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Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions	By : NoLoreMaster Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 3401 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Bethesda Softworks is the creator of the The Elder Scrolls Universe, so logically, this isn't mine. This fanfiction is non-profit and fan-made. Hope that covers it. Don't eat me D=

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Before I begin, I'm really pleased to see that people are reading this story, so I hope you're enjoying it thusfar. I'm aware my fanfic isn't as 'fast-paced' as most seem to be here, but I dunno, I' m enjoying writing this at this pace to let the plot and characters develop in their own right. Enjoy your read and pop me a review or rating so I know if I'm heading in the right direction.
The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 3

After walking past the carts and tents the merchants had set up in waiting of permission to enter the city, Cirilonde had given up trying to find Ganir because he was nowhere to be seen. A group of Khajiit, the cat-people of Elsweyr, caught her eye. They were sat around a fire in the midst of their little camp. Their tents were made of furs, leathers and wood.

Khajiit were a rare sight in the Summerset Isles and she had met but a few when she attended the Arcane University in Cyrodiil, so she approached them, curious.

“Stranger, you are the first to approach Khajiit.” The Khajiit who had spoken, was the leader of the lot of four, clad in colorful, thick layers of clothes that complimented the pattern of his beautiful, brown and striped fur.

“Why would I not?” she asked.

“The Nord-folk of Skyrim are suspicious of Khajiit, thinking us all skooma-addicted cutthroats and thieves. Not all of us are. Ri’saad invites you to join him and his friends.” Ri’saad gestured for her to sit down on the worn, woven rugs that were placed around the campfire.

She crossed her legs as she sat down between the two Khajiit females, who smiled at her. “What brings you and your friends to Skyrim, Ri’saad?” Given the wide berth the merchants and other passerby’s gave the Khajiit, she was curious why they would want to be here so far from home.

“Trade. Ri’saad has travelled the roads of Skyrim with his friends, Khyla, Atahbah and Ma’randru-jo. But how does Khajiit trade if Ri’saad is not permitted in the city?” His face clearly showed his frustration as he glared at the city guard, who glared back at him over the distance.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You must have interesting goods for one who has travelled so far.”

Atahbah suddenly jolted up, howling in pain as Ganir stomped his boot down on her tail. “I’d keep your paws to yourself, s’wit, before I cut them off.”

Cirilonde looked and saw that Atahbah had been fiddling with her pouch as it lay loose next to her on the ground. She glared at Ri’saad who had jumped up and waves his hands defensively as Cirilonde’s hand glowed with magic. Granted, it was but an illumination spell, but the Khajiit clearly couldn’t tell the difference. “ Wait, wait! No need for violence, sera.”

Ganir casually stepped off Atahbah’s tail, who whimpered as she held her tail before hissing at the Dark Elf. “If you’re fond of your little ‘trade’ I suggest you refrain from such tricks, cat.” He then nudged his head for Cirilonde to come along with him.

Cirilonde grabbed her pouch and stood up, dusting her clothes off and glaring at Ri’saad. “You’re not really helping your reputation, and you are lucky he didn’t rip her tail off.”
She followed Ganir away from the camp and sat down next to him on a rock under the shade of a tree. “We have a problem.” He threw a rock in the creek that wormed it’s way past Whiterun. “According to the Jarl, the civil unrest has carriages travel with merchant caravans. It will take two to three days for one to arrive from Solitude. However, the Jarl was rather impressed I snuck into his city while it was on lockdown and offered me work, or rather, the Court-Wizard did. I’m sure the reward can buy us the trip.”

“So that’s where you disappeared off too.” Cirilonde was clearly impressed. “So, what does he want you to do?”

“He wants me to go to Bleak Falls Barrow and retrieve some sort of tablet. He called it a ‘dragonstone’. I’m not keen on putting you in danger, but if you stay here-,”

“I’ll come with you.” Cirilonde said, much to Ganir’s surprise. “I’ve dealt with the undead before, back in Cyrodiil. I specialize in the Restoration school.”

