Waljor the Wicked
"I can't believe this..." Blaise growled in frustration, frowning as he looked at his scattered siblings. "I take my eyes off you for one second... and you all scatter like headless chickens! You don't even bother to look for each other..."
The mentioned ones just scratched their heads awkwardly.
"If someone gets lost," Avento commented, arms crossed, "the smartest thing to do is stay put."
"Shut up," Blaise snapped without looking at him, before fixing his eyes on the tallest of the group. "Hroar... why are you covered in blood?"
"There were a lot of enemies," Hroar replied calmly, as if talking about the weather.
"I didn't run into any," Samuel chimed in.
"Me neither," said Sofie, shrugging.
"Not at all. I just went fishing," added Alesan.
"No, no," Sissel shook his head. "I was just exploring."
"I found a few," Lucia said while inspecting her massive hammer. "They dirtied my weapon."
The others nodded, confirming that only she and Hroar had seen action.
"You're welcome," Hroar added with a proud smile, as if he'd done them a favor.
"Whatever, let's get out of here..." Blaise grunted, still annoyed. "And why did we even come into this place in the first place?"
"Sissel wanted to see what it looked like," Avento said, shrugging. "He kept asking until you gave in and agreed."
"Well, he's seen it, hasn't he?" Blaise growled. "Mission accomplished. We can move on. We're supposed to be in a hurry to find the master!"
No one protested. They just shrugged in resignation and followed him toward the exit.
Leaving was surprisingly easy. The place was wide open, no doors or barriers. Definitely Einar's work.
After several minutes of walking, they finally emerged at the summit of a snow-covered mountain. The freezing wind lashed their faces mercilessly, forcing them to pull coats from their backpacks and bundle up before continuing.
"I see a nearby cave," Avento pointed out, squinting. "We could spend the night there and head out at dawn, before we freeze to death."
"Yeah... I'm hungry," Sissel complained.
"I don't like the cold," Alesan added with a slight tremble in his voice.
"Fine, fine, I get it," Blaise relented. "We'll stay there for the night. We'll light a fire."
But as they approached, something in the air shifted. A wave of unexpected heat came from the cave. And then they saw him.
Someone was already inside.
A man sat by a fire, roasting what looked like a rabbit over the flames. His massive silhouette cast a fearsome shadow on the rocky walls. He was a burly figure with a long, tangled beard, short hair, and a scar running from his eye to his jaw. His muscles were like boulders, though he also had a prominent belly. Beside him rested a bloodstained war axe, still dripping fresh red.
The man looked up as he noticed their presence. A twisted, intrigued grin spread across his face.
Avento turned pale.
"…Waljor the Wicked," he whispered, a mix of tension and awe in his voice.
The rest of the group instantly grew serious.
"Hahaha! For that guy's kids to recognize me... what an honor," Waljor laughed mockingly. "You must've heard his stories about me, huh?"
"Not exactly," Avento replied coldly. "We heard them from bards who were threatened—forced to repeat that exaggerated tale... about how you fought our father for a hundred rounds and were the only one who escaped alive, bearing only that scar."
"An obvious lie," Blaise added, stepping forward. "You faced the master when he had barely begun his journey. As soon as you were wounded, you ran like a coward. But you keep bragging as if you'd survived a god... You're just a lucky loudmouth."
"Tsk, tsk..." Waljor clicked his tongue, rising slowly as he grabbed the axe. "Looks like your father didn't teach you manners. Maybe... as his oldest and mightiest enemy... I should be the one to do it."
His rotted grin widened.
"And if you die... I'd love to see the look on Einar's face when he finds out."
The tension shattered like glass. The youths drew their weapons instantly.
They knew this man was strong. Maybe... the strongest they'd ever faced.
Yes, he was just a bandit who had escaped from Einar. But that didn't make him weak. Einar's enemies were all monsters. And if someone had survived his wrath, it was because they were a monster too.
