Post by Will on Aug 13, 2011 1:40:52 GMT -5
Hello READERS! Long time no…write…for……you…? My Gamefaqs account used to be Aggrosaur, but now I'm Rayneworks. ANYWAY I’m back in the game, inspired by Quakecon. Gonna start off my new stories with something more out there. It starts slow but gets REALLY good. Hope you enjoy~ Will Keith.
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You could see the eyes of the wolf glowing in the moonlight. You nock an arrow, and slowly draw your powerful Ebony bow. You aim between the shining eyes, and exhale slowly to steady your shot. You release the arrow, and your trained ears hear it splitting the air as it flawlessly finds it’s mark. The wolf collapses without a sound, and you run in to confirm your kill.
The arrow had sunk deep into the wolf’s skull, killing it painlessly. You pull the arrow from the beast’s body, wiping it on the fur of your thick coat. After skinning and butchering the wolf’s body, you carefully place the meat inside a clean cloth sack, wrap the wolf’s fur around your shoulders, and head back towards your hometown of Riverwood.
After selling half of the wolf meat to the town’s inn, you go to the smith to have your old bow checked for damage and to deliver the pelt that he had asked for.
You walk up to the Blacksmith, also the smith’s home, and knock on the door. It was dark out, but it was not yet late enough for him to be asleep. A tall, bearded Nord opened the door, glaring at you.
“Oy, Genari, did yeh get that wolf pelt I asked yeh for?,” he asked in his gruff voice.
“Yes, Alvor, a fresh kill from only an hour ago. I bring in many kills each week and my sister and I only need so much meat. If you inspect my bow to make sure it’s in working order, you may have the meat which remains from tonight’s kill as well. Hunting in these parts makes a fine living.” You lift your heavy bow over your shoulder and hold it out for Alvor to look over. He takes the bow, carefully inspecting every curve and line.
“Aye, my family’s runnin’ low on salmon. I was going to go fishin’ tomorrow, but this wolf meat should last me and my children for a few days.” He drew the bow, pulling hard on the string, and then bent the bow over his knee, checking for the correct amount of flexibility. He then borrowed three of your arrows, firing them into the target on the other side of the porch. “The bow is in great condition, whomever made this knew what they were doing, I can tell yeh that.”
“You made it, Alvor,” you say with a grin, depositing the sack of remaining meat and the wolf pelt into his arms and placing the bow back around your body.
“I know, but that doesn’t make it any less true!” He laughed heartily. “Well I’m going to start smoking this meat and prepare the pelt for waxing. You take care now, Genari.” He awkwardly shook your hand while trying to hold the meat and pelt, and carried them into the Blacksmith shop, kicking shut the door.
You decide to get an ale at the inn before you went home, and push open the heavy door. Sitting at the barstool, you order an ale and slowly drink it while listening to the general chatter around the inn. You always felt guilty for eavesdropping, but it had become a hobby of yours over the years. Usually it was nothing but mindless drunken babbling or family talk, but tonight something caught your ear.
A Dunmer woman and an Argonian man were lurking in the corner of the inn, and the Argonian was whispering excitedly. You couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, but your trained Elf ears picked up some of the conversation.
“Spirits! What? No, not alcohol! I mean GHOSTS!” and a few seconds after that, “THOUSANDS of Septims!” The Argonian’s rasping voice was audible from across the bar, but you could not pick up anything the Dunmer woman was saying. You were interested, and with a temptation like thousands of Septims on the table, you decide that the benefit could outweigh the cost of an Invisibility potion.
You reach into your pack and pull out a small blue bottle, and silently sink beneath the bar. You down the bottle in one sip, and feel the familiar sensation of magicka running through your veins. Though you had gotten used to the feeling, you would never get used to not being able to see your own limbs. You slide under the bar and crouch behind the Dunmer’s chair, leaning on the wall to avoid any creaking of the floor. You could clearly hear both of them now.
The Dunmer woman was obviously highly intoxicated, constantly mumbling or giggling, but the Argonian was either very good at holding his liquor or he was mostly sober. The Dunmer was laughing, seemingly oblivious to the Argonian’s words. You hadn’t seen either of these people in town, and had only ever seen Argonians in books and paintings. They must have been passing through.
“I…I think yo-you’re on Skooma, at’s what I think,” the Dunmer mumbled. “Ghostly wan, wan, wanderers off’ring treasure fffff, for a, a what?”
“You’re insufferable, woman!” The Argonian hissed, raising his hand, and he seemed almost ready to hit the Dunmer. She was rather attractive and you would feel obligated to intervene if he attacked her, thereby shattering your invisibility. Luckily, he calmed down and placed his hand back on his pint of mead. The woman seemed unphased by this and just as drunk as she had been. The Argonian sighed and began speaking.
“It happened only an hour ago, I was traveling from Whiterun, on my way south into Cyrodiil. I was alone on the road east of this town when I saw them, a small army of spirits! Humans, animals, even carriages and horse-drawn wagons! Pale blue, transparent, I could see straight through them!” He took a long gulp of his mead, and continued his story.
“I was frozen on the spot, from fear or from their ice cold aura I still don’t know. In the front of the group were the spirits of a Nordic man and woman, who seemed to be in charge of the rest. They stopped the group and walked towards me.” He took another massive sip of his mead, slamming the tankard onto the table. He continued speaking normally, as if the drink was not effecting him at all.
“The man spirit said his name was, oh what was it again?” He paused, taking a small sip of mead. “Yes, it was Agnar, and the woman was Svenja. The woman spoke to me, asked me to aid her in finding a lost family heirloom, a bow of some kind. She said she could lead me to a ruin with a treasure horde with thousands of gold pieces. I couldn’t even speak, and the group of spirits began surrounding me, I just ran straight through them into the forest and found myself in this town.”
He sat silently, obviously waiting for a dramatic reaction from the Dunmer. You peered over her chair, and saw that she was unconscious drunk, her face leaning on her tall tankard of ale. The Argonian hissed angrily and stormed out of the bar, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as the bartender chased him out the door with a war hammer yelling that he didn’t pay.
You weren’t sure if his story was true, but you had witnessed spirits before, and they were known to seek adventurers to complete tasks for them that they could not complete in their own life. You knew that human spirits could do you no harm, so you decide to travel the road east of town to see if there was anything to this myth.
You drop ten Septims on the woman’s table, since she did not appear to be wealthy, and you sneak out of the inn before shaking off the invisibility. There was no sign of the Argonian or the barman, and the night was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. There was no sound of birds or insects, the only sound is the quiet flowing of the nearby river.
