The contract, my reowking of some of Oblivion's events Options

[Remko]

Well, since I was specially asked by a fiend, I will be posting this one as well. I was re-reading it and couldn't conclude otherwise that it's obvious it was the first fan-fic I wrote. Hope it isn't too disappointing.

Chapter1: The hangover

He woke up with his head throbbing and a woozy feeling in his stomach, a silent witness to the night before. ‘Ooohhh, I really should stop drinking that cheap rubbish,’ the hung-over Altmer thought, while cradling his head in self-pity. A severe burst of pain rushed through his forehead and he wished he had paid more attention when they tried to teach him the fine arts of restoration. He barely knew how to heal minor wounds, let alone cure a serious hangover. Or even how to get rid of a bump that had mysteriously manifested itself on his head and he couldn’t help but wonder where that had come from. His recollections on the previous days were still somewhat blurry.

‘Now to open my eyes,’ he murmered to himself. Reluctantly the Elf opened his eyes and immediately shut them again in agony of the bright light that greeted his new day through the bars of his small, square cell.
Although the light was a lot dimmer than he had anticipated it was still hurting his eyes and consequently, the throbbing in his head got worse. Quickly he shut them again. A grunt of agony left his throat. ‘Where in oblivion am I?’ he wondered while re-opening his eyes, slowly this time, and took a few glimpses through his squinted eyelids. First things he became aware of now he finally could take a decent look around, was that mouldy, green bricks and a metal gate in one of the walls enclosed him. Definitely not the room he had rented in the Talos plaza hotel a couple of days before the events that, apparently, got him thrown in jail.
‘Not again….. By the Nine, how am I getting myself out of here this time?’ he sighed.
This damp, cold confinement seemed familiar from the last time. But, then again, he had noticed all jails tend to look the same throughout the empire. It was just another cell, just like all the others.

A raspy voice broke through the relative silence of the morning:’You are never getting out. You are going to die here, you snotty Altmer hahahaha!’ Gently he sat up from the stone slab. A damned lousy excuse for a bed but what could he expect from a prison? A brief throb of pain though his head, this time in the area of his temples, rather than his forehead, rudely reminded him of his condition. He wished he had something decent to drink instead of something you wash your clothes in.

‘Yeah, yeah, sure,’ he whispered and made a face, while trying to rub his stiff, sore back. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t really reach the spots that hurt the most, which disgruntled him even more. Why couldn’t he just lie down and die? Death appealed a lot more to him than this bloody hangover. Judging by the taste in his mouth something had already died in his mouth so he figured he might as well pass on too.
The banter from the opposite jail carried on some time but Hargeth just ignored it. If he hadn’t been feeling so miserable, he would probably have taken offence in it but he really didn’t feel like acknowledging that pesky Dunmer how he felt about it. As there isn’t really a point harassing someone who just ignores it, the Dark Elf soon grew weary of it. He did make a mental note though. A lot could be said about Hargeth but not that he is the most forgiving type and even less when he has been drinking. The last individual thinking that was now sleeping with the slaughterfish. The memory on that particular incident brought a shade of a smile on his face.

Returning to the present day from his wandering thoughts, he wondered if the guards had left anything to quench his terrible thirst. The convict turned his head, slowly; to make sure the throbbing in his head wouldn’t return in the severity it hit him last time. In a corner there was a tan pitcher with some fluid in it that could be identified as, well, wet. Calling it water would be an insult to real water. He was actually glad that it was a tan pitcher so couldn’t really see the colour of what was in it. ‘Hmmm, smells like rat piss,’ he grumped while bringing the pitcher to his mouth to quench his thirst and to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth, briefly hesitating uncertain of what was in the pitcher but then decided he didn’t really care. It could hardly be worse than his current state. He took a careful sip but even that upset his stomach and made him loose whatever he still had in it. ‘It IS rat piss,’ he thought and agrily tossed the pitcher in a corner shattering it in a lot of pieces. And if being in jail with a terrible hangover didn’t suffice, sure enough, a shard bounced back and cut him in the face. ‘Oh great!’ Frustrated he wiped the welling blood from his cheek, again cursing the lack of attention he had paid to learning restoration. He made a second mental note to start with that, well, when he got out of jail that was.

