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“The call to war. It never comes at a convenient time. War comes when we least expect it. And it always brings pain.” -Fourth speaker VayKiir, on the Argonian War

A few hours travel left the two standing at the foot of a mountain trail. Heracles took the front position, his shield made him the better frontline, and the bow would let Talrikir deal with enemies from the back.

High in the mountains, the icy wind of Skyrim cut to the bone. The trail had been covered in a thick layer of snow, and Talrikir found himself truly regretting not being able to wear nord footwear. The wraps around his footpaws were not up to the task of trudging through the deep snow. Heracles wasn’t any better, with no fur and cold-blooded biology he was by far the worse off.

The trail had begun to be interspersed with stone staircases and the remnants of older structures. They had just rounded a crumbling tower set into the side of the mountain when they were stopped.

“I’m warning you. Stop there!” They turned to see a female bosmer with a bow one arrow held ready to draw and fire into them.

“Yeah, just stay there and give us your gold and we might let you go.”, said an imperial, a shortsword at his side. Behind him stood a giantess of an orc with a mace and shield. Clad in iron plate, she was by far the most threatening.

Talrikir whispered, “Get ready, I’ll shoot the archer while you rush them.” Heracles nodded.

Heracles yelled, “Now!” In a split second, Talrikir had nocked an arrow and shot the archer in the chest. A second arrow followed shortly after to put her down for good.

At the same time, Heracles caught the first arrow in his shield before charging right into the imperial. The man was trampled in the wild rush.

Talrikir turned away from the archer to see his comrade locked in combat with the orc, and the imperial attempting to stand and cut him down. A pair of arrows put a stop to that.

He aimed at the orc woman, but she kept Heracles and her own shield in the way as she fought. Talrikir tried to maneuver to the side but she simply stepped to keep his ally in the way while delivering a smashing blow to Heracles’ shield. He abandoned the bow and drew steel.

Closer in he noticed the discolored skin, and slight wrinkles on her face, this wasn’t just any Orc. She was old, and in her kind, that meant dangerous.

He lashed out with his sword, only to be caught on the haft of her mace.

She slammed her shield into Heracles with crushing force, throwing him back.

With only one foe she renewed her assault. The mace was like a workman’s hammer, raining blows down on Talrikir’s steel, as he desperately parried the weapon and redirected the blows.

From the ground, Heracles threw his axe straight into the Orc’s back. She staggered at the hit, dropping to one knee.

Talrikir didn’t hesitate to go on the offensive with a series of vicious slicing blows.

Already off balance, and with the momentum turned against her, she was unable to match his flurry of attacks. Slowly the cuts began to add up.

Heracles stood and ran back into the fight to wrench the axe out in a spray of blood.

When she flinched, Talrikir closed in and plunged the tip of his sword into her gut.

The woman dropped with a smile on her face, and her last words on her lips. “Thank you, for a good death.” She closed her eyes for the final time, at peace with her end.

They took a breather inside the tower the bandits had been occupying. There wasn’t much of a fire, and the stones did little to shield them from the howling winds outside, but they took what relief they could get.

Some digging around turned up some cold, but edible vegetables and dried meats, as well as a set of lockpicks and a few dozen coins.

Upstairs Talrikir put the lockpicks to good use, opening up a chest. The bounty inside amounted to a set of fur armor, sized just a bit large for him, that he quickly put on, and a few dozen more coins, in addition, there was a steel sword in the nordic style.

Talrikir felt much better now, equipped with a second blade and some armor that was warm if not the most protective. That was until he noticed the odd look Heracles was giving him. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing it’s just…you seemed a bit too familiar with those picks. If I hadn’t fought with you I’d think-”

“That I was a thief.” He smiled visibly when his companion’s eyes shot wide. It still stung though. “Well, you wouldn’t be wrong. Not much choice when you mess everything else up. At least not where I’m from; I didn’t stay in that life though. Nope. I got a chance to be better. Met some good people.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ll tell you about them one day.”

Heracles’ still had one eye ridge raised in curiosity. But he must have brushed it aside. “As long as you aren’t stealing from respectable folk, we’ll get along fine. I won’t judge you for your past.”

Talrikir wasn’t sure if he managed to hide the relief he felt at that statement. He changed the topic. “Anyway, that orc had a decent set of iron armor, has to be better than that…whatever that is you’re wearing. I think I can adjust it to your fit.”

“Really? An archer, a swordsman, a lockpick, and now an armorer. You are a peculiar man, Tal.”

“Talrikir, please. I earned the right to call myself that.”

“My apologies, Talrikir. And yes, I’d appreciate getting to wear something with some real protection.”

