Tamnihir hiked through the snowdrifts up the mountain outside Dawnstar. Nightcaller temple loomed at the summit, the sun sinking fast into the sea to the left. It was not snowing in earnest yet, but dark clouds were blowing in from the east, and a few ominous flakes were already spiraling down. A harsh wind shrieked across the mountainside, stinging his eyes.
Near the temple the snow was piled knee deep. Usually there was a small space kept free of snow, or even a path down the mountain, but it didn't seem that Erandur had been out in a while. Tamnihir let that thought distract him a little too long. A pair of icewraiths twisted through the air toward him. He leapt back, drawing a fire enchanted dagger, slashing out at them in wide arcs, trying to keep them at a distance.
He summoned a flame atronach that glided off to one side, dripping fire, distracting the second one, while the first took the moment to dive forward. The teeth sank into his arm and he watched for a split second in morbid fascination before the searing pain registered. Instinct led him and he buried the knife in it's translucent head, turning it to a heap of glowing scales and slime as he staggered back, bleeding, the hot blood steaming on the cold air. The atronach crumbled, but the second wraith was nowhere in sight. Neither was it's body. At least it had been frightened off for the time being.
He hammered on the door. No answer.
"Erandur?"
The wind threw his voice back at him, with the whisper of an ice wraith. Was it coming back? Why wasn't the Dunmer responding? Was he dead? Kneeling in the snow by the door he tugged off his gloves--it was impossible to work lockpicks with gloves on--and manipulated the lock until it sprung open. It took several minutes and his fingers aching with cold by the time it was done. The sun had sunk and the wind moaned low, sounding for all the world like an animal in pain. Tamnihir shouldered open the door and stumbled inside, slamming it behind him.
Sitting on the floor he leaned back against the sturdy planks and shut his eyes for a moment. He realized he was shivering still with the bitter cold, and now that the danger was past the pain of his wound was suddenly sharp and immediate. How could Erandur live in a place like this, the Bosmer wondered. Skyrim was a cold and harsh land but this was surely one of it's worst corners.
Maybe Erandur's down in the village, he thought, and I missed him. Gingerly he shrugged off his cloak and unlaced his jerkin, assessing the seriousness of the icewraith's bite. It turned out to be far from dangerous: it was shallow despite the quick bleeding, having been mostly stopped by the armor, and more painful than anything else. One of the punctures had, however, marred the design of vines tattooed down his arm. He frowned in annoyance and bound it tightly with a scarf before putting on a fresh tunic and proceeding past the entry hall. The fact that Erandur seemed to have not noticed the door being opened and shut was worrying.
The chapel was empty.
He's down in the village, Tam thought. He's probably at the inn, and you just didn't check there first. Or he's healing some miner...Tamnihir continued on to the small side room where Erandur slept and stopped in shock. The Dunmer was curled on his pallet, stripped to the waist, his face and chest shiny with sweat, asleep or unconscious. Clumsy bandages were wrapped around his midsection. His breathing was harsh and sounded even louder in the small room. Tamnihir sat by the bed and gently shook the Dunmer's shoulder.
1/?
Near the temple the snow was piled knee deep. Usually there was a small space kept free of snow, or even a path down the mountain, but it didn't seem that Erandur had been out in a while. Tamnihir let that thought distract him a little too long. A pair of icewraiths twisted through the air toward him. He leapt back, drawing a fire enchanted dagger, slashing out at them in wide arcs, trying to keep them at a distance.
He summoned a flame atronach that glided off to one side, dripping fire, distracting the second one, while the first took the moment to dive forward. The teeth sank into his arm and he watched for a split second in morbid fascination before the searing pain registered. Instinct led him and he buried the knife in it's translucent head, turning it to a heap of glowing scales and slime as he staggered back, bleeding, the hot blood steaming on the cold air. The atronach crumbled, but the second wraith was nowhere in sight. Neither was it's body. At least it had been frightened off for the time being.
He hammered on the door. No answer.
"Erandur?"
The wind threw his voice back at him, with the whisper of an ice wraith. Was it coming back? Why wasn't the Dunmer responding? Was he dead? Kneeling in the snow by the door he tugged off his gloves--it was impossible to work lockpicks with gloves on--and manipulated the lock until it sprung open. It took several minutes and his fingers aching with cold by the time it was done. The sun had sunk and the wind moaned low, sounding for all the world like an animal in pain. Tamnihir shouldered open the door and stumbled inside, slamming it behind him.
Sitting on the floor he leaned back against the sturdy planks and shut his eyes for a moment. He realized he was shivering still with the bitter cold, and now that the danger was past the pain of his wound was suddenly sharp and immediate. How could Erandur live in a place like this, the Bosmer wondered. Skyrim was a cold and harsh land but this was surely one of it's worst corners.
Maybe Erandur's down in the village, he thought, and I missed him. Gingerly he shrugged off his cloak and unlaced his jerkin, assessing the seriousness of the icewraith's bite. It turned out to be far from dangerous: it was shallow despite the quick bleeding, having been mostly stopped by the armor, and more painful than anything else. One of the punctures had, however, marred the design of vines tattooed down his arm. He frowned in annoyance and bound it tightly with a scarf before putting on a fresh tunic and proceeding past the entry hall. The fact that Erandur seemed to have not noticed the door being opened and shut was worrying.
The chapel was empty.
He's down in the village, Tam thought. He's probably at the inn, and you just didn't check there first. Or he's healing some miner...Tamnihir continued on to the small side room where Erandur slept and stopped in shock. The Dunmer was curled on his pallet, stripped to the waist, his face and chest shiny with sweat, asleep or unconscious. Clumsy bandages were wrapped around his midsection. His breathing was harsh and sounded even louder in the small room. Tamnihir sat by the bed and gently shook the Dunmer's shoulder.
"Erandur, what happened to you?"