A Stranger in Skyrim 3

Chapter Three: The Keep

In which supplies are gathered.

“Looks like we're the only ones who made it,” Hadvar said, grimly, letting go of her arm. “Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?”

She shook her head. “I mean, probably, it was. It looked like a dragon, anyway, or a wyvern, maybe.”

“Wyvern?” He looked at her for an explanation.

She sighed. Right, he wouldn't know Earth myths; this was apparently not Earth. “Nevermind. But look, if you're talking about an apocalypse, it's not going to happen. Back home, we have apocalypses predicted every other year. It never happens.”

“If you say so.” He looked dubious, though. Probably, his superstitions were too strong. And really, a dragon would make a pretty convincing argument for the end of the world. “Anyway, we should keep moving. Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off.” She walked forward as he drew his belt knife. He cut through her bonds as carefully as he could, but he still nicked the skin. She winced a bit. She'd never really gotten hurt in a dream before. Shouldn't she be waking up? “There you go.” He smiled at her. “Take a look around, there should be something in here that'll fit you. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns.”

She honestly doubted they had armor tailored to her exact measurements, but still, she searched through some of the chests. Most of it was too small, but she did find a set of leathers that was obviously sized for a bigger man. She could wear that. She turned her back to the soldier, pulling the rags off. The leather was probably cleaner than the scraps of cloth the Imperials had given her.

That done, she shrugged into the armor. It was tight across the chest, but over all it fit well enough. Were men really expected to wear skirts, too? She glanced over at Hadvar. Apparently so.

She would have to find real pants. She felt rather exposed with just a little skirt protecting her modesty.

She tugged a helmet on over her hair, finding herself pleasantly surprised that it, too, fit well enough. That done, she looked around until she could find a weapon. One sword lay on a bed, another hung from a weapons rack. Both were relatively sharp. Florentine, huh? She could work with it.

She strung their sheathes onto a belt she'd conveniently located, then strapped the belt to her waist. Good times. She was ready to fight, or as ready as she'd ever be.

Suddenly she wished she'd spent a little more time with the stick jockeys at the park.

Oh well.

Hadvar led her down a short hallway to a gate with a pull-chain next to it. A man and a woman were arguing on the other side – the man wanted to get moving as quickly as possible, the woman complained she was out of breath. Well, she could certainly understand that, though she'd had a minute to catch her own breath.

“Hear that?” Hadvar asked quietly. “Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them.” He pulled the chain, and the gate sunk into the floor. Walking into the next room, he held up his hands. “Hold on now, we only want to ….”

One of the Stormcloaks drew a warhammer, another drew a sword and shield.

“If you want to die, so be it!” Hadvar drew his own sword, having never let go of his shield.

Hadvar did most of the work. Warhammer brought the weapon down on his shield, while Sword and Board circled around behind. She crept into the room behind Sword and Board. She knew what she had to do, she'd just never done it with live weaponry.

Hadvar bashed his shield out, catching Warhammer by surprise, knocking her back. He slashed across Warhammer's belly, and she cried out as her intestines spilled from her belly.

She stepped forward, then drove one of her swords into Sword and Board's back. He never saw her coming. There was a sickening noise as she drew the blade out of his back, and oh, there was so much blood – wasn't she supposed to be getting used to the sight of it? He gurgled as he dropped to the floor, and she just stared at him.

This was the part where she was supposed to be sick, but all she felt was a strange fascination. She'd never really killed anyone before. It had been so … easy.

Hadvar said something, but she didn't really notice at first. She poked Sword and Board in the side with her foot. He groaned slightly. He wasn't actually dead. She swallowed heavily. She couldn't have him coming back for seconds, unlikely as it was that would happen. Coup de grace, make it quick and painless, just like in D&D. Only, she wasn't just saying she'd do it, she had to do it. She rolled Sword and Board over. Blood was still oozing from his mouth, he just kind of stared up at her, eyes glassy. She held her sword point at his throat, and her hand was trembling.

She couldn't do it, after all. Not in cold blood, not like this. She pressed the point in, not quite enough to draw blood – then pulled away, shaking her head.

“Are you coming?” Hadvar asked her.

She looked up at him, feeling shaky. “He's not dead,” she whispered.

“Then kill him, and let's move on.” He frowned at her.

She shook her head. “I – I can't,” she explained.

“Oh – I see.” Hadvar shook his head slightly, then drew his own sword again. He slashed across Sword and Board's neck, clean and easy. Blood splattered both of them, spraying with some force.

She felt faint.

He pulled her gently forward, and she followed him, after a moment, down a staircase and to the right.

The dragon roared, and half the keep fell down in front of them. “Look out!” Hadvar fell back for a moment. That could have been right on their heads. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She was going to get killed! This was insanity. Pure, incomprehensible, insanity. “Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easily.” Hadvar inspected the rubble before them as dust and dirt fell around him.

She sneezed.

When the dust finally settled, he walked calmly forward again, opening the door to the next room. She smelled fire and dried herbs. It was some kind of storeroom, but there were also a few tables and chairs, some things sitting on shelves that looked interesting.

“What are you doing? We need to get out of Helgen, now!” She spotted a pair of Stormcloaks at about the same time Hadvar did. She noticed he had a bow hanging from his back about the time he pulled it up over his shoulders. There was a quiver of arrows hanging from his hips – he drew one, fired it. The first Stormcloak fell with an arrow piercing his skull. He was screaming. He was screaming, because he wasn't dead. Another arrow flew, taking the other Stormcloak directly in the throat. Blood bubbled up as he clutched at the wound.