You decide to simply follow the road north into Whiterun, as that was the direction the Argonian said the spirits were traveling. You don’t waste time stopping by your house, and you run into the forest, being careful not to cause too much noise. While the spirits can’t harm you, wolves and bears can. You come to the road, and looking left and right, you see nothing. You begin jogging north, following the flow of the river. The Argonian had said he saw them about an hour ago, so you had some catching up to do. For all you knew the Argonian COULD have been on Skooma, and even if he wasn’t, there was no guaranteeing that the spirits could even be seen if they chose not to.
After two hours of keeping a solid pace, you came out of the forest into the massive Tundra, the city of Whiterun towering in the distance. You looked around the open plain, but saw nothing glowing in the distance. Either the Argonian wasn’t truthful, or the spirits had evaded you.
Taking one last look around the Tundra, you sigh and turn- And nearly fall over as you come face-to-face with a shining blue Nord woman. Your immediate instinct was to run, but this is what you came looking for. You steady yourself and attempt to act natural. She was alone, with a trail of thick mist hovering behind her.
“Greetings, spirit. I was told of you by an Argonian who came across you earlier in the night. I decided to come see for myself.”
The spirit was beautiful in a strange way, the moonlight reflecting off of her pale form. However, there was no sign of the caravan described by the Argonian. She was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke in a way you had never heard. It seemed as though the voice was coming from your own mind, hearing it about a second after the spirit’s mouth moved.
“Yes, I know the Argonian you speak of. When I tried to talk to him, he began babbling like a child and ran away. You do not seem as though you’ll run. May…may I ask for your help?”
“Indeed, milady,” you said calmly, attempting to act as professional as you could. You had always had a taste for legends and mystery, and being able to have a conversation with someone long dead was an honor for you. “First though, would you be willing to tell me who you are and where you come from?”
She smiled, and waved her hand behind her. Suddenly, the thick mist condensed and took shape, into a small army of ghostly forms. The Argonian was speaking the truth. There were at least two thousand spirits. Men, women, children. Animals too. Dogs, horses, wolves, all pale blue formed out of the mist, as far as the eye could see. A male Nord appeared next to the woman.
“We are the Caravan of Souls,” he said, with the same disconnected voice as the woman. “We travel Nirn, searching for lost spirits whom died before their time. Each of the beings you see here have unfinished tasks, some which may never be completed. We aid them, finding adventurers like yourself who may help us with our tasks.”
The woman stepped forward, bowing in front of you. “I am Svenja Snow-Song, and this is my husband, Agnar. Two hundred years ago, we were killed by a terrible creature. Soon after, a hero killed the beast. We thought we would be able to pass on, but the creature, whom had consumed my body, fell off of the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim, and the hero could not follow. Along with my body, the creature had swallowed my Frostwrym Bow. It’s been in my family for centuries, and I was the last of my bloodline. The bow must be found before I may rest in peace, I cannot allow it to lay in the remains of that horrid creature. If you help us, I can lead you to my family’s treasure. Many thousands of gold pieces wasting away in a crypt.”
During her story, the thousands of other spirits stood silently, glowing sentinels in the moonlight. You think about Svenja’s tale, and questioningly ask: “Svenja, why have you been unable to retrieve this artifact yourself? I know that spirits can interact with the physical world, and with this many allies, you should have no trouble locating it. There is something you are not telling me.”
She looked down at (or through) her feet, and spoke sadly. “Indeed, there is a detail. We do know the exact location of the bow, buried under two hundred years worth of rock and stone. However, a group of Necromancers have taken control of a nearby fortress, and we have already lost twenty souls to their experiments. We cannot retrieve the bow, we need a mortal who cannot be destroyed through their Necromancy. We need you to slay the Necromancers and retrieve the Soul Gems that they hold, which contain the souls of our friends.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “A lifetime looking for adventure, looking for a fight, and now I have spirits, Necromancers, and treasure. I will help you, spirit. I’ve waited a long time for an opportunity like this. Tell me where the Necromancers hide and I will kill them all.”
The spirit smiled widely. “I thank you, Bosmer. You will not regret this. We can lead you to the forest surrounding the fortress but no further than that. Follow the mist.” And with that, Svenja and her army of spirits faded from view, dispersing into a thick fog. The cloud of mist began drifting south, towards the Jerall Mountains. You follow, trying to stay behind the fog, as your skin began to freeze if you got too close.
After three hours of jogging behind the fog, you come over a hill to a thick forest, and Svenja materialized before you. “This is where we part, Bosmer. The fortress is directly south of here. The bow is buried beneath the fortress. It gives off a powerful magical aura, when you are close, it will be impossible to miss. Please, retrieve the bow and the gems containing the souls of our friends. When you do, travel back to your hometown and I will find you. Again, I thank you.” And she faded back into the thick mist, which began to glide away.
You drop into a crouch and slowly walk into the dark forest. As soon as you pass into the trees, everything goes absolutely silent. Not even the wind made a sound as it gently rustled the trees. You look up and spot the North Star, as you had been trained to do by your father long ago, and head in the opposite direction.
After only ten minutes of slow walking, you spotted the fortress tower in the distance. It was dark, and you could not tell if the shapes outside were men or small trees. You reach into your pack and take a small crystalline bottle with a swirling red liquid inside of it. You pop the cork and down the liquid, and the air around you shines blue, the darkness fading away. You look towards the fort, and with your night-eye you’re able to see two robed men kneeling outside of the fortress, magical light surrounding their hands.
They had their hands on the ground, and appeared to be channeling magicka into the dirt. You had no idea what they were doing, but they were easy targets sitting in the dark. You draw your Ebony bow, and nock one of your light Elven arrows. These arrows were full metal, but they were lighter then even the thinnest of wood. Elven forgery at it’s finest.
You pull back the string, and aim the simple needle sight directly at one Necromancer’s head. You exhale slowly, and time almost seemed to slow to a stop in your intense focus. You release the arrow, and after soaring through the air for a split second, lands directly into the target’s skull. He instantly collapsed, and before the other Necromancer could break out of his shock, you put an arrow into his heart. You run to the bodies, searching them. You find two small vials, and you could tell from the dark green color of them and the small pieces of diced meat that they were your basic healing potion.
On one of them you also found a set of silver daggers. Deciding they might come in handy, you remove the Necromancer’s belt and strap it diagonally across your chest. You reclaim your arrows from their corpses, and stealthily slide into the fortress. Your night-eye potion gave you the advantage, but the Necromancers were skilled mages and could easily have a spell of the same effect. You watch your corners and carefully proceed through the winding halls.
