#skyrim caves

[leolovesthings]

Blackreach.

[allthingstamriel]

do u have any screenshots or gifs or things of skyrim caves?

I sure do! Some screenshots for your viewing pleasure below :]

You can also look at the cave tag on my blog to see more.

[motrothi]

Falmer mother and child

[otvlanga]

Nords are the Florida men of Tamriel

[wario-land]

Updated my list of favorite game series of all time! I honestly did it just for the fun of listing cool colorful logos

Here's all the stuff i heavily vibe with. My goated faves, as the cool kids say these days

[courttwoknee]

Anyone else listen to Malevolent and imagine it in your head like first person pov like playing a video game where all you see is your hands.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Akatosh, handing the Last Dragonborn over to Paarthurnax: You're gonna want one of these.

Paarthurnax: What does it help with?

Akatosh: Everything.

[wallflowerlovesfrogs]

Lydia: “My Thane, I can hear more witches! We need to take cover!”

The Dragonborn: “Abso-skibidi-lutely.”

[coffee-at-daybreak]

blazing | vilkas x reader

a/n: as requested by a few on ao3, i’ve whipped up a pt 2 to this vilkas fic, although this could probably be read as a one shot too. it’s a bit longer and more dramatic than its predecessor but i hope it’s still good. tysm to those who loved the first part <3

! warning ! for strong language, minor injury and blood, and some slightly suggestive content near the end heehee

The soft, damp earth sinks beneath your boots with every step. Lush evergreen trees pass by you on either side. You can hear a river nearby, trickling and splashing, accompanied by the ambiance of forest insects and animals. And the cloudless sky above is turning from a pale blue to a deep violet, the sinking sun taking the warmth of daylight with it.

Your attention isn’t on the scenery, though. Instead you glare at Vilkas’s back.

He walks a small distance in front of you, his own gaze turned ahead. His armor and clothes rustle slightly with every movement he makes, and occasionally that daunting greatsword strapped to him as well catches the final reflections of the sun. Every now and then, he’ll turn his head to look off of the path or survey the area.

But you’re positive he hasn’t turned around to look at you once.

Anger sizzles beneath your skin and you narrow your eyes at him. It wasn’t your first choice to come along on this mission, either. But with Farkas coming down with a fever, Aela was left to train the new whelps back at Jorrvaskr - meaning you had to be the one to accompany Vilkas. Were it just a simple task, maybe you would have let him come alone. But this was a bandit problem, and it would be unwise to tackle it without a Companion.

You’d left Whiterun this morning, and not one word had been spoken since. Probably because you don’t know what words to say.

The sizzling anger turns into a tingling warmth that flushes your upper body as you recall the last interaction you’d had. What started out as an argument, the heated jabs and words that you were so used to with him… had somehow become a kiss. A passionate, almost needy kiss, one that ended as abruptly as it had happened.

It had only been two days prior, but you still played it over and over in your mind. Restless days and nights thinking about it, about him, wondering how in Oblivion that had happened. And what happens next?

Maybe if he actually spoke or even looked at you, you could be a step closer to figuring all that out. If he would just stop his stupid brooding and-

“I can feel you glaring, you know,” he announces.

You move your eyes up to the back of his head, but he still doesn’t turn around. Your hands clench into fists at your side. “Glaring? Oh, no. I’ve actually been lovingly batting my lashes.”

He shakes his head at the sharp sarcasm in your tone. The rushing of the nearby river starts to fade as you both walk farther away from it, deeper into the forest. It still nearly drowns out the sound of his sigh.

But you do hear it, and your heart responds with a flicker. You don’t know whether it’s irritation or attraction, though. “Are we going to talk about it, Vilkas?” You ask boldly.

He keeps walking, but you notice the way those broad shoulders tense up. “Talk about what?”

Is he serious? Heat runs up your neck as you quicken your pace, trying to fall in closer behind him. “Cute. I didn’t know you were the type to play dumb.”

“I don’t ‘play’ anything,” he counters coolly.

You cross your arms. Having them open just pushes you closer to picking up a pebble and lodging it at him. “Oh, so you just are dumb?”