“That will come in handy for certain.” Ganir stood up and looked in the direction of Riverwood. “We will probably have to head into the mountains via that pass over there.” Cirilonde nodded, seeing the path he pointed out that wound its way up the mountain.

“When do you want to go? I suppose we need to make some preparations?”

“I took the liberty of helping myself to some supplies.” Ganir grinned, showing the contents of the bag he had slung over his shoulder, which contained a total of two healing potions, magicka potions and a cloak.

“And you’re the one to chastise the Khajiit.” She gave him a look, but couldn’t help but smile a bit. She didn’t approve of him stealing, but at the same time, there was definitely the charm in the fashion he had done it.
“It’s for a good cause.” Ganir’s lips curled into the handsome, rogue-ish grin that seemed to be his trademark. “Take the cloak, it will be cold up there. Let’s get going.”

Cirilonde was hesitant, but took it in spite of the voice in her head that chastised her. “You’re a bad influence.” She grinned and they walked back in the direction of Riverwood, looking for the pass into the mountain off the beaten path. The further they headed up, the colder it got and Cirilonde was thankful the cloak provided some warmth and shelter from the sharp, cold wind that whipped past them. The snowfall blurred their vision and the snow cracked under their boots, but finally, after a few hours, they had made their way to the top and saw the Bleak Falls Barrow in its full, ruined glory.

This Nordic burial barrow had to be ancient, judging by the size of it and how little remained of its exterior architecture. Pillars supported the entrance to the barrow, which had been carved from the stone. Upon approaching, however, they saw a group of men and women and quickly snuck for cover. Cirilonde hugged the wall tightly, heart pounding and trying to control her breathing. Ganir was calm, and peered past the wall where they hid to listen in on the conversation.

Six men and women. He counted. Armed. Fur and leather armor….Grave robbers. Who else would come to this place?

“There had better be a good reason for dragging us all the way up to this godforsaken place, Arvel.” Said one of the men to a Dunmer; a slick fellow like Ganir, except with a ratty, thin face and beady, dark eyes.

“Now hold on now, do I look like the sort to waste your time, gentlemen?” said Arvel. “If we do this right, we will be swimming in gold. Trust me, Gedrick.”

Gedrick grumbled with distrust as he glared down at the ratty Dark Elf. “I’ll have your head if I find out you’re lying, elf.”

“Now why would I do that, friend?” Arvel grinned nervously. “Come on, let’s go on inside. You take the lead gentlemen.”

The brutes headed inside, followed by Arvel, who looked behind him just before closing the door to the barrow behind him.

“Seems quite coincident for them to be here,” Cirilonde said to Ganir.

“Not really. Grave robbers are all over the place. Dealt with them in Morrowind quite frequently.” Ganir’s face showed the contempt for them. “They’re not the brightest lot, though, so we should be able to trail behind them without them finding us.”

Cirilonde made to get up and follow Ganir. “Just a few minutes, Ciri. I need to make sure it’s safe. Wait here and I’ll come get you.”

Cirilonde nodded and waited, reluctant, but indeed, after a few minutes, Ganir returned and gestured for her to come and she followed him inside, guiding her to a dark corner in the barrow.

On the outside, Cirilonde had expected it to be but a small, damp and dark little area, but the interior of the barrow’s entrance was a large, cavernous open space. Parts of the roof had collapsed or had been made ages ago. The snow sparkled in the light that fell in.

In the far back, sided by coffins, was a large pair of doors where the grave robbers and Arvel stood.

With all the caution they could muster, Cirilonde followed Ganir’s exact, slow footsteps, making sure to not make a sound as they inched closer and hid behind a stone casket.

“Looks like we’ll just have to break this door open, lads.” Arvel grinned maliciously at the Nords, bowing to the other grave robbers in a mocking fashion.

“Can’t pry it open yourself, you little weasel?” Gedrick sneered and he pulled his axe from his belt, shoving Arvel out of his way. He raised his axe and the moment he brought it down, the stone and wax seal that had kept the door locked, shattered to pieces, but it released a shockwave that threw the Nord back.
There was a brief, tense silence that followed as the grave robbers, all Nords, were obviously unsettled. They had broken an enchanted seal and one didn’t simply place one without a reason.

