Adanion:

Along for the ride, were the Imperial mages. Dayolin also accompanied them. He was saying something to Lynly, but something told him it was better to simply ignore the Dunmer and remain silent. As they proceeded down the corridor, their path was impeded by a set of large Dwemer doors. Something was... strange about them. A faint buzzing filled Adanion's ears as he gazed at the massive things.

"See that door, miss..." Said one of the mages, adressing Lynly as he gestured towards the doors. "We have it unlocked, but who knows what could be behind it. But now, I shall open it!" He finished with great enthusiasm. He rushed forward, seeking to push open the door with brute force. A very foolish move. As his fingers met the cold metal, an electrical pulse invaded his body. He stood for a few minutes, being literally cooked alive, until finally his body fell back into a limp and charred pile.

Adanion had no particular emotions about the mage's passing, and his face displayed it. He was no stranger to death, and though it was a sad event, he could not let it interfere with the task at hand. He walked forward to the mage's side, and crouched. "May Y'ffre guide you to green pastures, mage." He whispered softly as he closed the mage's eyelids, or rather what was left of his eyelids.

Grawl rushed in as Adanion lifted himself, and examined the walls of the Dwemer ruin. "What in Stendarr's great glory happend?!" He asked, obviously shaken by the mage's death. Sitting in plain sight, was a large golden lever. Sighing in irritation, Adanion walked towards it, and pulled the awkward instrument down. "I believe that he was looking for this, sedura." He reported to Lynly in a quietly respectful voice. As the lever lowered underneath the pressure of Adanion's hand, the doors swung open, and the electrical humming that filled the room silenced.

---

The journey found Aaliyah riding alongside a man who walked, so softly that she probably would have missed it entirely if not for the Detect Life spell still active, enchanted into her robes by her own invention. Naturally inquisitive, she chose to take the opportunity to strike up a conversation. "Well, I can't say it's exactly what I signed up for so far, but it's interesting, I'll give it that." Her grin was good-natured at the very least, though inwardly she was just hoping that she would not be met with a rude reply. They seemed, from what she had overheard before, rather common hereabouts, and truthfully even the most patient person could be worn down by them eventually. I bet politeness is just as deadly as swords around here. Maybe they're all weak to kindness or something. Oh, a compliment, hit the weak spot! Knockout!

The Redguard snorted, trying not to laugh at her own internal joke, and then realized he was probably now assured that she was hopelessly strange, giggling over nothing at all.

Erik, with neither a horse nor the available resources to summon... something like one, opted to walk the trek, which appeared to be fine, as several others did as well. He was long used to moving over miles of terrain day after day; that was caravan life for you. It had hardened him to the interference of topography, weather, and occasionally hostile indigenous life, so the pace, such as it was, scarcely even registered with him. He walked to the outside of a dusky-skinned Redguard woman on a horse, content to keep to himself for the moment, as social interactions thus far had taken on the character of... well, he wasn't sure he had anything to compare it to, really. Mostly lots of figurative chest-pounding and no lack of self-confidence, and perhaps it would do best just to leave it at that.

He was genuinely (and pleasantly) surprised, therefore, when the woman on the horse spoke to him, her voice conveying a degree of amusement and lightness that thus far had been sorely lacking. The comment itself was a bit charitable, perhaps, but then that was no great vice. Maybe he would have thought otherwise at some other time, but right now, he saw an opportunity and took it. Her poorly-restrained laughter caused him to tilt his head speculatively to the side. "Did I miss a joke? Perhaps there is something on my face?" He knew there wasn't, but he kept his voice light and easy, matching hers and hopefully prolonging the exchange by doing so.

"Not really, and I have no idea," Aaliyah replied with a small shrug. "You'd have to ask someone else unless you wanted me to touch your face to find out, and I think we can both agree that would be really weird." She had no idea if he'd even know what she was getting at, but she chose to assume that he was intelligent enough to figure it out. Explaining the same thing to everyone she met grew to be tiresome, so unless it came up, she usually just avoided mentioning it at all. She shifted slightly on the back of her horse, pulling her legs up so that they were crossed beneath her rather than hanging off either side. It wouldn't be a major balance issue unless she needed to spur Kareem into a run, anyway, and she was getting a mite uncomfortable the way she was.