Waljor stood tall, his massive body casting a titanic shadow. Lifting his axe, he rested it on his shoulder with chilling ease. The mountain's cold seemed to intensify.
Without warning, he lunged forward like a savage bear, axe raised, charging at the largest among them: Hroar.
"Shield!" Avento shouted from the back, conjuring a magic barrier.
Hroar raised both of his axes just in time to cross them in front of him.
The impact was brutal. The magic barrier shattered into a thousand glowing shards, softening the blow just enough. Hroar was pushed backward, his boots carving deep tracks in the snow.
"Explosion!" Sofie shouted, pointing with her staff.
A sparkling fireball shot through the air. Waljor turned, swung his axe, and cleaved it in two. Both halves exploded behind him.
Lucia appeared at his back like a shadow, her massive hammer crashing down toward one of his legs.
"Hyaah!"
But Waljor leapt, surprisingly nimble for his size. He dodged the strike and spun in the air like a beast mid-dance.
Sissel seized the moment and fired three arrows at once, aiming for his torso.
Waljor spun his axe in a wide arc. The gust it generated knocked the arrows off course like dry leaves.
Samuel muttered enchantments, quickly boosting his teammates. Avento clasped his hands, aiming both toward the spot where Waljor would land.
"Fire rune! Frost rune! Lightning rune!"
Three magical seals lit up under Waljor's feet the moment he touched the ground.
The fire rune exploded violently. The bandit screamed, but used the blast's momentum to launch himself at Blaise with unthinkable speed.
Blaise raised his greatsword, cloaked it in magic... but it was useless.
The blow catapulted him backwards, sending him flying several meters before violently crashing against the cave wall.
"Blaise!" Avento shouted.
Luckily, Samuel had cast an Oakflesh spell on him, and now another healing spell wrapped him in light.
Waljor, still bleeding, smiled with his axe at the ready, like a demon fueled by battle.
But his priorities quickly shifted. His bloodshot eyes from the last charge locked onto Samuel: the healer, the support, the soul of the group. If he wanted to break these brats, he had to destroy their heart first.
But just as he prepared to strike at the boy, a figure flashed in front of him like lightning.
It was Lars.
The chatterbox of the group, always quick with a joke, said nothing this time. His face was set in iron focus, and his gaze was as sharp as the twin swords in his hands.
With an almost ghostly grace, he glided across the snow.
His feet spun with agility, and his swords danced in a whirlwind of steel and wind. He moved with a master's precision and a warrior's passion. The blades carved circles, lines, thrusts—fluid as water, violent as a storm.
Waljor growled and countered with powerful axe swings, but though brutal, his strikes were slower. Lars dodged, rolling under one of them, and in a spinning leap, like a lethal top, slashed across the brute's chest with both blades, leaving a crimson trail in the air.
The impact was real. The cut seared into the brute's flesh.
But Waljor wasn't just anyone.
With a roar, he took advantage of the close distance and slammed a fist directly into Lars's stomach.
"GAH!"
The blow was so strong it sent the young man flying like a rag doll, crashing into the snow several meters away.
"Hmph… looks like that guy did train them well," Waljor growled, seeing the blood on his chest.
He looked up and locked eyes with the closest one—
Sofie.
She had switched staffs. Now she held a green one, with an organic texture like a living ancient branch. Upon seeing it, the other siblings instinctively stepped back. They knew what it meant.
Sofie began chanting a spell softly.
From the staff, black roots and green tendrils grew, spreading like a plague across the ground, quickly entangling Waljor's legs with venomous speed. A sinister hiss accompanied the lashes of energy coursing through his body.
The poison entered. His balance broke.
"GRRRAAGH!"
With brute force, Waljor tore through the roots and freed himself, raising his axe to cleave the witch in two.
"SOFIE!"
A rain of arrows forced him to raise his arm. Sissel, from a flank, had covered her just in time.
And in that very instant, Lucia appeared like a bolt of lightning.
"HAH!"
