InsaneJournal

Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

Andrel followed the Jarl off to the right side of the great hall and into a large room where a man in a bluish-purple robe was waiting. Upon seeing the pair he snapped his book shut and laid it on top of his desk.

"Farengar," the Jarl spoke. "I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details."

The court wizard bowed his head in respect to the Jarl before turning to his new company. "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Er, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

"So, what's this got to do with the dragons?" he asked, clutching his new wears to himself.

"Ah, no mere brute mercenary," Farengar smiled. "A scholar, perhaps? When the stories of dragons began circulating, most dismissed them. Of course, one sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons -- where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from? This tablet marks dragon burial sites."

"So, where am I going to get this tablet that may or may not actually be there?" he asked.

"Right to the point. You're eager to go, aren't you?" Farengar laughed. "It's not far from here. Bleak Falls Barrow. If you came from Riverwood, retrace your steps back and take the other fork after that little bridge. Should take you right up there. I'm sure if the tablet is there, it will be in the main chamber."

"I promise you all, I will go investigate the Barrow tomorrow. For now, I believe I need to get what decent rest I can, and regain my bearings. I lost everything I was traveling with at Darkwater."

"Of course, my boy. You're dismissed."

Nodding to the Jarl, he exited Farengar's quarters and walked towards the large doors that lead to the exterior of the palace. In just a few minutes, he was down at the Bannered Mare, again. A bard played a lute and sang by the fireplace - something about a "Ragnar the Red". Approaching the barmaid, he sat on the stool. "How much for a room with a door?" he asked her, arm resting against the edge of the counter.

"10 Septims, friend, and it's yours for the next day. Welcome to the Bannered Mare. If you need anything, I'm Hulda."

Digging into a pouch he'd snatched from Helgen, he pulled out ten golden pieces and set them neatly into the palm of her hand. "Thank you."

"Follow the stairs up. If you're hungry, Saadia is our cook. She'll get you something to eat," Hulda replied. "You look like you've had a rough day. There's a washroom downstairs with hot water and soap."

He was exhausted and she couldn't be more right. His day was starting to catch up to him and he was starting to realize just how sore he actually was. "Don't get me started..." he laughed. "Thanks for the tip."

Slinking off the chair, he went upstairs to find his room. His armor was laid on the bed along with his weapons. He'd buy a better sword and more arrows the next day. Gathering a linen roll, he walked back downstairs and sought out the trapdoor that lead into the lower level of the inn. A large tub was down there, which he filled with water that was just slightly too hot to the touch.

Removing the dirty clothes he was wearing, he sank down into the water. The temperature bit at his skin and his eyes clenched closed as he shuddered. Settling into the water, it only took a few moments for his skin to acclimate to the heat. Rubbing the soap into his skin, he obsessed over getting every last speck of dirt he could off his skin and out of his hair. Dipping underwater, he resurfaced, his hair drenching his face in more hot water, which he used to scrub the last of the dirt away.

There was a faint smell of juniper berries and honey remaining, and he grabbed the linen roll he'd brought down, drying himself off. There was a mirror in the room, and he used it to see how many new scars he'd gained today. While magic stopped the bleeding and sped the healing process, it didn't stop scars from forming. Pulling on the fresh tunic and trousers, he dried his hair off a little more and shook it out, combing through it with his fingers.

Upstairs, he ordered a bottle of Honningbrew and a venison steak, which he ate at a corner table. The mead was saved for upstairs. A belly full of that, and he'd be warmed up and hopefully doze off before the night came to an end. He could still hear the people downstairs, but the sound was quieter and muffled with his door closed.

Staring up at the ceiling, he eventually passed out under the covers. Images flashed in his head as he slept - mysterious runes, the great black dragon with scarlet-colored eyes, Helgen burning, and that same persistent whispering that'd been haunting him since he first saw the Barrows. Groaning and turning over on his stomach, he hid his head under the pillow, as if that might quiet his nightmares and let him rest in peace.

A knock at his door jolted him a little more awake than he was already, and he answered it to see Saadia - the redguard woman that was working in the kitchen. She had a noticeable scar on her cheek but he tried to not pay mind to it. "Yeh?" he answered, rubbing his face.