“Okay, put the kit on, then I get to hurt myself.” He winced. Shouldn’t have said that bit out loud.

“What?” Heracles was staring at him oddly. Must be what a concerned argonian looks like. He glanced at the breastplate and its clear space for feminine assets, and the enormous size.

“Just put the armor on. I’m going to use some magic to reshape it. Catch is my magic has been a bit weird since I woke up. Hurts to use, else I wouldn’t be carrying real weapons around. You need real armor though, so I’ll have to deal with it.”

“If you’re sure…” Heracles pulled the legion leathers off, before strapping the iron armor on over his clothes.

Talrikir held a hand over his mouth. The orc’s old armor was entirely too big. The resulting effect was of a scowling Heracles in armor so large it may well have been a child trying on their parent’s kit. It was only made more hilarious by the ridiculous gaps in the armor.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Talrikir put a hand out on a nearby table to hold him up as he laughed; long and loud in the small tower.

“Okay, okay. I’m good now. Hehe. Let’s fix that little issue of yours.” He nearly started laughing again as he approached Heracles.

“One of these days, I will hurt you.”

“Oh, promise a guy a fun night?” He almost lost it again when Heracles’ eyes shot open before his face twisted in disgust. “Alright. I’ll stop. Now, hold still, you don’t want iron plating fused into our scales.”

“Wait! What was that about fusing metal into my scales?”

Talrikir placed a hand on the breastplate; then he focused. A moment later he flooded the metal with his magicka. The pain was quick to follow, more intense than the previous times. He ignored it and willed the material of the armor to flow.

Iron shifted like water and reformed around Heracles. The armor was reshaped to close up the gaps in the old design with overlapping plates. The excess material from shrinking the armor was molded to create strong zones that would stop even direct hits from most steel. The material may have been crap but that was no excuse to make bad armor out of it. There was a forgers mark set right below the coif on the chest in the form of a stylized fox with two swords in hand. Talrikir considered it a passable effort given the circumstances.

After a moment the armor seemed to solidify again as Talrikir dropped the spell, before falling to all fours retching and gasping for air.

“Talrikir!” Heracles dropped to one knee to look him over.

Talrikir had been expecting it to be bad, this was far more magicka than he had used since waking up. At least now he knew that the pain correlated to how much magic he used.

“I’m fine. Guh!. It’s passing, just- hrrgh! Gotta get through this.” He took a few moments to ride out the surging waves of pain and heat.

Eventually, it faded back to a steady amount, though to his concern it was even more than before. Something is horribly wrong; magicka shouldn’t do this. If this keeps getting worse… Not the time, I’ll figure this out later.

“Okay.” He breathed deeply. “I’m good. Let’s get this over with.” He stood, a bit shaky.

“Are- Are you sure?” Heracles had one hand out, just a little bit away from his shoulder.

Talrikir brushed the implied help off and walked into the snow. “Yep! Let’s get this over with so we can go back to town before it gets dark, yeah?”

The walk from there was on flat ground, it seemed they were done climbing the mountain. An hour or so later they arrived just outside a massive stone structure.

The ruins were made of an oddly black stone that seemed unnatural amidst the piles of alpine snow. Huge structures that used to form arches over the path up to the stone platform lay in between them and the steps, along with fragments of the arches long fallen to the ground half buried in snow.

The complex itself was made of the same stone, but at a ridiculous scale. The top was a massive space with draconic sentry points at the corners. Wide steps at least thirty feet across set into the structure itself led the long way up to the top.

From the cover of the ruins, Talrikir spotted a half dozen bandits. Four of them had bows in addition to small one-armed blades. Another had a steel shield and a long spear. The last was a nord with blue warpaint wielding a massive claymore, he was conspicuously missing a shirt, though he seemed no worse off for it in the freezing winds.

They huddled behind one of the ancient nordic pillars to observe the encampment. Heracles was shivering in the cold. They would need to hurry up before he caught a cold.

Talrikir said, “There’s an awful lot of them. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem if I could use my bow from here, but there’s too much wind.”

Heracles had his arms wrapped around each other under his shield. “If we get close, we won’t have much time before they rush us with superior numbers.”

“Then we need to cut the support down fast. If we sneak into range for my bow I can take out at least two of the archers before they notice. After that, it’s gonna go to shit.”

Heracles nodded and they snuck in closer. At the closest pillar to the massive stairway, far wider than it was tall he pulled a trio of arrows from his quiver and set one on the string. One breath in, one out, repeat. He sighted one of the archers off to the side, unlikely to be spotted when he went down. Point, pull back…Fire!

The arrow flew through the air and sunk directly into the base of the man’s spine. He spasmed a bit before tilting over and off the side of the ruins.

