"They all died here."
Rowan stood in a narrow burial chamber, staring at three bandits whose bodies had been riddled with arrows until they barely resembled human shapes.
That confirmed it.
Everyone who had chased the dark elf into the tomb was dead.
Including the bandit leader.
"Convenient."
Rowan searched the leader's corpse and pocketed the gold, gemstones, and assorted valuables the man had scavenged inside the barrow. Then he moved deeper.
Ahead stood a heavy iron gate.
To the right were three rotating stone dials, each carved with animal symbols.
One wrong combination would trigger a trap.
Judging by the three corpses nearby, someone had already learned that lesson the hard way.
Rowan didn't bother with the puzzle.
He walked up to the gate, grabbed the bars, and tore them apart with brute force, leaving a hole large enough to step through.
Beyond the gate, a swarm of plague rats surged from the darkness.
Rowan clapped his hands together.
A violent shockwave of compressed air blasted forward, splattering the rodents against the walls in a shower of blood and fur.
No magic.
Just physics applied brutally.
Deeper inside, shelves of burial books lined the walls.
Rowan touched one.
It crumbled into dust.
"Shame."
Centuries without preservation had turned them all to rot. With proper magic, they might have been restored. But there were better libraries elsewhere.
Winterhold came to mind.
A scream echoed from below.
"Help! Someone help me!"
Rowan smiled faintly.
"Three thousand septims, right on schedule."
He followed the voice down a flight of stairs.
The chamber he entered was coated in thick spiderwebs. Desiccated corpses hung cocooned along the walls, drained down to empty husks.
At the far end, a dark elf dangled in midair, bound tightly and struggling.
The thief.
Rowan's gaze shifted upward.
Something moved in the shadows.
A massive creature dropped from the ceiling.
Then several smaller ones followed.
Rowan blinked.
The smaller spiders looked normal.
The large one did not.
Its lower body was that of a colossal frostbite spider.
Its upper body…
Was female.
Humanoid.
Beautiful in a twisted, monstrous way.
Blood stained its lips.
"So that kind of thing exists too," Rowan muttered.
The spider creature screeched and lunged.
Rowan jumped.
One kick.
The monster's head exploded like a crushed melon.
Before its body even hit the ground, Rowan tore through the smaller spiders with precise strikes, leaving nothing alive.
He waved his hand.
A blade of compressed air sliced through the webbing.
The dark elf dropped to the floor.
Rowan looked at him.
"Give me the Golden Claw."
"Of course! Of course!" the dark elf babbled. "I know how it works. I know the symbols. I can open the door to the inner chamber—"
His eyes flicked sideways.
He took a half-step back.
Rowan's voice turned cold.
"Think carefully."
The dark elf froze.
Every instinct screamed that running meant instant death.
"N-no killing! Here—here it is!"
Hands shaking, he pulled the Golden Claw from his belt and handed it over.
Rowan took it.
"Follow me."
They moved into the next hall.
At its center stood a stone altar covered in faintly glowing runes.
The dark elf hurried to explain.
"The ancient Nords believed death wasn't the end. They built altars like this so the dead could return through ritual. Draugr gather here during certain nights to worship, trying to resurrect their lord. It never works. Only fragments of instinct remain in them."
Rowan glanced at him.
"You know a lot."
The dark elf straightened slightly.
"My name's Arvel. I'm not much of a fighter, but I'm a professional thief. I study ruins, ancient cultures, traps, mechanisms. That's how I survive."
Rowan considered him.
Arvel hadn't killed anyone.
He was greedy.
Cowardly.
But useful.
"Fine," Rowan said. "You're my guide for now."
Arvel exhaled in relief.