Because of the racket he had made the Dunmer prisoner noticed Hargeth had hurt himself which was enough for him to start mocking his fellow in-mate in the opposite cell again. ‘Keep that up and you will have the guards save out on a lot of fun!’ and almost fell to the floor laughing.
‘I hope you choke in it!’ A growl from the opposite cell was its reward. Hargeth couldn’t care less and went back to feeling sorry for himself.
His thoughts wandered a while when he heard the distinct clang of armoured guards coming down the stairs to the cellblocks. Casually they strolled passed the front cells while taunting the prisoners in the cells there.

‘How did you like your…. beverage?’ a fat, balding guard asked him with a smug grin on his face while looking at the remains of the pitcher.
‘I guess my suspicions weren’t too far off, rat-piss, guard-piss, all the same,’ Hargeth replied and immediately regretted making that comment. The barely hidden insult triggered the guard to come into his stinking cell and rewarding him with a couple of cruel kicks to the stomach, much to the Dunmer in the opposite cell’s amusement.
Shuddup or you’s next Dreth!’ the guard barked towards the opposite cell. Valen Dreth was quick to shut up and withdrew into one of the darker corners of his cell. The Dark Elf had probably learned the hard way as well.

His nose had a strange angle in it, indicating his nose had been broken too, probably by the same guard. Most guards he had encountered in previous stays in prison scattered over the empire were kind compared to this one. This particular guard knew exactly where to beat into prisoners where it hurt the most. It was likely he practised a lot in being efficient in crippling prisoners. What was a captain doing a simple guard’s work anyway? It seemed Hargeth more and more likely the fat guard was just a sadistic honoured user taking pleasure in abusing prisoners. Or did the Legion really didn’t have anyone else for the job? Hargeth had hoped the distraction the Dunmer, Dreth had created would have kept the guard from making it worse but, much to his dismay, the guard wasn’t finished yet.

The guard, who fancied a drink himself judging the man’s breath, which still heavily reeked of ale from earlier, had spotted the remainders of Hargeth breakfast from the day before, or even the day before that. Hargeth couldn’t for the world remember. The guard’s face split in two by a very grim smile.
‘Are ya foulin’ up me cell? Ya know wot that means, don’t ya?’ the guard, obviously, rhetorically asked. Not that the guard would be able to spell rhetorical or even would know what it means but for Hargeth that made no difference what so ever. Of course Hargeth knew, having spent his fair share in jails.
He braced for the inevitable steel gauntlet in the face and the steel boot in the guts, kind of treatment. ‘That’s another similarity between a lot of jails,’ Hargeth grimly thought.
Unfortunately for him, he was right. The guard grinned slyly and whipped his steel gauntlet in Hargeth’s face. He could hear his nose breaking with a sickening snap just before he hit the ground like a ragdoll. In no time at all his entire face was covered in blood that came pouring out of both his nostrils.
Quickly he rolled himself up into a ball to protect himself the best he could against the relentless kicking of the guard. Most of the blows landed in his back and stomach. Then the guard kicked him in the head with his steel boots, he fought to remain conscious but it was futile. His whole world went spinning and then went black. Just before he passed out he thought:’If I’m ever getting out of this rathole, you best watch your back because I will be coming for you….’

When he re-gained consciousness, most of the light had faded and so had most of his hangover. His physical condition had hardly improved though. Instead of the throbbing headache it now was a constant whining in the back of his head. Apart from that, he had bruises everywhere. Even in places he didn’t know he could bruise. Gently he touched his nose and cringed in pain almost to the point of bringing a tear into his right eye.
‘Yep, that’s broken for sure…’ he couldn’t help but chuckling to himself over his misfortune, immediately collapsing in terrible agony. Apparantly, he had broken a rib as well. After recovering from the agony, he gently went to inspecting the rest of his injuries.
Softly he touched his left cheek with the tips of his fingers. The tan shard had made a shallow gash, about one, maybe one and a half inch long. At least it had already stopped bleeding and there was a crust of dried blood covering it.

