Not proofread.
The slope was not steep, but she felt short of breath by the time she had reached the ancient mausoleum the locals called Bleak Falls Barrow. The snow storm she had waded through left a rough layer of tiny icicles along her skin. If she had not been burning away the prana within her, she doubted her skin would have been as rosy as it was now.
Every step she took had been tough. She was high up in the mountains and trudging through a path between two peaksùthe winds constantly tried to remove her breath from her lungs. No matter how she tried to block these harsh airs, they would just twist around and strike from a different angle. Instead, she had opted to simply ignore it all together and focus her energy on climbing.
She wanted to move forward. Standing still and waiting for a dream to come were actions she might have taken a lifetime ago, but not this life. So she endured these natural hardships without flinching, glaring back at the reflected sun that glared up at her.
The Barrow itself was a massive structure of stone. These bricks were huge, and the building itself must have drained from its creators decades of work and resources. In the Modern Era, such a building might have necessitated maybe one or two years and very few laborers, but in a time akin to the time of her kingdom, thisà
These thoughts slipped through her mind.
She did not want to think of other things, but something forlorn and distant grasped her consciousness and pulled her towards the massive iron doors of the Barrow. The creatures etched onto the door seemed to almost come alive and grasp at her, clawing and biting before turning back into a glaring demonic gateway to the dead. Thoughts of her time, of other things, all disappeared. She was familiar with focus, but this feeling was forced upon her and she shook at it. It was like an icy claw and reached into her skull and scrapped against her brain. It was a horrible feeling that made her shiver even when the snow storm had not.
But it was only when she shivered that she noticed the three people standing around at the top of the stone steps of the Barrow. They watched her warily with dangerous eyes. These were killers, a part of her mind whispered. They bristled when she saw that she did not stop in her approach, but they did not attack her either. They wore thick furs and little metals, a sign that they were well prepared for staying here in the snow. There were other signs tooùthere weapons shone in the harsh sun, sharper than those of the bandits below.
These are trained killers, she thought. They came here for something, perhaps even the same thing she came here for. And theseà mercenariesà might kill her too. Arturia would give them a chance, however. A sad part of her smirked at the thought; a king must be fair, even if it is only the kingÆs own fairness.
One of these mercenaries approached her, a crude, blonde woman with a horribly scarred face. Several of those scars looked like they were made by clubs or maces, though there was an old fire-wound that removed the womanÆs left eyebrow. Right behind the scarred mercenary, a strange looking man notched an arrow but held his hand. Arturia thought the man was frostbitten on all of his skin at first, but realized that was his natural pigmentation. The man had strange, red eyes and even stranger, pointed ears. The other mercenaries also looked very diverse. She didnÆt know what this meant.
ôHalt, I said halt!ö the scarred woman growled in a harsh, rough tone as she walked down the stairs towards Arturia, ôWhatÆs a dainty, little thing like you wandering up here in these mountains? You donÆt look like one of the villagersàö
ôI am curious about this place,ö Arturia answered honestly. She had no reason to hide anything, but she realized warily that some discretion would save her a lot of trouble here.
The scarred woman did not seem to lower her guard, but she moved her hand away from her short sword. The soft click of the hilt clashing with her scabbard was barely heard over the sounds of the howling winds, but Arturia noticed after this, the mercenaries seemed less tense. The scarred woman crossed her arms and smirked, ôWhatÆs this? The little lass is curious? You know what they say about curiosityàö The brutish woman trailed off. Her men laughed, but she was put off by how nonchalant Arturia was. Then she tried a different tactic, ôSay, little girl. You must be from the city, eh? YouÆre here for some fun. Well, I think IÆll let my men have some fun with you.ö
Arturia was once called the Heroic Spirit of the Sword by those who summoned her through time and space. She was to be the epitome of the swordùof its craft and of its use. Supposedly, those who were called æSaberÆ had mastery over the blade to such an extent that they were elevated above humanity into somethingà more. But Arturia felt otherwise.
In her countless confrontations in the infinity of time, Arturia had clashed with many masters of the blade. Even in her time, there were those who dedicated their lives to mastering their weapon to such an extent that they would be one; the weapon would be an extension of its wielderÆs body. In a sense, this had happened to Arturia too. As a Heroic Spirit, Arturia was known for her legend which inevitably led to the sword Excalibur. Not unlike many other masters renowned for their skill, Arturia had always been summoned with her weapon, the main sign of her legend. She might claim mastery over the use of Excalibur, but she felt she would be lying. All she had was her mastery over the mystical properties of the blade. Was she truly a master of the blade then?