"I can hear you tossing and turning in your bed. You looked rough when you came in here. I brought something that might help you sleep. It's a sleeping draught; chamomile and lavender with a touch of honey."

Brows furrowed as Saadia handed him a steaming mug. He took it from her as she offered it forward, a light smile given. Digging out a few more coins from his coin purse. "For your trouble. I had a bottle of Honningbrew but I don't believe it didn't anything to calm me before I slept. Thank you- it's a busy day tomorrow and I need all the rest I can get."

"Of course," she smiled, turning away to let him get back to sleep. Closing his door, he sipped down the contents of the mug. The liquid was sweet and almost minty in flavor. Laying down, it took a few minutes for the ingredients to finally kick in but he was exhausted and sleep didn't take as long to come this time. When it did, it was deep.

When morning came, he could hear the busy rustling of the maids downstairs. Sitting up, he stretched in a yawn. Pulling on the new armor the Jarl had given him, he took some time to count the coin he had left. He'd not visited anywhere he could trade the pieces of jewelry Alvor had given him the day, before.

He wasn't even sure what day it was. Gathering his things and the mug from Saadia, he stood and left his room. Downstairs, the bard was tuning his instrument again. Stepping outside into the daylight, the civilians of Whiterun had crowded the marketplace and children were running around playing tag. Down the steps, he saw a man carrying firewood into a shop marked as "Belethor's General Goods". Holding the door open for him, he peered in. "Are you open at this time?"

"We are, yes. Belethor is behind the counter, there. He can help you," the man answered, stepping inside. "Thank you, lad."

Stepping up to the counter, he provided what provisions he could part with. "What can you give me for these in gold?"

Belethor scanned over the items he presented and scratched his chin. A few moments of silence, and he set a good number of gold coins on his counter. "I think that should cover it. Is that all?"

"Do you have any lockpicks in stock? I suspect I may need some for where I'm headed."

Grabbing ten from below his counter, Belethor put them on the countertop. "This is all I've got. Will that be enough?"

"It should be, yes." Taking a few coins from the stacks, he offered them back to Belethor. "That should do it. Are we at an agreement?"

"Deal. Nice doing business with ya. Come back again!"

A nod, and he left with his items. Down the road to the main gate of Whiterun, there was a weaponsmith - Warmaiden's. An Imperial woman was sat down at the sharpening wheel, a dagger spitting sparks as the edge collided with the whetstone of the wheel. Inside the building, there was a wall of weapons, ready for the picking. The first thing that caught his eye was a steel sword. Carefully he took it down from the rack to test its weight.

A man was behind the counter and he peered over. "How much for this sword?" he asked.

"45 Septims," the man responded. "The name's Ulfberth War-Bear. You look like someone who knows how to wield a weapon. Well, you've come to the right place."

"45 Septims... I'll take it." Eyeing a shield, he took that, too. Stepping up to the counter, he dug out the gold he needed, and handed it off to Ulfberth. "This, too."

"The shield's 60. That'll be 105 total."

"Very well, then. Pleasure doing business with you." Sheathing his new sword and hanging his shield on his back with his quiver, he stepped out of Warmaiden's. It wasn't long to get back to Riverwood. The stableman was sat outside Whiterun's entry, and he approached. "I saw this horse here last night on my way into the city... How much are you asking for her?"

"1000 Septims. She's a damn good warhorse. We call her Allie - short for Queen Alfsigr."

"I don't have that right now... but I am interested in her. When, and if I return, I'll have enough coin for her."

"A'ight. See you 'round."

Nodding, he started walking back towards Honningbrew Meadery. Helgen likely laid in ashes by now. It was hard to take his mind off it. A four-way intersection just after Honningbrew stood before him. One bridge lead north, another to the east. Turning south, he began walking the path that lead back to Riverwood. Up ahead he could see another gray wolf off the side of the road, and there wasn't going to be any avoiding this one.

Nocking an arrow onto his bowstring, he drew and released his arrow. It shot forth and landed in the wolf's shoulder, causing it to yelp loudly in pain. Drawing his sword, he prepared for the creature to charge at him. As it got close, he swept his sword forward, the tip ripping a fresh gash in the throat. Down it collapsed, and he swept the blade against the creature's coat before storing his weapon again.

