FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"If you plan after the steel has been drawn you will always lose. Battles are not won by the sword. Battles are won by the words spoken before the first blade is in hand." - The Third Sermon, Lessons of Vaykiir

The two stood in front of the passageway forward. Their faces were solemn and their posture was stiff.

Talrikir said, "Only one way to solve this."

"Indeed. It is a time-honored tradition."

The two faced each other, and set fists down on open palms. They spoke in unison, "On three. One. Two. Three. Draw." They tapped their fists to their palms three times with the words before shoving their hands forward to reveal...

Crapbaskets. Talrikir frowned in dismay as Heracles mimed slicing his flattened paw with two outstretched claws.

"Shears beats parchment. Better luck next time, fox."

He looked at the hall out of their current room. "So, we don't need to go any further right? We got some new axes, a bunch of coins-"

"I didn't think you were a coward."

"It's not cowardice, it's self-preservation. There are giant axes In there." Even as he spoke Talrikir was dropping as much kit as possible to lighten his load. When he was done he had nothing left but his armor and a single sword at his hip.

He took one of the healing potions in hand and stared into the passageway again. He gulped.

Three axes with blades from ceiling to floor rhythmically sliced through the hall. Morbidly Talrikir tossed a discarded sword into the blades. There was a tremendous snapping noise as the axe sheared through the sword, leaving two separate pieces on the ground.

He breathed deep, getting into a sprinter's stance. He eyed the blades, counting their rhythm, waiting for the perfect moment. There! Talrikir was off like a shot, through the first, past the second. He wasn't quite fast enough to make it past the third. He stumbled at the quick stab of pain as his tail was severed just past the base.

He stumbled into the wall with a crash. Talrikir was stunned for a moment, only thinking to pull the chain and stop the trap after his head cleared. The blades cycled once more before slowing and receding into the walls.

He gulped down the healing potion, it wouldn't replace his tail, but at least it would stop the bleeding. There was a flash of pain as the wound closed over, followed by a soothing warmth of leftover healing energy. A second later that too faded.

Talrikir took a step back from the wall. Before he could catch himself he started to tip forward, tripping on a perfectly flat surface. Ow.

The worst part about having your tail cut off is always having to relearn how to walk. Talrikir never understood how men and elves were able to walk without a tail to counterbalance their movements. He supposed it explained their clumsiness.

Heracles helped pull him up. "Will you be alright? You don't seem...capable, like that."

"Yeah. I'll be fine, just need to get used to it. Not the first time I've lost my tail in a fight.", Talrikir said. He spread his arms out to the side as he ambled about in place for a minute.

Neither of them commented on Heracles carrying their bag of loot, even after Talrikir reclaimed his gear.

Heracles had gone forward to investigate the tunnel ahead of them. Talrikir paid it no mind when his partner descended into the passage.

That changed when he heard the odd rattling of the ancient nord armor from the same hall. He managed to get a look around the corner just in time to see the undead battering Heracles' shield with a huge war hammer. His spear lay on the ground, shattered into several smaller pieces. Heracles weathered the tremendous blows, with both arms bracing his shield as he searched for an opening.

Talrikir leaned sideways against the wall as he took up his bow. His balance was still off but there was no time to fix that.

Heracles was being pressed back, his guard wouldn't last much longer. Talrikir took the shot as the undead wound up another swing. The arrow struck true in the creature's desiccated arm, and his swing went off-course into the wall.

Heracles didn't miss his chance to slam his shield into the undead's face. Dazed and off balance it was a simple matter for Heracles to retrieve one of the axes from his belt and cleave its skull into two separate pieces.

Talrikir took his time descending into the passage, the moderate incline was difficult in his state, forcing him to keep a hand on the walls for support. Heracles was patient, as Talrikir stumbled his way down the steps.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Talrikir growled a bit before pushing off from the wall and taking a few shaky steps towards Heracles. "I'll be fine. Let's just get this over with."

Heracles shook his head from side to side before turning down the hall. "Fine, fine. Well then, what do you make of this?"

Talrikir looked down the hall himself. It was coated in the light shimmer of oil and had a clay pot with a lit torch inside hanging from the ceiling. Along the hall were several similar chambers to the one their last foe had stepped out of.

"I'm not walking into a fire trap." That said Talrikir took aim and shot the rope out. The pot shattered against the ground and a wave of flame raced down the hallway and around a corner.

Talrikir saw one of the undead clamber out of the sconce at the end only to collapse as the flames devoured the desiccated flesh. Similar sounds echoed through the halls as the flames continued to burn.

A few moments later the oils had burned away. Talrikir said, "After you, since you're so worried about my safety."

Heracles grunted but took up the lead.

The duo walked through the charred halls collecting any items of use from the corpses. They found a few coins, and even a couple of petty soul gems, unfortunately empty.

Sometime later they entered a small room with a shallow stream cutting through the center. The far end of the stream had what appeared to be one of the barred doors and the handle to release it leading into a partially filled hallway, where the stream continued. The odd part was the coffin propped haphazardly against some rocks mostly upright, with a small chest sitting next to it.

