Blue lights lit up the darkest corners of the dead hall while Vilkas felt free to discover it. There was a somber air as bleak as the history it drenched itself in, and the Nord meandered towards the caged coffin- He wouldn't get close. Alone, he wouldn't stand a chance to survive a spring-trap dedicated to protecting Ysgramor's mighty bones. But he sat in the chamber halfway between the Arcane flame and the final resting place of his banished spirit.
And he prayed. For Kodlak's victory in Sovngarde, for forgiveness to clinging to something so corrupt. He prayed for his brother's safety, his own, the glory of the Companions and good fortune. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his chest, the sound of air rushing through his nose.
Opening his eyes was harder than he could imagine, feeling a creaking in his bones as he stood until he honestly felt ill. Exhaustion was something he didn't notice until now, making his eyes blurry and his legs buckle- by the gods, it was so foreign to him. There was no way he could even think of making it back up to Winterhold in this condition, the adrenaline long gone and the demands of his body growing too great.
With a great sigh, he slung his sword across his narrow back and descended the stone steps towards the spiral staircase. He didn't want to sleep here, the ghosts of his past would prove too melancholic. By Ysmir, this was a day to remember. Each step he took up the stairwell claimed more of his energy until he could see the light of Ysgramor's statue room.
He was shocked right back awake by the sight of his Harbinger sitting at a stone bench, cleaning his blades. Why didn't he leave?! Vilkas' heart distressed in his chest at the sight of him standing, seeing the elf's warm smile.
“I didn't want you faring this storm alone. You look so exhausted.” and Vilkas was.
“I'm fine.” So there was a storm outside? Packed, they heaved open the stone doors, Vilkas' pale eyes immediately snowblinded and the bitter ocean cold making his now-sensitive body suddenly feel weak. Vilkas refused to let the exhaustion claim him in the presence of the mer who time and time again feel weak. So he toughs out the ride through blustery winds and choppy waters, Barely able to keep his head up. A dragon right about now would have been the worst possible thing.
The skies settled by the time they touched land again. The Bosmer kept his watchful eyes on his young muse as they began the steep incline hike up the cliffside back towards Winterhold. “If we need to stop you need to tell me immediately, Vilkas.” The slender Nord's knees began to wobble, exhaustion clear on his panting breath all the while insisting that he was “fine” and that they'd “Be at Winterhold within a half hour”. It was nonsense. The Bosmer refused to let up until he grabbed the Nord's larger hand in his own, tugging him up the path until the vicious updraft of sea wind vanished and they where on flat land once again.
Things just seemed to stop critical for Vilkas once he caught sight of the town just down the snowy road. “Just get me to the horse” He'd promised they'd make it back “I can't stay another night here, I just want to get home.” The Artist yanked the tired man to the Inn, Vilkas watching in confusion as he was left alone by the fire with a hooded Altmer while the wood elf jogged out the door.
And there he sat, confused and shivering. The barmaid offered him drink and another night in their room, Vilkas declining and choosing to cross his arms over his chest and watch the fire as his vision faded in and out of focus. The barmaid watched from afar as the companion's head nodded up and down, his eyes fluttering almost like a pup struggling to stay awake.
All three lept in surprise at the door blowing open, the Bosmer's strong arms holding up rolls of pelts and blankets. “Sorry for the wait, but I needed to buy some things from Birna's”
“Why in the world did you buy so many pelts?” Vilkas exclaimed as he rubbed his painted eye, seeing the bulk in the mer's arms nearly covering his head. It actually brought a smile to his face to see the wind knock him off balance and have a soft bear pelt drop at Vilkas' feet. He pulled it up into a bundle in his arms, his jaw dropping.
Purity 6
And he prayed. For Kodlak's victory in Sovngarde, for forgiveness to clinging to something so corrupt. He prayed for his brother's safety, his own, the glory of the Companions and good fortune. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his chest, the sound of air rushing through his nose.
Opening his eyes was harder than he could imagine, feeling a creaking in his bones as he stood until he honestly felt ill. Exhaustion was something he didn't notice until now, making his eyes blurry and his legs buckle- by the gods, it was so foreign to him. There was no way he could even think of making it back up to Winterhold in this condition, the adrenaline long gone and the demands of his body growing too great.
With a great sigh, he slung his sword across his narrow back and descended the stone steps towards the spiral staircase. He didn't want to sleep here, the ghosts of his past would prove too melancholic. By Ysmir, this was a day to remember. Each step he took up the stairwell claimed more of his energy until he could see the light of Ysgramor's statue room.
He was shocked right back awake by the sight of his Harbinger sitting at a stone bench, cleaning his blades. Why didn't he leave?! Vilkas' heart distressed in his chest at the sight of him standing, seeing the elf's warm smile.
“I didn't want you faring this storm alone. You look so exhausted.” and Vilkas was.
“I'm fine.” So there was a storm outside? Packed, they heaved open the stone doors, Vilkas' pale eyes immediately snowblinded and the bitter ocean cold making his now-sensitive body suddenly feel weak. Vilkas refused to let the exhaustion claim him in the presence of the mer who time and time again feel weak. So he toughs out the ride through blustery winds and choppy waters, Barely able to keep his head up. A dragon right about now would have been the worst possible thing.
The skies settled by the time they touched land again. The Bosmer kept his watchful eyes on his young muse as they began the steep incline hike up the cliffside back towards Winterhold. “If we need to stop you need to tell me immediately, Vilkas.” The slender Nord's knees began to wobble, exhaustion clear on his panting breath all the while insisting that he was “fine” and that they'd “Be at Winterhold within a half hour”. It was nonsense. The Bosmer refused to let up until he grabbed the Nord's larger hand in his own, tugging him up the path until the vicious updraft of sea wind vanished and they where on flat land once again.
Things just seemed to stop critical for Vilkas once he caught sight of the town just down the snowy road. “Just get me to the horse” He'd promised they'd make it back “I can't stay another night here, I just want to get home.” The Artist yanked the tired man to the Inn, Vilkas watching in confusion as he was left alone by the fire with a hooded Altmer while the wood elf jogged out the door.
And there he sat, confused and shivering. The barmaid offered him drink and another night in their room, Vilkas declining and choosing to cross his arms over his chest and watch the fire as his vision faded in and out of focus. The barmaid watched from afar as the companion's head nodded up and down, his eyes fluttering almost like a pup struggling to stay awake.
All three lept in surprise at the door blowing open, the Bosmer's strong arms holding up rolls of pelts and blankets. “Sorry for the wait, but I needed to buy some things from Birna's”
“Why in the world did you buy so many pelts?” Vilkas exclaimed as he rubbed his painted eye, seeing the bulk in the mer's arms nearly covering his head. It actually brought a smile to his face to see the wind knock him off balance and have a soft bear pelt drop at Vilkas' feet. He pulled it up into a bundle in his arms, his jaw dropping.