The Immersivist

Just a quick, heartfelt dose of gratitude and thanks to everyone following along on Akhara’s adventure. Your likes and reblogs of her story are deeply and genuinely felt and counted. I appreciate each and every one of you. Strength and honor always, my friends. May your journeys be ever-valorous, your sweet rolls ever-fresh.

The Gauldur Amulet, at last.

Out of the darkness, into the light...

Mikrul Gauldurson in the unflesh.

THE BROTHERS GRIM =================== The moment the rusty iron teeth of the hidden portcullis shrieked into place barring the singular entrance to the ritual chamber, Akhara knew her intuition and experience raiding ancient Nord crypts had served her well. The sounds of several flame wards detonating like fireworks saw the greenskin's mouth twist into a sneer of satisfaction; the warchief notched an arrow to her bow, and let fly. The arrow whistled as it arced through dust-laden air, a mere flash in the darkness as Zephyr delivered the projectile with both precision and speed unmatched. The tip of the arrow, saturated in a perilously flammable and incendiary alchemical mixture, struck true, burying itself into the time-weakened, ebony leathers of the most recently detombed undead warlord. Still smoldering from the gout of flame induced by the fire wards, the ancient noble and the zombie retinue surrounding him were instantaneously consumed by a gigantic fireball that mushroomed up into the rafters, covering them and the ceiling in soot and ash. . Ugor and Ogol wasted no time springing into action. Both Akhara's top disciples, the two orcs immediately recited the arcane litanies that turned flesh to magically figurative stone, and charged into battle. Each orc assumed a flank on either side of their chief. They, sworn to defend her life at any and all costs, were by now a well-oiled, draugr-killing machine. It had been over a half-year since the Green Queen had arrived in Skyrim, and if either of them had dared call themselves warriors prior to their liege's coming, then now they were as gods. Muscle and sinew strained and flexed, sparks flew as newer alloys collided with timeworn ironwork. Sarcophagi all across the chamber continued to pop open as the long-dead footmen of the sons of Gauldur continued to pour into room. But however great their festering, evil tide may have been, they broke against the three orcs like water upon rock, and were repelled by superior swordsmanship and spellcraft. . At length, the betusked three had cloven through the entire dozen draugr that accosted them, and the entire room stank of burning and decaying flesh and spent magic. Akhara's nose wrinkled as she wrenched her glass scimitar free from her most recent quarry. She turned and addressed the others. The two of her companions nearly looked like draugr themselves, for so were they covered in soot and the black, thick, syrupy blood of the undead that it was difficult to tell they were orcs at all. Indeed, festooned in armors largely comprised of the trophies of their fallen enemies, Ugor and Ogol looked more dremora than orsimer. . "Good work," the warchief observed. "If we get out of this one, I'll be giving each of you a raise in your commission. How does 2,000 septims per cycle sound to the two of you?" . In response, the two of them beamed broadly. Ugor elbowed Ogol playfully. "See? Told you I had a gut feeling today was going to be a good day." . "Stay alert, we're not home clear yet. Steady your mind. Do you not feel it? That energy? Dark. Evil. It's... it's like this entire room was made out of it. Floors, walls, ceiling and all." . At that moment, the air behind the warchief crackled some ten feet away, and the ghostly apparition of Mikrul Gauldurson shimmered into being. Akhara felt the shift in the air before she even heard the crackling of aetheric energy, and though she turned quickly, it was not swift enough to adequately prepare herself against the power of the Unrelenting Force shout the monster bellowed directly at her from nearly point-blank range. . Akhara's vision was flooded by white. She could hear nothing. She could feel nothing. There was only a sensation that she could not entirely describe. The only thought she could focus on, if thought it be at all, was that, in the blink of an eye, like so many great heroes across time before her, she had simply fallen in battle to a lesser