Heracles approached the coffin, Talrikir shortly behind when suddenly there was a loud thump from the inside. Heracles dropped the sack of loot and they readied their weapons.

The knocking sound rang out again, this time the lid of the coffin loosened a bit. Talrikir tripped a bit as he pulled Heracles to the side just in time. The pair fell, a tangled mess of limbs.

The lid shot out like a ballista bolt into the space Heracles had been standing in a second ago. There was a loud crash and a tumble of stone.

From inside the coffin, a stocky undead stepped out. This one had a mostly intact set of partial plate armor and a crude axe in one hand. The other was glowing red, their only warning before it let loose a ball of fire.

Heracles took his chance to save him, rolling over to cover them both with his shield. The fireball hit with a dull thump, instantly turning a portion of the river to steam with the blast.

The two climbed to their feet and took positions in the cover of the steam. Heracles raised his shield to catch another fireball as he went in, Talrikir still pulling himself up on unsteady legs.

Talrikir hated fighting enemies with good armor, especially when he had a miserable bow to fight with. He was forced to take shots at extremities and the few gaps in the armor, none of which were vital. The best he could manage with his awkward balance.

Heracles had taken up his second axe and launched himself into a vicious melee. The undead released a half-formed fire spell in a shower of small sparks and smoke, to dodge a cleaving strike.

Heracles fought like a devil, attacking without pause or hesitation, trusting in his shield and armor to keep him safe.

His foe was more cautious, using their weapon to create space and time to try and hit them with magic. Talrikir put a stop to that, anytime they broke apart he shot the undead in its exposed flesh to prevent it from focusing on a cast.

After a particularly excellent shot in his opinion into the undead's throat, it turned on him. The foe made it about three steps before Heracles tackled it into the shallows in the center of the room.

Heracles yelled, "Get over here and finish it."

"Right!", Talrikir replied. He made it within arms reach of the pair before tripping in the stream. Talrikir floundered a bit in the stream before getting his head back above the rancid grave water. He spit the foul, grimy liquid out before taking in the grappling pair in front of him.

Talrikir reached down and ripped the horned helmet off of their foe's head. He took the sword from his waist and stabbed the undead in its open mouth. The glow in its eyes faded, revealing the empty eye sockets of the corpse as Talrikir ripped the blade from between its jaws.

"You couldn't have walked a bit faster?" Heracles rummaged around in his kit before finding a sealed healing potion, their last one, and gulping it down.

"I'd love to see you walking faster without a tail. How do they live their lives like this?"

"Probably by falling over a lot. You ever see a human kid, takes them months to figure out how to walk."

"I can't even imagine. Ugh, I can still taste that water. Blegh! Remind me to get a cure disease potion when we get back."

Heracles didn't respond apparently having reached his limit for banter. Talrikir took that as his cue to pick the lock on that chest. He figured even if it was burial items, they had tried to kill them so that made it fair game.

The lock clicked open and he found a couple of common soul gems, empty again, and a small garnet, along with a decently large pile of septims. He pocketed them and moved on.

The path forward was filled with rubble, and the running water made it quite treacherous to proceed. Talrikir took it as good practice with his new balance. When they finally made it out of that passage onto flatter, drier ground, he had only gotten soaked twice. Thankfully without ingesting any more of the grave water.

They exited the hall into a cave filled with bioluminescent mushrooms, the stream from the previous passage running down the middle. At the end of the cave, it fell out into a large gorge. That drop was through a rather large opening in the cave walls. The view showed a bridge made of the same stone as the Barrow, covered in snow.

There was a small path to the side that led down to the bridge. They had just stepped out onto the bridge when one of the undead came out from a ramp leading into the gorge. They slammed their mace on their shield and began to charge.

Heracles nimbly stepped out of their way. The errant mace caught on his shield. Heracles hooked one leg on its and pulled sharply. When the undead began to trip, Heracles helped them over the side with a hard push from his shield. A few seconds later there was a loud crash of metal on stone.

Later they arrived at a pair of large wooden doors. They were in surprisingly good condition. When Heracles opened them Talrikir knew why.

The magic in the next room was dense and powerful. This was the entrance to the heart of whatever this place had once been.

Talrikir said, "Heracles, keep an eye out. There's bound to be more danger from here."

"How do you know?"

"There's strong magic here; so much that I can sense the anger they put into it. This place must be the source of whatever is animating the bodies."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then we are in big trouble."

They walked through the new section with weapons raised and eyes sharp. It wasn't just the magic. The ruins were far more intact here. No more overgrown plants, and no rubble lying around. Someone or something had been keeping these parts up.

Their next challenge was a familiar one. There was a short hall into the next room with a pair of axes swinging to and fro. This set was simpler, however, given there was space to stand between each.

Talrikir nimbly stepped past the arc of one axe before it could swing back, and repeated the act. On the other side, he pulled the chain. He turned back to Heracles to usher him in.

Heracles yelled, "Duck!"