Hadvar hung the bow across his shoulders again, then drew his sword. He came to the first man he'd shot, ripped his arrow free of the skull it was lodged in. Blood oozed from the hole that was left behind. He kicked the Stormcloak until he rolled over, and slashed the man's throat. She watched in horrified fascination. The soldier was quick and efficient. She'd give him that much at least. He pulled the other arrow free of the other dying man's throat. Blood sprayed a little. He wiped both arrows off on the Stormcloak's blue cape, then shoved them back in the quiver.

“Look around, see if you can find anything useful. There should be potions, things like that.”

Potions? As in, magical potions? She spotted something on one of the shelves that could have been a potion. Bringing it to his attention, he nodded. “See that blue liquid inside? That's a potion for mages, restores their magic. And this –” He grabbed a reddish-looking potion from the other cabinet. “This'll be a healing potion. People put just a little dye in them usually, so you know what you're getting when you drink them.”

“Are there any other kinds?” She asked, curiously.

He laughed. “There are all kinds of potions out there, Mariah. You'd be amazed at what a few ground-up herbs can do for a person.”

She thought about it for a moment. Herbal remedies had done wonders for her mom's bad back. Maybe this wasn't really any different from that? Or maybe it was all snake oil. She'd have to try it and see.

She found a few more potions, carrying them tucked under one arm, against her side – some more red ones, another blue, and one greenish potion as well. In one of the sacks, she found a crystal. Hadvar identified it as a 'soul gem.' “What's a soul gem?” she asked.

“They're used by mages. They suck the soul right out of a person, use it for enchanting.”

Hu-uh. She tucked that under her arm, too. Maybe she'd learn more about this magic business later.

After that, they continued onward, down another short hallway and down another staircase. “The torture room,” Hadvar said, expression grim. “Gods, I wish we didn't need these.”

The sounds of combat drifted up from the torture room, battle cries and the clashing of steel.

One Imperial lay on the ground already. Two Stormcloaks had another Imperial backed against the wall. The Imperial shot lightning from his fingertips, and one of the Stormcloaks started convulsing from the sudden pain of it. That was magic then. Magic was real. Good to know.

The other Stormcloak brought a sword down on Magic Man's arm, slicing a big chunk out of it. The lightning stopped, and the first Stormcloak fell to his knees, unable to move for the relentless twitching.

Hadvar sprang into action, drawing his sword and bringing it down across Number Two's back. Number Two reeled from the damage, and Magic Man drew a dagger, slashing his throat with an expression almost like glee. He opened one of the cages that lined the wall with a key, then threw the first Stormcloak – still jerking about like a fish on a line – into the cell. “You happened along just in time,” the man informed them, closing the cell door and locking it again. “These boys seemed a bit upset at how I'd been entertaining their comrades.”

“Don't you even know what's going on?” Hadvar demanded. “A dragon is attacking Helgen!”

The man – probably the torturer, if this was a torture chamber – laughed. “A dragon? Please, don't make up nonsense.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Although, come to think of it, I did hear some rather odd noises coming from over there.” He smiled, walking over to one of the cages. A dead body lay inside, with a book, another potion, and some gold coins. She had to assume that was the local currency. Gold was heavy, though.

“Come with us, we need to get out of here,” Hadvar demanded.

The torturer folded his arms. “You have no authority over me, boy.”

“Didn't you hear me? I said the keep is under attack!” The torturer walked off, behind a counter. He didn't seem particularly concerned about the matter.

Hadvar paused, looking into the cage the torturer had been looking at. “Wait a minute, it looks like there's something in here.” He looked over at her, thoughtfully.

“Don't bother with that. Lost the key ages ago. Poor fellow screamed for weeks.” The torturer clearly enjoyed his job; he said the words with relish.

Hadvar rooted around in a pouch at his side, finding some thin strips of metal. “Here, see if you can get it open with some picks, hey?” He handed her the picks, and she looked down at them, then back at the cage. What, did he expect her to be some kind of career criminal, then? He did!

“I don't know how ….”

He smiled. “It's easy. Here, let me show you.” He tugged her gently towards the cage, which smelled of rotting meat. She set down the potions and the soul gem, putting her hands near the lock. He handed her a thin blade, as well. “Now, like this.” He held his hands on hers, showing her what to do – it wasn't actually all that hard, though she suspected the lock wasn't made to be terribly challenging.

“Now – that's a tome of magic if I ever saw one, and those kinds of robes are usually enchanted with magic. I'd take it all.” So she did, carefully undressing the man. Apparently he didn't believe in underwear – fortunately for her, she wasn't particularly affected by displays of nudity. The robe would have to be washed before she even thought of wearing it. Thoroughly washed. She was not wearing anything that still smelled of dead guy, nor did she imagine it'd sell well.

But how to carry – ah, she found a backpack lying on an end table. Whoever it used to belong to, it was hers now. She peered inside – there was already one book, so she tucked the spellbook in on top of it. She carefully folded the hooded robe, then stuffed it inside. Atop that, she rested the potions, soul gem, and the small handful of gold pieces. She just had to hope the potions' corks would hold. Slinging the backpack on, she shifted a bit until it settled into place. Awesome.

As they proceeded down the next hall, the torturer called after them, “There's no way out that way, you know.” She shook her head and continued to follow Hadvar. She had more faith in her current traveling companion than that.

They passed several locked cells on the way, and she tried not to look too closely at the contents. There was at least one old, bloody skeleton in there, and she had no doubts in her mind it, too, was real.

Another couple of hallways – all of them lit by open firepits or candles – and then they came upon a large room. It was decorated with cages, some standing, some fallen, most of which were inhabited by dead people. At the far end of the room, she spotted an old, broken-down section of wall. That must be it. The exit.

Hadvar called, “This way,” and she followed.