The fortress was pretty small, and unless it went deep underground, it couldn’t be too hard to find the soul gems. In order to consume a human soul, the gems would have to be very large. You continued down the halls until you saw a large wooden door to your left. The hall descended underground, and it was most likely there that the Necromancers would have the soul gems. You decided to check the room to your left before you continued onward.
You silently slide open the door, and you have to suppress a cough as the stench of death fills your nose. You look into the room and see dozens, if not hundreds of dead bodies in various stages of decomposition laying around the massive chamber. There were some that were nothing but skeletons, and others that could have died hours ago. On the other side of the room, a tall Altmer Necromancer was waving his hands as though he were conducting an orchestra.
You stared in horror as the bodies began to stir, bones pulling themselves together, pieces of flesh sliding across the ground. They were amassing an army of Undead. For what purposes you did not know, but it was certainly nothing good.
You suddenly heard voices coming down the hall behind you. You slid the door shut, hiding in the shadows. One of them was talking in a deep, rough voice. He sounded like an Orc.
“We have enough bodies. Eliice has all the plans set in Rifton. After she attacks that city, and the guards of Whiterun go to their aid, the city will be defenseless to our own attack. Soon Necromancers will have control of all of Skyrim, and we will move south into Cyrodiil.”
The other spoke in a smaller voice, he could have been a Bosmer, like you. “I still think we should attack Morrowind first. They’re heavily weakened by Red Mountain’s eruption, and there’s nothing to stand against us but those pathetic Argonians. Honestly, I can’t believe they bested the Dunmer. How weak.”
They passed by you, oblivious to your presence in the shadows. You draw the two silver daggers, and sprint towards them. They don’t have time to turn as you simultaneously thrust the daggers into their necks. The Bosmer fell lightly, but the Orc stumbled into a torch rack on the wall, causing it to crash to the ground.
“Hell was that?”
“It came from the hall outside the chamber with the bodies. Get your weapon.”
“All of you, come with me!”
You could hear at least five voices coming from a nearby hall, and heard the clanging of many weapons scraping against the stone walls. You threw your hand into your bag, grabbing your last invisibility potion, and hastily chugged the contents of the vial. Once again you lost sight of your limbs, and you took cover in the corner of the wooden door.
Multiple hooded figures came into view. They spotted the bodies of the Orc and the Bosmer on the ground, and all began whispering at the same time.
“Maybe the zombies got em?”
“Fool, those are dagger wounds!”
“Skeletons can use weapons…”
“They flail them brainlessly, they don’t stab people directly in the neck!”
“Open the door, carefully.”
A tall Redguard pulled open the door to the room with the bodies, and you carefully slid around them to avoid being hit by the door. They all gathered in the doorway, looking down into the sea of stirring bodies. There was a Nord in the back of the group, a massive war hammer strapped to his back. “There’s no way they could get out of that pit anyway. Someone’s here.”
“That’s right. I am.” And you rip the war hammer off of the Nord’s back, swinging it with all your power, the invisibility spell shattering. The hammer strikes the Nord in the chest, and you can hear bone shattering. He stumbles backward, grabbing onto the other Necromancers for dear life, pulling two of them into the pit of Undead, where they were ripped apart instantly. You swing the hammer again, crushing the Redguard’s skull, and kick out, knocking the last Necromancer, a Dunmer, into the pit of writhing bodies.
You look across the sea of the dead, and see the Necromancer who had risen the bodies staring at you in horror. He throws a fireball at you, but you easily dodge, dropping the war hammer and sprinting down the descending hallway. After two minutes of traveling down the same spiraling hall, you come into a great circular chamber. Well, you found the Soul Gem…
An enormous black boulder was hovering in the center of the chamber, and you could literally see the souls of the dead swirling around inside of the stone’s surface. It was hovering above a giant hole dug into the ground, twenty Necromancers surrounding the pit. A man, an Imperial by the looks of it, was standing on top of the massive Black Soul Gem, wearing nothing but a loincloth and holding a glowing red dagger.
“MY BROTHERS! TOMORROW IS THE DAY YOU TAKE CONTROL OF SKYRIM, AND SOON AFTER, ALL OF TAMRIEL! WE HAVE AN ARMY OF DEAD, AND WITH MY SACRIFICE, I WILL REVIVE THE GREAT BEAST, THE MATRON OF THE UDERFRYKTE!”
This was met with great applause from the Necromancers surrounding the pit. The man on top of the Soul Gem spoke once more. “Throw in the armor! Quickly, you mustn’t waste time!”
The Necromancers all stood and hurried to a side of the room, and began dragging and pushing giant pieces of steel armor into the hole, their massive crashes as they hit the bottom shaking the whole fortress. The naked Necromancer raised his dagger to his throat.
“And now, with my death, the Uderfrykte will rise again…” and he thrust the blade into his neck, and the giant soul gem fell into the hole, the sound of it’s shattering nearly breaking your eardrums. For a minute, there was no sound at all. The Necromancers stood silently, and no sound came from the pit.
And then it happened. The entire fortress shook, rock and bricks falling from the ceiling. The hole began to crumble, massive crashes filling the chamber. You saw it, a giant skeletal hand rises out of the pit, and you run as fast as your legs can carry you. You sprint through the hallways, trying to gather your memories of entering the fortress, and finally come to the gate as the halls begin to crumble behind you. You burst through the fortress gate, sprinting for the trees. You take cover behind a twisted birch tree, peering at the fortress.
The whole building was shaking, and you suppressed the urge to run as the reanimated bodies of the dead began crawling out of the wreckage. You had underestimated their numbers. There had to be at least five hundred of them. The fortress collapsed completely, and the creature, the Uderfrykte, burst from the rubble. It was nothing but a skeleton, encased in the thick steel armor that the Necromancers had pushed into the hole. It thrashed around, smashing stone and uprooting trees, throwing them into the crowd of Undead and fleeing Necromancers.
They had made a huge mistake, thinking that they could control this creature. It killed indiscriminately, any Undead or Necromancer that stood in it’s way. The zombies shuffled northeast, in the general direction of Whiterun. They were under the control of the Necromancers, they were too weak to break their control. If they reached the city, thousands would die. They had to be stopped.
You take a deep breath, nock an arrow, and step out of the tree line. You fire an arrow into the skull of an oncoming zombie, and repeat this two dozen times. You reach for your quiver and realize you were out of arrows. Even if you died here, you had to try to stop the Undead from reaching Whiterun. You draw the daggers, and begin cutting down as many zombies as you could reach, dodging their cold hands and the skeleton’s crude weapons. You roll out of the way of a skeleton’s arrow, and that’s when you saw it.