Talrikir dropped and Heracles threw an axe. He felt the handle pass inches above his head with a whoosh of air. Then it slid into something with a wet "SHINK". The walking corpse fell with a thump that was far too close for Talrikir's liking.

He stood quickly and turned, his bow ready. His first two shots took out an undead archer. That left two more enemies in the room when Heracles charged in.

Talrikir sighted the other archer and fired. The undead dropped with a trio of arrows in its chest.

Heracles finished off the last one before turning to him. "Be careful. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a decent partner to fight with?"

Talrikir frowned but didn't say anything. He should have heard that. He should have never been caught unaware by one of them. They were slow and loud. He kept those thoughts to himself as they collected their spoils and moved on.

A short walk later they found another large set of wooden doors. Beyond them was a hall filled with large braziers, that came alight as they passed. The magic was so thick in the air that Talrikir felt like he could choke on it.

The end of the hall was blocked off by a large stone door with three rings set into it. In the center was a gold cap with three holes spaced kind of like...OH!

"Heracles... pass me that claw." Talrikir regarded the ornament they had been sent to retrieve, only now noticing the symbols carved into the bottom. The symbols matched up with the ones on the lock perfectly.

Bear. Bug. Owl.

He passed the claw back to Heracles before shifting the rings to match the order on the claw.

"You're joking. That thief was right?"

"Maybe," Talrikir said. He took the claw back and gently pressed it to the plate at the center of the door.

There was a loud grinding sound before the plate pushed the claw out. The rings aligned to the owl symbol before the door began to sink into the floor.

Talrikir wordlessly passed the claw back, as they both stared at the lit staircase ahead.

Heracles walked in first. Talrikir followed.

The stairs led out into a large cave, dimly lit by the moonlight from the open ceiling. At the back was a massive plinth connected to the rest of the chamber by small arched bridges, and lit by braziers.

Set in the back corner was a strange half-circle monument with writing in a strange language. He forgot about that when Heracles slowly walked towards it, his weapons down.

Heracles was unresponsive, no matter how Talrikir tried to get his attention. He even tried to physically bar his path only for Heracles to push him aside and keep walking, as if in a trance. When they got closer Talrikir could feel the ancient, and powerful, magic in the stone.

Then he heard it. Stone being struck. He looked out to the center of the plinth to see a huge coffin with a burial chest and a rack of weapons beside it. He tried to shake Heracles, to make him come back to his senses, but it was no use.

The dull thunk continued, louder. The lid shook. Heracles stared at the stone. He reached out to place a hand on the stone. Magic whirled around them. Faster and faster. Suddenly it rushed into Heracles' skull.

The coffin lid launched into the air revealing a brutish undead with immaculate armor. Talrikir grimly turned to stalk down the steps and meet them. Heracles didn't even notice.

His foe took up a large broadsword with the glimmer of enchantment. The blade seemed to snap to a freezing temperature. A trail of glittering frost in its wake.

Talrikir gulped. He looked behind himself to see Heracles staring at the curved wall, magicka now visibly flowing into him. He'd have to do this on his own.

"Dohvahkiin! No, you die here," the undead roared in a ghastly voice. A moment later it struck.

The first swing shattered his imperial blade. Talrikir wasn't surprised; a mass-produced weapon had no spirit, no soul. How could it resist an enchanted weapon wielded by what had been a fierce warrior without even that?

The steel fared much better. Even made of such crude metal, it was forged with intent and purpose. It was a good blade.

The undead was inexhaustible. Its attacks came as heavy arcing swings set to an unforgiving cadence of violence. One. Two. Three. Reset.

The pattern was easy to read. A small set of opening moves, leading into predictable sequences.

Or, Talrikir supposed, he might just be that good.

Talrikir's blade danced across the space between them to interrupt his foe's wide swings. The clang of metal on metal echoed through the cavern at a metronome's pace.

Talrikir had the edge in speed and skill. However, his foe had the edge in strength and reach. Never mind that the frost would cripple him with even a light touch. The two were at an impasse. Neither held enough advantage to end the fight on their terms.

Or so he thought. His back was no longer to the wall when the undead stepped back. It breathed in deeply before letting out a single syllable.

"FUS!" The world warped around the sound and Talrikir was thrown like a leaf in the wind, landing hard on the stone ground.

The undead scoffed before turning to face Heracles.

Talrikir scrambled onto his feet and ran to interpose himself. He wasn't about to let a walking corpse kill the closest thing he had to a friend.

The undead laughed.

Then it breathed in. It passed the time for the last shout and kept going. Talrikir could feel it this time. The magic was intense. If nothing else happened that next shout would kill them both.

He tossed his sword to the side and reached inward for his magic.

The undead shouted, "FUS-RO-DAH!"

Talrikir took hold of his magic and pulled, forcing it out and into the shape of a magical shell. The wave of force crashed into the ward with unstoppable might, before bouncing off to shatter stone.

Talrikir felt a blazing agony across his body. Then he saw nothing but the dark.