Chapter 4: The Ruins of Arkngthand

The trio left Balmora most of the way through the afternoon, passing Fort Moonmoth again. The guards pacing the walls of the Imperial fort took no notice of them save a quick glance before continuing on their patrol. As soon as they passed the fort, the ground began to climb. Narsil and company followed the road up through a stand of twisted, leafless trees, keeping their hands on their weapons as darkness fell.

Quite abruptly, there was a shrieking noise from above, and a flurry of wings. Narsil drew his sword. "Cliff racers!" he shouted.

The flock of cliff racers was ten strong, and they dove upon the adventurers with deafening shrieks. Narsil hacked up at one of them, his blade tearing through the wing membrane before sticking in its body.

"Form up!" he urged the others. "Get to the trees! They won't be able to attack us all at once!"

Jethro cursed as they walked through the rough and dead terrain. Everything was lifeless here, other than the occasional enemy that wanted nothing more than to kill you. The roads were dangerous nowadays, but at least it was a little more exciting than a normally boring walk.

As soon as the shrieks of the cliff racers rang through the air, Jethro ripped out his wakazashi, ready for battle. The flock dove at them, causing Jethro to get a few cuts as they flew at him and the others.

"Dammit, I hate these things!" Jethro yelled, cursing. One of the cliff racers dove at him and Jethro stabbed it in the neck as it impaled itself through his blade with the force of its kicked. He ripped it out and slashed at another cliff racer, causing it to back down for a while.

Jethro nodded when he heard Narsil and started to race towards the trees with the others, turning about and backpedaling every so often to ward off another cliff racer. He hoped they could make it through this small battle. It would be very shameful to be killed by a flock of these annoying beasts.

The cliff racers were impeded by the branches of the trees, unable to strike from above as was their wont. One folded its wings and dove between two trees, only to be skewered on Narsil's outstretched claymore. He shook the creature off and moved the blade in a wide slash from his left shoulder to his right hip, the blade nearly severing the neck of another cliff racer.

When almost a dozen cliff racers lay dead on the ground, the remainder of the flock broke off, flying north up the foyada in a flurry of wings. Narsil let his blade fall from the guard position and let out his breath heavily. "This island is perilous indeed," he muttered. "Too many of those hellbirds flying around."

His armor clanked as he strode out of the trees, kicking a cliff racer's corpse out of his way. "Gentlemen, shall we proceed?"

"Yes please..." Jethro said, annoyed. "Nothing frustrates me more than a cliff racer. Nothing."

Jethro wiped the blood off of his blade onto the carcass of one of the dead beasts and sheathed it. He was glad they took care of most of them. He hated those beasts. Jethro sighed, wiping the sweat off of his brow.

"Now then, let's hurry onward and hope we don't have to run into another flock of those winged bastards," Jethro said, grumbling.

"If we want to continue this journey without those damned Cliff Racers impeding our way, we should probably stay beneath the tree's canopy." Thalmir said as he wiped the blood from his Akaviri Katana.

Strapping his shield to his back again, he continued on. The three of them climbed over long, rough roots to large trees, and over brush and bramble. The sun was just starting to go down... a foreboding time to journey in this hostile territory... and all to find a mystical box. Thalmir held back a long sigh from within. This mission was only just starting.

"A good suggestion," said Narsil. "Unfortunately, I don't think there will be many trees past here." He sighed, looking up at the sky. "We'll have to hope that the cliff racers don't return." He moved forward, keeping his sword drawn.

"I can see a Dwemer bridge ahead," he said, looking uphill through the gathering fog. "We should cross as quickly as possible. Arkngthand should be to the south on the far side."

As the trio set off across the bridge, a shape suddenly loomed up out of the fog. It was a man in full iron armor, an axe clutched in his hand. He pointed a hand towards them and shouted a word of power. Narsil dove aside, narrowly escaping being crisped by a fireball. As he got to his feet, he saw a group of five skeletal warriors rising from the bridge, wielding a variety of silver weapons.

"A bandit guard, and a competent spellcaster at that," muttered Narsil. "This day keeps getting better." Raising his claymore, he let loose a battle cry and ran forward.

"Lovely, the walking dead," Jethro said sarcastically, drawing his wakazashi once more and charging the enemies before them. They were outnumbered once again, but these skeletal warriors were probably lesser in strength compared to that man in the iron armor. Overall, this battle probably wouldn't be the biggest of challenges.

Jethro jumped forward, deflecting the falling blades of one of the skeletal warriors. He slashed to the side, knocking off the sword bearing hand of the skeleton, and slashed once more at its head, sending it flying to the side. With a kick, he sent the now lifeless pile of bones to the ground.

"What a pushover," Jethro said, scoffing. He turned to another skeleton and leaped at it, his sword raised and a determined grin on his face.

Thalmir bashed a Skeleton with his shield twice, bringing the blade of his katana into its boned body, breaking it to pieces with each slash. When it moved no more, he wiped his brow with a gilded hand, then went onto his next target.

"It is as though all the creatures of this land are trying he fell us." Thalmir said as he took down another dead warrior.

Narsil's claymore smashed through the ribcage of a skeleton, breaking the hand holding its axe from its body. The creature hurled itself on him, bony fingers grasping at his throat, until he crushed its skull with a heavy blow from the pommel of his sword. The creature collapsed, the spirit that animated it fleeing from its mutilated prison.

The bandit, armed with a single-bladed axe and a shield, rushed Narsil. The Dunmer's blade clanged off of the bandit's armor, and Narsil was forced to sidestep to avoid being felled by the axe. He brought one booted foot around, trusting to the metal toes to protect his feet, and kicked the bandit hard in the knee, where the armor was weakest.

There was a clang, and the man screamed as his leg bent inwards. His axe clattered to the bridge, his fingers curling into claws with the pain. He stumbled a few steps back and, pointing at Narsil, rasped a word of power.

Narsil ran forward, claymore raised, before a fireball engulfed him.

Thalmir rammed the blunt edge of his sword into the bones of yet another skeleton warrior. Grunting as he cracked open the rib cage, then receiving a great shriek from the beast, he ripped his blade away, swinging sidelong into another. Holding his shield out before him, he bashed and bashed at their foes until he could see their white-boned feet laying lifeless (again) upon the ground.

"Curses... why in the world would this be happening out here. In Cyrodiil, the undead at least stay underground!" Thalmir stated in mid sword-swing.