enemy. Whether by pure chance or complete fault of her own, Akhara had died in a long-forgotten crypt, surrounded by ghouls, mindlessly doing the bidding of whatever Gods or higher powers claimed to support her. After a while, it became clear that the vague sensation she was "feeling" was anger. Rage. But not at her draugr foes, but toward herself. For being so careless when she now had so much more to leave behind. Her allies. Her friends. Her daughter. . Ugor and Ogol both watched in horror as the Gauldurson's shout sent their master contorting through the air, slamming her body into one of the enormous stone pillars rising up toward the shadows of the ceiling. The warchief grunted loudly, collapsed to the ground, and did not stir. For several moments, it was as though a Slow Time shout had been executed. Ugor and Ogol stared at their fallen comrade. Mikrul Gauldurson stood, clutching his long, wicked, ebon blade, heaving with dry, withered lungs, before turning slowly to glare directly at the remaining two orcs. There was no satisfaction burning within the icy blue fires of the draugr warlord's eyes: only hate. . Believing his queen to be mortally wounded or worse, Ogol's vision became flooded by red. His heart began to pump in excess of over 400 beats per minute, flooding his mind and body with adrenaline. Knuckles whitening along the haft of his battleaxe, the orc champion rushed at the draugr with unnatural speed. Ogol leapt into the air and, using a ground-sitting sarcophagus as a springboard, launched himself at his opponent. All at once, over 600 pounds of orc, armor, steel and magic crashed into the brittle bones and iron of the draugr overlord, sending his body rattling and sprawling, bones rattling noisily like an Argonian reptillibone fingerharp. . But Ogol was hardly finished. By the time the Gauldurson wight managed to pull himself to his feet, he did so to find the gargantuan blade of the orc's axe cleave effortlessly through his armor, shattering his sternum and lodging itself in his fractured ribcage. The weapon was so large and the swing so forceful that part of the blade exited out the back of the ghoul and embedded itself into environmental wooden scaffolding, pinning the beast fast. Mikrul writhed and hissed, shouting dry, pagan oaths that sounded like dead leaves being blown across old stone. . Ogol's gigantic hands came to rest on either side of the draugr's screaming and sputtering, zombie-like face. "If she is dead," the orc promised, "you have my word that there is no realm, living or dead, where I will not find your soul and tear it to pieces. Over. And over. And over." . From some distance behind, Ugor shuddered as she watched Ogol rip Mikrul Gauldurson's jaw clear from his skull in a spray of black blood and bile before smacking the ghoul across what remained of his own face with it. "Try shouting at me now," he whispered viciously. Tossing the jaw aside, Ogol proceeded to insert his thumbs into the blue glowing eyes of the overlord, blinding the creature. As Mikrul screamed, this presented Ogol the opportunity to rip out his enemy's decaying tongue, which he intended to offer to Akhara as a souvenir should she survive the ordeal. This he did, then stepped back, turned, and ordered Ugor to pass him her blade. The iron orc flipped her blade in reverse, and passed it to Ogol wordlessly, shaking herself from the daze brought about by the spectacle that was unfolding, and ran to ascertain the fate of Akhara Shug. . Ogol turned back to look at the pitiful mess of a creature that Mikrul Gauldurson had become. His heart once more began to slow. The thunderous sound of his own blood pumping in his ears was reduced from a deafening roar to a dull thumping. Ogol tested the weight of Ugor's blade for a moment or two. He glared one last time at his defeated foe. "You will exit this realm in far less pain than you deserve," the orc stated flatly, before removing the draugr warlord's head with the precision of a Cyrodiilic surgeon.

Akhara and Ugor play a friendly match of Kings & Pawns (aka ‘Chess’). Having spent years in the Imperial Legion, Ugor is the vastly superior opponent, and schools the young barbarian queen dearly.

Discussing the next dozen moves we make.

Preparing to move out the following morning.

The party animals up late again.

New friends.

The cinematic approach.

She DOES actually relax, on occasion...