“Very mature, Harbinger.”

Annoyance pumps through your blood, wanting to come out in the form of words. But they’re an ugly mess in your head - who knows how they would tumble out of your mouth. You want to call him out on the irony- very mature of him to be running from the topic.

But you realize with a sink in your belly that maybe it’s as simple as he does not want to talk about it. Could he be regretting it? That kiss didn’t feel regretful. You can still recall how firmly he had held you, how lavishly his mouth had taken yours. It felt like he was mirroring all the intense emotions you’d been feeling. But maybe his emotions were different from yours.

The thought makes your chest want to cave in on itself.

You look around briefly at your surroundings. You’re somewhere in Falkreath hold, but you’re not sure where. Vilkas is the one with the map. You don’t know how fond he will be of you nudging your way up next to him to take a peek.

“We should look for a stopping point for the night,” you suggest, trying to hide the disappointment in your tone. “The fort is still-”

“Be quiet.”

You snap your head to scowl at him. “I was just-”

“No - Be. Quiet.” His voice is hushed with urgency. He practically whispers it through grated teeth, but you pick up on the shift in his tone, and the way he’s stopped in his tracks.

You come to a halt as well, looking around warily. There’s no sign of life nearby, and it’s hard to see anything in the growing darkness that is starting to envelope everything. You slide your gaze to Vilkas.

He’s still frozen in place, but his hand is poised to reach for the sword at his back. His pale eyes dart around, but they linger on the path ahead of you both.

A tense silence hangs, and you become aware of your heart speeding up, tapping against your chest.

But still, nothing happens. Vilkas slowly lowers his hand glances at you. “I thought I sensed something.”

You frown but you too relax your stance. “Probably just an animal. In case you didn’t know, we’re in the woods. They’re everywhere.”

The glare he gives you is sharp enough to cut stone. You throw back a smirk, trying to play off the fact that his eyes finally being on you makes your pulse quicken even more.

He turns back around. He hesitates another second before continuing his walk down the path, and you start to follow him.

Suddenly, one of the shrubs alongside the path rustles. You notice a strange mass of wavering air, a slight shimmer of movement. Just as it launches out, you recognize it with a plummeting heart - the cloak of an invisibility spell.

“Vilkas!” On instinct, you dart forward. He whips around but you’ve already reached him, putting yourself between him and the attacker just as the spell dissipates.

You see a glimpse of menacing, narrowed eyes under a hood, then your vision blotches over just as pain erupts at your shoulder. The unmistakable white-hot agony of a blade digging into your skin drowns out your senses for a second.

But they come back to you a second later when you see the attacker stumbling back, a fatal slash from Vilkas’s sword across their chest. You feel your legs give out, but you also feel his arm catching you at your back before you can fall back. You hear him saying your name, muffled by the dull ringing in your ears from the pain.

It’s focused in on your shoulder where the dagger still sits embedded. But it feels like it’s spreading, slow and hot, all throughout your body. The wet warmth of blood starts to stain your clothes as well. You draw in a deep, trembling breath, trying to focus on keeping your consciousness.

Vilkas says your name again, but it carries enough volume to almost be a shout- one filled with worry like you’ve never heard before. His arm squeezes around you protectively as he holds you up.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know! What were you thinking?” He demands in a snarl, but there’s a bit of a tremble to it. He keeps looking from you to the collapsed attacker, as if he’s afraid they’ll get back up any second now. But they’re lying motionless on the ground. The scattered valuables that fell off of them tells you they must have been a thief.

“I … wasn’t,” you wheeze. Your head’s foggy, and you try to reach for the dagger.

“No!” Vilkas swats your hand away. “Don’t. We need to get you out of the open first.”

You turn to look at him. Your sight is still a little blurry at the edges, but you recognize that gripping, sharp emotion in his eyes - fear. You feel it yourself, growing much like the pain in your body.

“But where-”

“Up ahead. There’s an old tomb not far.” Vilkas does another quick scan of your surroundings, hurrying to reattach his sword to his back. Then he dives in, one arm staying at your back and the other hooking under your legs, and he scoops you up effortlessly.

