The Traveler

Chapter 21

A gloved hand threw the torch into the large metal brazier resting in the center of the large catacomb.
The dried wood caught fire immediately and flooded the cracked walls and dusty floor with warmth and a flickering light.
The silent grave was filled with the sounds of boots marching and the faint click of pickaxe against stone.
Aanvold removed his gloves and jammed them under the belt of his robes.
The dark black marks which had manifested themselves on his left hand drew his attention. They slithered like snakes up his wrist and had just begun to reach his forearm.
It did not concern him however as he strolled around the ruins of the Nordic tomb Korvanjund.
Something about the mummified corpses and smell of decay filled him with... a childish delight.
He wasn't sure how long he had been walking before found himself outside the rooms where they were keeping the prisoners from their raid on that small Stormcloak camp just outside the ruins.
With a wave of his hand the door opened and he stepped inside but not before checking to be sure no one was following him.

Most of the prisoners were dead or unconscious but some had woken up.
They were scattered all across the room, kneeling with their hands bound behind their backs.
Every one of them suffered from various injuries including broken bones, severe cuts and bruises.
His gaze turned to one sitting next to him and failing to conceal his hatred for his captor.
Aanvold on the other hand was pleased. He didn't recall having the pleasure of meeting this one.
Reaching down with his black hand he turned the prisoners chin upward so he could see his face.
It was a Nord, of course they all were, with short brown hair and grey eyes. He had a rather nasty gash above his right eyebrow that seeped blood into his eyes. The soldier mumbled something through gritted teeth.
"What's that? You're going to have to speak up." He teased before pushing his finger into the wound on the man's forehead and enjoying watching him squirm and wince in pain.
The blood on his fingers crept into his flesh and removed some of the black from his fingertips.
He brought his hand to his face and observed his fingers. "Oh yes! You will work perfectly."
All the Nord could do was watch as he summoned a spectral dagger and, without a moment's hesitance, rammed it into his stomach.
Blood gushed out from the wound and covered the floor.
The sight and smell of the red liquid filled him with vigor and he greedily thrust the blade further into his gut to allow his whole arm to be smothered in blood.
Now his face was inches from the Nord's.
"You know why I enjoy magic so much?"
With his last moments of life, the man eyes locked eyes with his and reflected the fear which pulsed through him. It was a fear of death which he knew was staring right back.
"Because it's so messy," he hissed as he waved his soaked hand before his face, "but so clean."
The blade vanished and the Nord dropped to the floor, twitching before lying still.
Aanvold studied his hand.
It was clean and the skin was its normal color again.
Now the eyes of every man in the room were on him.
Though he didn't know who was alive and who wasn't he still he cried to all the bound soldiers, "You see your friend here? That is a taste of what will come to all of you! Your dirty blood will feed my cause and you dogs will become my pets! Behold your master, behold Aanvold!"
Lighting crackled from his long blonde hair and shot out his fingertips and eyes.
The room was filled with his laughter that echoed off the walls of the catacombs and rattled the bones of both the soldiers and the dead alike.

***

General Wuldven hadn't slept in days.
Not since they'd attacked that Stormcloak camp.
His opportunity finally came once word was sent to him that the tombs were his.
With his forces patrolling the halls, the prisoners all accounted for and the excavation not starting until morning, the hours without rest caught up to him and he slipped away to the quarters which had been set up for him.
It wasn't much, a cot set up in one of the small closets of the ruins.
He probably shared the room with rats and spiders but so long as he could rest in peace it made no difference to him.
Tombs are meant for rest, he told himself as he removed his heavy armor and laid down on the cot.
For hours he was out, floating in a peaceful sleep which healed his exhausted mind and put his cares at ease... until he heard the laugh.
He knew that laugh.
It was Aanvold and his nauseating, fear inducing, cackle that sent fear and dread shooting through his body.
The restful place he had found himself in crumbled leaving in the chill of the catacombs.
Wuldven shot upright and found his whole body drenched in a cold sweat.
His eyes frantically darted across the room, searching for some monster which his mind convinced him was there, standing over him with its teeth ready to devour him.
It was just him in the room. There was no monster, no Aanvold, no one but him. Then why did he feel as though he was being watched?
With a trembling hand he grabbed the small water skin next to his bed and took a long drink.
When he had finished, he took a deep breath and tried to stop the frantic beating of his heart.