Caught on one of the ribs of the Uderfrykte, a glowing blue bow lighting up the night. Letting go of your fear, you sprint through the ranks of the dead, rolling under a smashing attack from the Uderfrykte, and grasp a bone of it’s leg. You begin climbing up the thrashing monster, hanging on for dear life as it flailed and punched. You grab hold of one of it’s ribs, pulling yourself into it’s body.
The bow was hanging above your head, and you jump for it, grabbing it by the very bottom of the bowstring. The rib it was caught on snapped, and you caught it in the air. You could feel the Magicka emanating from the bow, and realized your last hope.
You put the Uderfrykte’s rib on the bow, the rough edge where the bone snapped gripping onto the bowstring like sandpaper. You wrap your legs around the flailing beast’s spine, aiming the bow up into it’s skull. You draw the bow, amazed at it’s draw weight and wondering how the small Nord woman had ever managed to pull it. You struggle to fully draw the bow, and aim up into the Uderfrykte’s skull. You calm your mind, exhale even though it would do nothing for your aim, and release the string.
The bow releases with incredible power, the bone flying up into the Uderfrykte’s skull, and you stare in shock as it’s head is encased in ice. It stumbles backward, collapsing to the ground, and you crawl out of it’s ribcage. You grab a mace that one of the skeleton’s dropped when the Uderfrykte destroyed it, and swing it over your head, shattering the monster’s skull. It continued thrashing, and you bought the hammer around again and again, smashing the bones into nothing but dust.
You drop the hammer, breathing heavily, grasping the bow tightly. The Uderfrykte was dead, and you had the bow, but the army of Undead was still hundreds strong and headed straight for Whiterun. There was nothing you could do. Your only chance was to run to Whiterun and warn the guards, try to evacuate the city before the Undead reached them. You turn to run into the forest, and yell in pain as an arrow impacts your chest.
You fall to one knee, looking up at your attacker. It was the Necromancer, the Altmer who had raised the army of the dead. There would be no reasoning with him, the look of unfathomable fury said it all. He nocked another arrow and aimed it directly at your head.
“Die.” And he released the arrow. You slammed your eyes shut, hoping for a quick death. It did not come. You had heard the twang of his bow, he was less than four feet from you, he could not have missed. You opened your eyes, and saw his arrow floating in the air in front of you. You had no idea how it had happened, but you get to your feet, drawing a dagger and walking past the floating arrow towards the Altmer.
The Necromancer was in shock, his arrow stopped seemingly in midair. He reached for another arrow, but you kick the bow out of his hands, slashing at him with the dagger. He rolled backwards, running towards the fortress, but he was lifted into the air by another unknown force, throwing him into the ground. Suddenly, twenty spirits materialized around you, all of whom were cheering.
You realized who they were. When you destroyed the Uderfrykte, their souls had been freed. One of the spirits, the ghost of a Bosmer, hovered towards you. “You have our eternal gratitude, my friend. Now, lets show this Altmer pig what us Bosmer are capable of. He yelled and pointed at the Necromancer, and all of the spirits attacked. He flailed and threw spells madly, but the spirits surrounded him.
It seemed the fight was over, but there was an explosion of fire, and the spirits dissipated into mist. The Altmer was on his feet, two massive fire spells encasing his hands. “BURN!” And he throws the spell towards you. You had no energy to dodge, and even if you did you would still get caught in the blast.
All you had was the bow. No arrows. Wait…
The spell seemed to move in slow motion as you grasped the arrow still sticking through your chest. You pull on it, ignoring the unimaginable pain as the barbed arrow head rips your flesh. The arrow comes free, blood gushing from the wound, and you nock the arrow, using every ounce of strength left in your body to pull the bow as far as it would go. You couldn’t aim, the spell was five feet in front of you, and you release the arrow.
The fireball exploded into burning steam as the frozen arrow passed through the spell, the fire melting the ice which in turn became water, displacing the oxygen in the fire. The arrow soared through the air, the look of horror still in the Necromancer’s face as the arrow flew through his right eye, killing him instantly.
As soon as the arrow hit it’s mark, every one of the remaining zombies and skeletons collapsed to the ground, laying in peace once more.
The wound in your chest was great. You had saved Whiterun, and possibly all of Skyrim. This was all that mattered. You would die in peace, and the spirits had their friends back and Svenja could get her bow. You lay on your back, closing your eyes, trying to drift to sleep before death took you. There was something itching in your mind. Something you had forgotten. Your memory was fading, draining out along with your blood. Then you remembered. The healing potions taken from the first Necromancers you had killed.
You shift, forcing your arm to move, reaching in your pack. You grasp the last two vials remaining in your pack, and hold them over your body. You rip one open, painfully swallowing the contents, and pour the second one directly onto the wound. It burned, and you groan in pain as the potion enters your bloodstream. Everything goes black.
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You awake under the stars, staring up at the constellation of the Thief. It was obviously nighttime, but you could see clearly. You sit up, looking down at your chest, and see that the wound was mostly healed. The potions had done their job. You look around, and see yourself surrounded by the Caravan of Souls, Svenja and Agnar standing before you.
“Never, in my hundreds of years of travel, have I thought I would meet someone as courageous as you were today. Not only have you saved our companions, you saved millions of lives. No words of thanks could ever be enough.”
You stand, and bow before Svenja. “I do not ask for thanks. I did what I had to.”
“Even so, any other man would have died that night. Your resourcefulness and skill are unmatched.” She pointed over your shoulder, and you turn to see a large gate leading into a cave. “My family’s mausoleum. Inside, you will find great treasure. All of my ancestors have passed on, you will not disturb their souls. I am the last of my bloodline, please, take it all. Also, the bow you still hold, it was freed from the body of the Uderfrykte, and that’s all I desired. I am ready to be freed from this world, and that bow has nobody to go to. It is yours, use it well.”
You held the bow in front of your eyes. It was a flawless work of art and functionality. It’s magic was incredibly powerful. “I would be honored to become the new owner of this magnificent weapon, milady. It’s power is great.”
Svenja began to fade into the mist. This time, when she was gone, she would not return. “One last request, Bosmer. What is your name?”
You look at her fading form, and reply: “Genari. Genari Lachance.”
END.
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Author’s Notes: Some of this actually happened to me during Oblivion. When I first killed the Uderfrykte Matron, her body somehow phased through the game barrier and tumbled into Skyrim. I was like “THE F***!?”