When she clashed with those like Sasaki Kojiro, she met real masters of their blade in combat. Without those mystical properties of her blade, could she have matched them so well? She didnÆt know, but now, without her blade she might.
She did not attend a special school, or learn from some old sage about a way of the sword, or hide in a cave like a hermit for her entire life to master her weapon. She did have training, but what of it? She learned how to wield the sword beside Kay, as a squire. She learned to kill in her wars. She wasnÆt known for her skill with the sword however, even if she was known for her sword. Those legends lie with Lancelot and Gawain and her knightsà
She often wondered, if she had stopped and studied the blade a little more, might her legend have been different? All she remembered from her lifetime of training and hardship, truly of the sword, amounted to little.
Thrust, beat, parry.
She knew how to wield a sword, a knife, a lance, a shieldà but why was she only known for her sword? The legends of her other skills had often faded into history.
Thrustà she jabbed her own pilfered short sword forward at the scarred mercenary, running the blade through the womanÆs abdomen as the woman blinked. She moved as the womanÆs eyes closed, and penetrated into her flesh before her eyes had opened. But the human bone was stronger than what many gave credit for and the scarred mercenaryÆs spin prevented her blade from coming out from the mercenaryÆs backside cleanly.
Beatà Arturia knew not to back off, because in confrontations like this, a single momentÆs respite was all that her opponentÆs needed to draw the fight out. She angled her blade forward, towards the third mercenary. The last one was a man with long, blond hair and a huge, blooded axe. The many notches on the weapon told Arturia of how skilled the man was. But her blade was not coming forward to kill the man in a single swipe. She tapped against him, pushing him. To wield such a large, two-handed weapon left the man easy to push off balance.
Parryà she then spun her blade around, intercepting the iron arrowhead of the first arrow the dark skinned elf-like man had let loose. She could have dodged, but reading the path of the missile and moving away would mean giving the man a means of controlling the area around her. Instead, she parried it, letting it fly off harmlessly and clattering away on the stone steps.
Was this all there was to her skill in the sword? She could feint and perform flowery tricks, but fights were rarely won by a grandiose display. Timing and luck were factors, but they alone didnÆt determine her victories at all.
She did not have fancy forms that she practiced every day and she did not have specific swings that she purposely made a thousand times over in practice. Of course, she had been wielding her sword for as long as any other master. But it came down to her technique, she realized in chagrin. She simply didnÆt have anything, with a simple sword, that was a fancy techniqueà
What else could she do? Other than thrusting, beating, and parrying, she could hack, slash, hew, and backhand. She could make precise moments that only a master of the sword couldà and mastering the sword was a life-long career choice! But all of these movements, in comparison to her past foes, were just simple, basic movements.
In her annoyance at this thought, Arturia took a step forward that was unconsciously quicker and stronger than she had intended. As she shifted her weight forward, the front foot crunched into the stone floor and left an imprint of the soles of her leather boots. Her short sword slashed up diagonally, at first striking her opponentÆs axe and sending hundreds of sparks flying for a single moment. Then, before the force of her blow sent the opposing weapon flying, her sword cut through the axe and sliced the manÆs head off in a single, clean cut.
She spared her weapon a glance. Unlike her Excalibur, this rough weapon was not made for such an impact. It was already dull and had several cracks. The weight of the sword was also slightly off balance, as if the metal had bent slightly.
The archer looked at her with some kind of expression that was akin to fear. She saw the manÆs red pupils shrink and his eyes widen. But there were twitches here and there that were alien to a humanÆs face. How curious, she thought, as she tossed her short sword through the manÆs skull. She would have to investigate this later. Perhaps the villagers she was compelled to abandon would have something to say about this. But now she was unobstructed, her legs moved again, as if with a will not their own. She found her hands pressed against the towering iron gates before any other thoughts passed through her mind.
Then she pushed, and walked through.
ArturiaÆs eyes narrowed as she walked into a vast cavern. The air was moist and damp in here, as if untouched by the snow storm. It was a little warmer inside too. But she appreciated the shelter most for its lack of howling winds. Without them in here, everything seemed eerily silent.
That is, until a giant rat-beast of something kind dropped out of the ceiling.