You’re so caught off guard that for a second, you forget your situation. “Hey, I can walk!” You try to protest, but just trying to raise your voice leaves you winded. The pain is crawling to your chest, which suddenly feels too tight and strained.

“Shut up. Focus on breathing.” Vilkas orders, moving briskly down the path. All the hurried movement jostles you around, even with his arms firm around you.

You do as he says. You try to hone in on the warmth of his torso instead of the unnerving chills taking over. The pain is seeping farther out, inching its way down your limbs and abdomen. This isn’t just a simple shoulder stab - the dagger must have been poisoned.

Your neck grows weak next, and your head falls against Vilkas’s shoulder. Your eyelids feel heavy, but he gives you a light shake, and you blink.

“Stay awake, you hear me? Almost there,” he rasps, hastening his steps.

Finally, you sense him veering off the trail and into the woods. There’s more jostling and jerking around as Vilkas carries you through the entrance of the tomb. The open sky becomes a stone ceiling, the trees become moss-covered walls. A short flight of steps later, you’re in an ancient embalming room, deep enough that you’re out of sight from the world above but not deep enough to be encountering any more threats yet - hopefully.

Vilkas sets you down with tremendous caution, the comfort of his arms under your legs replaced by the hard, cold plane of a stone table. Your back is leaned up against the wall behind you. One of his hands squeezes your uninjured shoulder, but the other one…

“I’m taking this out now,” he explains as he grips the handle of the dagger. Your hand flies out to grasp his forearm in anticipation, heart pounding. “Deep breath,” he instructs, holding your terrified gaze.

You inhale, and on the exhale, he pulls. Pain lashes through your body, pulling a weak cry out of your throat, and Vilkas winces at the sound. He tosses the weapon aside, the clatter of it echoing through the chamber. Then he shuffles around in his pocket for something.

Your eyes flutter closed, trembling as you start to feel even more faint. Vilkas suddenly gripping your chin makes you jump, and you crack your eyes back open. He’s lifting up a small red potion bottle with his other hand, his gaze locked onto yours with a stern yet pleading emotion.

“It’s for the poison. Drink up.” He tilts your chin up gently and tips the bottle of the potion at your lips. The bitter liquid slips down your tongue and throat, making you shudder.

Vilkas’s hand stays planted at your neck, watching you as he waits for the potion to take action. After a minute, the prickling pain seeping through your blood begins to fade, until the majority of it lingers on the actual dagger wound at your shoulder. You still feel weak, but not teetering on the brink of consciousness anymore.

“Much better,” you murmur weakly. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything, his jaw ticking as he bites his words back, but the relief sweeping through his eyes almost speaks for him.

Another short while passes as the poison further leaves your system, and your heart rate and breathing come to a more steady, normal pace. A weighted silence hangs in the air as Vilkas dresses your wound - not very well, but enough to stop the bleeding and keep it protected until it can be properly healed.

You watch him as he works. He’s so close up, and in the faint torch light of the tomb, you can see the hardened features of his face - his annoyingly handsome face.

“You didn’t get hurt, did you?” You ask quietly, your eyes darting to look over him. But it seems like he was spared from the attack.

He tenses, his hand stiffly securing the bandage at your shoulder. “No.”

“Good,” you exhale. “I was-”

“No, it’s not good.” Vilkas’s hand comes off of you and he steps back. Your heart sinks as the warmth of his body being close to yours fades. You look at him, startled by the sudden ice-cold glare being cast upon you.

“That dagger was supposed to be for me.” He practically hisses the words through clenched teeth. “Why did you do that?”

You frown at him. “It was instinct, really.” He keeps looking at you with a seething scowl, and you blink. “Are you … actually upset?”

“Of course I’m upset!” He gestures at your shoulder, and when his hand falls back to his side, it’s clenched into a fist. “You could have died!”

His words are wrought with anger, but there’s a hint of something like … anguish in his tone. Your chest aches for a second, but his choice of words there makes your own hackles raise.

You shrug. “Then there’d be one less problem in your life.”

Vilkas’s eyes flare, his head making the subtlest shaking motion. “You really are a fool.”