Also, for one play through, as my female Bosmer assassin, I had an affair with Lucian Lachance, resulting in Genari. (I can roleplay hard) As Bosmer can easily survive hundreds of years, this fits very well.
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You could see the eyes of the wolf glowing in the moonlight. You nock an arrow, and slowly draw your powerful Ebony bow. You aim between the shining eyes, and exhale slowly to steady your shot. You release the arrow, and your trained ears hear it splitting the air as it flawlessly finds it’s mark. The wolf collapses without a sound, and you run in to confirm your kill.
The arrow had sunk deep into the wolf’s skull, killing it painlessly. You pull the arrow from the beast’s body, wiping it on the fur of your thick coat. After skinning and butchering the wolf’s body, you carefully place the meat inside a clean cloth sack, wrap the wolf’s fur around your shoulders, and head back towards your hometown of Riverwood.
After selling half of the wolf meat to the town’s inn, you go to the smith to have your old bow checked for damage and to deliver the pelt that he had asked for.
You walk up to the Blacksmith, also the smith’s home, and knock on the door. It was dark out, but it was not yet late enough for him to be asleep. A tall, bearded Nord opened the door, glaring at you.
“Oy, Genari, did yeh get that wolf pelt I asked yeh for?,” he asked in his gruff voice.
“Yes, Alvor, a fresh kill from only an hour ago. I bring in many kills each week and my sister and I only need so much meat. If you inspect my bow to make sure it’s in working order, you may have the meat which remains from tonight’s kill as well. Hunting in these parts makes a fine living.” You lift your heavy bow over your shoulder and hold it out for Alvor to look over. He takes the bow, carefully inspecting every curve and line.
“Aye, my family’s runnin’ low on salmon. I was going to go fishin’ tomorrow, but this wolf meat should last me and my children for a few days.” He drew the bow, pulling hard on the string, and then bent the bow over his knee, checking for the correct amount of flexibility. He then borrowed three of your arrows, firing them into the target on the other side of the porch. “The bow is in great condition, whomever made this knew what they were doing, I can tell yeh that.”
“You made it, Alvor,” you say with a grin, depositing the sack of remaining meat and the wolf pelt into his arms and placing the bow back around your body.
“I know, but that doesn’t make it any less true!” He laughed heartily. “Well I’m going to start smoking this meat and prepare the pelt for waxing. You take care now, Genari.” He awkwardly shook your hand while trying to hold the meat and pelt, and carried them into the Blacksmith shop, kicking shut the door.
You decide to get an ale at the inn before you went home, and push open the heavy door. Sitting at the barstool, you order an ale and slowly drink it while listening to the general chatter around the inn. You always felt guilty for eavesdropping, but it had become a hobby of yours over the years. Usually it was nothing but mindless drunken babbling or family talk, but tonight something caught your ear.
A Dunmer woman and an Argonian man were lurking in the corner of the inn, and the Argonian was whispering excitedly. You couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, but your trained Elf ears picked up some of the conversation.
“Spirits! What? No, not alcohol! I mean GHOSTS!” and a few seconds after that, “THOUSANDS of Septims!” The Argonian’s rasping voice was audible from across the bar, but you could not pick up anything the Dunmer woman was saying. You were interested, and with a temptation like thousands of Septims on the table, you decide that the benefit could outweigh the cost of an Invisibility potion.
You reach into your pack and pull out a small blue bottle, and silently sink beneath the bar. You down the bottle in one sip, and feel the familiar sensation of magicka running through your veins. Though you had gotten used to the feeling, you would never get used to not being able to see your own limbs. You slide under the bar and crouch behind the Dunmer’s chair, leaning on the wall to avoid any creaking of the floor. You could clearly hear both of them now.
The Dunmer woman was obviously highly intoxicated, constantly mumbling or giggling, but the Argonian was either very good at holding his liquor or he was mostly sober. The Dunmer was laughing, seemingly oblivious to the Argonian’s words. You hadn’t seen either of these people in town, and had only ever seen Argonians in books and paintings. They must have been passing through.
“I…I think yo-you’re on Skooma, at’s what I think,” the Dunmer mumbled. “Ghostly wan, wan, wanderers off’ring treasure fffff, for a, a what?”
“You’re insufferable, woman!” The Argonian hissed, raising his hand, and he seemed almost ready to hit the Dunmer. She was rather attractive and you would feel obligated to intervene if he attacked her, thereby shattering your invisibility. Luckily, he calmed down and placed his hand back on his pint of mead. The woman seemed unphased by this and just as drunk as she had been. The Argonian sighed and began speaking.
“It happened only an hour ago, I was traveling from Whiterun, on my way south into Cyrodiil. I was alone on the road east of this town when I saw them, a small army of spirits! Humans, animals, even carriages and horse-drawn wagons! Pale blue, transparent, I could see straight through them!” He took a long gulp of his mead, and continued his story.
“I was frozen on the spot, from fear or from their ice cold aura I still don’t know. In the front of the group were the spirits of a Nordic man and woman, who seemed to be in charge of the rest. They stopped the group and walked towards me.” He took another massive sip of his mead, slamming the tankard onto the table. He continued speaking normally, as if the drink was not effecting him at all.
“The man spirit said his name was, oh what was it again?” He paused, taking a small sip of mead. “Yes, it was Agnar, and the woman was Svenja. The woman spoke to me, asked me to aid her in finding a lost family heirloom, a bow of some kind. She said she could lead me to a ruin with a treasure horde with thousands of gold pieces. I couldn’t even speak, and the group of spirits began surrounding me, I just ran straight through them into the forest and found myself in this town.”
He sat silently, obviously waiting for a dramatic reaction from the Dunmer. You peered over her chair, and saw that she was unconscious drunk, her face leaning on her tall tankard of ale. The Argonian hissed angrily and stormed out of the bar, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as the bartender chased him out the door with a war hammer yelling that he didn’t pay.
You weren’t sure if his story was true, but you had witnessed spirits before, and they were known to seek adventurers to complete tasks for them that they could not complete in their own life. You knew that human spirits could do you no harm, so you decide to travel the road east of town to see if there was anything to this myth.
You drop ten Septims on the woman’s table, since she did not appear to be wealthy, and you sneak out of the inn before shaking off the invisibility. There was no sign of the Argonian or the barman, and the night was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. There was no sound of birds or insects, the only sound is the quiet flowing of the nearby river.