The silence was broken when the caskets surrounding the door suddenly burst open and Cirilonde’s gasp went unheard as the men unsheathed their weapons to face the monsters that had crept out their tombs from their slumber.

No one exactly knew how the Draugr came to be or function, but seemed often to be related to the ancestors buried within a barrow, tasked to guard against unwanted visitors like the grave robbers. They looked repulsive, with dried, leathery skin and glowing, icy blue eyes. Their hair matted and wiry.

In the commotion of fighting, Arvel chose the run for his money, and burst past the door that had just been unsealed. “Where do you think you’re going, you rat?!” Cried one of the Nords, and chased after Arvel while the others were left to fight the Draugr, who were incredibly fierce and strong.

The Draugrs’ bones cracked and their jaws slumped as they swung their axes and spoke in an ancient, guttural language. Was it an Ancient, Nordic language?

The four desperately tried to fight back, but the Draugr were too strong and though they managed to kill one, they too were killed.

The Draugr that remained, looked around for any other intruders, snarling at the darkness, before it turned and climbed back into its casket, folding its hands over his chest and closing its eyes.

Cirilonde stood frozen in awe. She had been taught in Cyrodiil to ward against zombies, skeletons and even a wraith, but she had never seen anything like this. Draugrs actually seemed to hold a certain degree of behavioral intelligence.

“If we stay quiet, I think we should be able to sneak past him.” Cirilonde said to Ganir. “They broke the seal and they were the only invaders he saw, so we should be fine.”

Ganir nodded and they carefully crept closer to the dead grave robbers. He inspected what they carried with them, but found little of use except for some gold.

“Ganir, look.” Cirilonde whispered and beckoned him over. She was holding a leather-bound journal. “It’s Arvel’s.”

“Didn’t think the fetcher would be able to write or read.” Ganir grumbled as he knelt down next to Cirilonde, who skipped through the pages as she quickly skimmed over its content.

“Seems that he found some sort of ‘golden claw’ and he gathered this lot to find some sort of treasure.” She looked at him, a bit worried. “Do you think he knows about the stone?”

Ganir understood her concern. Was someone else looking into the dragons as well? “Let’s be on our way. We only have two of them left to deal with.”

“And possibly a bunch of ill-tempered Draugr. We really need to be careful.” Cirilonde cautioned him. They made their way deeper into the barrow. Cirilonde squinted her eyes to adapt to the darkness. Apparently whoever had gone after Arvel, had assumed his friends would come too, and lit some torches and braziers on his way.

They caught up with the grave robber quite a way deep into barrow, but found him dead. After Ganir made sure it was safe, they both entered the room and checked for the cause of death. He had been backstabbed.

“Seems like that fetcher had no intent on sharing.” Ganir looked down at the corpse. “Serves them right. Scum.”

Cirilonde wasn’t sure how to feel. Granted, they indeed were scum in her eyes, but it was a rather cruel fate. “Best we don’t let our guard down.” They continued and found that Arvel had cut his way through the few Draugr and skeevers, but as they descended an ancient, stone stairway, they noticed that the cobwebs were growing particularly dense, strong and sticky.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Ganir muttered to her as he cut away the webbing before him. Cirilonde had not seen that Ganir had stepped over the bones ahead of him and she stumbled over them, sending it flying against the pots ahead.

“Is…Is someone there? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?” It was Arvel. As they carefully inched closer they found him in a large, open room of which the walls were coated in spider webs and countless spider eggs. They had walked right into a Frostbite spider’s nest. Arvel was dangling from the ceiling, wrapped in a spider’s silky webbing. He stopped wriggling about to try and escape when he saw Ganir and Cirilonde. “Sweet breath of Arkay. Help me before it gets back!”

Ganir had snuck his way to Arvel, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Give me one, good reason, fetcher. You didn’t seem to mind betraying your friends and leaving them for dead.”