Talrikir wasted no time in sighting the closest sentry and firing a pair of shots into them. They slumped over where they stood. He retrieved another trio of arrows and sighted the third archer when one of the bandits yelled. “We’re under atta-” Talrikir shot her in the throat, but it was too late.

The bandits took up arms and hid behind the cover of the ruins. “They don’t know where we are, but that won’t last. Get ready.”, Talrikir said.

The nord with his massive claymore and the imperial woman with shield and spear began to pace down the steps. Talrikir couldn’t get a decent shot without the large shield in the way. This one would be up to Heracles. He just had to keep the last archer out of the fight.

Heracles raised his shield and charged up the steps to meet them. With proper armor on he was a menace. He deftly avoided or blocked the most lethal attacks with ease. Any lighter blow was allowed to graze the thickest parts of his new armor only to slide off the angled surfaces. For his enemies' part, they were deadlocked by a mix of deadly axe swings and stunning shield bashes.

Talrikir moved towards them, eyes scanning the ruins and bow ready to snap on target. The bosmer made the mistake of attempting to shoot Heracles in the flank; Talrikir let off three arrows in quick succession to the mer’s chest. The last archer down he refocused on the fight. Heracles was starting to lose ground against them, but the melee was too entangled for a bow to help.

Talrikir shouldered the bow and drew his swords, dashing into the fray. He used both blades to intercept the nord’s next swing.

Heracles took the opening to drive his shield into his opponent. With his full weight behind the charge, Heracles shoved her down the steps several feet.

Talrikir squared off with the man. Now it was a duel.

The nord was peppered in small cuts all over his chest. The nord glanced Talrikir up and down before disengaging to drink a red potion. Talrikir didn’t even have a chance to close the distance before the bottle smashed against the stone steps.

Before his eyes the man’s wounds slowly closed up and vanished without a trace; not immediately like a normal healing potion, but slowly. Regeneration. Shit!

Talrikir found himself at a disadvantage. His swords were less than half the length of the oversized claymore, and without a distraction, he couldn’t close the gap. Talrikir dodged and parried the mighty swings, even one hit would be his end.

The nord delivered a crushing blow missing by inches to his side. The blade slammed into the stone steps and Talrikir took his chance. He ran in one sword pushing down to keep his foe’s blade pinned and the other raised to strike. His foe adjusted his grip before leveraging the huge hilt and crossguard toward his chest. Talrikir sliced deep into the beserker’s collarbone, before being launched backward as the pommel caught him in the chest. The man staggered, one arm hanging limp after the deep cut.

He meanwhile was left winded and stunned on the ground. He recovered his stance and glared at the last remnants of the grievous wounds he had inflicted. His foe took up his blade, the regeneration effect having undone the damage in seconds. Even a crippling blow only got him a momentary lapse in fighting and a couple of bruises for the effort.

Talrikir stepped to the side to avoid another swing and so the fight continued.

They went at it like this for some time. Talrikir found it more and more difficult to keep up with the nord as they fought. The cold even through the fur armor sapped his energy, and the small scrapes and bruises stacked up. Meanwhile even the deepest cuts he could manage with his blades simply healed over on his opponent’s body in seconds.

It was a fight of attrition, and he found himself losing. If only he could use his magic, this wouldn’t even be a contest.

He was at his limit when Heracles, with spear in hand, showed up to stab the man from behind. A telling blow straight through his heart. The nord yelled, beginning to turn on the new foe. Heracles had none of it, reaching for his axe. The nord fully turned just in time to see the axe coming for his neck. Talrikir finally slumped over exhausted, It was over.

“Good- Good timing. I think I’m gonna rest for a moment.”

Heracles raised one eye ridge. “Hm, and here I thought you might like to sit by the fire.”

Talrikir groaned, in pleasure at the thought of real warmth, but also in misery at the thought of needing to climb stairs. He managed to lift his head and look at his partner. “Carry me?”

Heracles snorted, a cloud of water vapor around his face. He paused for a moment before saying flatly. “No.” Talrikir laughed when Heracles turned to climb the stairs. Jerk.

Sometime later they had gone over the bodies. Heracles had acquired a wooden spear with a steel tip. Talrikir meanwhile had scavenged several iron arrows in decent condition. They had shared the coins found on the bodies and managed to get some fur padding for Heracles' armor, as well as a pair of deerskin cloaks. All in all, it was a decent upgrade to their equipment.

The real winner was the roasted deer and warm fire at the encampment. They hadn’t found the claw. But even in the icy winds, the flame carried a welcome warmth. They sat there for some time recuperating from the previous fights and the trek up the mountain.