You decide to simply follow the road north into Whiterun, as that was the direction the Argonian said the spirits were traveling. You don’t waste time stopping by your house, and you run into the forest, being careful not to cause too much noise. While the spirits can’t harm you, wolves and bears can. You come to the road, and looking left and right, you see nothing. You begin jogging north, following the flow of the river. The Argonian had said he saw them about an hour ago, so you had some catching up to do. For all you knew the Argonian COULD have been on Skooma, and even if he wasn’t, there was no guaranteeing that the spirits could even be seen if they chose not to.
After two hours of keeping a solid pace, you came out of the forest into the massive Tundra, the city of Whiterun towering in the distance. You looked around the open plain, but saw nothing glowing in the distance. Either the Argonian wasn’t truthful, or the spirits had evaded you.
Taking one last look around the Tundra, you sigh and turn- And nearly fall over as you come face-to-face with a shining blue Nord woman. Your immediate instinct was to run, but this is what you came looking for. You steady yourself and attempt to act natural. She was alone, with a trail of thick mist hovering behind her.
“Greetings, spirit. I was told of you by an Argonian who came across you earlier in the night. I decided to come see for myself.”
The spirit was beautiful in a strange way, the moonlight reflecting off of her pale form. However, there was no sign of the caravan described by the Argonian. She was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke in a way you had never heard. It seemed as though the voice was coming from your own mind, hearing it about a second after the spirit’s mouth moved.
“Yes, I know the Argonian you speak of. When I tried to talk to him, he began babbling like a child and ran away. You do not seem as though you’ll run. May…may I ask for your help?”
“Indeed, milady,” you said calmly, attempting to act as professional as you could. You had always had a taste for legends and mystery, and being able to have a conversation with someone long dead was an honor for you. “First though, would you be willing to tell me who you are and where you come from?”
She smiled, and waved her hand behind her. Suddenly, the thick mist condensed and took shape, into a small army of ghostly forms. The Argonian was speaking the truth. There were at least two thousand spirits. Men, women, children. Animals too. Dogs, horses, wolves, all pale blue formed out of the mist, as far as the eye could see. A male Nord appeared next to the woman.
“We are the Caravan of Souls,” he said, with the same disconnected voice as the woman. “We travel Nirn, searching for lost spirits whom died before their time. Each of the beings you see here have unfinished tasks, some which may never be completed. We aid them, finding adventurers like yourself who may help us with our tasks.”
The woman stepped forward, bowing in front of you. “I am Svenja Snow-Song, and this is my husband, Agnar. Two hundred years ago, we were killed by a terrible creature. Soon after, a hero killed the beast. We thought we would be able to pass on, but the creature, whom had consumed my body, fell off of the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim, and the hero could not follow. Along with my body, the creature had swallowed my Frostwrym Bow. It’s been in my family for centuries, and I was the last of my bloodline. The bow must be found before I may rest in peace, I cannot allow it to lay in the remains of that horrid creature. If you help us, I can lead you to my family’s treasure. Many thousands of gold pieces wasting away in a crypt.”
During her story, the thousands of other spirits stood silently, glowing sentinels in the moonlight. You think about Svenja’s tale, and questioningly ask: “Svenja, why have you been unable to retrieve this artifact yourself? I know that spirits can interact with the physical world, and with this many allies, you should have no trouble locating it. There is something you are not telling me.”
She looked down at (or through) her feet, and spoke sadly. “Indeed, there is a detail. We do know the exact location of the bow, buried under two hundred years worth of rock and stone. However, a group of Necromancers have taken control of a nearby fortress, and we have already lost twenty souls to their experiments. We cannot retrieve the bow, we need a mortal who cannot be destroyed through their Necromancy. We need you to slay the Necromancers and retrieve the Soul Gems that they hold, which contain the souls of our friends.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “A lifetime looking for adventure, looking for a fight, and now I have spirits, Necromancers, and treasure. I will help you, spirit. I’ve waited a long time for an opportunity like this. Tell me where the Necromancers hide and I will kill them all.”
The spirit smiled widely. “I thank you, Bosmer. You will not regret this. We can lead you to the forest surrounding the fortress but no further than that. Follow the mist.” And with that, Svenja and her army of spirits faded from view, dispersing into a thick fog. The cloud of mist began drifting south, towards the Jerall Mountains. You follow, trying to stay behind the fog, as your skin began to freeze if you got too close.
After three hours of jogging behind the fog, you come over a hill to a thick forest, and Svenja materialized before you. “This is where we part, Bosmer. The fortress is directly south of here. The bow is buried beneath the fortress. It gives off a powerful magical aura, when you are close, it will be impossible to miss. Please, retrieve the bow and the gems containing the souls of our friends. When you do, travel back to your hometown and I will find you. Again, I thank you.” And she faded back into the thick mist, which began to glide away.
You drop into a crouch and slowly walk into the dark forest. As soon as you pass into the trees, everything goes absolutely silent. Not even the wind made a sound as it gently rustled the trees. You look up and spot the North Star, as you had been trained to do by your father long ago, and head in the opposite direction.
After only ten minutes of slow walking, you spotted the fortress tower in the distance. It was dark, and you could not tell if the shapes outside were men or small trees. You reach into your pack and take a small crystalline bottle with a swirling red liquid inside of it. You pop the cork and down the liquid, and the air around you shines blue, the darkness fading away. You look towards the fort, and with your night-eye you’re able to see two robed men kneeling outside of the fortress, magical light surrounding their hands.
They had their hands on the ground, and appeared to be channeling magicka into the dirt. You had no idea what they were doing, but they were easy targets sitting in the dark. You draw your Ebony bow, and nock one of your light Elven arrows. These arrows were full metal, but they were lighter then even the thinnest of wood. Elven forgery at it’s finest.
You pull back the string, and aim the simple needle sight directly at one Necromancer’s head. You exhale slowly, and time almost seemed to slow to a stop in your intense focus. You release the arrow, and after soaring through the air for a split second, lands directly into the target’s skull. He instantly collapsed, and before the other Necromancer could break out of his shock, you put an arrow into his heart. You run to the bodies, searching them. You find two small vials, and you could tell from the dark green color of them and the small pieces of diced meat that they were your basic healing potion.
On one of them you also found a set of silver daggers. Deciding they might come in handy, you remove the Necromancer’s belt and strap it diagonally across your chest. You reclaim your arrows from their corpses, and stealthily slide into the fortress. Your night-eye potion gave you the advantage, but the Necromancers were skilled mages and could easily have a spell of the same effect. You watch your corners and carefully proceed through the winding halls.