He also realised in disgust the beating he got by the guard had caused Hargeth to have fallen exactly in the spot where he had lost his breakfast earlier. The smell of the regurgitated food in his shirt almost made him gag.
The garment hadn’t been too clean before the incident, now it was almost too dirty to touch, let alone wear it. To add to his misery, try as he might, it was virtually impossible for him to take the sackcloth shirt of with the broken rib. He couldn’t raise his arms enough because of the pain so he would have to reside with it. He was really starting to dislike that particular guard.

‘You alright?’ A gentle, throaty voice, probably a Khajiit female, asked from the cell next to him, breaking him out his contemplations
‘What do YOU care?’ he snarled. The prisoner didn’t respond again. ‘Nice Hargeth, real nice, finally someone to talk to and you bite of his head. Just great.’ His temper hadn’t improved at all.
Piece by piece he had been puzzling back together some of the circumstances that had got him thrown in prison. From what he had recollected, things were looking bleak for him. It appeared to him unless some kind of miracle would happen he was going to be stuck here for a long time. The Imperial Legion didn’t take kindly on murder. Especially when a guard is involved. Most of the details were still fleeing him but he remembered vaguely it was a contract gone sour. Had he been betrayed? He really didn’t know. He didn’t really care either. His profession had taught him not to look back unless you don’t care what’s ahead of you. That usually was the tip of a sword so he’d better care what’s ahead.

The harsh words awoke the Dunmer in the opposite cell. Dreth had a strange smile around his lips. The grey haired, light blue skinned Elf obviously had enjoyed seeing Hargeth being beaten up. Hargeth couldn’t really blame him; he would’ve probably done the same in his place. It had been a long time ago he had felt so utterly helpless. He made a promise to himself to never let that happen again. And then threatened the Dunmer to toss a fireball into his cell if he’d open his gob again. Ofcourse Hargeth knew that wasn’t really useful with Dunmer being heridatary fire resistant, but it at least would be good for a laugh.
‘Maybe I’ll do it anyway, just to annoy him.’ The thought made him smile, which was quite rare. But then he realised that would probably lead to another beating by the guards.
‘Bugger..…’

The days grew shorter and longer again. In the passing weeks and months he had decided now was a good time to catch up on his restoration skills, rather than waiting until he got out.
He had to be careful not to let the guards catch him practicing his magic though, so he only practiced at night. A few days before he had been careless and the guards had caught him practicing. He had paid a bitter price for his carelessness. Another beating and, as a result, a dislocated shoulder. He thought that after the fractured rib other injuries could hardly be more painful. How wrong had he been. He had to use a wall to slam his dislocated arm back into his shoulder. The sheer pain of this had made him loose his consciousness. This setback didn’t put him off practicing though, it only made him more determined. The determination had started to get him somewhere. The restoration spell he never had managed to cast wasn’t so hard for him anymore and he used it to ease some of the pain of his broken rib that still plagued him.
Next, he applied it to his shoulder. He could feel the strange light tingling sensation of muscles contracting and regaining some strength. When he also tried it on his nose, it only made him sneeze, changing nothing. He rested with the fact his nose would forever be visible in the inner corner of his right eye.

More weeks passed, nothing much changed. Dreth had annoyed him some more and eventually Hargeth actually lobbed a fireball in his cell while the Dunmer prisoner was soundly asleep. The dry grass in the cell had caught fire in no time, clouding the cell in thick, black smoke.
Valen woke up because of the smoke penetrating his nostrils. ‘What the..’ Dreth didn’t continue his tirade because of a sneeze and then got up from bed, while cursing Hargeth in several languages, to put out the fire. The Dunmer was jumping around in his cell to stamp it out, still swearing, much to the other prisoner’s hilarity. Inevitably, it alarmed the guards and it got Hargeth in trouble once again. He was almost getting used it to it, hadn’t it been for the beating to his head. At least it made the day less dull.