Eventually he reached the bridge to Riverwood again and this time, he took the alternate path up into the mountain. The higher he went, the colder and snowier it became, but the dropping temperature hardly bothered him. Nord blood like his naturally ran hotter than most other races of Men. As he rounded the corner, there was a lone tower sat on the edge of a cliff. It was in disrepair but the bridge was still functioning, and the tower itself was still standing. Outside was a tree, and a man dressed in hide armor was leaning against the tree. Eyes met, and he saw another cross the bridge.

"Stop. That's close enough," he warned. They were bandits. Or highwaymen.

"I don't suppose you're going to let me through here, are you?"

"Not like a whelp like you could get past us, anyways. Run back to your little city, boy."

His lip twitched and he drew his sword. "Why don't you come down here and call me a whelp to my face? Or are you too much of a milkdrinker to fight me?"

"You've a fiery mouth, youngun. It'll get you killed." The man drew his own blade and advanced on him.

Andrel's hand outstretched, and the bandit was cloaked in a stream of flame. His screams echoed from the mountains as he tried to pat himself down. Distracted by the fire melting away his skin, he didn't even notice when Andrel's sword cut into the side of his neck. By now, the other had rushed down to fight him, as well. Striking forward, the second bandit tried to stab him, but was blocked with Andrel's sword. A fist swung forward, connecting with the bandit's jaw. His body launched forward, knocking him down into the snow. Down his sword went, piercing through vital organs before being pulled out. Blood pooled into the snowy ground below him, and an arrow pierced the ground next to him.

He scrambled to his feet and ran for the top of the tower, preparing his own bow and arrow. Footsteps sounded from above and a woman came down the steps with her sword brandished. An arrow released, and it pierced her stomach. She fell from the steps and he shoved his sword into her back. Taking whatever he could use off her, he noticed a small nook. Discovered there was a chest with some more gold and a few more lockpicks for him.

Pocketing his new finds, he looted the bodies of the other bandits and grabbed what he could find from the tower that would serve to be useful.

Up the hill and around the corner, there it was - Bleak Falls Barrow. The exterior had been made of large stone bricks and chiseled carvings, and he could see a large door made right in the side of the mountain itself. Keeping his distance, he noticed three more bandits. Two patrolling the upper level, and another patrolling the stairs. Nocking another arrow, he crept forward, trying to stay out of sight.

Focusing in on the woman descending the stairs, he released his arrow and it flew forward into her neck. Her yelp had attracted her friends from upstairs, and they both came tearing down the staircase. Nocking another arrow, he aimed for one of their legs and shot. An arrow would slow them down until he could defeat the first running at him. Again, he turned to his fire and sent a stream directly in the bandit's path, his fur armor catching fire.

He wasn't here to fight, he was here to live. The Jarl was counting on him, and he was going to get to the bottom of this barrow, one way or another. Nobody was going to stop him, either. The deaths he delivered to these bandits were quick and to-the-point. When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he took one last look behind him before pulling the door open, stepping inside. It was dark, and he knew someone was bound to have seen him. As soon as he was inside, the bandits were too preoccupied with their conversation to even notice the door opening. They perhaps thought he was one of their own coming in for a break from the cold.

He remained quiet and crept forward, hiding behind a pillar to listen in.

"So we're just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?" one started.

"That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risking our necks." It was a Nord speaking. His back was turned to him, standing in front of the fire. The other one was sitting atop a chest.

"What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my share from that claw!"

"Just shut it, and keep an eye out for trouble."

By the time the conversation had finished, he'd silently drawn his dagger. Keeping to the shadows, he waited until he got close enough and ran the sharp edge of his blade against the Nord's throat. Blood sprayed out of the wound and his eyes met with the other, who charged at him. He kicked them back with his foot and switched his dagger to the other hand, twirling it in his hand.

"You're gonna die here, boy!" the other snarled, pushing himself back up to charge, again.

Their blade swept at him, clanging against the chest of his armor. Linking his elbow with the other man, he used his weight to slam his back into the pillar and shoved his sword deep into his abdomen. Fur armor might have been warm, but it didn't offer the same protection as steel and chainmail, heavy as it was.

The man gargled and coughed up blood, and as he was released, Andrel knelt down and slit his throat as well to end him quicker.

"Arkay rest your souls," he whispered. There was another chest here, and he picked the lock, opening it to find some more useful things and another small satchel of gold.