The creature was as large as a canine and had sleek, spiked fur covered in rotting filth. Its round, rabid red eyes seemed to only scream a carnal need to feast to her. ArturiaÆs fist flew up and smashed the critterÆs skull before she could even survey the cavern she had stumbled into. The rat flew with a crunch of bone against metal, and then crashed against bricked walls in another sickening crunch of bone against stone.
ôWhat was that?ö A male voice called out from the far end of the cavern. It sounded further away than the man actually was.
The cavern was dimly lit by several fresh torches and a large camp fire that sat oddly in the other end. There were pillars, bodies, and random things littered all over the room, though most of them were corpses of those rat things. However, Arturia saw a manÆs body hanging off of one of the tables to her right, with several chunks of flesh ripped out of it about the same size as these overgrown ratsÆ mouths.
Although there was a large campfire on the other side of the cavern, the light from the fire did not reach her. However, the ruckus she caused was more than enough to lure whoever was on the other side out to greet her.
Two more mercenaries crept out, wearing and wielding similar items as the three she killed outside. The other was a woman, who yelled, ôStop right there and IÆll kill you!ö
Arturia frowned. If she were a person who liked to banter, then she might have taken the time to point out how stupid that request sounded. But she wasnÆt one for banter, so she grabbed the manÆs weaponùa steel long swordùfrom his scabbard before he could draw it, and dealt with both of them before they could react.
The weight of a long sword felt comforting in her handsà
She didnÆt have any time to enjoy the feel of the weight, nor could she even feel pity at the needless deaths of all these mercenaries, before the feeling grasped her again. It was a compulsionùthat much she was sure ofùbut she had no idea how it could simply pierce through her protections. DidnÆt she have the ability to resist most magics? Somethingà
Somethingà
Something whispered to her. She could not make out what the words were. They sounded, if they sounded at all, more like roars and grunts and growls than anything else. Sheà
She shook her head and felt her body sway from side to side. She fell into a stance with a lower center of gravity, just to stabilize herself, but the compulsion continued. It was a howling now, the signs of something violent and forceful.
But as quickly as the feeling came, it faded away and Arturia regained her bearings just in time to see a large man in full armor charging at her.
The metal was similar material to what she was holding, a form of forged iron that was crude, yet practical. But the armor the man wore was simply too cumbersome and gaudy. It looked like something that a merchant might wear to impress his friends, not something a mercenary should wearà
àbut Arturia guessed that was how this man had acquired this armor in the first place.
It was a ceremonial wear, so there were large chinks and gaps in between plates of iron. She felt almost bored when she slid her sword through the gap between the manÆs chest plate and helmet. The man fell with a soft gurgle, just as Arturia saw another man in similar armor fall to a pack of rats.
She had found herself deeper within Bleak Falls Barrow. The ceilings were dripping with water now, but the rooms felt even warmer than before. The room before her was something she did not expect. It was half collapsed, and there were some mechanisms here and there. She could guess that it was a puzzle of some kind, with three obelisks to the left side of the room and a lever in the middle.
It reminded her of MerlinÆs games that he used to æteachÆ her this or that lesson.
àShe hated MerlinÆs games.
With an almost feral growl, Arturia dashed forward. Within two steps, she was at the gate that barred her way further into the dungeon, but she didnÆt stop. The prana within her roared with the strength of her emotions, her irritation of Merlin, and fueled her muscles, strengthening her body and wrapping around her armor like a second layer. Then she tore the metal gate in half.
As she descended deeper, the iron gates and hordes of starving rats that greeted her were all crushed and fell into pieces. Why place these kinds of minor obstacles before her? They would not stop her and even if she did slow down and spend time to solve these childrenÆs riddles, there was no benefit in this. And if whatever is compelling her to go on cared about her desecration of the protections of this Barrow, then perhaps it should stop compelling her to keep going.
It wasnÆt until she walked further into the dungeon that she heard a faint voice call out to her, ôHey, whose there? Is that youà?ö
The rooms grew darker as she progressed. The next room she walked into was filled with webs. These were not webs she was used to; they were as strong as bronze, but many times more elastic. Arturia felt an eerie chill settle, when she noticed that there were several cocoons lying around with the shape and size of human adults. There were dozens others, around the size of those rat-things too.