The fortress was pretty small, and unless it went deep underground, it couldn’t be too hard to find the soul gems. In order to consume a human soul, the gems would have to be very large. You continued down the halls until you saw a large wooden door to your left. The hall descended underground, and it was most likely there that the Necromancers would have the soul gems. You decided to check the room to your left before you continued onward.
You silently slide open the door, and you have to suppress a cough as the stench of death fills your nose. You look into the room and see dozens, if not hundreds of dead bodies in various stages of decomposition laying around the massive chamber. There were some that were nothing but skeletons, and others that could have died hours ago. On the other side of the room, a tall Altmer Necromancer was waving his hands as though he were conducting an orchestra.
You stared in horror as the bodies began to stir, bones pulling themselves together, pieces of flesh sliding across the ground. They were amassing an army of Undead. For what purposes you did not know, but it was certainly nothing good.
You suddenly heard voices coming down the hall behind you. You slid the door shut, hiding in the shadows. One of them was talking in a deep, rough voice. He sounded like an Orc.
“We have enough bodies. Eliice has all the plans set in Rifton. After she attacks that city, and the guards of Whiterun go to their aid, the city will be defenseless to our own attack. Soon Necromancers will have control of all of Skyrim, and we will move south into Cyrodiil.”
The other spoke in a smaller voice, he could have been a Bosmer, like you. “I still think we should attack Morrowind first. They’re heavily weakened by Red Mountain’s eruption, and there’s nothing to stand against us but those pathetic Argonians. Honestly, I can’t believe they bested the Dunmer. How weak.”
They passed by you, oblivious to your presence in the shadows. You draw the two silver daggers, and sprint towards them. They don’t have time to turn as you simultaneously thrust the daggers into their necks. The Bosmer fell lightly, but the Orc stumbled into a torch rack on the wall, causing it to crash to the ground.
“Hell was that?”
“It came from the hall outside the chamber with the bodies. Get your weapon.”
“All of you, come with me!”
You could hear at least five voices coming from a nearby hall, and heard the clanging of many weapons scraping against the stone walls. You threw your hand into your bag, grabbing your last invisibility potion, and hastily chugged the contents of the vial. Once again you lost sight of your limbs, and you took cover in the corner of the wooden door.
Multiple hooded figures came into view. They spotted the bodies of the Orc and the Bosmer on the ground, and all began whispering at the same time.
“Maybe the zombies got em?”
“Fool, those are dagger wounds!”
“Skeletons can use weapons…”
“They flail them brainlessly, they don’t stab people directly in the neck!”
“Open the door, carefully.”
A tall Redguard pulled open the door to the room with the bodies, and you carefully slid around them to avoid being hit by the door. They all gathered in the doorway, looking down into the sea of stirring bodies. There was a Nord in the back of the group, a massive war hammer strapped to his back. “There’s no way they could get out of that pit anyway. Someone’s here.”
“That’s right. I am.” And you rip the war hammer off of the Nord’s back, swinging it with all your power, the invisibility spell shattering. The hammer strikes the Nord in the chest, and you can hear bone shattering. He stumbles backward, grabbing onto the other Necromancers for dear life, pulling two of them into the pit of Undead, where they were ripped apart instantly. You swing the hammer again, crushing the Redguard’s skull, and kick out, knocking the last Necromancer, a Dunmer, into the pit of writhing bodies.
You look across the sea of the dead, and see the Necromancer who had risen the bodies staring at you in horror. He throws a fireball at you, but you easily dodge, dropping the war hammer and sprinting down the descending hallway. After two minutes of traveling down the same spiraling hall, you come into a great circular chamber. Well, you found the Soul Gem…
An enormous black boulder was hovering in the center of the chamber, and you could literally see the souls of the dead swirling around inside of the stone’s surface. It was hovering above a giant hole dug into the ground, twenty Necromancers surrounding the pit. A man, an Imperial by the looks of it, was standing on top of the massive Black Soul Gem, wearing nothing but a loincloth and holding a glowing red dagger.
“MY BROTHERS! TOMORROW IS THE DAY YOU TAKE CONTROL OF SKYRIM, AND SOON AFTER, ALL OF TAMRIEL! WE HAVE AN ARMY OF DEAD, AND WITH MY SACRIFICE, I WILL REVIVE THE GREAT BEAST, THE MATRON OF THE UDERFRYKTE!”
This was met with great applause from the Necromancers surrounding the pit. The man on top of the Soul Gem spoke once more. “Throw in the armor! Quickly, you mustn’t waste time!”
The Necromancers all stood and hurried to a side of the room, and began dragging and pushing giant pieces of steel armor into the hole, their massive crashes as they hit the bottom shaking the whole fortress. The naked Necromancer raised his dagger to his throat.
“And now, with my death, the Uderfrykte will rise again…” and he thrust the blade into his neck, and the giant soul gem fell into the hole, the sound of it’s shattering nearly breaking your eardrums. For a minute, there was no sound at all. The Necromancers stood silently, and no sound came from the pit.
And then it happened. The entire fortress shook, rock and bricks falling from the ceiling. The hole began to crumble, massive crashes filling the chamber. You saw it, a giant skeletal hand rises out of the pit, and you run as fast as your legs can carry you. You sprint through the hallways, trying to gather your memories of entering the fortress, and finally come to the gate as the halls begin to crumble behind you. You burst through the fortress gate, sprinting for the trees. You take cover behind a twisted birch tree, peering at the fortress.
The whole building was shaking, and you suppressed the urge to run as the reanimated bodies of the dead began crawling out of the wreckage. You had underestimated their numbers. There had to be at least five hundred of them. The fortress collapsed completely, and the creature, the Uderfrykte, burst from the rubble. It was nothing but a skeleton, encased in the thick steel armor that the Necromancers had pushed into the hole. It thrashed around, smashing stone and uprooting trees, throwing them into the crowd of Undead and fleeing Necromancers.
They had made a huge mistake, thinking that they could control this creature. It killed indiscriminately, any Undead or Necromancer that stood in it’s way. The zombies shuffled northeast, in the general direction of Whiterun. They were under the control of the Necromancers, they were too weak to break their control. If they reached the city, thousands would die. They had to be stopped.
You take a deep breath, nock an arrow, and step out of the tree line. You fire an arrow into the skull of an oncoming zombie, and repeat this two dozen times. You reach for your quiver and realize you were out of arrows. Even if you died here, you had to try to stop the Undead from reaching Whiterun. You draw the daggers, and begin cutting down as many zombies as you could reach, dodging their cold hands and the skeleton’s crude weapons. You roll out of the way of a skeleton’s arrow, and that’s when you saw it.
