Dragonborn Ascendant (13)

A/N: I like rain, it's a nice and convenient excuse for me to stay in my bed with no one bothering me. I don't like, however, when a tree falls on the power line and leaves my entire street without energy because of the rain.

Anyway, here's chapter 13, a beefier one covering all of Dustman's Cairn for everyone to see. Thanks for everyone still here, and if you want a shout out, I'll be posting up to chapter 11 on QQ this Sunday.

-x-X-x-

“We’re here.” Farkas remarked.

It was a cold day outside, and the sky was painted a dark grey with clouds hanging low. The wind wasn’t too strong, but it was enough to carry a freezing breeze that rustled the tall grass of the tundra and the leaves of the distant and sparse few trees. We stood at the edge of a stone rim of a hole dug into the ground, a telltale trait of ancient nordic tombs.

“Right.” I nodded.

This was Dustman’s Cairn.

This was the place where a fragment of Wuuthrad, the axe of Ysgramor, lay hidden in a tomb beyond swarms of draugr which I would have to fight through in order to collect the pieces. It would also be here where the group of werewolf hunters known as the Silver Hand would first make its appearance as a group opposed to the Companions, since their whole Inner Circle is composed of werewolves, even if Kodlak, Vilkas and Farkas are looking to get themselves rid of Hircine’s hold over their souls. Many things could happen here, and I will admit to being slightly nervous.

“Let’s go.”

The interior of the building was a vaguely cold place, dark but well aired. Barren for the most part.

“There have been some diggings happening around here,” Farkas muttered. He wore, for the first time, a set of Wolf Armour, exclusive to the Companions. “Recent.” He pointed out to the corpses of draugr fallen on the floor.

"Seems like our scholar friend has been busy," I muttered, looking around the place.

Dust could be seen gathered around the corners of the rooms and away from passages where we could walk, and on the ground we could even see blood dried and pooled, and trails of the injured left around, all of them leading deeper into the ruins. Farkas and I shared a look and we both readied our weapons then, continuing to make our path, though this time much quieter and more cautious.

"Do you think we will see them?" The brunette asked in a low murmur.

"Maybe," I returned. "I'm just… wary."

"Of what?" Farkas asked, sounding sceptical. "Afraid of draugr? After you killed a dragon?"

"No," I shook my head. "If we didn't see dead people at the entrance, then the diggers weren't killed," I pointed out. "And that means that blood comes from at least a single warrior."

"And if they know there are draugr here…" the Companion started to connect the dots.

"Then why didn't they turn back and retreat?" I nodded.

"Right," Farkas muttered, his voice more focused, tone firmer. "Let's not keep our guards down if that's the case. I don't like the feeling this place gives me."

"Me neither."

Making our way through rooms and corridors, we eventually arrived into an open hall through a stairway leading down. There were three openings in that room, different paths, the one on the right closed by an iron gate while the one on the left remained, a small alcove with a lever inside remained open, and the central one, likely the main path, had collapsed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen something that screamed trap more than this.” The Companion grumbled, eyeing suspiciously the small teeth poking out of the gateway. “Who do you think this was meant to stop?” He asked.

“Maybe someone friendless,” I offered with a clueless shrug. “Really, this just seems so dumb it’s kind of ridiculous.”

“I… can’t honestly disagree with that…” Farkas reluctantly admitted. I smiled.

“Eh, it’s fine you big lug,” I slapped him on the back. “I’m going to pull the lever. See if the other gate opens up and you can find another one.”

The Companion only grunted in return, but nodded wordlessly.

Thump.

Just as I pulled the lever, the entrance to this smaller room was closed as the gate fell heavily against the ground. I turned around to look at Farkas and the brunette nodded at me.

“The other gate has opened up,” he said. “Stay right- What is this?” He bit out as men started to pour from the passage and surround him. Dozens of them. “Who are you?” He asked, backing up cornered against me.

“Is this one of them?” One of the men asked, and the one at the front facing off Farkas snarled dangerously in response.

“Course it is,” he spat, unsheathing his battleaxe, which prompted the Companion to pull his own sword out. “Any of those fuckers wearing this armour is dead, the Chief said it.”

“You better start talking, bastard,” the werewolf warrior growled dangerously. “I don’t know who you are or what you want with me, but you will regret it if you don’t drop it now.”