The room was dark and cold, unlike the others. Here, she saw a hole in the ceiling, where the Skyrim winters fell throughà
àHer eyes widened when a giant spider as large as a horse dropped from the hole, clicking its mandibles and hissing angrily at the opposite direction. Behind the spider was another one of those dark elves, tangled in the spiderÆs web. He saw her and cried, ôOh, thank the Eight! Come help me!ö
Arturia did not feel so inclined to help the man immediately, seeing as he also wore furs similar to the mercenaries outside. But the spider was a foe to her as well, so she stepped through the webs and into the room.
This turned out to be a mistake, because the moment she stepped in, she found one of her feet stuck to the ground.
Immediately, the spider turned away from its elf, and turned to her. With an angry click, it spat a green, viscous liquid at her.
The liquid came at her like a spray, but she rotated the blade in her hands around quick enough to deflect most of it. The iron that it touched hissed and began to make a sort of gas in reaction. Arturia looked down suspiciously. The iron was being melted away by some kind of poisonous acid that ate at it. The process was slow, and she only noticed blots of rust growing on her sword, but that means she would not want this spider ichors landing on herself!
She side stepped one of the beastÆs attempts at biting off her head and chopped down. The spiderÆs shell clashed with her blade, and to her surprise, her blade was turned away. She had used only enough force that it would not morph the metal and she felt the blunt of the force go through enough that two of the spiderÆs legs gave out, but the shell was strong.
The spider hissed again and jumped at her.
Seeing this opening, Arturia ducked down and impaled the spiderÆs underbelly. It was one of the few times she would admit she was thankful for her superhuman speed, because she was able to toss the corpse away from her fast enough that the green ichors that exploded from the wound she made did not splatter all over her head.
The smell of spiderÆs insides almost caused her to gagùit was a sickening smell of rotten flesh mixed with poison. She poked the body away from her with the point of her sword, not wanting to get any closer to it. It was almost as disgusting as Blue Beard.
ôOh, youà youÆre alright,ö the dark elf remarked. ôWell, what are you waiting for? Cut me down!ö
ôWhy?ö Arturia asked. She was prepared to do it anyway, but this was the first mercenary she met down in this crypt who did not immediately attack her. ôWhy should I?ö
The elf replied cockily, ôAside from going passed me is the only way to keep going? Because I know how to open the door! Is that good enough for you?ö
ôWhich door are you talking about?ö Arturia asked, genuinely curious.
The elf rolled his eyes at her and replied sarcastically, ôWhat other door is there? The door in the Hall of Stories, to the Sanctum. ThatÆs where the treasure is, after all!ö
She was not here exactly for treasure, but whatever was inside must be a clue as to why she was here, in this world. At leastà it should be. Arturia was satisfied enough with this answer to cut the man down, only to have him run away.
ôHa! Like IÆd share with you!ö The dark elf-man laughed as he ran through the halls, ôIÆm going to get all that power for myself!ö
Arturia frowned again.
Thisà something wasnÆt rightà
Her senses all tingled in alarm. There was something here as dangerous as the dragon. If the man wentà Arturia had half a heart to just let him die. But if only he knew how to open this door, whatever it is, there is a chance she might need him.
She ran down the halls, chasing after him, only to see him run faster when he heard her footsteps. It was an infuriating chase, but it was a short lived one. The chase was killed by a growl. It was not any growl, it was a growl someone could only make if someoneÆs throat had been completely dried out and preservedà it was a sound of something inhuman.
ôOhùwhat the hells!ö The dark elf yelped when a dried hand shot out of the walls and nearly grabbed him. ôOh, shit! Draugr!ö
Just then, the sound of metal bashing and breaking wood echoed through the room they were in. All around her, the tombs where the dead were buried slid or broke open, with the dead crawling out, as if dragged by a puppet master. They all had dark hollows for eyes, and ancient looking armors and weapons. And they all had one purpose: kill.
The intent of killing, even from the dead, was so obvious; Arturia barely had time to push the man aside before a slash of an ancient weapon flew through where his neck used to be. The man yelped, and flipped onto his back and tried to crawl away.
Arturia found herself surrounded by these undead, or Draugr as the black elf called them. She weaved around them easily enough. Though she was cold, tired, and more than a little annoyed, these undead moved slower than any other undead she had faced before. It was as if their hips couldnÆt bend anymore. However, their swings were still as quick, and from the looks of it, they didnÆt tire easily.
She chopped and hewed, parting their limbs from their bodies. But even without their arms or with only half a torso, these Draugr still moved with unrelenting strength. They kept attacking, and in this moment of distraction, Arturia was pushed back just enough to allow two other Draugr a moment to rush the dark elf.