Erik's brows climbed his forehead, and a disbelieving bark of laughter escaped him. "Perhaps it would be, at that," he agreed, a false sagaciousness entering his tone. It wasn't too hard to make the deductive move from her statements and her lack of eye contact to the inference that she lacked sight, he just found it rather extraordinary. Based on the clothing and lack of weapons, she was a mage, so presumably it could work, a blind woman joining an organization like this, but it was certainly something he'd like to see in action. Preferably from a safe distance.

Whatever the case may be in a fight, her particular circumstances did not seem to much hinder her outside of one. Her horsemanship was clearly much better than his own, and he'd observed her moving about on her own at Helgen, and she'd not hit anything or stumbled, so it stood to reason that she was accustomed to navigating such difficulties herself. This was truly fascinating to him, someone who'd found his ordinary human senses inadequate when he'd possessed a well-honed five. He'd gone as far as lycanthropy (having considered also exposing himself to the sanguinarus disease) in order to sharpen them further, and yet here was somebody getting by apparently just as well as he did with only four mundane, human capacities.

"May this one have your name?" he asked, rather suddenly. Not the most graceful or charismatic way he could have inquired after it, but he somehow doubted she'd take offense.

Aaliyah had the impression that she was being studied, but it didn't much bother her. That was fairly normal for whatever reason, and so she let it slide. The following inquiry was polite enough, and she found it rather agreeable to acquiesce. "Aaliyah Sendu, of the Alik'r, though you're welcome to just use Liya if you like. Most people tend to. How about yourself?" She had to admit, she couldn't quite muster a guess. Normally, she could get a fairly accurate idea of someone's origin from their voice, or their tread, or something like that. This man, though, walked too softly for her to hear (which was a clue in itself, though a small one, considering all the ambient sounds of motion around them), and his tone, while somewhat in keeping with the local Nord modulation, also contained a faint hint of low rasp that she associated with Khajit.

"Erik," he replied mildly, debating how much he should explain the lack of a surname. He went with 'not much at all.' "I am occasionally referred to as Erik the Swift, but that's... well, that was something of a jest that I happened to grow into to some mild degree. At least, I hope I did." That much was straightforward self-deprecation. He knew himself to be quick on his feet, that was just one of his strong suits when it came to fighting. Nevertheless, the statement was the truth, and he'd originally earned the moniker as a form of ridicule.

"There's a hell of a story in there, I'm sure of it," Liya replied, but she chose not to press the point. Maybe she could ask him for it at a later date. It was probable that they'd be working together for a while, unless one of them died in these Dwemer ruins. She'd never been inside one before, but she'd heard tales: giant mechanical constructs, savage, twisted (and pitiable, as far as she was concerned) Falmer, and traps too numerous to count. The Dwemer were supposed to have been mechanical geniuses, but it seemed that their enlightened nature did not extend to their views about how others deserved to be treated, and she felt a little guilty that she was looking forward to walking the ruins, to experience, and hopefully gain some understanding of, that disappeared culture. It didn't linger for long, though (her negative feelings rarely did), and before either of them could speak again, the entrance to the ruins came into view.

They were given an opportunity to rest then, and by mutual if silent consent, Liya and Erik parted ways, she going to tether Kareem and borrow the shade of a tree for a bit of rest, and he to idle the time sharpening his sword and knife on a whetstone. When the moment came to enter the ruins, they both responded to Lynly's sort-of challenge, disappearing into the underground cavern with the Imperial mages and the rest.

