Farkas and I emerged out of Dustman’s Cairn, beaten and battered. My Ancient Nord Sword and War Axe were coated in blood, and Farkas was nearly a pin cushion for the Draugr’s Arrows. We thought the fighting was over, and we could tell Kodlak about my honorable performance. But we were wrong. Dead wrong. The worst had came.
The fighting, it was over. I had to rely on my inborn ability, Histskin for salvation. But we did it.
We were up to our waists in bandits, axes, swords, bows and blood, yet we remained standing.
In Sovngarde, within Shor’s mighty halls, heroes will sing of this battle for years to come.
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