‘If they beat me enough, maybe they can straighten out my nose again,’ he thought, while being punished by the guards. It appeared the guards hadn’t much better to do but tormenting prisoners. That moment he promised himself he was getting out of this godforsaken prison alive and rather sooner than later. Besides practicing his restoration skill he also started getting back in shape by doing physical exercise, as far as the small, square dank cell allowed, to get his strength back up. Months of basically doing nothing had weakened him. He wouldn’t stand a chance against anyone outside in this condition.

Clang, clang, clang.. The jailors were doing their round again. The ruckus had awoken him from his sleep. Since a couple of weeks the guards started to stray from their usual schedule and started patrolling more random. Hargeth didn’t like it one bit. Did the guards know about his secret plans? Once again, the guards found a reason to torment the blonde Altmer. In his sleep, unknowingly, he had tumbled the bowl for his excrements over. The smelly guard, as Hargeth started to call him in his mind, was about to enter his cell to punish him for the hidious crime Hargeth had committed by kicking over the waste bowl when another guard shouted:’Captain Avidius, Hayn wants to talk to you!’ The fat, smelly guard grumbled something barely audible but Hargeth could tell with his, for a Mer, keen sense of hearing Avidius had little respect for his collegue.

‘Interesting,’ he thought, and abscent-mindedly pulled his pointed ear. Of-course he didn’t let the smelly guard show he had heard the comment Avidius had made about Hayn. Avidius gave Hargeth a final cruel kick in his back and left the cell. From the corner of his almond shaped eyes the Altmer prisoner spotted something else interesting. Avidius was carrying around a small bottle. ‘That could be useful,’ he thought. Hargeth had always been quick in spotting opportinities in the simplest of things. For instance, broken bottles make excellent weapons. He grinned slyly when he thought about how he had found that out. Spending a lot of time in shady inns did have its advantage after all.

Avidius slammed the gate shut with a loud bang to make sure all the prisoners were awake. Angrily the guard made his way back to the offices, grumbling and swearing at everything and about everyone. Hargeth noticed he was possibly even more drunk than usual. The ale smell on his breath alone was enough to notice he had been drinking heavily. A more amusing telltale was that Avidius could hardly walk in a straight line, bouncing into the grey stonewalls, when he made his way back to the guardroom. ‘I really need to get out of this place.’ A cunning but dangerous plan was starting to form in his head.

[Remko]

Your command Myliege/Milady

Chapter 8: The cave

During Rhialla’s absence, Do’Sjiri had started teaching Hargeth what he knew about combat and any other convenient skills related to their job that was ahead of them. Many days they spent training physical skills, long runs through the forest was almost a daily returning ritual and combat skills. Although he understood it was necessary, Hargeth preferred to refer to their runs as chores, he hated doing them. But he wouldn’t show how much he detested it to the cat running next to him. It was probably because of the fact it seemed practically effortless for Do’Sjiri while he was panting and sweating heavily himself.

More often than not, his sweat ran from his brow into his eyes, causing him to rub his eyes so they would hurt even more.
After their run they would go to their improvised shooting range to practice bow and knife-throwing skills for a large part of the morning. After that they would quickly refresh themselves and continue with practicing swordplay. Do’Sjiri showed him moves and ways to dodge attacks he would have never thought possible. On one of these days, a day Pilatus had been exceptionally tough, just when he was about to drop his sword in exhaustion, Do’Sjiri quickened up the pace of his attacks, forcing Hargeth to keep defending himself to prevent injury that would require Rhialla to patch up.