You stiffen and narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a fool for protecting you. For all we know, he could have ended up killing us both.”

“I don’t need your protection,” he growls.

Those words sting almost as bad as the poison you’d just been feeling. But the jab of hurt is replaced by the creeping heat of anger, flushing under your skin and in your belly.

“So, what, you need me to let you get hurt next time?” You retort.

“I need you to not throw your life on the line like that!” He shouts.

You flinch. Unable to form words, you merely look back at him. The expression on his face is all too familiar. The deep pull of his brow, the tight lines of his lips, the agitated clenching of his jaw - that infamous scowl of his that’s been directed at you too many times, at every little disagreement or stare-down you’ve had before.

But there’s something different about his eyes. This time, it’s not gripping ice or chilling rain clouds they remind you of. No, right now, they’re alight with a mixture of emotions so intense that it leaves you stunned. Something pained, something furious, something tender, all dancing together in a captivating mess. It reminds you of fire, actually. And not typical fire, not the warm-colored flames that you see in hearthfires or in destruction magic.

No, his eyes are like fire in its purest form, a blazing shade of blue that makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside out.

“I need-” He pauses as if the words get caught in his throat, but this time, he doesn’t swallow them. He gets them out in an almost choked, hushed tone. “I need you. If … if something happened to you…” He trails off, and looks away.

But you can’t look away from him. Your body still feels like it’s in shock, and you know it’s not from the poison anymore.

“I thought you hated me,” you admit.

Vilkas stares at you again with a tilt of his head and an arch to his eyebrow. “Yes, because kissing you like that means I must loathe you,” he deadpans in his typical sarcasm.

Now you avert your eyes. You shrug, a faint blush growing on your cheeks. “In your defense, I was being an asshole. It was a very effective way to shut me up.”

He exhales, a small huff that is as close to a laugh as you’re getting. “Idiot,” he mutters. But his tone is different. It still makes you mad, for sure - but there’s also a subtle softness to it that sends your traitorous heart fluttering.

“In my defense, it’s hard to tell with you.” You look back up at him, matching that intense gaze of his. “You act a certain way or do certain things that makes me hopeful, then next, you’re … cold, and distant.”

Your chest pangs at remembering how he’d barely acknowledged you on this mission so far. How he’d actively avoided looking at you after that kiss. And though it hurts to think so, you wouldn’t hold it against him if this wasn’t something he wanted to pursue.

He pauses a moment, but then lets out a quiet sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. I suppose I’ve just been afraid.”

Your brow jumps up. “You? Afraid? Not very werewolf of you.”

He levels you a glare that almost makes you visibly shrink. “Watch it. I can still leave you in this tomb and tell everyone you didn’t make it.”

Your lips tug into a small smile, but you keep silent. If he’s really about to come clean about his feelings, then the jokes can wait.

Vilkas draws a slow breath in, as if physically gathering the courage in his chest. He keeps his eyes averted, but you can see the sincerity in them from here. “I’ve been afraid that the moment I face it, it becomes real. Too real. I thought that if I kept you at arm’s length, if I just kept … hating you, then you couldn’t get close enough for me to care about.”

His gaze rises and meets yours. Your skin crawls with simultaneous chills and heat.

“But of course that failed. It didn’t matter how far I stayed away or how much you fucking annoyed me at times.” He shakes his head a tad. “I cared - I still do. And unfortunately, I always will.”

Only he could drop a confession so plain and curt like it’s nothing. You can’t even grasp simple words of your own. There’s so much you want to say, but how to even begin saying it…

You find yourself resorting to the timeless tactic you’ve always used on him - being a pain in his ass.

“I don’t believe you,” you say.

Vilkas looks genuinely shocked for half a heartbeat, and you have to smother another smirk. His expression quickly fuses into his familiar scowl. “What? I just said-”

“I know. But again, it’s hard to tell with you.” You lift your chin in a challenge. “Prove it. Prove that you care.”

He tenses up so much he could blend in with the stone walls around you. “You are the bane of my existence, Harbinger,” he growls.

