[ EU ] You live in Skyrim . It is your job to keep lit all the candles in the abandoned caves and dungeons and castles .

Dunwulf stared at the cave entrance before him with a look of practiced calculation. To most passerby this place would appear a gaping maw dripping with stalactite fangs poised to crunch their bones into dust but all Dunwulf saw was a gateway to the Drums. The Drums beat under the mountains filling the earth with its lifeblood, thrumming a lost heartbeat into the abandoned caverns and unpleasant places where it was almost completely forgotten, the people of the world spoke of the Drums in hushed tones as nothing but a fearful myth. Dunwulf knew better. He adjusted the straps of his worn pack, shifting the wrappings and jostling the bottles of oil. Crisply walking to the jagged arch of the passageway he came to halt beneath it muttering the ancient words that came so quickly to his lips. 
 
 “ Leiðin er bölvaður en fyrir röð þeir sem koma með ljós og það opnast. Ég, Dunwulf, sonur Gramulf, lýsa hlutlausan viðveru mína í þessu völundarhúsi til að halda myrkrinu í skefjum, til að knýja blysin af stærðargráðunni og að borga virðing til the trommur í djúpinu. “ ( The way is cursed but for the Order of Lightbringers it opens. I, Dunwulf, son of Gramulf, declare my impartial presence within this labyrinth to keep the darkness at bay, to fuel the torches of the Order, and to pay homage to the Drums in the Deep ) 
 
 The words flowed effortlessly and he was met with the customary silver glint of runes upon the arch. None but members of the Order could see them, their edges sharp and venerable and full of a long-lost wisdom. Dunwulf ’ s fingers wrapped around the hilt of plain silver dagger whose only ornamentation were runes etched into the hilt reflecting the inscription above him. He quickly brought the blade to his hand and swiped it across a palm that no longer resembled a piece of flesh. Its surface broke without hesitation, old wounds pooling the dark liquid in his palm and, taking this sticky substance, he wiped it upon the runes which instantly disappeared leaving no mark upon the rocky surface except for the stain of his blood. Wrapping his hand with a tattered cloth he replaced the dagger on his belt and strode into the cavern. 
 
 Upon reaching the first torch he realized that he should have come sooner, the oil-soaked cloth almost completely gone and his magic keeping it lit flickering from the length of time without renewal. He was growing old. He softly groaned and placed his pack upon the floor. Plunging himself into darkness Dunwulf took the torch from the wall, extinguished its light, and with exercised motions the torch was soon lit with new cloth and oil. Placing it back into its sconce Dunwulf took the green stone around his neck and held it before his mouth, gently blowing towards the flickering flames which glowed blue for a moment before settling back to a flickering yellow. It would last several months with the ancient magic despite his age. 
 
 He continued on in this way passing from one sconce to the next. The creatures of the labyrinth paid him no heed, his blood-gift having appeased the Drums who hid him from their fallow eyes and quivering snouts. Coming upon the old hewn crates he knew another Hero had been this way and stolen the goods. Dunwulf took some of his own rations and placed them within the crate, nailing it shut once more. The cube was more metal than wood by now, nails protruding from odd angles bent and broken but there was nothing he could do about that. It seemed that more and more Heros were passing through thinking themselves the first adventurers to discover these caverns. Dunwulf hated them but who was he to question the Drums. 
 
 It was with this thought that the subtle rumbling beneath his feet made his heart quench in fear. They had heard him and they were angry. He fought to push his quaking feet forward and continued his duty. Finally rounding the last corner he breathed a sigh of relief seeing natural sunlight pour out of the entrance. No torchlight could even begin to hope for reminiscence to that purest of light. Finally passing beneath the archway he smelled the fresh pine of the forest surrounding him but he could not linger. He turned to the south following a trail that had been worn down by his Order generation after generation until he came to another opening in the mountain. 
 
 Dunwulf stared at the cave entrance before him with a look of practiced calculation. To most passerby this place would appear a gaping maw dripping with stalactite fangs poised to crunch their bones into dust but all Dunwulf saw was a gateway to the Drums… 