‘I can’t go on,’ he thought while lifting his sword once more to block one of Do’Sjiri’s thrusts. His right arm and shoulder was burning and his throat was dry. With a clang the longswords met mid-air. The sheer force of the blow sent a shudder through his body. ‘Please, stop,’ he begged. ‘If we continue, it won’t take long for me to make a mistake and you will need to find another dumb honoured user to do the job.’ Do’Sjiri nodded, ‘You’re right, time to cool down,’ the feline said while lowering his sword.

Hargeth let out a sigh while he just let the sword drop on the sun dried ground. They didn’t use practise swords for two reasons, Do’Sjiri had explained why. First of all, they didn’t have any, a stick from a tree is too light to effectively simulate a real sword and second, practising with real swords gave a feeling of real combat, where there was no room for errors, just like in real combat.

For the time of the year, the last few days had been exceptionally hot. No rain had quenched the earth’s thirst for days, early spring flowers had already started to whither, leafs on trees and shrubs were turning brown instead of green. Dust was dancing to the song of the wind and the men’s feet. All in all, it was a strange spring and not just because of the weather.

Exhausted and panting heavily, Hargeth wiped the sweat of his brow, leaving dirty trails all over his face from the mix of dust and sweat on his arms. Amused, Do’Sjiri watched him trying to get the dirt from his face, only making it worse.
It didn’t take the Elf long to realise his efforts were futile and headed to the small pond in the vicinity of their campsite to clean himself up from the sweat and dirt.

Even though the heat had whithered most of the natural spring beauty, the vegetation around the pond was still breath-taking. A small waterfall poured crystal clear water from the highlands into the pond, keeping it relatively cool and thriving with a large variety of fish and other aquatic life forms. Dragonflies in all sizes and colours hummed around the flowers. The waterfall threw up a wet mist; colourful flowers and flowering plants in the direct surrounding were provided with plenty of water, it was like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

The beauty of it was wasted on the exhausted and dirty Elf. Uncaring he waltzed right through a multi-coloured flowerbed, trampling several fragile flowers in his path to feel the temperature of the water by wading in upto his knees. The coolness of the water made his skin horripilate. He shivered for a moment; the temperature of the water was in contrast to the heat of the air above it.

Grinning boyishly, he undressed quickly, threw his clothes on the bank, ran into the pond until the water was too deep to run and plunged himself in with a big splash, disturbing the Lillies floating on the surface. Several frogs croaked insulted and dove off from the Lillypetals they had been sitting on.

He had never enjoyed bathing but the weeks outside had changed him. He started appreciating the fresh air and the lack of confinement of the cities. Even swimming pleased him. He couldn’t but conclude that he hadn’t been as happy and healthy as he was now than ever before in his life. The introspection made him smile.

For a while he swam around until his skin was starting to wrinkle. Frowning; he had never seen that before, he left the pond, gathered his clothing and shook the water from his hair. Drying up was easy, by the time he had put his loincloth back on and had walked back to the camp most of the moisture on his skin had already evaporated in the blistering heat of the afternoon.

‘Now for some lunch,’ he thought on the way back. The bath and the rest had stirred up his appetite and made his stomach rumble. ‘I hope there’s still something left,’ he thought doubtful, remembering how little they had with them when they had made camp nearby the small cave Rhialla had suggested.

The empty table on the campsite proved his suspicion, what little they had, had either gotten wet in the last rain a week ago, or had already been eaten. He would have to go hungry until they were able to gather new supplies.
Do’Sjiri was ahead of his thoughts; the feline was preparing to go hunting. Like last time, Hargeth decided to not accompany the expert hunter and decided to explore the nearby cave instead.
‘Do we have something like a torch?’ he asked the occupied Khajiit.
Do’Sjiri made a vague gesture towards the saddlebags they had taken. ‘Should be a single torch in there somewhere,’ he added to his gesture.

