The Bearded King Of The Mountain[TESLORE Challenge 1 Submission]

The wind was filled with icy knives as the three traders travelled up the pass, always threatening to shred any wanderers foolish enough not to wear protection. Whereas some might curse the dreaded land of Skyrim and decry it as barbaric because of this snow, it only increased the sense of awe Orthus felt when he first heard of the land of tall mountains.

He'd only been a boy when the traders came to town telling stories of a snowy land with vast mountains, but all it took was one tale to convince him he had to go. As soon as he reached manhood, he said goodbye to his family and joined the traders.

Even so, he hadn't anticipated the land being this harsh. He had assumed the snow was soft and gentle. Instead, it felt like Kyne was blowing razors at his face. The wind funneling through the pass made it even worse. His Colovian blood wasn't used to this sort of harsh weather, and even though it was awe inspiring, he had an urge to get out of it as fast as possible.

"How much longer until we're through?" he shouted through the wind.

He could hear Erik's grunt through the roaring winds, a reminder of just how loud the old Nord was.

"Why does it matter? Don't tell me you're becoming a milk drinker now, boy."

His gritted his teeth at the insult. He hated it when they called him that. He was nineteen, and he was going to turn twenty next month! But showing weakness wouldn't do him any credit with the grizzled Nord, so he didn't bother disputing him.

Zhavo, the third and final traveller of their adventure, walked beside him. The gray coated Khajiit seemed like he was having just as much, if not more, trouble with the weather. Orthus briefly entertained the thought of skinning the Khajiit trader for his hide and using it as extra an extra coat, but even he wasn't cold enough to murder a friend.

"Zhavo thinks Orthus may have a point. The sun is going down, so we should make camp, lest we succumb to the chilling night winds."

Erik grunted again.

"Fine. The boy wanted to see Skyrim, and I know just the spot for tourists."

They travelled a little ways further through the mountain until they got to a narrow portion of the pass with a stone arch covering it. An altar of some sort was positioned next to one of the walls.

"We'll make camp here.", said Erik.

Orthus took off his pack and shook the snow out of his black hair, but couldn't take his eyes off of the strange altar right next to them. Erik simply started making a fire to ward off the chilling air.

"What is this place?", he asked.

Erik didn't even bother looking up from his task as he answered.

"We call it Wayward Pass. The Altar you can't take your eyes off of was built by the ancients who used to inhabit this area. Legend has it that a mountain spirit affiliated with Kyne used to inhabit this place, and would demand sacrifices before he let travellers pass. A bunch of Horker crap if you ask me."

The story was enough to refuel the fire Orthus had for his Skyrim adventure, and he immediately got to work with Zhavo putting the hide tent up. It wasn't long before he was able to get out of the wind. It wasn't the warmest he had ever been, but at least he was sheltered. His eyes closed knowing that Masser and Secunda were above them, silently guarding the night.

He woke when he felt a sudden burst of frosty wind lash across his face, forcing him to open his eyes with a snap. Earlier, he believed it was impossible to get any colder than he was travelling the mountain. He was wrong. He jumped to his feet and wrapped his fur cloak around him as tight as he could, leaning into the wind so as to avoid being blown off of his feet. A cursory glance showed that his companions were doing the same thing.

Then it stopped. The air, while still chilly and full of snow, was clear enough to see in, but it wasn't a pretty sight. All of their camping gear had been blown away. The fire was out. The only supplies they had left was what they had on them, and it wasn't much. Just a few weapons and some dried meat. To make matters worse, both sides of the pass were walled in by snow. They were trapped.

"Stay calm. I'm going to see if we can dig our way out.", Erik said.

He walked over to one of the snowy walls and started digging. Orthus took the other side, and Zhavo followed his lead. It must have been hours later when he realized the truth.

"I don't think we're getting out of here.", he said in a trembling voice.

"You can always leave, but you must pay the toll first.", a voice that sounded like the whistling wind said.

Orthus immediately started looking around for the source, and he could see his friends doing the same. There wasn't anyone around.

"Come out and fight like a man, bandit! We're not going to pay your toll, and we won't fall for your tricks!", shouted Erik.

"Another barbaric Nord. Yours is the most stubborn race ever to wander my path. At least the Ice Mer pretended to have dignity. I am no mere bandit, Nord. I am the Bearded King of the Mountain. And I am imposing a tax. Pay, or I will have all your corpses. It does not matter to me."

Orthus' hands started to shake more badly than they had during the hike.

"Erik, it's the mountain spirit! It wants a sacrifice! Just give it to him and we can go!"

Zhavo nodded.

"Yes, Zhavo thinks this is a good idea. Antagonizing spirits would be very bad for business."

Erik spat on the ground.

"I don't think you want that. The legend said it only accepted human sacrifices."

The blood drained from Orthus' face at the words, and he imagined the same happened to Zhavo. Erik, on the other hand, just looked angry.

"But don't worry about that. This is probably just some bandit who thinks he's smart. We'll wait for a while and figure something out."

"Zhavo does not think this is a goo-"

"Let me do the thinking, Zhavo. I'm the Nord."

Orthus shared a look with Zhavo. It was fear. But he didn't know what to do. He couldn't kill his friends. There had to be another way out, and he had to admit that Erik probably knew what he was doing. He would have to wait.