But of course, his words don’t align with that little flicker in his eyes - something that warms his gaze, and makes you feel warmer when it’s upon you.

He begins to cross the room to approach you. The breath in your lungs nearly stills altogether, but your heart is the opposite, speeding up with every step he takes until he stops, right in front of you and the table you’re still seated on.

For a few seconds, you merely look at each other. He’s the first to momentarily break eye contact when he chances a split-second glance at your lips. Suddenly, the short distance between the two of you feels like kindling, like any more heat will push you to combustion.

But he’s still hesitating. You see the war in his eyes, the clenching of his fists. You wonder if he’s going over the doubts again- the risks that come with becoming more than… whatever you two are.

“If it’s easier,” you murmur, tilting your head up to better look at him, “you can just take a dagger for me next time I’m targeted.”

Vilkas shakes his head slightly, but there’s an unmistakable lift to one side of his mouth. He leans down, planting his hands flat on the table on either side of you, and Gods, his face is suddenly very close. Your heart misses a beat.

“I’d rather show you just how much I loathe you,” he replies, then his mouth is on yours.

The kindling ignites. The rush of blood under your skin feels like flames crawling from your heart all the way to your fingertips. It leaves you absolutely lightheaded, and out of half instinct, half desire, you lift your own arms and sling them around his neck. His broad shoulders flex beneath them as he presses closer, deepening the kiss with so much urgency that you can’t help but gasp into it.

Maybe the overwhelming warmth would be suffocating if it wasn’t so damn amazing. It is easy to forget the chilly cave or the distant ache in your shoulder when you can be lost in him instead, in the delicious press of his body against your own and the almost desperate movement of his lips.

You try to pull him even closer, your legs hooking loosely around him below his waist. He complies, then surprises you by rolling your lower lip gently between his teeth. You shiver in spite of the heat that starts to gather deep in your belly.

You could be burning from the inside out and you wouldn’t care.

One of your hands snakes up to dig into his hair. One of his hands comes off the table and latches around your waist instead. He leans you back just enough to break the kiss, but you only get one precious second to try and catch your breath before his lips start planting their way down your neck. Your lungs nearly seize again, and you crane your head back to give him better access. The feeling of his feathery breath and scratchy facial hair on your skin is blissful, but your entire body is climbing to a new high.

But then of course, like the jerk he is, he stops - abruptly. A small whine of protest dies in your throat as he lifts his head, bringing it in front of yours. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, but it’s nothing compared to the icy heat of his gaze, something more intimate - and attractive - than plain desire.

“Convinced?” He asks huskily, his own breathing still a little ragged like yours.

You would be the very thing he called you earlier - a fool - to deny the meaning of his affections at this point. But that’s part of the fun with him. “Just a little,” you huff around your smirk.

“Don’t worry.” His hand at your waist gives you a tight squeeze, and his lips hover over your own. “I’m not done.”

[scribeofskyrim]

Fredas, 8th of Frostfall, 4E 201

We're at the Winking Skeever, trying to get the chill out of our bones.

I wish I was just talking about the weather.

So, we got up earlier than we usually do so we could have a nice hot breakfast before trudging back up the mountain. It was bitterly cold, and a heavy snow started to fall as we made our way up a path we hadn't tried before.

We ran into an "old" Orc at the top of the hill, surrounded by dead sabercats.

He said that he was old, and that Malacath had given him a vision of a glorious death, so long as he waits right there. He wanted to know if I could give him one.

Yes, he was asking me to kill him. I tried to convince him that he wasn't that old (seriously, he didn't look old at all) and had no reason to die. He was still clearly a strong fighter, and could do a lot more if he wanted to. He explained that Orc men don't like to stick around too far past their prime, for fear of becoming "useless."

He then told us to leave unless we were there to give him the death he wanted.

I wished him luck, and started to walk away when Erandur stopped me, then asked the others to huddle in for a talk.

He begged me to reconsider!

I was shocked that a priest of Mara would ask me to kill someone, but he explained that leaving the Orc here to wait for his death isn't an act of kindness or love at all. It's cruelty. This is his last wish. I granted one to Nurelion; why not him?