“As if I cared!” The man yelled, spitting a globe of phlegm on the ground. “You Companions are all dog fuckers, werewolf, a disgrace to you own name. We knew you would be coming and we prepared so you will die a dog’s death today!”

And as if answering to an unspoken signal, three men jumped up and charged, although one I stopped cold on his tracks with a hit of a lightning bolt. However, undeterred by the death of one of their members, the attackers kept pressuring Farkas more and more until such a moment that, with his back against the iron bars of the gate separating us, his head tilted and I saw a grim smile on his face.

A sigh escaped the brunette’s lips just as we watched the enemies carefully making their way closer before he turned slightly to face me.

“This that I’m going to show you,” he muttered. “You can’t say this to anyone else.” Then he shifted.

The hairs on his body started to grow and his limbs started to get longer. Farkas grew as fur covered his body, and he became hunched, a snarl leaving his fanged maw of jagged teeth.

The men stopped in shock for a singular moment, and their naked fear soon turned into terror as the beast lunged, claws arching and finding purchase on the flesh of the werewolf hunters. The room echoed with the cries of man, as blood gushed and poured in the cracks of the stone. One, two, they fell, too slow to accompany the beast’s movements, the claws slicing through the air and reaping flesh off the bones, and fangs sinking around throats. And when it was all done, Farkas jumped out of view before the gate trapping me was opened.

“A werewolf, huh?” I muttered, looking at the back of the man who shrugged.

“I hope I didn’t scare you.”

“Hardly,” I scoffed. “Still… I didn’t expect this from you. Is that something exclusive to you or…”

“No,” Farkas shook his head. “The beastblood is something shared only by a few. It’s a gift, a blessing given to some of us. Or at least so Skjor says.”

“Of course he would say that,” I grunted. “Come on, let’s keep going. That can’t be the last of them.”

The Companion paused, a frown on his face. “You aren’t going to ask?” He questioned, confusion clear on his voice.

I shook my head.

“Frankly,” I started. “I’m disappointed to know that the greatest warriors of Skyrim have sold their souls to Hircine to get that position, but I don’t particularly care about what you do with your souls. Or have you forgotten?” I turned with a lazy smirk. “I’m the dragonborn, that’s leagues better than being able to transform into a wild mutt.”

“Arsehole.” Farkas snorted.

“I’m actually more surprised that you are unharmed when I clearly saw those blades hitting you.” I said a moment later.

“The transformation heal the wounds I suffer, normally,” explained the Nord. “Only if they are made from a silver blade, like the ones those people were using, that they linger a bit more. But usually, wounds don’t transfer from one form to another. Only when they are small cuts though.” Farkas said. “Silver Hand,” he grunted, a scowl crossing his face. “They are werewolf hunters, bad people who don’t like us, which means they don’t like you either.”

“I figured as much.” I told him. “And it’s not like I can blame them. Werewolves are dangerous.”

“Not all of them,” Farkas grunted and I nodded easily in agreement.

“True,” I conceded. “But most of them? If they weren’t dangerous and a gift from Hircine, if you can even call something from a Daedric Prince a gift; I’m sure you wouldn’t have to hide it from everyone, right?”

“Maybe,” the brunette muttered, a hard frown on his face as he thought silently.

Leaving the Nord to stew on his thought while he worked his jaw mulishly, we proceeded to dive deeper into the cairn. Even if there weren’t any fragments of Wuuthrad to be found here - something which I know there would be -, the fact that there was Silver Hand presence nearby was enough to make Farkas insist on searching every nook and cranny of this tomb for any more werewolf hunters.

As it turned out, however, they didn’t go very far with their expedition either, the rest of their force gathered in a single room where many documents could be found.

“Look at this,” I called Farkas, pointing at the pages of a journal I had been quickly skimming through. “They found another three fragments.”

“Three!” The blue eyes of the Nord bulged comically. In a heartbeat he stopped looting the corpses to stand right beside me where he could look at the pages I was reading, a sort of excited energy exuding from the man. “Where? Does it tell you?”

“Apparently in a camp,” I said. “Their main camp. Somewhere called Dibella’s Eye. Know where it is?”

“Me?” The brunette raised an incredulous eyebrow. Shaking his head he continued. “No, I haven’t the faintest clue, but Aela might know. And if not her, then certainly Kodlak will.”

“We should bring these to them if that’s the case,” I reasoned, putting the small booklet in a bag. “Where did the path go?” I asked, turning to face the Companion another time.

