The Road to Nothing, or Day 4

"A mighty deed had the great Dragonborn been tasked with."

"Wingcutter."

The bard ignored him and continued with her narration.

"A mighty deed, and yet a simple task. Travel to the home of the Greybeards, the legendary High Hrothgar. Answer their summons. There would the Dragonborn discover his destiny. "

The four unlikely companions were tired and hungry from the long Journey. Both the nord houscarl, Lydia, and the khajiit mercenary, Inigo, carried bundles of pelts, poorly maintained weapons, a few harvested dragon-bones, and bloody armor, among other various junk. Carrying these burdens through the underbrush was not as easy as it had been on the road.

The bard maintained her spritely step, for she needed to keep her hands free and her shoulders unburdened to accomplish her divine artistic endeavor. The fourth, an argonian who called himself Rach the Wingcutter, was none other than the Dragonborn of legend.

He too carried little more than his own gear, though his collection of alchemical ingredients, (herbs, dead bugs, and other minor grotesqueries) had steadily grown over the last few days in both size and smell. As to the last few days...

"A half days walk, from the shining city of Whiterun, to the humble village of Ivarstead which sits at the foot of the 7000 steps."

"I know."

"A half day's walk. Not even on horseback."

"I know."

"Yet as they awoke on the fourth day..."

"I know where I'm going, all right? I'm not lost!"

There was an uncomfortable silence. before Inigo spoke up.

"My friend... I hate to side with the nagging bard about this, but I'm pretty sure we've been through this stretch of woods a few times."

Rach stopped and pouted, frowning as he examined the path ahead.

"Suddenly, a thought stirred in the head of the noble hero. 'Perhaps', he thought, 'We should get back to the road.' "

"Hey!" The argonian shouted at the bard, "cut that out! Stop saying what you want me to be thinking! Or, I mean, what I'm not thinking, what I'm thin... just stop it! We've gotta be close. That guy in Darkwater said it was up-hill all the way. Mostly. He said something about ponds, too."

"That's a river." Lydia pointed out.

"Yes, I know that's a river. We've found at least four rivers but not a single pond. And the path splits, but BOTH ways are uphill."

"I'm pretty sure these were all the same river. There is no shame in admitting you are lost, my scaly friend! Perhaps it would be best if we..."

"I'm not lost I'm just... turned around."

"For four days?" Inigo asked dubiously.

"I'M NOT LOST!"

"The mighty hero, too strong to admit defeat at the hands of a river..."

"This wouldn't have happened if there were ROADSIGNS!" Rach suddenly yelled to the sky, "Why, by the nine, are there no roadsigns in SKYRIM!?"

"Trolls." Lydia answered. Rach stopped, and slowly turned.

"You... it... what? What do trolls have to do with it? Do they eat the roadsigns? Can trolls in skyrim read, or something, so you need to keep them confused so they don't wander into town?"

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Lydia shrugged.

"I don't know about any of that," she said.

"THen WhAT ArE yOu TALKING ABOUT!!?"

"Trolls."

The argonian nearly ripped quills out of his head as he squeezed his eyes shut and made a pained expression. After a moment. He stopped and took a deep breath.

"Okay, Lydia? I need you t..."

And at that very moment a large brown and black troll, reeking of filth and rot slammed into the group, knocking Rach into Inigo and both into the river.

"You never should'a come here!" Lydia shouted as she whipped the steel battleaxe off her back and brought it to bear on the foul creature.

The bard, shocked at first by the sudden assault, both on the party and on her senses, backed away. Instinctively she drew her bow and took aim.

The troll gnashed its teeth and grunted, swinging its clawed arm like a meat-hook at the houscarl. Her armor took the hit, and answered with one of her own. lightning raced from the enchanted blade to the troll's body, sending it juttering back on its heels.

The bosmer bard let fly an arrow that sank into the trolls thigh. The thing roared, snapped the arrow shaft and slammed both arms into Lydia, throwing her back.

Even as the bard watched in stoic silence and nocked another arrow, the troll approached hungrily, drool cascading from his broken-fanged maw.

With a raspy warcry, the argonian charged past the bard. Shield first he slammed into the monster, bouncing off of it but staying in guard even as the troll was forced back a step.

With a whistling sound, an ebony arrow shot past the bard's face, picking up a few strands of her walnut-colored hair with the wind of its passing. The Khajiit ran past, switching his bow for his sword in a fluid motion even as the arrow struck home in one of the trolls eyes.

It hollered and swung its thick arms wildly. Rach and Inigo ducked in and out of its reach, taking swings and thrusts and performing flanking maneuvers, keeping it harried and distracted.

The bard saw this chance, and began sinking arrow after arrow into the monster's body. Still it fought on, and even with three fighting as one, the troll's wounds healed almost as fast as it received them.

"We need fire!" Inigo shouted. "Bard, do you know any magic? A little would go a long way, right about now!"

"Don't you know any?" she shouted back between volleys.

"No, but there is a funny story about that... I don't think now is the time!"

"By the nine this thing is exhausting!" Rach wheezed, "Where did Lydia go, anyway? Wasn't she right there?!"

"FOR SKYRIM!" came the warcry as Lydia dropped down from the rocks above, swinging the enchanted axe at the Troll. With a sickening sound, she sliced off the creature's leg.

Howling, it fell upon the ground, and began writhing in pain. Rach and Inigo took a step back. Lydia stood up, proud of her handiwork.

"Wow. Good move there, Astra."

"...What?" the bard said, taken aback.

"I said, good move. Didn't she do a good job?"

"...You meant Lydia did?"

"Of course. Why, what did I say?"

"You said... nevermind."

Still the troll, writhed on the ground in agony, its nightmarish bellows now turned to pathetic whimpers.

"I kind of feel bad for it." Inigo said, sadly. "Sure, it is a foul, stinky-breathed horror that would happily suck the marrow out of our bones for a snack, but... Lydia, couldn't you have aimed for the neck?"

"I was aiming for victory." She assured him.

"Still, let us put it out of it's misery. It is already trying to grow back that missing leg. Let us save it from that unpleasant experience."

Agreeing, the four companions finished off the troll. It stubbornly refused to die easily, and by the time it at last fell silent, every one of the adventurers was acutely aware of their exhaustion, their hunger, and their current unwashed smells, which now were mingled with the rancid troll-stink.

After a while, Rach spoke.

"Okay. The good news is, I know exactly where we are now and where we need to go. We are very close." Rach said, much to everyone's tentative relief. "Right up that way is the troll cave, yeah? And it goes sharply uphill after that to the top of that waterfall, right?"

Everyone nodded. He continued.

"So, I figure: up that way is probably just more trolls. We should cross the river and head up past those ruins."

"Soundly reasoned, my friend. Let's hope you are right." Inigo picked up his burdensome pack of loot and resources, as Lydia did the same. "Are you sure we need all these Dragonbones and shoddy weapons? It would take a master smith to make something useful out of them."

"Don't worry!" Rach laughed. "Everything's under control. We'll get to Ivarstead, and once we get there, we can sell all this junk to the local smith or merchant! Then we'll have a much easier time up those seven hundred steps."

"Thousand steps," the bard corrected.

"Wait... a thousand!?"

"Actually, it's seven thousand."

"SeVEn ThOUsaNd?!"