I cussed in as many languages as I could, but he was right. There was a problem, though - I'm me, and the Orc was a huge warrior twice my size who clearly had no problem taking out multiple sabercats all at once!

Valdimar argued that maybe the Orc's god was right. He was to wait there, and who should show up but the Dragonborn? Being slain by the Dragonborn would surely be a noble death, right?

I know having some great "Destiny" sounds fun and exciting, but in reality it's short for "Work You Never Asked For And Can't Get Out Of Because The Divines Said So."

Lydia sighed and said that she'd step in if I needed her to.

So, I went back and challenged the Orc to a fight.

He gave me a once over, saw the mage robes, almost complete lack of armor (I have boots), and that I was more than a head shorter than him, and asked if I was sure about that?

I told him to prepare to die in as fierce a voice I could muster (I know it's not very intimidating. I heard Valdimar and Lydia wheezing, then Erandur try to shush them while also holding back a laugh.) and then we fought. I made sure to use a Shout on him so he and his god would know who he was fighting!

Lydia did have to jump in, but honestly I think that made it better for him, if you think about it. The Dragonborn challenged him, and she needed backup! That should sound good in the afterlife, right?

Erandur did a bit of Healing for me, then he and Valdimar set the body aside as respectfully as they could. He said a prayer thanking Mara for the opportunity to share Her Warmth and Benevolence in a such a cold place.

Lydia whispered she always thought all priests were a bit strange in the head, but he was the strangest.

She doesn't know the half of it.

The funny thing is, that felt Real to me. Thinking back to when we met him in Dawnstar, when he was trying his best to calm the townsfolk and everything, it felt a bit… I don't know, kind of like a show? I mean, his care and everything IS real, but how he was doing it felt "off" to me. I could tell he was lying right from the start.

I think I picked up that some of it was fake, like his accent. Went about as well as the time the little theatre troupe that likes to set up in Tiber Square hired a swordsman to play a swordsman. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but in the end it was awful because the swordsman was a swordsman, and not an actor.

Seeing Erandur standing by the dead Orc, in all that wind and ice, saying a prayer while Valdimar stood quietly next to him with his helmet in his hand… That was Real. He was the only warm thing there, like back in Shroud Hearth Barrow.

We were back on the road after that, looking for the bandit's hideout.

It wasn't far, actually, and we found out that Falk Firebeard and the people of Dragon Bridge were wrong about the place. Wolfskull Cave was NOT full of bandits. It was full of Necromancers and the undead!

Also an ancient evil, but I'll get to that.

Out first hints were the skeletons guarding the place. I actually checked the map again, just to be sure. There's a lot of caves up here, but it looked like where the steward marked, so in we went.

It was fairly standard as far as caves go as we went down. It looked like some mining had been going on at some point, and there were a lot of empty wine bottles around. We mostly fought draugr as we went, along with some more skeletons, but soon we ran into a necromancer. Shortly after that we came to a small but high chamber, and a handful more burst out from behind a doorway set into the stone wall, along with their undead minions.

We took care of them, though it was a hard fight. My exploding fire familiar came in handy!

We took a moment to heal up and have some food before continuing through the doorway. Erandur said he could feel an Evil here, and the others nodded. Maybe I felt it, too, but it might have been just because the place was a little creepy.

It got a lot creepier after we went through the door.

We could hear chanting, and a whooshing sound like a strong wind as we went further down. It sort of reminded me of the sound I hear when I learn a word from a Dragon Wall. Before long, the passageway opened up to reveal a massive cavern! There was a huge keep with a big tower built right in the center of it!

Shreds of white -blue light were coming out from cracks in the cave walls, in a series of streams. They came together on top of the tower, and were semi-formed into a glowing feminine figure that floated above the building. It was quite pretty, actually, and I said as much.

Lydia smacked the back of my head, and Valdimar tried to suppress a laugh. Erandur sighed heavily, and I know he had his face in his hand.

The lights were pretty! I mean, if you ignored the fact that we could understand the chanting now, and could tell that the necromancers on top of the tower were trying to summon Potema, the Wolf Queen, it was actually very pretty in that ethereal way, even with the whole "manifestation of evil" thing. It just wasn't a good thing!