“Upwards,” he pointed out. “Likely the same way as the other path did. But this one also collapsed. The other one on the other side seems intact for the most part, however, but there seem to be many draugr there.”

“We can take care of them,” I shrugged. And we did.

There were dozens of draugr on that alternate path, and the rows upon rows of carved beds on the walls were a clear indication that this was a servant quarter of some sorts. Or maybe barracks given the number of fully armed and armoured draugr we found here.

And none of them were slouches.

Slowly they rose, which gave us time to quickly get rid of the ones closest to us, but the sounds of the fighting eventually attracted all of the remaining draugr resting in their tombs. There were no archers, and thank the gods, neither there were mages amongst them, but even still their cohesion was fearsome, because as one attacked two others attacked as well, and where one distracted a handful others tried to surround and overwhelm us. Devious creatures. I was glad that a swing or two of my ebony battleaxe was enough to kill them, and that I had Farkas with me to keep the pressure from the guards from overwhelming me. And together we worked to quickly put an end to the fighting, even if quickly meant almost five minutes later when we were both panting exhausted and drenched in sweat.

“Do you want that dagger?” I asked. “It’s made of ebony.”

“You can keep it,” Farkas shook his head after taking a moment of consideration. “This is your mission after all, and I don’t feel like I’m being of much help to you.” He said.

I laughed.

“You think you aren’t helping?” I shook my head. “Hoh boy, how I wish I had more people with me at Bleak Falls…” I smiled.

“Was it that bad?” He asked, slicing a piece of beef to chew on. “Aela told us the story a few times by now, but she says your trouble only came at the end of it.”

“And she’s right,” I nodded. “But damn if it wouldn’t have been easier with more people there.”

Lo and behold, after walking another fifteen minutes and going what felt like another twenty metres deeper we found another barracks. Which were definitely servants. Fully armoured and armed servants… who could cast magic…

It’s easy to forget this, but this place is relatively close to Whiterun, and that’s quite scary. Scarier even if it somehow remained intact through all these years and functioning at full capacity. Thankfully, however, the draugr I counted this time were barely a few handfuls of them, and I definitely wasn’t going to give a chance to them so they were blasted away with a single shock or fire spell and soon the path opened to us.

Then the path remained open to us.

“...Why do you use magic, Magnus?”

I paused. “Why wouldn’t I?” I turned, facing Farkas with a frown. “What brought this on?”

“I’m just… curious…” he hummed. “Seeing you fight these draugr with magic and your own axe… It makes me wonder why we never used it.”

“That’s… a really complicated thing to discuss,” I muttered. We were in a chamber deep underground, there were sarcophagi on the walls, dark stone shapes sealed shut, some of them to the end times.

“Magic is part of all cultures in Nirn,” I said. “Something that is only natural when this world is so abundant in it. Magicka is present in all living things, and even some that are not, but the ability to use magic isn’t solely reliant on that… The Nords of yore, the forefathers of the people who built this place, the very founders of the Companions and the Jorrvaskr, wielded magic. Why wouldn’t they? They were warriors, and in Atmora, anything to give them an extra edge would have been useful.” I told. “I bet even Ysgramor himself was a battlemage of some sort.” I added with a huff.

“Then why don’t we use it nowadays?” Questioned the Companion, and to that, I could only shrug.

“I don’t know,” was my answer, and it was as simple as that. “I’m pretty sure this entire mistrust with magic has probably started after the whole Oblivion Crisis. It was a destabilising moment in history that left the empire much debilitated, and the Nord legions have always been the most loyal and the most superstitious by far. Something so catastrophic must have certainly shaken them. It doesn’t help that it was caused by mages.” Was my hypothesis. I couldn’t be sure if I was right, but I felt fairly confident my theory at least held some basis and plausibility. “Then, if there was mistrust with magic by then, the Catastrophe that hit Winterhold must have certainly cemented this animosity in your people’s mind.” I said.

“That makes a surprising amount of sense,” Farkas muttered after a stretch of silence. “Gods, that must have really been what happened.” He whispered.

Our conversation was put on hold however after we entered a small room with a shrine for the adoration of dragons. We were close then, very close.

In a section where the crypt had been incorporated into natural cave formations a draugr deathlord stood watch over a bridge connecting two different ledges. His sight under the dim light together with the horned helmet was an intimidating one, but when he opened his mouth, a shout ready in its mouth, I was ready with a counter of my own.