Caught on one of the ribs of the Uderfrykte, a glowing blue bow lighting up the night. Letting go of your fear, you sprint through the ranks of the dead, rolling under a smashing attack from the Uderfrykte, and grasp a bone of it’s leg. You begin climbing up the thrashing monster, hanging on for dear life as it flailed and punched. You grab hold of one of it’s ribs, pulling yourself into it’s body.
The bow was hanging above your head, and you jump for it, grabbing it by the very bottom of the bowstring. The rib it was caught on snapped, and you caught it in the air. You could feel the Magicka emanating from the bow, and realized your last hope.
You put the Uderfrykte’s rib on the bow, the rough edge where the bone snapped gripping onto the bowstring like sandpaper. You wrap your legs around the flailing beast’s spine, aiming the bow up into it’s skull. You draw the bow, amazed at it’s draw weight and wondering how the small Nord woman had ever managed to pull it. You struggle to fully draw the bow, and aim up into the Uderfrykte’s skull. You calm your mind, exhale even though it would do nothing for your aim, and release the string.
The bow releases with incredible power, the bone flying up into the Uderfrykte’s skull, and you stare in shock as it’s head is encased in ice. It stumbles backward, collapsing to the ground, and you crawl out of it’s ribcage. You grab a mace that one of the skeleton’s dropped when the Uderfrykte destroyed it, and swing it over your head, shattering the monster’s skull. It continued thrashing, and you bought the hammer around again and again, smashing the bones into nothing but dust.
You drop the hammer, breathing heavily, grasping the bow tightly. The Uderfrykte was dead, and you had the bow, but the army of Undead was still hundreds strong and headed straight for Whiterun. There was nothing you could do. Your only chance was to run to Whiterun and warn the guards, try to evacuate the city before the Undead reached them. You turn to run into the forest, and yell in pain as an arrow impacts your chest.
You fall to one knee, looking up at your attacker. It was the Necromancer, the Altmer who had raised the army of the dead. There would be no reasoning with him, the look of unfathomable fury said it all. He nocked another arrow and aimed it directly at your head.
“Die.” And he released the arrow. You slammed your eyes shut, hoping for a quick death. It did not come. You had heard the twang of his bow, he was less than four feet from you, he could not have missed. You opened your eyes, and saw his arrow floating in the air in front of you. You had no idea how it had happened, but you get to your feet, drawing a dagger and walking past the floating arrow towards the Altmer.
The Necromancer was in shock, his arrow stopped seemingly in midair. He reached for another arrow, but you kick the bow out of his hands, slashing at him with the dagger. He rolled backwards, running towards the fortress, but he was lifted into the air by another unknown force, throwing him into the ground. Suddenly, twenty spirits materialized around you, all of whom were cheering.
You realized who they were. When you destroyed the Uderfrykte, their souls had been freed. One of the spirits, the ghost of a Bosmer, hovered towards you. “You have our eternal gratitude, my friend. Now, lets show this Altmer pig what us Bosmer are capable of. He yelled and pointed at the Necromancer, and all of the spirits attacked. He flailed and threw spells madly, but the spirits surrounded him.
It seemed the fight was over, but there was an explosion of fire, and the spirits dissipated into mist. The Altmer was on his feet, two massive fire spells encasing his hands. “BURN!” And he throws the spell towards you. You had no energy to dodge, and even if you did you would still get caught in the blast.
All you had was the bow. No arrows. Wait…
The spell seemed to move in slow motion as you grasped the arrow still sticking through your chest. You pull on it, ignoring the unimaginable pain as the barbed arrow head rips your flesh. The arrow comes free, blood gushing from the wound, and you nock the arrow, using every ounce of strength left in your body to pull the bow as far as it would go. You couldn’t aim, the spell was five feet in front of you, and you release the arrow.
The fireball exploded into burning steam as the frozen arrow passed through the spell, the fire melting the ice which in turn became water, displacing the oxygen in the fire. The arrow soared through the air, the look of horror still in the Necromancer’s face as the arrow flew through his right eye, killing him instantly.
As soon as the arrow hit it’s mark, every one of the remaining zombies and skeletons collapsed to the ground, laying in peace once more.
The wound in your chest was great. You had saved Whiterun, and possibly all of Skyrim. This was all that mattered. You would die in peace, and the spirits had their friends back and Svenja could get her bow. You lay on your back, closing your eyes, trying to drift to sleep before death took you. There was something itching in your mind. Something you had forgotten. Your memory was fading, draining out along with your blood. Then you remembered. The healing potions taken from the first Necromancers you had killed.
You shift, forcing your arm to move, reaching in your pack. You grasp the last two vials remaining in your pack, and hold them over your body. You rip one open, painfully swallowing the contents, and pour the second one directly onto the wound. It burned, and you groan in pain as the potion enters your bloodstream. Everything goes black.
********
You awake under the stars, staring up at the constellation of the Thief. It was obviously nighttime, but you could see clearly. You sit up, looking down at your chest, and see that the wound was mostly healed. The potions had done their job. You look around, and see yourself surrounded by the Caravan of Souls, Svenja and Agnar standing before you.
“Never, in my hundreds of years of travel, have I thought I would meet someone as courageous as you were today. Not only have you saved our companions, you saved millions of lives. No words of thanks could ever be enough.”
You stand, and bow before Svenja. “I do not ask for thanks. I did what I had to.”
“Even so, any other man would have died that night. Your resourcefulness and skill are unmatched.” She pointed over your shoulder, and you turn to see a large gate leading into a cave. “My family’s mausoleum. Inside, you will find great treasure. All of my ancestors have passed on, you will not disturb their souls. I am the last of my bloodline, please, take it all. Also, the bow you still hold, it was freed from the body of the Uderfrykte, and that’s all I desired. I am ready to be freed from this world, and that bow has nobody to go to. It is yours, use it well.”
You held the bow in front of your eyes. It was a flawless work of art and functionality. It’s magic was incredibly powerful. “I would be honored to become the new owner of this magnificent weapon, milady. It’s power is great.”
Svenja began to fade into the mist. This time, when she was gone, she would not return. “One last request, Bosmer. What is your name?”
You look at her fading form, and reply: “Genari. Genari Lachance.”
END.
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Author’s Notes: Some of this actually happened to me during Oblivion. When I first killed the Uderfrykte Matron, her body somehow phased through the game barrier and tumbled into Skyrim. I was like “THE F***!?”
Also, for one play through, as my female Bosmer assassin, I had an affair with Lucian Lachance, resulting in Genari. (I can roleplay hard) As Bosmer can easily survive hundreds of years, this fits very well.