They jumped at him, stabbing and slashing. Arturia gritted her teeth and leaped up and over the undead that crowded around her. She flew over their heads quick enough to reach the dark elf, but not before one of them took a slash at the man. He cried even louder for some reason, though Arturia took enough time to note that he wasnÆt really harmed by that attack. She then turned her attention towards the undead, and took her time cutting them up enough so that they could not get back up again.
She did not use any special techniques and she did not move faster than a human being. But a human could slash very fast; Arturia spared barely five seconds on each Draugr, cutting them up into a dozen pieces each time.
ôNo, no, noàö The dark elf whimpered when Arturia finally turned her attention towards him.
Arturia blinked, ôWhatÆs wrong now? WerenÆt you just going to abandon me for treasure?ö
The dark elf grimaced at ArturiaÆs jab, but sighed and let his glaze fall down. He sighed again before saying, ôLook, thereÆsà one way into the Sanctum. ThereÆs just one, that the Nords used to keep people out. Butà itÆs pretty much worthless now.ö
Arturia frowned, ôWhat do you mean?ö
ôHey, hey, donÆt look at me like thatà shit, thatÆs scaryàö The dark elf tried to placate her, ôLook, getting in, you need a key. Each of these Nord tombs is supposed to have a different key, and the one for this place isà well, gold.ö
ôàAnd?ö Neither ArturiaÆs frown nor her glaze budged an inch.
The dark elf grimace, ôAndàö He held up what looked like a golden claw, in two pieces. ôThat means itÆs made of gold. And gold is soft. The Draugr cut it in half when you were too slow to save me.ö
ôI seeàö Arturia frowned. ôBut I will continue.ö
ôW-What?ö The dark elf gaped.
Arturia did not turn to see his expression. She did not need to. Cowards were common, no matter what the time period and no matter what the world.
ôW-Wait! Let me come with you, I might figure this out!ö The dark elf scrambled up and ran after her, ôMaybe we could use the two pieces together or somethingà!ö
Walking through the Barrow was uneventful.
There were undead and there were traps, but both were soà simple. Arturia felt almost insulted by how easy she stomped over these obstacles. A normal human, or even a large group of normal humans, would probably have trouble, but every obstacle she faced in this dungeon seemed to have a glaring weakness. There were several halls with axes swinging on pendulums, but she just had to cut one side for all of the blades to fall. There were giant doors made of spikes, swinging around with enough force to crush the body, but they were activated by pressure sensitive plates that were so obvious, only the Draugr had problems evading them. And those last two problems canceled each other out.
Then she found herself looking through a long hallway. From behind her, the dark elf muttered, ôThe Hall of Storiesàö
ArturiaÆs grinded her teeth. The pressure on her mind was back, booming and present from all sides. She clutched her head with both hands, but nothing seemed to help. Yet again, whispers came. They were louder now. And the voices came with images too blurred and faded to be seen. Arturia grimaced, but the moment she did so, they presence was gone. She sighed in relief; it was like a weight off of her shoulders every time the compulsions disappeared.
Noà that was not quite right. They were not compulsions. They wereà
ôHey, boss girl, erà boss lady!ö The dark elf called from the other side of the long hallway. He was holding up the golden claw when he said, ôLook, the blades were really weird, so they made it so I couldnÆt put the claw in. Er, sorryàö
Arturia wanted to stop and look around. She wanted to study the hall, to read its walls and learn of the stories they told. She wanted to stop for the moment and take this all in. But she could not.
She stepped up to the door. It was a large circular gate made of stone. There were three circles, one within the other, on the door with patterns of animals carved into them. It was yet another puzzle, but with the claw cut in half, she would be unable to go through even with the puzzle complete. Yet Arturia felt the need to keep going. She wanted to keep going, of her own will now, strangely enough.
Arturia had not tried to manifest her legend within this world, because that would be impossible. Her legend did not exist in this world, after all. But that did not mean she could not gather her prana and focus it into her palms. It was a technique she learned long ago, for protecting her own identity. It was also associated with yet another part of her legend. But she knew she could release the forceà
àAfter all, it is merely a sheath she manifested with her power.
The dark elf looked up and around in surprise.
This hall was so far down into the earth, that it was impossible for fresh air to get in. It was even more impossible for natural wind to seep down into this place. There were no magics that could make winds, and this door was protected from magic. But somehow, he could feel the hairs on his body fluttering. He could feel the furs on his armor ruffled and waving in the air.