“Fus…”

“Yol toor shul!”

“Ro dah!”

The cave trembled, and for a moment I thought the ceiling would collapse on our heads, but as the fire engulfed the draugr who screeched and fell lifelessly on the ground, I blinked.

“I shouted…”

“Magnus?” Farkas’ hand settled on my shoulder and the startling motion jolted me awake.

I just shouted…

“How underwhelming…” I whispered. I…

Maybe it is really too much to ask for this, but I honestly expected, no, wanted to shout for the first time in a grand fashion. Not that this wasn’t, I could see Farkas sighing relieved as he carefully poked the corpse of the draugr with his sword, looking for any sign of it still being alive, but…

Bah, I don’t even care anymore, I clicked my tongue. This is the dragon tongue, dragons are supposed to speak it, why am I not supposed to use it just as liberally as them, right?

Still…

A groan escaped my lips.

“Are you alright, Magnus?” Farkas asked, watching me squirm from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I grunted. “I’m just… having an internal struggle.”

“Right,” he drawled, still suspicious. “This one has an ebony sword with him. That’s yours.” He said and I sighed.

“Wasn’t ebony supposed to be rare or something?” I grumbled.

“Not for them at least,” Farkas shrugged.

Oh dear Farkas, how I wish thou were wrong…

As it turned out, the path the deathlord was protecting was, you guessed it, another sleeping hall, this time definitely a barracks or garnison of some sort to protect the iron door at the end, because the draugr found here - a bit more numerous than before - were certainly better equipped, even if not a single one of them used magic. Something which I was quite grateful for when I started to fire fire bolts on the mass of undead, even if some of them did try to shout in our direction.

They still died anyway.

“This is it…” Farkas whispered, pushing the iron door open to reveal an immense hall.

High walls and a tall ceiling could immediately be seen, and the room rose in layers like the steps of an altar. The walls were dotted with sarcophagi, dozens of them, all closed and eerily silent, the dark material they were made of absorbing the light of the four braziers illuminating the room without reflecting.

In the silence, I could hear the hum, the calling, the faint singing of the word wall framing a large stone table rimmed with a dark ancient metal, a pedestal with the black pieces of what were obviously the fragments we came here to find on its centre and offerings in potions and soul gems displayed around.

“The fragment of Wuuthrad!”

“Careful now,” I grabbed his hand before he could reach the pieces on impulse. “Take a look around you.” I said, and reluctantly the man complied.

His expression immediately dropped, and his pale face became ghostly.

“Right,” he tried to smirk but there was an unmistakable quiver on his voice as he spoke. “Draugr. Lots of them.” He fidgeted, fingers twitching nervously.

“Drink any potion that will help with your regeneration and stamina, now,” I told him. “You’ll be needing it.”

“Don’t you have any?” He asked, procuring a small vial from one of his back pouches.

I shook my head. “I’ve been working on some Restoration spells with Danica,” I said. “She has been very helpful.”

“I bet.”

“Ready?” I asked.

“Whenever you are.” He grinned.

I bagged the fragments.

Crack!

Immediately there were three loud noises of stone forcefully breaking.

Thump!

And almost like one, three heavy thuds as the lids of three sarcophagi fell to the ground with a dull impact.

Two draugr with the high horns on their helm, deathlord or death overlords stepped out, and one draugr scourge with horns curved down.

Farkas and I gulped.

“Fus…”

“Fus…”

“Ro dah!”

“Ro dah!”

The whole room shook as the shouts clashed, and for a moment the light wavered as the flames in the braziers flickered. Two new draugr scourges stepped out, then three deathlords, then five more scourges.

We were doomed.

“Tafiire. Hi fen dir het, reimokur.” A deathlord spoke, a skeletal finger pointed directly at us.

My answer was to swing my axe.

“Rrraaaggghh!”

With a mighty roar I jumped, and my axe danced. I felt powerful as I lept, the strongest I’ve ever felt, and I soon crossed the distance between myself and the first of the undead. And I saw, staring directly into the flaming orbs of his eyes burning a bright blue that he was scared.

The axe fell, biting the metal of a chestplate and promptly tearing through it like a razor blade cutting through paper; and the undead flesh was cut without offering resistance and bones snapped as a ribcage was violently crushed with sickening cracks.

The draugr fell, bisected almost in two.

It took only a moment but a dozen different shouts were fired my way.

“Fus ro dah!”