The incident at the door left Aaliyah feeling more than a little sick, and she covered her mouth and nose with her scarf to dampen the obviousness of the smell of burning flesh. Her hands immediately found the end of her long braid, toying with the end of it in what was obviously a somewhat nervous gesture. Spirited she might be, but she had not expected the traps to be quite like that, and frankly she wasn't used to being there when people died. It was... disturbing in a way other than the obvious one, and she fervently hoped it would not happen again so soon.

The same smell Liya noticed was admittedly worse for Erik, and he did not relish the tearless sting at the back of his eyes when the odor hit his sensitive olfactory system. "A convenient moment of idiocy," he deadpanned, crossing his arms and trying not to think too hard about the stench. "Particularly when the 'off' switch was on the wall." He was basically completely desensitized to death, so it did not occur to him to feel much pity or sorrow. If you were too stupid to take proper precautions in a Dwemer ruin, then whatever happened to you was your problem.

Sighing through his nose, the Nord stepped into place beside Lynly. "Something tells me we shouldn't let the academics lead any more. Would you like point, or shall I take it?" The option was hers as the commander (or, well, the second-in-command, but she seemed to be doing the actual leading), and he trusted her from experience not to be so foolish, but he was well-suited to detecting traps and the like as well.

Something tells me we shouldn't let the academics lead any more. Would you like point, or shall I take it?" Where the first things the Orsimer heard as he withdrew from his own sudden shock. It had been, in fact, years since he had seen death. He twisted around and looked at Dayolin, a snarl upon his face. "We don't former allies into walking husks... Release it." The Mages seemed to chattered in agreement with the Orc as he made judgement on the call. A serious look upon his face. "Nords, I'll take point, Pale-Eyes (Erick), Lynly, I want you at my flanks, cover the corners. Then I want the Mage's including the Guild one's in the middle. In the back I want anyone the Thieves and Light-weights." The large Orsimer's voice was gruff and loud, causing a slight echo. "Kahjiit, I want you next to me though you can see in the dark. No torches."

With that he turned around and began walking down a second, steep decent of stairs. Expecting the part to form up in his given orders. The hallway was wide and lined with Dwarvish metal and stonework, and despite the centuries was holding better than many Imperial or Nordic dwellings. They passed multiple open gates before veering right again. A large metal door blocked the chamber at the end of the decent. It was obviously made to keep stuff out unlike the electrified door which was meant to hold beings in. The bars on this door were more fine and thick, with no humming. Just a normal set of doors. The lever was seen inside and there were no side paths into the room. Grawl stopped and pondered a moment, looking down the sides of the door. "I got this one." He utter and lifted his massive Orcish hammer off his back-holster, signaling the group back he lifted the massive bludgeoning object over his head and gave a violent lunge foward, bringing the head of the weapon smack upon the center of the gate. The metal, shuddered and creaked before swinging open with a loud cackling noise with a underhue of grating upon the stone. Once the door was open it lead into a large chamber with a metal floor. The floor seemed to have one large seem in it and there were three different hallways all heading into the cold darkness. A trickle of water could be heard down, and soft skittering down another. (Only to sensitive ears.) And above them was the celing was also Dwemer metal.

Sobek did approve of how things were being controlled. Everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, rather that following their commander. People were going to die at this rate. He hissed in irritation, albeit quietly, to himself. Sure enough, not five minutes in the ruins, one of the Imperial mages got caught in an open current electric trap and fried. Sobek snorted, trying to get the smell of roasted pork out of his sensitive nose. The stupid Dark Elf decided to resurrect the mage as an undead, drawing the Orc's wrath. It didn't anger just the Orc, he felt undercurrents of anger go through most of the group at the desecration of a comrade's corpse.

The Orc, what was his name? Grawl, he thought. Grawl started snapping orders, directing the members of the group in a surprisingly accurate battle formation. He must have been former military. Sobek slowed to let others past him, and drew his bow, crouching as he did. A couple seconds, and not even the Khajit would be able to see him. Sobek whispered a prayer to Nocturnal, and nocked an Orcish arrow, but did not draw. Briefly he thought he had heard something moving, but after a second of straining his hearing, he discounted it as his imagination, which was full of dwemer spider automatons.

He spoke cautiously, and low, his voice carrying to everyone all the same. "From thiss point on, it would be besst not to sspeak. If there are Falmer about, they will home on sspeech like an beess to a honey thief. And they will be numerouss."

"But he is going to die again anyway! Why waste magical fodder!?" Dayolin said furiously as he disspelled the reanimation. He could understand why the other Imperial mages disagreed with raising fallen allies, after all the raised undead did feel great pain. When the orc called formation he was grateful that he would be protected from all sides. It also gave him a perfect place to cast area spells on the party. In one hand he prepared to cast a healing spell and in the other he prepared to launch a fireball.

The party began to dwell deeper into the dwemer ruins. He always wondered how the dwemer could ever live down here since the massive empty space was far from holesome. Also why have mechanical servants when one could own a living one? Then he thought back to the snow elves and how they were mutilated into the twisted beings that are now the falmer. This was long before the chimer even arrived to Morrowind. The argonian mentioned the cursed race and Dayolin felt a stab of pity for them. He was terrible at hiding his emotions but he truley hoped they would not need to kill any falmer.

Vanjirra had been in the back, Orcish bow and and steel arrows shooting down any thing that had moved in the back of the group with the imp was collecting small samples of rock and gem and stuffing them in a bag under her robes. "This one understands." She said, moving herself to the front of the group as she looked around with her night eye. She knocked an arrow in her bow, aware of the falmer's hearing. "Do not be loud, we are watched." She whispered, starting to notice movement above them. She walked slowly in her glass boots, knowing any sort of noise could set off a bad reaction. Her hand glowed with a readied summon, nothing big to trap them all but a small group to distract.

Nobody had noticed him at the small camp they had stationed outside of the ruins. This was a good thing, as his earlier attitude could have warranted him some rather unwanted enemies and he did not want to be in the ruins worried about his own team when the Falmer were about. He had only faced one Falmer before; it was a moment in his life that he thought would be his last. They were strong, quick and precise with their attacks. The scar on the left side of his chest, right above his heart was a constant sign that they were not ones to trifle with. And yet, here they were, about to invade their homeland. To try and steal something from them, it didn’t matter if they stole it first, it was in their possession now and they were the owners. He sighed heavily as he heard the Orc yell out at everyone, to let them know they were going to venture into a world of mystery, a world that could very well be the last one they encountered.

Popeno quickly gathered his things from his horse, fitting a small pack around his waist and quickly tying it. He reached into it and retrieved a small vial of a purple liquid, he thumbed the cork for a bit before opening it, his other hand pulled his glass dagger from its sheathe. Only a few drops were needed and the poison coated the tip, he placed it back into its home and then removed his quiver. Quickly he went through all the arrows and coated each tip with a small drop, when that was done he corked the bottle and put it back into his pack and then slipped the quiver across his back. He sniffed and then rubbed the bottom of his nose as he made his way to the group, staying out of everyone’s eyes. The thought of one of them stabbing him in the back made his stomach uneasy and he could feel the stress pouring onto him like a thick sap. As they all made their way into the ruins, Popeno stayed in the back. He moved quietly, sticking to the shadows like he had done many times. The scurrying of footsteps could be heard, but the area they were in made it to where he could not pin point their location. If they were killed and he was left with a group of them to fight, maybe he could reconcile with them, show them he had sympathy for them. He chuckled at this, would they even care, would they even be able to understand him.

He moved slowly with the group, making no sounds when he brushed against something. Something scaly, he stopped and reached back to where it was, his hand grasped firmly onto the Argonian. His hand let go of him, he did not even see him there. His skill in stealth was as high as his; he must be a thief Popeno thought to himself. He stopped and turned towards the Argonian, or where he thought he was.

“I am guessing you are back here because you are using arrows.” He whispered very softly, his voice barely making a noise, quieter than the shuffling of feet. “If so, I would highly suggest you use poison on the tips if you haven’t done so already. That way if you miss and hit his arm he will still die.” He pulled the vial from before out and handed it to the Argonian, “Keep it, it is my own blend.”

Grawl walked first into the large new room and began looking around with a quizical look, upon further inspection all the entryways were blocked by more buzzing gates, except the one headed west. The floor was made of Dwemer metal and pulsated gently when stepped on. There was one giant seem iin the floor as if it were meant to open. The large orc continued and then stepped on a large plate on the mid-section of the floor without noticing, a loud creaking noise was heard and the floor suddenly opened. Grawl in the Imperial Mages fell through with roars and shouts of a gluttional sort. (The deciding factor here is speed, if your character is fast they may be able to lunge to the western door or the way they came.)

The room the floor fell out into was a black drop, about 30 feet. It lead into a large web-covered cavern with one exit heading north and another going west as well. Chittering and skittering was heard from the tunnels as Grawl and one of the Mage's slowly rose to their feet. Looking around helplessly in the dark for any others that feel. One of the two remaining mages was laying in an awkward angle with a large rock under his back where he feel. Blood smeared the rock where his skin broke, it was obviously a sudden death. However, the skittering from within the tunnels grew louder.

-Upper level- Around the fallen out floor there was small ledge on each side that could be skimmed by the quick and agile. The pit in which the Orc fell into was dark and it was impossible to tell the height from the area. Down the open western door a light was suddenly shining, which wasn't before and turning of gears came from the halls, as well as a heavy thud.

Dayolin had been walking with the group for some time now as they traveled through expecting Falmer. The only thing that the elf did not like about that race was the mass in numbers. Magic could only do so much, especially here. As they came closer to an open room the party stepped on a trapfloor. He was not a lucky one that escaped as he hit the floor with a thud. The Dunmer set off a light mass heal spell on the party almost by instinct to mend any possible broken bones.

Soon he heard noise in the distance. If he was correct, this was the lair of spiders, something else that swarmed in the masses. He began to panic as there was no light and he had no means of creating it. His hopes raised as felt a mage that who was crushed by a rock but the torso's arms were still good. He raised the body even though it would stay under the rock. "Magelight! Magelight! Use the fucking Magelight!" He shouted at the raised corpse. It was lucky that the mage knew the spell in life for the ball lit up the room. He would release the necromantic spell later but for now it would create a constant source of light. "Back in formation!" Dayolin shouted to those in the room with him as he prepared his healing and his fire.

Adanion:

Adanion frowned. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the mages who had led them into this abyss would not be on the return journey out. The moment their idiocy began to endanger the mission, he hoped that they would be dispatched. I have been assigned this mission, and I must see it through to fruition. With mages, or without. He thought. As they entered the new chamber, Adanion examined the seam stretching across the floor. "I think it wou—" Adanion was never given the chance to finish his thought. The panels that had once been the floor collapsed, and Adanion was swallowed by its black depths.

---

There was a grove before him. Fruit, long past ripe, falls to the ground and bursts its rotting entrails with a sluggish sound. The plants were all in mourning, rotting blackly in their sorrow. The sun that ignites the orchards to bloom was nowhere to be found. A wraith appeared, stalking closer and closer to Adanion. The pungent odor of blood flooded his nostrils, and his eyes strained to see in the inky darkness. A scream, high and shrill, pierced everything, but Adanion could not determine from which direction it came. It came from the left—no, no it must have been the right! The terrifying scream lanced at his heart, filling it with fear. Until he could finally take it no longer.

---

He hit the ground with a dull thud, his body limp as a ragdoll. Everything was murky, as if he had been dipped into a vat of tar and left to sink. His body ached, sore in places he wasn't even aware he had. Then, suddenly he was wide awake, each sense tingling with an anticipation that he knew could only mean enemies. He heard scuffling, and could hear the Dunmer mage scream something to his left. Suddenly, a bright light flooded the small chamber, and Adanion positioned himself next to the mage, who was already preparing some magicka. "To the end, sedura."