The air, it howled.
It howled with a ferocity greater than even the snowstorm from outside. The wind blew passed, almost lifting him off his feet with pressure alone.
Then it all stoppedà
ôàStrike Air!ö Arturia gasped softly, thrusting her fists from under her torso out at the center of the door.
For a fraction of a moment, nothing happen. The air stood still as if time had frozen. The world seemed to mute as all sounds stopped. The sounds of dripping water paused. The smell of dead flesh, stone, moss, and rot all fell to the ground. For that moment, the silence was deafening.
Then air exploded from her palms.
Like a drill thousands of razor thin blades, a hammer made of wind under unimaginably high pressures condensed the air before her. It sucked in everything, but blew it all out, in a burst of power grinded on their ears as the thousands of blades grinded on stone. Immediately, hundreds of web-like cracks formed, before the now hundreds of slabs of stone were flung through the doorway, flying dozens of meters before rolling to a stop.
It was not the exertion that drained Arturia. She realized it was not a drain at all. Like hundreds of voices singing to a crescendo, the world pulsed around her. Everything seemed to beat to a pulse, a rhyme that grew louder and louder.
They were not compulsions. They were images and sounds of a memory. It was a memory of what happened before, of anotherÆs footsteps that drew her to this place.
She saw a man, proud and tall.
He stood where she stood, at the foot of a great teacher.
This teacher was no ordinary teacher, for it breathed fire and the world. Yet it would sit and listen, sing songs and create poems with those beneath it. It was a great teacher.
But then the manà
àthe man died. And the teacher spoke in a guttural tongue that Arturia shouldnÆt understand. By all means, she did not. But she did.
HERE LIES THE GUARDIAN
KEEPER OF THE DRAGONSTONE
AND A FORCE OF ETERNAL
RAGE AND DARKNESS
This was not the tongue of mortals.
Arturia felt the world blur yet again, and once again, she stumbled. The soul within her that was not her own recognize something within these words. It was something old beyond time and meaning, though it stemmed from the weave of the universe itself.
As the dragon rose, roaring in force, the world shook and trembled. The beat grew quicker and quick, coming to a peak where the volume drowned out everything else. Arturia felt herself collapse to her knees as something twisted within her soul. Knowledge and power grew from a seed.
Behind her, a slab of stone slid off a tomb, and a man crawled out. His eyes were hollow, yet filled with rage and darkness. And in a single swipe, he cut down on the dark elf, splitting the mortal into two.
The power within Arturia welled up, flowing through her every fiber of being into her heart. Then grew and grew, washing into her throat. Before she could take control of herself, the primal roar within her was too great to contain. Her lips parted and a bestial growl strum out of her, making the cavern she was in quake, ôFUS!ö
The man of rage and darkness answered, ôFUS!ö But his voice was that of a dead manÆs. The man who was in the memory was no longer what he was. His skin had aged to the point of decay. His proud muscles have atrophied into moss and mold. His blood had dried into dust. And even his soul was no longer his.
When his Voice shouted against hers, he too let loose a Shout that shook creation. Yet his voice was cracked and his throat was dried, too much for him to endure.
And so, his Shout, an answer to the unrelenting wall of force that flew at him, was blown aside. And then he was flung away, utterly crushed by the pure force. And for the first time in many centuries, the man had rest.
Arturia felt physically and emotionally drained, but somehow, she understood. Even if she had only achieved one of the many pieces of the puzzle, this had all been worth it. And within her, the power of the dragonÆs soul that had been bubbling away began a new course, where it transformed her words into raw power, obliterating anything in her path.
Trudging out of Bleak Falls Barrow took much longer than wading in, Arturia decided. Her muscles were worn out, her mind was tired from a lack of sleep, and there was no supernatural force compelling her to move faster anymore.
As she walked out of the dirty and dank mausoleum, Arturia marveled at the freshness of the air outside. The snowstorm had passed and she could now see the blue skies.
Standing at this peak over looking Skyrim stolen a breath away from her that none of the snowstormÆs harsh winds ever could. The tall lines of trees, the mirror-like lakes, and everything else!
From here, she saw the land and its beauty. She stopped, amid a step, taking time to admire the view. The villagers could wait a moment longer, she supposed. ItÆs not as if she had not earned this short respite.