“Fo krah diin!”

“Krii lun aus!”

“Gan lah haas!”

“Faas ru maar!”

“Zun haal viik!”

“Ven gaar nos!”

There was a tug on my hands and my battleaxe was suddenly yanked from my grip, I felt a wave of dread rush through my mind and a chill crawled up my spine as I watched the wave of ice breath approaching almost in slow motion.

A grin came to my face.

“Yol toor shul!”

A wave of fire left my mouth to crash against the frozen wind of the ice breath and in that moment I reached on my belt for the ebony dagger I had found earlier.

“Wuld nah kest!”

And I was soon driving it in the head of one of the draugr, who fell limp on the ground, and before the nearest one could even register my presence I was already upon it, beheading the creature with my deadly sharp blade.

I turned to the scattering mass of draugr and a snarl escaped my lips.

“Fus ro dah!”

And some of them were promptly flattened against the wall while others-

“Yol toor shul!”

Burned into a crisp.

A blade swung and my eyes widened as I twisted and narrowly avoided having my throat cut open.

“Hi los kendov,” the draugr that attacked me rasped. “Hi fen tul dir.”

His sword fell and I ducked, and he swiped another time but I parried, twisting his blade harmlessly away. With another I craved my blade on his elbow and turned, tendons snapping and bone giving as an arm fell and then another.

The draugr screeched but I slapped it with a fireball directly into its mouth, and with another slap a fire rune was cast on its body.

A whisper left my mouth.

“Dah.”

And effortlessly the body was flung against another wall where it suffered a fiery explosion that bathed two scourges in flames.

Already more than half of the draugr were dead and now I picked up the ebony greatsword the first deathlord I killed had been wielding. And with it in hand a savage smile came to my face.

“Wuld nah kest!”

In the blink of an eye I crossed the distance between the draugr and myself, and just as easily as breathing the cut with the greatsword cleaved an undead in half.

Another one jumped, a pair of war axes in hands, swinging wildly in an attempt to corner me. Except…

Tink!

One of the axes hit my blade, and with the downward force I twisted and inverted the guard, and then I struck in lightning fashion. But just as the blade bit on its neck the draugr caught the edge of my sword with his other axe and we stared each other down.

“Yol!”

“Aaaarrrrggghhh!” The draugr howled as I kicked it away.

How many are left?

My eyes darted around the room and only two other draugr were left standing, one with a warhammer and one with a greatsword just like me, and the horns on both their helmets were pointing upwards.

“Hi los kendov, tafiir,” one of them said. “Hi dir fen drun mii zin.”

I shook my head, falling on a guarded stance. “Ni,” I answered. “Zu’u fen gestin hi nol daar laas.”

“Hi fen unt.” They both said.

Blades sang as they met and collided, and the air whistled being pierced by the spike of the warhammer.

I stepped back to avoid the crushing blow that missed harmlessly, but the swordsman followed with a step of his own and with a raised blade he striked again. I raised my own sword to block, but the other one saw this opportunity to strike once again with his hammer, which I had to dodge by diving below the blow and rolling to the other side.

A sword strike came, and I swatted it away with a vertical strike and then followed with a thrust, but the draugr slapped my blade down and, using my momentum, swang another time.

I grit my teeth, watching the blade slowly approaching my throat.

“Wuld nah kest!”

I slammed against the draugr, and we both tripped, losing our balance.

The difference between the two of us, however, was that I was on top, so when the second draugr capitulated on this opportunity to strike in a lethal blow.

“Harg!”

I could roll to either side to narrowly avoid the blow that caved the chest of the other draugr.

I brought both my hands up.

“Burn.”

“Yyeeeeaaaarrrrggghhhh!” the draugr screeched as I kept dousing it with flames, and the undead shook and trembled while covering in flames in a futile attempt of putting out the fire consuming its body.

The draugr fell to its knees and I kept pressing with the flames until the screaming stopped.

Only burnt bone and charred metal was left when the fire stopped.

Words in Dovahzul:

Tafiire. Hi fen dir het, reimokur = Thieves. You will die here, vermin.

Hi los kendov. Hi fen tul dir = You are (a) great warrior. You will still die.

Hi los kendov, tafiir. Hi dir fen drun mii zin =You are (a) great warrior, thief. Your death will bring us honour.

Ni. Zu’u fen gestin hi nol daar laas = No. I will free you from this life.

Hi fen unt = You will try.