Su'um ahrk morah!
In the midst of carnage and scarlet painted stones, a solitary figure stood victorious, his latest victim still held securely in one hand whilst the other continued to launch a volley of quick, bone-shattering punches into where its face had once been. Draugr, deadly when coordinated and even more so when led by several Wights, as this group had been. Luckily however, the lone figure had not come unprepared. Garbed in armour of his people, the Orc had stood valiantly and fought off the waves of oncoming assailants, only to now be rid of this momentary annoyance. However bravely he fought, though, the young kor'Golash, the Fallen Captain as the Legion had named him, was not without wounds. And it was when he had finished beating the last Draugr nuisance that he finally fell back to his knees, quickly rummaging through his sack to find his last Potion of Healing, a red fluid that would eleviate some of the stress of the last fight, and lessen the wounds to a more moderate, bareable level. It was then, that he heard the voice.. A raspy, undead voice filled with contempt and hatred for the intruder. "Orin brit lo.." it muttered in the Dragontongue.. And as brief as the respite was, quicker still was the sundering blast of lightning that took the unsuspecting Orc in the side, launching him a clean fourty feet through the air into the antechambers opposite side, into a bookcase that crumbled beneath his weight and fell to pieces about him. With a roar, the young orc then pushed to his feet, only to be taken by yet another blast, this one a freezing spike of icey magicka. Penetrating his left side, it felt like the fingers of a cold, unwelcomed death creeping in on him. ".. S-Show yourself, coward!" the orc bellowed, his fists coming up in defense. "S-So that I can break your head in!" he hollared. Then there came a gutteral, pleased laugh. ".. So I must speak in this horrid tongue, mortal..? You have entered the home of Otar! Kneel in fear and I shall give you a quick death!"
Now, kor'Golash was no coward, but nor was he a fool. He had come to Ragnvald in search of glory and power, as the letter had said. But it did not however mention this Otar.. It had not mentioned the painful magician in the least and the young orc was baffled. Why did he come here, then? The dangers were evident, the Wights had all but been unnumerable, and even some Deathlords now lay dead about the tomb. "Why should I kneel to some Nord fairytale, then? Show your fa-" abruptly cut off by yet another blasting bolt of magicka, the young man flew back into the wall, only to witness the most horrifying image he had yet seen. Floating just out of view, amidst the shadows and near an opened sarcophagus, stood Otar the Mad, Dragon Priest of Alduin. "You would dare pit your inferior mettle to mine, fool? So be it!"
Now, unable to deny his impending doom, kor'Golash, the Fallen Captain rose with a thunderous roar. "Wuld!" he cried, suddenly racing forward like the wind, his fists already in motion. A left, another left, followed by a quick right. He wailed away at the midsection of the stunned Dragon Priest, forcing his enchanted gauntlets to dig and cleave rather sizeable chunks from his torso, only to be thrown back by a chilling blast of magicka, and then set upon by more icicles. "You fool! Do you think you can best me?!"
"..No.. but by Malacath I will try!" came the orcs reply, and again followed by an outcry of the Whirlwind Sprint thu'um. Once more the young man pistoned his fists back and forth, raining furious blows across the Dragon Priest's torso, face, and so on. Occaisionally, the young man would deflect or parry the swing of a staff, intent on launching its foul magicks, but this could go on for only so long, and eventually, tired and outmatched, the male fell to his knees amidst horrid laughter and condenscending remarks. "So you tire already..? You poor fool. I will rid the world of yet another naive child who thought they could best me!" and, the final thing that young kor'Golash saw that day, was the tip of a staff being pointed at his face, the energies within slowly building about its golden tip, until finally...
...The end.