Dragon's Conquest

Against Adversity

Nariilu cursed to herself for not taking at least a minute to ask Stormcloak what in Oblivion she should expect in Sovngarde. She prided herself on being relatively prepared for most situations; she wasn't one to lead soldiers into battle recklessly, and usually knew enough of her opponents to keep herself a step or two ahead. A plan, no matter how loose, would take one further than sheer, dumb luck, but over-developed contingencies for every possible minutia were distracting and just as good as no plan at all.

A general overview of a plan allowed for improvisation in the case of the completely unexpected, whilst still providing enough guidance to prepare and overcome. And so even though her planned outcome of challenging Odahviing had very quickly gone far off the path of simply finding Alduin's location, Nariilu couldn't say it was a failure. In fact, by some degree it was much more successful than she'd expected. No long detours and dragon-hunting to reach his lair required, it had only taken a jaunt through the most packed barrow she'd ever seen to find the damned dragon, right where Odahviing said he'd be.

And, even better, Alduin had fled from her again. She was closer than ever to killing him, even with him at his most powerful yet, and her half-blind and half-dead after that last Shout of his. Nariilu refused to even consider that Alduin was playing with her like a saber cat with a skeever. He feared her, feared her power. If he were not a coward, she perhaps could've taken him down once and for all. Once she managed to convince some of the warriors inside the Hall of Valor to join her in one last, grand dragon hunt, Alduin would be nothing more than a memory.

That is, if she could get past the mountain of a Man guarding the grand bone bridge to the golden Hall.

He knew she was there, just off the path and sizing him up, he'd locked eyes with her since probably before she even noticed him, not letting up since. Nariilu couldn't make out the details of his features from this distance, save for his towering height and the nasty-looking battleaxe strapped to his back. But there was something challenging in his stare; he wouldn't let her pass with a simple wave and a nod.

Nariilu bit her cheek and tapped her hilted swords before standing and approaching the final hundred yards. With each step, the man seemed to grow taller, and the throbbing pain in her back from where Alduin Shouted her into the rocks grew sharper, blood warming further down her torso. She ran a hand along her back, feeling her shoulder strain against her movement. Her fingers found a solid dent just below her left shoulder, drawing her hand away as even the soft pressure against it sent a numbness through her back. She prayed to Shor that whoever this was would let her pass without trouble, then prayed to the Divines that Shor would hear and answer her prayers.

She stopped far enough back that she would have enough time to roll out of the way if the man decided to make a strike for her, but he stared through her with no apparent malice. No, the only expression Nariilu could find was a strange sort of sorrowful pride, almost reminding her of the look her mother had given her when she left to join the Legion.

"What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, Shor's gift to the honored dead?" The man spoke with a gravity that turned her stomach.