The girl wielded a hammer twice the size of her torso. She held it with both hands, and when it struck Waljor's stomach, her entire body trembled with the channeled power.
The impact pushed him two meters back. Waljor landed on his feet, but his breathing was heavy, and his stomach trembled with pain.
When he looked up again, his eyes burned with uncontrollable rage.
"You cursed pests… I'll kill you all!"
With an inhuman scream, his body exploded into a vivid green aura.
"He's a Red Guard!" Blaise shouted from the rear. "He activated Adrenaline… he's recovering his stamina!"
The aura wrapped around Waljor like a second skin. His muscles tensed, his speed returned, and his eyes locked once more on Sofie, who was trying to switch staves upon realizing Miraak's wasn't effective enough.
She wasn't fast enough.
Waljor was already in front of her.
The other siblings ran desperately, but they knew they wouldn't make it in time.
"SOFIE!" Avento yelled, his voice vibrating with seriousness.
Sofie looked at him. She smiled with determination.
"Firestorm."
The sky roared.
And the world burned.
A fiery explosion burst from where Sofie stood, expanding in all directions like a terrestrial sun. The wave of heat forced everyone to throw themselves to the ground to avoid being incinerated.
Waljor was blown out from the heart of the inferno, turned into a human torch.
Avento raised his head from the snow, stunned.
"That's why I keep telling her to stop playing with staves… she can cast master-level spells easier than I tie my boots," he murmured as he stood up, a mix of pride and jealousy in his voice.
All the siblings nodded with tired smiles.
But Waljor… was still alive.
Covered in blood and ash, his face was a mask of burned flesh. His leather armor was completely destroyed, with only his pants intact. His left arm hung charred.
And still…
"DAMN YOU!!"
The scream made the snow tremble.
But before he could move another inch…
A shadow.
A flash.
A spray of blood like a fountain.
Waljor's head flew through the air, spinning slowly before landing in the snow.
Blaise stood behind him, firm and unrelenting. His bloody greatsword still dripped.
"Don't you dare touch my siblings," he said, his tone so serious it chilled the blood. Then he flicked his sword, cleaning the blade in a single motion.
"That was awesome!" Lucia exclaimed, clapping enthusiastically.
The others gave her odd looks.
"What? It was!" she replied, shrugging as the others just shook their heads and approached Blaise.
"Well done, brother," Avento said, patting him on the back.
"He was tougher than we thought. If we'd fought him alone, we would've lost," Lars admitted, sheathing his swords.
"Tsk… I didn't get to fight much. He sent me flying right away," Hroar grumbled with frustration.
"Let's rest. Let the beasts take care of the rest," Sissel said, turning toward the cave.
One by one, the siblings began walking toward the shelter.
But among the trees… someone else was watching them.
Runa.
Her clothes were singed, but her body was intact. She had reacted just in time to protect Sofie before the spell, though part of the explosion had reached her. Still, she smiled. She was happy. Everyone was okay. Everyone was strong.
"They can take care of themselves now," she whispered before looking at Shadow B and Shadow C. "You can go back. I'll protect them from now on."
"Well… if you say so," Shadow B replied with resignation. He knew that even though they were assassins, they were far beneath Runa's level.
Both vanished among the trees, leaving the young girl alone in the snow.
"Runa! Stop hiding, we saw you ages ago!" Blaise shouted from inside the cave.
"What can you do… looks like they missed me," she said with a smile as she removed her mask.
She was young, barely fifteen. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face as beautiful as it was fierce.
She had been the oldest girl at the Hall of Honor orphanage before Einar killed Grelod the Kind. She never asked to be adopted. She wanted to protect the others.
And so, Einar took her to the Dark Brotherhood. There, she was trained by the best… and by him.
Since then, her life had purpose: to protect those she once called siblings.
"Hey, Runa! Stop hiding already!" Lucia shouted, running toward her with excitement.
And Runa smiled, knowing she was finally home.