strides and a hearty roar, Kjorvir hurtled into the first Draugr, what was once a man with a long beard, sending him stumbling sideways against the wall, with his bent and buckled shield. Having watched Elsa deftly nock an arrow as he charged through the door, he trusted her to take care of the fiend as he continued.

    The next came from Kjorvir's right as it languidly pulled itself out of its coffin. This one had lived thousands of years ago as a woman, and her decaying hand clung rigidly onto a sword covered in nicks and scratches. Kjorvir raised his sword and cut deep into the creature's abdomen, the blade's enchantment serving to char and smoulder away at the surrounding brittle, yet putrid flesh. The blade Kjorvir wielded was perhaps not best suited to this task; an axe or mace would be better to inflict damage of sheer force upon the undead, but the subtle flames that licked the sword's edge more or less made up for the weapon's lack of prototypical suitability.

    This was the first actual fight against a number of opponents the group had been involved in since the ambush on the way to the tomb, what felt like many moons ago from the depths of this ancient barrow. He turned back to the others and made eye contact with Sander as he parried a blow and bit into a Draugr's axe-arm with a return. With a hint of cockiness, he called out to the Redguard.

    "Come on, isn't this why we're here?!"
     

    Sierra312

    Well-Known Member
    The knight had looked on as Kjorvir charged with reckless abandon into the mess of shambling undead infesting the burial chamber, smashing one of the risen corpses bodily into a wall and nearly cleaving its rotted buckler in two. As the mouldering cadaver made to regain its feet, a deftly placed arrow whistled into its festering eye socket, snuffing out the fell light that gleamed there.

    Elsa.

    Her green eyes seemed to shine with a steely glimmer that matched the draugrs own as two more arrows found their targets in rapid succession, two more dusty crunches as the decayed bodies hit the floor.

    A blur of movement on the right as yet another nightmare pulled itself with surprising swiftness from its sarcophagus only to meet with Kjorvirs enchanted blade, the malachite and moonstone forged glass igniting a trail of embers in the dry and shrivelled flesh; at once the corpse was ablaze, wailing and clawing at the mummified, desiccated husk of its being.

    The burly Nord looked over at Sander, hammering aside the cut of a draugrs battered axe and delivering a return thrust as he called out.

    "Come on, isn't this why we're here?!"

    The Redguard touched two gloved fingers to his brow in sardonic reply. Unslinging the crossbow at his shoulder he loaded, sighted and fired at a nearby draugr, planting a heavy steel bolt straight between its eyes, the quarrel burrowing deep into the revenants skull. The draugr could often shrug off blows that would cripple or incapacitate a living person, and his next shot was testament to that, punching straight through the ribcage of a second undead wretch. Staggered by the impact, the creature took some moments to steady itself, before letting out a throaty gurgle and making a beeline for him, dead eyes ablaze with that pale, wan corpse light.

    With no time to reload the knight swung his crossbow into the dead things gut as it shuffled eagerly to meet him, hastily unsheathing the broad bladed hunting knife from its scabbard at his back while doing so. Muttering an oath, he buried the weapon up to its hilt in the creatures head as the tomb came to life with the grating of emptying sarcophagi and the rustling, dry bones of the approaching dead.
     

    MjolnirV

    xDoctor Bob
    Zhar coughed, clearing his airways of the dust that enveloped the catacombs. Squinting, the mage could see Kjorvir charging into the sanctum ahead with a hardly a second thought, followed closely by the arrows and bolts of Elsa and Sander.

    Regaining his composure Zhar attempted to count the size of the opposition. Seventeen. Seventeen Draugr emerging from Gods know where. To the average adventurer the odds would surely be stacked in the opponents' favors but this band of adventurers were a cut above the average. Seventeen was a good number. A smirk formed on Zhar's face. There was fun to be had.

    The mage began channeling his magicka, building pressure within his body, building heat. Flames began to seep out of the Khajiit's palms, his internal temperature rising, pressure building, forcing more fire to pour out the body. The flames grew in both size and intensity until Zhar's hands were engulfed in flames, yet there was no timid look upon the Khajiit's face. This was a wizard who commanded the magicka within his being: a master of the arcane arts. Zhar never wondered if the dead felt fear until then for he knew they stood no chance.

    Striding into the chamber Zhar turned his hands toward the nearest enemy he could find and unleashed the fires of oblivion.
     

    MjolnirV

    xDoctor Bob
    Zhar's shoulders slumped forward, his arms falling limp and free. Heavy pants forced themselves from the Khajiit's lungs, his tongue dry and sticking to his lips. The party emerged victorious but with a toll on the mage's body. Resting his hands on his knees Zhar attempted to regain his composure but his sense of smell refrained him from doing so. Despite his many years of adventuring Zhar never grew accustomed to the smell of burnt flesh and hair; its toxic odor seeping through the nostrils and punching the back of the throat causing a small gags of disgust.