Het nok faal vahlok, deinmaar do dovahgolz, ahrk aan fus do unslaad, rahgol ahrk vulom...

Again came the whispers, but they were stronger. Clearer. Before it was simply unintelligible and slurred together like a constant white noise. Now, the individual words called to him with easier distinction. It wasn't in a tongue he understood. The Divines clearly had something planned for him; yesterday should have made him a dead man.

"If this is your idea of a joke... it's not very funny," he spoke out to them as if they might hear him. Continuing on through the barrow, he was eventually led downstairs. Up ahead was another bandit, but he stayed behind to observe. Nordic burial ruins were infamous for their traps and puzzles, and he had a feeling his work could be done for him simply by being patient.

Watching ahead, he saw the man pull the lever. Razor-sharp darts whistled through the air and he heard the man cry in pain before falling over, dead. He finally allowed himself to move forward into the room. The way was barred closed with a sturdy gate, and the only way through was to pull the lever. But things were never that easy. That given, some of the puzzles were ridiculously easy to solve, and it was best to not overthink them.

To the left of the room stood three triangular columns. Each column had three sides, and each side had a different animal carved into it. Next to the way out was a stone face with a snake emblem in the opened mouth, and up above on the stairs, he could see another snake, and a whale. The middle seemed to have been destroyed, and this "disembodied" face fell from the center.

"Two snakes, and a whale..." he muttered. Walking over to the columns, he pulled the columns around so the first two were snakes, and the next was a whale. This had to be it. Turning around, he went to pull the lever, crossing his fingers. When the gate opened to let him through and no darts shot forth, he released a breath.

Continuing on, he fought through every living thing that attacked him. He could hear a man calling out for help. "Is...is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?"

Brows furrowed, he approached the opening to the room. The arch was blocked with thick, sticky webbing and he could see a number of foul-smelling egg sacs through clear patches. More Frostbite spiders...

He hacked his way into the room and there was a man caught in the webbing leading to the next room. A giant spider descended, which he threw more fire at. The spider began hissing in pain and tried to attack him. Slashing his sword at the arachnid's face, it didn't seem to faze them. It launched at him, and he stepped backwards as the spider spit venom. He had to be careful with his magic or he'd drain himself, but launched another attack, flames ripping at the spider's face. Running off to the side, he shoved his sword into the spider's side.

A squeal echoed through the room, and it turned on him again. He ran out of the room and took cover for a moment before charging back in. Fire, stab, fire, stab, fire, slash. He wasn't sure how many times he'd taken cover from this stupid thing, but it was vicious and he was going to take his time killing the creature. One more time, he went into the room and threw in as many slashes or lunges with his sword as he could, using his shield to block the venom being spat at him. Eventually, his last stab did the trick. Taking a reprieve to heal himself of any injuries, he turned to the man caught in the web.

"Good, you killed it! Now, get me out of here before something else comes."

"Where's the claw?" he asked. "I know you have it."

"Yes, yes! The golden claw! I know how to use it. If you cut me down, I'll help you to the Hall of Stories and split the profits with you if you help me out of here!"

"Why should I believe you? You're with these bandits, are you not? I cut you down, and you run off on me. Or you try to kill me. I've already killed your friends upstairs, as well as your patrols outside. And more, before then."

"Are you daft, boy? Does it look like I can even move? Cut me down, and I promise you, I'll give you the claw."

Andrel didn't truly believe a word this man was saying. He was sure this had to be Arvel the Swift, however. For the moment, he played along. "Fine, fine. I'll cut you down and you can help me to the Hall of Stories."

"Sweet breath of Arkay, finally!"

Pulling out his dagger, he did his best to cut Arvel out of the webbing that kept him stuck. As he suspected, the second he cut Arvel down, the fetcher tried to run off with the golden claw. He snatched the back of Arvel's shirt and yanked him back until Arvel crashed into his chest, backwards. One rough slice across the dark elf's neck, and he whispered. "Not so swift, are you, Arvel the Swift? Never lie to me, Arvel the Dead."

As the Dunmer fell to the ground sputtering and clutching his throat, Andrel dug into Arvel's pack and pulled out the claw and a journal. He opened the journal, reading the contents.

My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favorite store decoration was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow.

Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that "when you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands."

Lucan Valerius. That name belonged to a shopkeeper in Riverwood. He took a moment to chuckle at this. How in Oblivion did such an ancient artifact end up being somebody's store decoration? No matter. He had it now, and while he had every intention to return it, he was going to make his use of it. Further down through the tunnel, the barrow was crawling with bandits, traps, and undead mummy-like Draugr that reanimated when they sensed the movement of intruders. He fought through anything that attacked him, looted whatever treasures he could access, and outsmarted the skeletons and Draugr with the traps set throughout.

Bloody and bloodied, he finally reached what he assumed to be the Hall of Stories. Reading over the symbols on the golden claw, he aligned the animal symbols as they were supposed to be on the door. Slots were made specifically for the claw's talons, and he turned the lock loose. The lock activated the mechanism that kept the door to the main chamber shut, and he watched as it lowered itself until he could go forward. His heart was racing in his chest, and the whispers were even stronger.

As he got further into the main chamber, it dipped into an old, beautiful grotto. There was a stream that poured in from somewhere outside. The first thing that caught his eye, was a massive wall. As he got closer, the whispers started turning to loud chanting. The entire wall was marked with the same runes from his dreams that last night, but some of them stood out to him more than the others.

The Wall was calling him to come closer, and whatever power it was that called him, was almost hypnotic in nature. As he got closer, his vision blurred as his head filled with words in both the foreign tongue and his own language.

Here lies the guardian
Keeper of dragonstone
And a force of unending
Rage and darkness

He knew what the words meant, now. As his vision came to, the heavy stone lid of a coffin blew open and he turned to see the head of a Draugr lifting. It climbed out of its resting place, and he could tell this one would be tougher than any of the previous ones he'd fought. Preparing his shield and sword in a hurry, he barely had time to react before the Draugr opened his mouth.

The sheer force sent him flying backward, and he landed hard on the floor. Coughing, he struggled to get up again. The last time that'd happened, he'd been a prisoner in Helgen. Grunting, he hunched his shoulders and made his way back to fight this thing. They met half way, and as he saw the Draugr about to strike with his own sword, he lifted his shield to block him, bashing him backwards before slashing his sword forth. His blade caught with the Draugr's body, and their blade hit him in return. It hurt, but the chainmail under his armor shielded his body from the edge of the Draugr's blade.

For nearly three minutes he fought. He'd been struck a fair few times and thrown like a ragdoll with the power of that shout, but eventually he landed the killing strike, his sword digging into the creature's neck. Over it fell, and inside the stone coffin, he finally found what he was truly looking for - the Dragonstone that Farengar requested. His heart was racing with the adrenaline, and he took a few more moments to heal over any injuries he'd taken. His falls had scratched his face up a decent bit, but he was alive and had made it through the worst parts of the Barrow.

Collecting any treasures he could find, he made his way out of the Barrow and onto a ledge. The Dragonstone was secured against his back but heavy. Down he paced himself until he reached the ground again. The drop wasn't terribly high, but he didn't want to damage the Dragonstone.

Eventually he made it back to Riverwood. He traded whatever goods he could with Alvor first, but then turned to the general store. Inside he found Lucan arguing with his sister. The shop looked a bit messy, like it'd recently been rummaged through.

"I hate to interrupt but, I believe this golden claw belongs to you? I found it in Bleak Falls Barrow just a couple hours ago."

"You found it? Ha ha ha. There it is. Strange... it seems smaller than I remembered. Funny thing, huh? I'm going to put this back where it belongs. I'll never forget this. You've done a great thing for me and my sister." Lucan set the claw atop his counter and dug out a rather large-looking coin purse. "This claw is priceless, but this should do it for your troubles! Thank you again for bringing our claw back!"

"Of course. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to return to Whiterun. Those bandits won't be giving you any more trouble." Leaving the shop, he set back to Whiterun. When he entered Dragonsreach and made his way to Farengar's quarters, he removed his pack and set the Dragonstone on the table, grinning proudly. Farengar had been talking with a hooded woman leaning over a map on the table.

"Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

"I got you the Dragonstone. What next?"

"That's where your job ends, and mine begins, my friend. My associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork."

"You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work." she smiled at him before turning to Farengar. "Send me a copy once you've deciphered it."