Hargeth couldn’t remember finding a torch when they had first emptied the saddlebags to see what’s in them but Do’Sjiri had been right, the second pair held a single torch. Conveniently, also a pair of fireflints was in the bags.
After gathering the items he would need for his little exploration-trip he put on the clothes Rhialla had given him, put on the boots borrowed to him by Do’Sjiri and buckled up one of the sword-sheaths. The silver blade came out of its sheath with a hiss. Checking the sword he found out it was still very sharp. A small burr had made a tiny cut in his left index finger. Annoyed he stuck it in his mouth and sucked of the drops of blood. Except for the negliable burr, the blade was flawless and well balanced. ‘A first class weapon if I ever saw one,’ he mumbled while re-sheathing it and headed North towards the cave.

The entrance had been harder to find than he had hoped. Vines were obscurring the door; Hargeth had almost missed it if it hadn’t been for a barrel cover lying on the ground. Tearing away most of the vines and several spider-webs he found the barrel and the entrance to the small cave as well. A spoiled lettuce head and pair of carrots were on the bottom of it. He left the lettuce but took out the carrots and ate both of them before entering the cave.

The door wouldn’t budge when he gave it a little push. The hinges were very rusty; it appeared the door hadn’t been opened in months, maybe years, if Rhialla was right, it was very likely to be abandoned, except for some critters that might sneak through the holes in the door. Ignoring stealth he kicked the door, the force of his entire weight behind the single blow shattered the entire rotten door, leaving only the hinges hanging. While thinking he hadn’t really anticipated that, he lit his torch and entered the cave.

The entrance led to a narrow hallway with extinguished torches on the wall. When he tried to light them, they sputtered and soon died again. Shrugging he continued to work his way towards, from what he could tell, a larger room at the end of the corridor. He could see movement further down so decided to extinguish his torch, at least for a while and sneak towards the room unseen and if he was careful enough, unheard as well.

Arriving in the larger area, the movement he had seen turned out to be a rather large rat that lunged for him the moment he got close to it. Disgusted, yet thankful he had put on the boots, he swung his right leg towards the rat, hitting it mid-air, sending the now very discouraged rat a few yards through the air. Scared it scurried into a dark corner and disappeared. ‘That’ll teach ya, attacking much larger animals than you,’ he grimaced. Except for the rat, some rocks, some wrecked crates and a pair of empty barrels the area was deserted. Disappointed he dug up the fireflints from his pocket, lit his torch and started making his way to what appeared another corridor in the back of the room.

A sudden draft almost extinguished his torch, making the shadows dance on the walls eerily.
After, what he estimated were a few minutes, the corridor he had spotted forked into two passages. He decided to take the passage to the right; he’d be back to check on the one to the left when he was finished with the one he headed into. The trail was weaving from right to left, completely disorienting Hargeth. Not that it mattered. Until now, there had been no sidetracks; there was no way he could get lost. It was a lot longer than he had thought; the temperature in the corridor had significantly dropped to the point he was getting cold. He could see his breath forming small clouds and small condense puddles were formed in holes in the uneven path.

When he laid his hand on one of the walls he could feel it wasn’t natural. Someone, or something - the thought an animal big enough to be able to dig such a burrow made him shiver - had dug it. The walls were too equal, it felt artificial, assuring him it had been dug by someone and not by some hungry predator, waiting for its lunch to wander in. The passage led on, clearly down and further into the mountain, as it was getting colder every few minutes. Suddenly, the passage just stopped, it led absolutely nowhere. ‘Damn it, all for nothing. A bloody dead end!’ he cursed angily.

Preparing to make his way back, he wheeled around on his heels but slipped on the soggy, clay surface, dropping his torch in the process. With a sizzle it extinguished. In an effort to keep himself upright he grabbed around him, anything to prevent him falling into wed, cold mud beneath him. Fortunately, his right hand got hold of something, he couldn’t tell what in the now pitch-black corridor. It felt like moss-covered wood, untouched for ages. Slowly his support slid down, ending with a silent click.