And so they did wait, for hours and hours. It didn't take long to exhaust the topics of conversation they had. One could only talk about Tiber Septim's new merchant laws for so long. Eventually night fell. Masser and Secunda appeared in the night sky, along with the stars. Skyrim's cold night chill came with them.

Erik made a small shelter out of packed snow.

"I'm going to get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'll probably have something to get us out of this."

Orthus just nodded. Miraculously, the Nord fell asleep quickly. Orthus couldn't say the same. He opted to stay awake and look at the stars. Zhavo soon joined him, clearly not having anything better to do.

"Zhavo knows a way out of our predicament."

The comment shook him out of his reverie.

"What do you mean?"

There was a tremble in his voice. He already suspected what Zhavo was suggesting, but he didn't like it.

"You know. There is no other option. Zhavo has seen spirits in Elswyr. Many much stronger and cleverer than us have succumbed to their wishes. We must kill someone to escape."

Orthus swallowed, but he could see Zhavo's logic. Logic as cold as Skyrim's icy landscape.

"Why are you talking to me about this? Erik is stronger than me, and I'm an easier target. Why am I not the sacrifice?"

Zhavo's tail swished across the ground. He paused, as if considering his words carefully.

"Two reasons. Erik got Zhavo into this predicament when he chose to mock you by setting up camp in coldest part of Wayward Pass. Call it revenge. Also, Zhavo likes you. He sees some of himself in you when he was so young. Erik is...expendable."

His cheeks reddened again at Zhavo's comment about his age. He wished they would stop doing that. However, if what Zhavo said is true, then Erik should be the one to die. After all, it's his fault. But still, this was the man who took him out of that awful village and gave him the job of his dreams. How could he repay that with murder?

"How would we do it? For the sacrifice to work, we would have to move him to the altar. It would be impossible without waking him up, and then he would kill us both."

Zhavo shook his head.

"It is possible. We paralyze him from the neck down and move him to altar. Then we slit his throat."

Orthus almost vomited at the idea. He'd never killed someone before. Sure, he had hunted like the rest of the boys, and he carried a finely crafted steel dagger. However, he had never killed a person before.

"I need to think about this."

Zhavo nodded.

"I understand. But we must do it tonight. Come to me with your decision soon."

Orthus sat and leaned against the snowbank. He unsheathed his dagger and stared at it for what felt like an eternity. Could he do this? Betray the man who had given him a life? He didn't want to. However, Zhavo's cold logic barged into his thoughts once again. There wasn't a way to get out of this alive without killing someone, and he didn't want to die.

He tried to think of alternatives. He could kill Zhavo, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how impossible that was. Zhavo wasn't the warrior Erik was, but he had a good ten years of combat experience. He doubted even blind luck would win a battle against the Khajiit trader.

He couldn't stall and wait until morning to get Erik to back him up. He knew Zhavo was too clever for that. He would kill him before he could wake Erik, and then do the deed himself.

There was only one option.

Cold tears fell onto his dagger. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Skyrim was supposed to be a grand adventure. He was supposed to see the tallest mountains in the world, visit ancient ruins, get rich on trade and loot, and make a name for himself. Now he had to become a murderer to survive.

He composed himself the best he could and walked back to Zhavo.

"Let's do it."

Zhavo nodded and took out a dagger of his own. The two of them crept up to Erik's resting place. Then, in a single swift movement, they flipped him over. Zhavo expertly slashed across Erik's neck, and his struggling ceased even as his eyes grew wider in disbelief.

They carried him over to the altar, not bothering to remove any of his armor. Zhavo pulled up Erik's beard and nodded at Orthus. He put a trembling dagger up to Erik's throat and slowly pulled it across, creating a deep laceration that spewed blood everywhere.

Erik's wide eyes looked at the pair of traitors in shock. Orthus looked away, not able to bear looking at his former master's dying eyes. This was a mistake. Instead, he saw himself covered in his master's blood.

He screamed.

Zhavo put a paw on his shoulder to steady him. He put himself in front of the boy so as to block out the gory image, but it did little to calm his nerves.

"A most filling sacrifice. I'm glad you picked the Nord. It is always so satisfying to see their arrogance humbled by a blade. As promised, the way is open."

Another strong wind blew and the pass was clear once again. But the fact that they were free didn't do anything to take away the shame in Orthus' heart.

Zhavo, on the other hand, looked relieved.

"It is time to g-"

Zhavo's head came off of his shoulders and his body slumped to the ground, revealing the ghost of a very angry Nord.

"Traitor.", the ghost spat.

Orthus tried to run, but it wasn't enough to escape Erik's ghostly blade plunging through his chest. He fell to the ground and suffered the same fate as the man he betrayed.

Erik's hard facial expression contrasted the fact that he was now a ghost quite heavily.

"Looks like the old Nords were right. This place is sacred, if only because it is where I was avenged."

The ghost faded away, possibly to appear again should a situation arise.

The Bearded King quite enjoyed the whole scenario. So long as the blood kept flowing, his spirit would never truly die. The blood might as well flow as entertainingly as possible. With the show over, he sunk back into hibernation, waiting for the next band of travelers to arrive.