An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

S'maash scrutinized the ancient nord carvings. He wondered why Shalidor's Insights were located in such an ominous place. The ruins appeared much older than Shalidor, meaning either the former Archmage had settled in Labyrinthian, or his works were moved to their current location for further study, yet it was irrelevant; he was there to retrieve the insights.

S'maash did his best to skulk. With his enchanted equipment, he made no sounds as he stepped over rubble. Slowly, he descended the depths of Labyrinthian. After rounding a corner, he saw his first obstacle, a lone skeleton with an ancient, nord, great sword in hand; the wicked blade was rusted over. The creaking of bones was unnerving. S'maash watched it for a second. Blasted undead.

Knowing skeletons were generally weak, the dark elf held hands poised for an overcharged fire bolt spell. He let it fly across the room. The orange ball of magickal fire lit up the area before crashing into his adversary. The skeleton was blown to little bony bites. S'maash dusted his hands on his armor and bobbed his head a bit in a jaunty manner. Simple enough.

He creapt over to the smoldering bones and pushed them around with his boot. With plenty of time, and no more enemies, he was free to scrutinize the massive room. A steel grate sat at the center. The walls were lined with black tombs. Rotted shelving lined the far wall. There wasn't much else to see, but there was certainly more to trek.

The elf pressed on, skulking. Moments of silence eased by before he entered a new area, a roughly hewn corridor. It was very tall and carved from the native, brown stone. In both sides were nooks; housings for the dead. S'maash cautiously observed one of the mummified corpses. It appeared desiccated. Otherwise, it was fairly intact.

The ancient nord wore rotted, leather equipment with plates of rusted steel protecting vitals. Suddenly, it shifted as it let out a groan. S'maash jumped in the air from surprise. The draugr came to stand with an ebony, war axe in hand; magicka radiated from cold, blue, undead eyes.

"Back to Oblivion, creature," S'maash yelled and fired another, overcharged, fire bolt.

The draugr staggered from the impact, but quickly recovered, charged forwards, and swung wildly. The burning of magickal fires obscured the draugr's sight, though, making it easy for S'maash to duck from blows. Still, the dunmer received a slash over the shield on his back. The impact sent him straight to the ground. He scrambled away to the other wall and let loose a fire bolt from each hand. The draugr burst into flames then fell to a knee. It died...again.

The clamor of battle had drawn the attention of other draugr in the long hallway, and they came barreling in, brandishing their ancient weapons. With little time to spare, the elf casted iron flesh with one hand and flame cloak with the other. Soon as he did, spurts of magickal flame danced around his being. The draugr did their best to deal damage, but S'maash back peddled as he poured out gouts of flames from his fists. Two draugr fell, but one kept the pressure coming.

It held an ancient, nord sword in one hand while firing ice bolts from the other. The bald, bearded, brute then yelled at the top of its lungs.

"Fus Roh Da," echoed in a breathy shout.

The beast's voice was so potent it rocked S'maash, causing him not only to stumble, but to lose concentration, effectively breaking his spell. By the time he recovered, the draugr white was on him, slashing away. His weapon had a slight hook at the tip of the blade, resulting in moderate damage every time he swung.

The elf took a severe bruising from the potent draugr. After a slash cut the hair from his head, S'maash drew his sword. Fear gripped his heart, but rage gripped his fists.