‘What the hell?!’ he exclaimed surprisedly. A hole in the wall had opened; exposing what appeared to be a small chest. ‘Hope it isn’t trapped,’ he whispered. He brought his hands towards the chest to pick it up but changed his mind in case it was. He drew his sword and tried to pry the chest open with the tip of it. It was locked. ‘I’ll be damned before I leave it behind,’ he commented while using his sword to lift the chest from the cravess in the wall. He thanked The Nine it wasn’t that heavy and put it on the ground to search for his torch. A few moments after he had found it he had lighted it and picked up the chest underneath his right arm. He resisted the urge to stop and open the chest and started to make his way back to the fork.

Getting back was a lot more tiresome. On the way down he hadn’t really noticed how steep the decline had actually been. After several turns in the trail he was panting heavily. His thighs and calves were burning with the effort and his stomach was rumbling again as well. The carrots he ate earlier had helped, if only for a little, but now he felt famished again.

‘This better be worth it,’ he said softly while looking down to the chest underneath his right arm and continued his struggle upwards. Luckily, the inclination diminished the higher he got and just when he thought it was going to take forever, he had reached the fork in the path again. ‘Lunch will have to wait, I wanna know what’s down there,’ he thought while putting down the chest. He preferred to have at least one hand free in case he’d encountered some sort of resistance.

‘Gods, I hope I find something decent to eat, I could eat a horse.’ The irony of his thought wasn’t wasted on him. After all, there was a horse at their campsite and he couldn’t help but snickering over it.
With a final glimpse at the small chest, for unknown reason he found it hard to leave the chest behind but reason took the better of him and he took the fork to the left, leaving the small chest where he had put it down.

After a few turns he got to a strange looking door, not rotten and decayed as the one at the entrance but, strangely enough, in very good state. He frowned as he slowly brought his hand to touch it; it was emitting a faint glow and felt unnaturally warm.
‘Now I really want to know what’s behind it,’ he mumbled and laid his hand on the door to push it open. There was no handle so it was highly unlikely to open up the other way.

It wouldn’t budge the slightest but that didn’t keep him from trying several times before he admitted his defeat. For a while he thought about what to do and then tried the same treatment he had given the door to the entrance. However, the door was either magically sealed or was barricaded from the other side because it wouldn’t open, try as he might. With an annoyed growl he drew the silver sword and swung it at the door with all the strength he could muster from his fatigued body. The weapon hit the door with a resounding clang, but it didn’t even damage the door.

‘Maybe I should’ve brought whatever’s in the box I found,’ he murmered while sheathing his sword and went retrieve his finding. Shortly he returned with it underneath his arm and set it down in front of the door. Carefully he set to work trying to open the chest. First he once more tried to pry open the chest with his sword but failed except in breaking off the tip of the sword. Closing his eyes in concentration he summoned a powerful spell to open the chest magically instead of with brute force.

He knew the spell would entirely drain him of magical energy but his curiosity prevailed over his self-preservation. The chest reacted to his bidding and slowly flipped open without a sound. In it was an item, faintly resembling a key. It was dull, deep black. It didn’t reflect any light and felt cold to touch. Ignoring the sudden sense of despair the key gave him he took the key-like item to the door in front of him but there was no keyhole.

‘Oh great, a key, but no keyhole, just my rotten luck,’ he rolled his eyes while turning around in defeat and threw, what now appeared useless and worthless, the black key over his shoulder. A draft of fresh air blew out his torch. In amazement he turned around to see what had happened. Dumbstruck he took a few steps into what was behind the door and picked up the key. ‘Not quite as worthless as I thought,’ Hargeth mumbled and put the key into his pocket and shuddered when the desparation returned.

Hidden behind the door was a large, dimly lighted room. A silvery glow, from rays of sunshine entering the room through many small holes high up in the walls, close to the ceiling, entered the majestic room; making it possible to see without a torch or magically enhanced vision. In awe he stood a while, taking in the beauty of the room.