“What? Never! I thought they were right behind me, I…I-,”

“Ganir…” Cirilonde’s green eyes had grown large and wide, tugging at his tunic.

He whisked her hand away and continued glaring at the other Dark Elf. “So, if I cut you down, you’re going to have a nice little chat with me, and explain me what you’re doing here, right?”

“Ganir!” Cirilonde shoved Ganir out of the way, using a magical ward to block the repulsive venom the enormous Frostbite spider had spat their way. As he was shoved out the way, Ganir had clung to the webbing for support and the web gave away, sending Arvel flying.

“You s’wit!” Arvel swore as he swung about from the ceiling. “Cut me loose. Cut me loose!”
They had no time for that as the spider charged at Ganir and then at Cirilonde, who threw rocks at the spider to get its attention. Ganir used this to his advantage and tore away at the spider’s repulsive, hairy legs, causing it to squeal and spin to Ganir, snapping its mandibles menacingly.

“Keep throwing rocks, Ciri!” Ganir managed to dodge the spider fairly well, but he didn’t want to press his luck. Ciri scrambled around, holding up a ward to block the venom the beast spat while she scrounged for anything to throw against it, which seemed more infuriated by the Dark Elf and charged for him instead. Ganir decided that it was now or never and he ran to the spider, throwing himself to the ground before the mandibles could hit him and dug his daggers into the spider’s gut, tearing away at the hairy, soft shell. The Spider reared and cried out and fell dead to the ground. Ganir rolled out from underneath the thing just in time and sat panting, staring at it.

“Thank you, Ciri. Seems you’re not only good against the undead.” Ganir patted her on the shoulder and smiled back at her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I am.” He then walked over to Arvel, who had fallen to the ground as the web gave away and now tried to worm his way out of his confinement. Ganir put a boot on Arvel’s chest and leaned over him. “I recall you and I were still discussing some matters, so you’re not going anywhere.”

“Hey, don’t blame me for trying to get away. I’m not exactly safe you know!” Arvel looked at the webs that confined him as a hint. “Look. Cut me loose and I’ll help you. I swear.”

“Try anything and you will regret it.” Ganir cursed himself for his foolishness as Arvel smacked him over the head with a nearby, stone jug and sprang to his feet, grabbing Ganir’s dagger and putting it to Cirilonde’s throat as he grabbed her from behind.

Entirely against his expectations, however, Cirilonde gracefully swooped with the momentum of Arvel’s stance and threw him off balance. “Why you…little…wretch!” Arvel grit his teeth, trying his hardest to gain the upper hand again. He threw all his strength against her and Cirilonde was thrown against the wall with his hands at her throat.

She raised her hand, which began to glow a bright red and brought it to his face. Arvel cried out in agony as the spell that hit his face burnt his flesh and he clutched his face with one hand. “You bitch! I will gut you-,”

Blood spat from his mouth as Ganir buried his dagger in Arvel’s back, then retrieved his other dagger and buried it in Arvel’s chest. “I told you not to try anything.” He tutted.

All Arvel could do was sputter and groan before he slumped lifeless to the ground. Ganir immediately rushed to Cirilonde, who raised her hand. “I’m fine.” She rubbed her neck. “The bastard.”

“That was quite the move you pulled there,” Ganir complimented her.

She smiled. “I’m not that helpless. I was trained in martial combat. Shame I’m not more skilled with destruction spells, I would’ve burned him to ashes. He tried to kill me!”

“Seems like a habit for folk in these regions to want us dead.” Ganir and Cirilonde both chuckled. She then walked over to Arvel’s body, pulling at the string of his satchel to look for the golden claw that was mentioned and pulled it out of the bag.

“It’s actually…exactly what it is.” Cirilonde studied the odd-shaped ornament, quite certain this wasn’t a claw like a wolf’s or bear, but a dragon’s claw, made of solid gold. In the palm, lay the inscriptions of the bear, owl and moth.