Any longer on this job, He thought, and I'm going to go insane.
Insanity. That was what the laugh was, the sound of a madman.
It continued to bounce around the room and pierce through him like an icy blade.
It hummed down his ears and resounded in his head, over and over and over again.
Why did he agree to work with these elves?
They were maniacs, all of them. Each one more heartless then the last.
Rolling back over into the bed, he tried to drift back into sleep, but rest eluded him. Instead he found the laughter, the screaming, and the horrid, pungent, smell of blood.

***

"Alright Galmar, I need to check out that cracked rib you keep complaining about so... uh... could you..."
"Take off my shirt? I know you've been waiting all day." He chuckled but ended up in a coughing fit.
Maxine brought her hand up to her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Listen, I can't do this if he's going to be a creep about it."
Ulfric stood just behind her. "Alright Galmar, let her work or else I'll call for Edna the Withered to come in here and do it instead."
Galmar shuttered. "Eh, ew! Please anything but her."
She hesitantly placed her glowing palms on his broad chest and felt around for the broken rib. Once she found it she began to lightly knead it.
"Like what you see?" Galmar joked and in response she drove her hand hard into his rib.
"Ow! Hey, watch what you're-"
"Oops my bad."
Once rib was taken care of, he pulled his shirt back over himself and, with Maxine's help, stood.
"And so, the mighty Galmar rises!" He cried in a triumphant voice. "And boy is he ready for revenge!"
Yep he was fine.
Ulfric walked over to the table and studied the map which was spread across it.
Galmar joined him and laid his fingers on a small flag stuck through the paper, in the woods just outside the city. "Here. That's our camp outside of Korvanjund. That's where they attacked first."
Maxine knew Korvanjund. "Talos!" She exclaimed, stumbling over to the table and quickly locating the tomb's marker.
"What?" Ulfric and Galmar asked in unison.
"Korvanjund, it's where the Jagged Crown is!"
Ulfric's face twisted in concern.
Galmar beat his fist on the table. "Curse those elvish-"
"Silence!" Ulfric looked from Galmar to Maxine like a parent to his misbehaving children. "Maxine, I hate to ask this as you've done so much for us already but-"
"Say no more. I'm in."
Galmar grinned and slapped her back. "You know, I like her already! So eager to fight!"
"You haven't seen anything yet." Brynjolf said from his place, leaning against the wall and hidden by the shadows of the room.
"Well count me in Ulfric! I can already taste the elves blood."
"Galmar, I think it's best if we allow Maxine to handle this one."
The warrior seemed put out by his decision but quickly recovered. "Ulfric I respect your concern for me, really I do but she has no idea what we are dealing with here."
"What am I dealing with?"
Up until this point, Galmar hadn't mentioned what had caused his injuries or what had happened to the camp he was stationed at.
"When we were at the camp, all was quiet and calm." He stared glossy eyed at the map as he relived every scene in his mind. "They came upon us like a shadow. We never saw them until it was too late."
"Never saw who?" Ulfric demanded.
"It was a detachment of Imperials, easy fight, with a group of Aldmeri mages. There was one, I never caught his name, but he was... different. Stunk more than the others. He wore an amulet that gave him substantial magical abilities."
"Abilities such as...?" Maxine pressed. If she was going to fight this elf she needed to know what she was up against.
"Levitation."
Ulfric scoffed. "Come on Galmar be real."
As preposterous as it sounded Maxine took his side. "Ulfric, it makes sense. Look at his injuries."
"Ulfric would I lie to you?"
He sighed. "No." After thinking a minute, he came to a decision. "Okay. Maxine you proposed the retrieval of the Jagged Crown for my crowing ceremony. Galmar you want revenge, same as always."
He chuckled.
"And I don't like the idea of elves thist close to the city so... we'll send a detachment to Korvanjund to clear them out and retrieve the crown."

Galmar cracked hisknuckles and cast a glance at Maxine. "You hold your own in afight?"
She smirked. "I could hold you and me in a fight... with my eyesclosed."
Galmar laughed a loud blusterous laugh.
"Alright you're on, the one who kills the least, pays for a round atCandlehearth Hall."
"You're on."