On a practical note, we could see several mages performing their ritual on top of the tower, one wandering below us, and a handful of various types of draugr wandering in various levels of the keep. I gestured everyone in for a talk, and said that our usual tactic of going in swinging was probably NOT the best idea, here.

I had a good bead on several of the draugr, so I suggested a combination of stealth and full-on battle. They agreed that was a good strategy, and took up positions on the earthen ramp that led up to our little landing from the main area. I took out as many as I could with my bow (not the best, but good enough) and then we pressed forward, going as quietly as we could.

I just want to say that Septim's such a good boy! He earned himself a mammoth steak tonight! He was very quiet and hardly barked the whole time. He's such a good boy!

Anyway, we went down the ramp and circled through a small tunnel before getting to the keep itself. I hadn't gotten all the draugr, but I had thinned them out enough that we were able to handle them singly, until we ran into several Necromancers on a bridge above us.

Normally that wouldn't be great for us, but I summoned a fire atronach right up next to them! It kept them occupied while Erandur, Valdimar and I hit them with magic. Those two took a while because they kept bringing back the draugr we'd killed, but I'd looted the draugr already, so they weren't able to do much. Septim and Lydia were behind us, literally keeping the undead off our backs.

We made our way quietly up to the top of the tower, but the spirit of Potema sensed us coming. She warned the summoners we were there, so we rushed up the steps. By that time there were only a handful of mages left, and like most mages, they were terrible at fighting up close. Septim attacked the main conjurer, and made her stop the ritual while I got out my axe. The other necromancers tried to block me, but I pushed past and let the others take care of them.

After we killed the main summoner, the ghostly white light - Potema's spirit - rushed out through a hole in the ceiling. I had the distinct feeling it was running away.

With her gone and the ritual interrupted, we took a moment to look over the tower. There was a large circular altar-type slab that took up most of the space. It was covered in a huge sigil written in blood. Valdimar muttered something under his breath and spat when he saw it. Erandur, like at the Butcher's, gave the markings a close examination with his hand over his heart.

Dark Magic, obviously. He whispered to me that he'd seen some of the worst of it during his time with Vaermina, and this… This was Bad. He said we had to get back here, to Solitude, as quickly as possible.

There was a drawbridge that led to a small ledge that took us back near where we had first come in. I hadn't seen it at all when we'd walked past it, but I suppose that's the point. Very handy if you need to escape the cavern in a hurry!

It wasn't that late when we emerged, and I decided to head towards Solitude to see if there was a more direct route down the hill. There's a stone arch on top of some steps leading down not far from the cave, so I went down.

I could see some sort of ruin through the mist and the trees, and when we got closer, I froze in my tracks as a voice suddenly filled my head. It was Meridia!

As before, back when I'd found the Beacon, the others said my eyes glowed white and I spoke in a voice that wasn't entirely my own. Meridia complained about how her temple lay in ruin, and she wanted me to put her Beacon back in its place to claim my destiny!

When I came back to myself I turned right around and went back up the steps.

I've had enough of "Destiny" for one day, thank you very much.

As we went back the way we came (forget looking for another way down, I didn't care) I explained to a very confused Erandur what that was all about. I showed him the Beacon, and he couldn't believe that I had been hauling around a Daedric artifact this entire time.

Me, neither! I can't seem to get it out of my pack!

I mean, I want the space back, so I'll have to do it eventually, and he was reassured that we'd be cleansing the place of evil, so… It can't be that bad, right?

But I'll do that later. By the time we got here it was too late to go see Firebeard, so we're calling it a night.

[helgiafterdark]

[leolovesthings]

you wouldn't believe the absolute STATE this first year college student is in

[ashwithane]

jumps-through-hoops for my pal @dazzlerazz! i hope i did her justice :)

[nicstylus]

The Dragonborn, in fact, went into eight more caves before he got back on track.

[my-screenshot-dump]

[oblivions-dawn]

𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝔻𝕚𝕞𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 ℂ𝕣𝕪𝕡𝕥

a Skyrim journey, 99/?