White pillars, exquisedly decorated with unknown symbols, made the room look like a chapel. The pillars, made from a material he had never encountered before, reflected the light, bathing the entire room, even the corners, in a dim gloom. Several dusty statues, completely untouched by the past eras, were standing in the six corners of the diamond shaped room. All of them wore a crown of some sorts, made from a different material than the statues.

‘That might be worth something,’ he thought with an amused sparkle in his bright green eyes while putting down his sword and torch at the base of a statue and started to climb it.

Shortly after he held a crown in his hand and turned it over several times to have a good look at it. It was made from a strange material and had symbols on it, much like the ones on the white pillars and was surprisingly light. As he gently wiped the dust from it, it started to shimmer with a faint glow. Underneath the dust there were even more symbols, slightly different from the other ones on the pillars but they were just as strange. With a shrug and a smug grin he put the crown on his head, as that was the most practical place to carry it and continued exploring the room. For a moment he considered getting the other five crowns as well but decided against it, he wasn’t really the greedy type and taking one was plenty for him, having only one head anyway. Besides, he would have to climb up onto the other statues as well; the risk just wasn’t worth it to him.

Behind a magnificent throne in the center of the room, at least, he assumed it was a throne, was a chest. It appeared to be made of the same material as the strange door leading to the room he was in.
‘I wonder,’ he thought while rubbing his chin with his indexfinger and thumb. He took the key from his pocket and touched the chest with it. Without a sound the chest opened. Hargeth grinned as he saw what was in it. An expensive looking pendant was lying on a velvet pillow inside. For a moment he was tempted taking it out but then realised it was a magical chest so it might be protected in ways he couldn’t see.

Instead he used his sword to carefully lift the pendant out of the chest. It had been an unnecessary precaution; nothing happened. With a huge grin he slid the pendant from his sword into his hand. The pendant had only one symbol on it and finally he recognised the symbols. Although he couldn’t read them, he knew for certain they were Ayleid. Placing the pendant around his neck; he had found it, he might as well wear it, energy vividly coarsed through his veins, sparks jumped between his fingertips, for the first time in his life he felt what it was like to be really powerful. Instinctively; he didn’t understand but somehow he knew exactly how to brandish his new found abilities, he channeled a blast of current through his body and cast it upwards, towards the ceiling.

Completely unexpected, it vanished into thin air as soon as it hit the ceiling. As he expected, a second blast had exactly the same result, none at all.
‘I guess the creators protected themselves against their own power, I wonder why.’ He pondered over it for a while with a frown and then decided it was of no real consequence to him.
Starving yet satisfied with his findings he made his way back to the door, only to find it impossible to pass the strange portal. A vague shimmer in the doorway was blocking his passage back into the cave. Not sure what to do he sat down, with his legs crossed. Was it the taking of the artifacts that had activated whatever was keeping him from leaving or just his trespassing into the ancient room? If it was the latter, dropping the artifacts should grant him passage, he reasoned. Reluctant to just leave the treasures behind he threw some dust he gathered from the floor through the passage to test his theory. Nothing happened, apparantly the barrier reacted on the artifacts.

‘I’d hate leaving this behind,’ he thought while gently caressing the pendant around his neck. ‘Maybe it’s just the crown,’ a hopeful thought while taking off the crown and putting it on the floor. Once more he tried to pass the doorway but still it wouldn’t let him through.
‘Goddamnit,’ he cursed while ripping the pendant from his neck and casting it into a corner. A feeling of a severe loss surged through him, as if a part of himself got torn out, the surge of magical energy had vanished as sudden as it had manifested itself within him. With a disappointed sigh he took a last look at the pendant on the ground, wondering why he already had been so attached to the pendant in the short time he had worn it, shook his head slowly and returned his attention to getting out of this place.

The sudden distinct lack of the shimmer in the portal gave him confidence he could now pass but decided to try one more thing to prevent having to leave empty-handed; he picked up the crown with his sword and kept a close eye on the portal. A smile curled his lips as he stepped through the doorway, carelessly twirling the crown around his sword.