    Wiping his mouth Zhar spoke between breaths,

    "There... we showed them,no?...Taught 'em...to stand in Zhar's way....poor idea."

    With one hand Zhar unfastened the straps on his satchel and began rummaging around for a remedy. Extracting a bottle full of a blue liquid the Khajiit eyed it for a moment, face growing elongated and ears falling flat.

    "Oh, how this one detests the taste..."

    Removing the stopper, Zhar took a final breath before downing the tonic; upon emptying the vial the mage's face bore the severity of his disgust. Stowing the bottle Zhar looked to his friends for any need of remedy or aid before attempting to find the way out.
     

    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    Grimacing at the mage's reaction to whatever tonic he had just taken, Kjorvir surveyed the Khajiit for wounds, but found none. Despite his general distaste for magic, particularly powerful destruction spells, the Nord felt an unusual amount of trust when dealing with Zhar. The mages Kjorvir had seen in the past were generally secretive and sinister, or overly flamboyant and deliberately intimidating to their lessers. He was surprised to find himself with a true working relationship with a mage, and a Khajiit at that.

    Shrugging the thoughts away and taking a sip of a small stamina potion, Kjorvir addressed the group.

    "We should keep moving, no reason to hang around here."
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    Stalking over to one of the fell warriors that now lay rotting on the sanctum's floor, the thief reached out to tug an arrow from the creatures eye socket. Sneering at the black, coagulated viscera that club to the steel arrowhead, she looked for any lasting damage and returned the weapon to her quiver.

    The pungent stench of burning flesh was quickly filling the small room and Elsa was increasingly eager to push on. Lightly stepping past a small trap placed directly before a pedestal displaying a helm of days past, she began to explore their surroundings. The others had bore the brunt of the skirmish and while they were regaining their composure, the lithe nord was free to do as she pleased.

    This amounted to Elsa scaling a nearby wall, her small feet balancing precariously on the ruined arches and tombs that formed their morbid surroundings. Taking the time to examine a particularly well preserved amulet the thief quickly lost track of time, quite happy to allow the artefacts that filled the tombs of the dead to grab her full attention. Humming a bawdy tavern song to herself she began sorting the various trickets, and pocketing a few fascinating examples or early Nordic burial rites. There was a set of embalming tools that were in a finer state than any she'd seen. She could think of a very generous buyer in Falkreath who would be ecstatic to add the tools to her growing collection.

    Kjorvir's voice echoed dully upwards and Elsa twisted to look over her shoulder. Glad to at least have something lining her pack, she slowly began her descent, calloused fingers gripping the cracks in the stone carving, her thin boots providing her enough dexterity in her feet to help cling to the wall. Once she was about 5 feet from the ground she let herself fall back, quickly tucking and landing gracefully on the floor. Dusting her hands she tested her bowstring and rejoined the group, huffing a quiet laugh as she saw the state Zhar was in. Biting her tongue and holding back the jibe that threatened to bubble out she simply smiled and shook her head. At least she came prepared and new she had a number of magicka potions in her pack should be run out. Not that he would. He seemed the type to pack for every single potential disaster. It was quite good really.
     

    MjolnirV

    xDoctor Bob
    Once every one in the party was accounted for Zhar nodded towards the door at the back of the room and led his comrades through it. The door led to another room which led to another which too led to another. Soon Zhar grew sick of the constant walking from room to room. Granted it was not your typical stride one would be accustomed to within the safety of city walls. No, this one is deft to it's surroundings. Steady with each placement of the feet, softer than the gentle kiss of an evening breeze, and more cautious than a coin purse down a dark alley. It was a walk of an adventurer, one that has seen the wonders of the frightful caverns and deep ruins and come back alive.

    Finally a small tunnel took the party back to the tomb's entrance, where the flames still cracked and the air felt still. "Not much farther now, friends."

    The pace quickened, the drive to escape the dank air of the tomb fostered inspiration in the mage. He missed the outside world and looked forward to finding the one called Shadow. Coming around a bend Zhar could see a ray of sunlight piercing the darkness and a rope hanging from the ceiling. A quiet chuckle forced itself through his nostrils before the mage took off in a sprint for the rope. The mage began to climb the rope, allowing his feet to pinch the rope in order to bring stability as his hands continued upwards. Upon exiting the dark Zhar was greeted by the fresh air of the Reach along with a dispatch of Imperial Soldiers.

    The commander of the detachment came forward. "By order of Queen Elisif you are to be placed under arrest for acts of high treason to Skyrim."

    Zhar was taken aback by this turn of events.
    "Zhar has done no such thing! By what evidence does the Queen find such a conclusion?"

    "Still your tongue, Khajiit, or else I will still it for you. You will not speak of the Queen in such a way."

    The Queen herself judging a College Wizard of treason? Something does not add up... Zhar spoke up so his friends down the hole may hear him. "Where will you be taking me?"

    "To Solitude. There you will await your trial."

    "Very well, captain." Zhar raises his hands. "Clap your irons upon me and let's be off."
     

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