“What do you reckon it’s for?” Ganir queried as he took it from her and looked at is as well, poking at the golden claw’s talons, which seemed to be made of bone.

“Judging by the markings and indentations, it seems that like Arvel’s journal suggests, that it can open something. We should get on our way. I really don’t like this place.” Ganir nodded in agreement to her statement. Ganir cut at the webs to reveal the door hidden behind it he’d caught a glimpse of while fighting the spider and they made their way in and, delving further down into the catacombs. As silent as they could, they snuck past the ‘sleeping’ Draugr. When one threatened to wake, Cirilonde cast a warding spell to muddle their senses and they would wander aimlessly away from them, confused.

Finally, they reached a grim-looking dark hallway with a sealed, round door at the end. In its center, there was an indentation where the claw would fit. Above it, were circular seals with animals on them, but not the ones that matched the ones on the claw.

“Help me out,” said Cirilonde as she tried to move the seals after she noticed the crevice in the floor permitted room for them to be moved. Ganir and she both grit their teeth and after checking the claw, they seemed to have found the correct combination. She then placed the claw in the center, which fit perfectly. After turning it, the stone door rumbled as ancient mechanisms were put to work and the door sank into the crevice, revealing a room far more ominous than the whole barrow all together. Bats shrieked and flew away from their hide-away above the door that had been sealed for ages. Cirilonde and Ganir covered their heads and made their way to the sunlit platform up ahead.

It was utterly and completely silent save for the waterfalls that poured from the ceiling, forming a pool below them where they walked across a stone bridge up the steps to the platform, which was overlooked by a strange, carved wall with a strange seal.

Ganir’s pupils dilated. “Can you feel that?” he asked Cirilonde. The carvings in the wall seemed to be words, but nothing like he’d ever seen before. Yet, it emanated a strange energy that beckoned him closer. His gloved hands trailed over the claw-like relief as the words echoed in his mind.
“Het nok faal vahlok

Deinmaar do dovahgolz

Ahrk aan fus do unslaad.

Rahgol ahrk yulom.”

Ganir backed away from the words as if burned, startled as he had spoken a language he had never even heard about. Cirilonde looked at him, just as troubled. “What is this thing?”

“I don’t know, but it’s powerful…I guess this is the treasure those s’wits thought to find here.” Ganir tried to ignore one word that kept echoing in his mind: Fus

“So this is that ‘dragonstone’ that the Court-Wizard wanted you to get?” Cirilonde asked. “We’re going to need a bigger bag.”

“I doubt it,” Ganir snorted and made his way to the stone casket and cabinet that had stood near the wall, hoping to find something there. He leapt back, startled when the casket’s lid was splintered to shreds by a Draugr’s fist, who tore the remains of the casket’s lid off before climbing out.

“Paaz val dinok!” the Draugr snarled as it swung its battle-axe at Ganir who ran away with Cirilonde.

“You saw what he had on his back, right?” Ganir said to her.
She nodded. “If you distract him, I can stun him. Then you grab the stone strapped to his back, okay?”

Ganir nodded and bolted from their hiding spot, charging at the Draugr. The Draugr opened its rotten maw and spoke words that sent Ganir flying on his behind. “Fus Ro Dah!” Ganir caught himself just in time before he slipped over the edge into the water and rolled back to his feet. The Draugr came charging at him, however, but Cirilonde came running to the Draugr, raising her hands with a powerful incantation that froze the undead monstrosity on the spot like a statue and it fell to the ground. Not wanting to risk anything, Ganir planted his daggers in the Draugr’s chest and forehead. Its eyes ceased to glow. It was dead.

“Oh Auri-El, really, Ganir?” Cirilonde covered her mouth in disgust as the Draugr’s flesh made a nasty squishing sound when he pulled his daggers out the now-dead undead.

“I’d rather not risk it coming after us.” Ganir said. “We don’t know anything about these…things.” He removed the dragonstone that was strapped to its back and looked at it. “We should get back to Whiterun, bring this to the Court-Wizard and just get the hell out of here.”
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Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions