In Skyrim’s province of Eastmarch, near Kynesgrove, there was a certain little Nordic Tomb with a certain Icy Vault.
Naturally, for an explorer of dangerous places, and having explored a place that seemed virtually identical to this one in Coldharbour (Well, virtually didn’t include the lava floor in the one room but semantics), Argo the Rat had thought it a safe and perhaps fun place to explore alone while her tried and true companions were off doing other things in Tamriel. (Silica had something to do in Craglorn that she and Faraniel were remaining coy about, and the Traveler was investigating a nearby logging camp where the Forest had come alive. Green Pact stuff, clearly.)
Naturally, she found herself ambushed by three ravenous Draugr who favored shields and greatswords as their preferred weapons.
The battle was fast, and furious, and at one point, Argo felt herself being thrown backwards into something hard- and on either side of her she saw the edges of the standing Nordic Metal cradles that the Draugr had risen from.
She thought little of it beyond a slight grimacing thought of, “Yeah, nice sense of humor, rot-flesh.”
It seemed to be a little cramped, tighter than she expected for a tomb, but what else was she supposed think would happen when she had Draugr pressing in on all sides and keeping her from leaving the coffin they’d thrown her into? There was no room to use her Restoration Staff in such close quarters, however.
With a roar- she bashed out with her siphon attack and watched as the thing cracked open the last of the Draugr’s skulls.
It fell dead- again- and the whole room went silent.
Argo took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. And then she took a step forwards.
“Huh?” She blinked as her shoulders were stopped by the metal that was protruding outwards.
Argo took a step back…and then another. There was really too much room in the back of this coffin for…
“Oh you are KIDDING me.”
Argo swore to the Eight Divines, at the many Daedric princes that existed, and to those dead Draugr lying at her feet.
She hadn’t been thrown into a Coffin, she’d been thrown BETWEEN two of them!
Argo turned to slip through.
Nope- not enough room.
She tried to push her way through the gap.
Nope. She really seemed to be stuck.
“How in Nirn…?” Argo scratched at her head. She looked at the floor, or more specifically, the dust patterns around where the coffins had been standing before compared to where they were now.
Both of the two facing edges had been shoved together during the previous battle narrowing the gap that had obviously been there to get her stuck in there in the first place. That had to be the only explanation.
Had to be.
“….” Argo tried to shove the metal coffin to her right away, but it wouldn’t budge. “I could use the teleport strike, but…” But that spell required a distant, living target to work.
Draugr were close enough to make the spell work, but alas, there were no Draugr in sight.
“Hello?” Argo called out, loudly.
“Is anyone out there??”
No response was heard.
“I’ll take a draugr! Maybe even an Ice Wraith?”
Not a squeak.
“Maybe even a mouse?”
It would be a little under five minutes before she tried to transform into a werewolf, and discovered that the transformation actually had a required free-space distance before it could even work! “Well thanks a freakin’ lot, Hircine!!”
Well, it was either that or some stupid mana-level requirement which she was pretty sure was just the figment of some people’s imaginations.
An hour later, one of the Traveler’s pets appeared in front of her with a burst of teleportation magic. “Ah!” The Twilight giggled, “There you are! The Masterrr was wondering why you hadn’t shown up at the wayshrineee…” she devolved into laughter.
“Yeah, sorry ’bout that,” Argo motioned at the coffins, “kinda got stuck. Would you mind backing up a bit so I can teleport at you?” Argo asked.
“Maaayyybeee…” The Twilight spun around with a melodious giggle. “I’d like some form of… payment, yessss…?”
“Fine,” Argo scowled. “What do you want?”
By the time Calum saw Argo marching her way back to the wayshrine they’d set as a rendezvous point, the werewolf-transformed Breton looked like a rather strange horse with an equally strange rider. The Winged Twilight he’d sent to find Argo was riding on the girl’s back, legs crossed under her as a means of holding what seemed to be a lot of….
“Is that Draugr meat?”
“Don’t. Ask.” Argo growled, even as the Twilight took what appeared to be a flame-roasted arm, and bit into it with a delighted smile and a moan of what could only be described as someone who was gorging on a favored meal that they had not had in years.
“Nordic Dead taste just as yummy as I remember!” The Twilight said with a full mouth. “Fweeem!” That was a squeal of delight that the Traveler had never hoped to hear from a Daedra ever again. “But to have it roasted on demand…! This is simply divine!!”
Calum looked to Argo, who simply bared her fangs at him in a way that said, “We must never speak of this again.”