Hecerilar, the altmer hunter, sat on a bar stool. He was in a bar called 'Broken Sword', in western parts of Skyrim. It had been tough to get there, but he had finally made it. He was here to hunt the wolves.

Suddenly he realized, that he was surrounded by nords. As he sipped his mead, one of them spoke.

"What's this 'ere, a lonely elf in the land of frost? Feeling a bit... chilly, eh?" First the nord seemed offencive, but then, suddenly, he smiled warmly, and patted the altmer's back.

"Sorry about that." Quick exchange of glances between the nords. "You look like a good huntsman. Have you heard of the great Snow Wolf that lurks up the hills? We've seen sometimes it's tracks, which are huge, but we haven't found it nor seen it."

There was something strange going on here, Hecerilar knew, but he already could picture the beast's pelt as his helmet. It was far too great temptetion for him. He remained silent.

"Afraid, elf?" the nord mocked. "Don't go, elf." He whispered that, suddenly looking him with a strange look in his eyes. Was it pity, remorse? "Some others have done that, but have never returned."

Hecerilar just laughed.


*****

To Be Continued.....

Sounds interesting...

The descritpion of the wolf makes me think of the legendary 'Ondjage' froim Bloodmoon, who is said to be as big as a Ox.

Night was starting to fall. The last rays of sunlight lighted the hills ahead of him. His breath came out as big white clouds, as Hecerilar started to jog forward. Frost draw it's pictures to the hunter's clothes.

*****

Finally he found some tracks. They looked like ones left by wolf's paw, but there were something strange about them. First of all, they were huge.

But as he studied them closely, he shivered. Now he noticed the thing that had bothered him in the first place. The beast that had left those tracks, was not walking with four paws. It had runned with two.

And he realized, that one thing had changed. He was no longer the hunter, but the hunted.

For those tracks could've been left only by one creature... A werewolf.


_____________________________________________


To Be Continued...

I am certainly NOT gonna post the ending before at least someone makes a comment.... Does it suck so bad?

Heey man!...Please be patient....there are so many stories running at the time being, so it take some time to get comments...But don´t give up just continue posting..

Your story is very promising, though you might consider to make longer installments...but please feel encouraged to continue by all means...

I´ll give you one of these: and a

Yes, yes, I was just trying to figure out whether anyone has even read this. Back to writing then...

EDIT: And by the way, I meant the story to be told in small pieces, but I think I'll try to write a longer installment when I have time. (the next one won't be long though, sorry about that)

And perhaps, in the end, I'll gather the story up and write it down in one piece.

Hecerilar got up, and took last long look at the track. He stared into the darkness, face expressionless. He calculated his chances. He had a bow, some iron arrows and a steel shortsword. No silver with him, except a few jewelry. He swore silently. This was not his fight. He turned back to the route he had come.

Suddenly, a lone howl erupted from the woods in front of him. His eyes went wide, and his nostrils flared.

A second howl, this time from his left. Then a third howl joined the choir from his right side. This wasn't just a lone werewolf. Then it became silent. And then, at least dozen howls filled the night. There was only one direction to go to. The tracks of the werewolf...

He started to run.

***

I'm just tired to write the To Be Continued... all the time, so I won't write it from now on. I think you'll notice when the story ends.

Hecerilar, the altmer hunter, sat on a bar stool. He was in a bar called 'Broken Sword', in western parts of Skyrim. It had been tough to get there, but he had finally made it. He was here to hunt the wolves.

Suddenly he realized, that he was surrounded by nords. As he sipped his mead, one of them spoke.

"What's this 'ere, a lonely elf in the land of frost? Feeling a bit... chilly, eh?" First the nord seemed offencive, but then, suddenly, he smiled warmly, and patted the altmer's back.

"Sorry about that." Quick exchange of glances between the nords. "You look like a good huntsman. Have you heard of the great Snow Wolf that lurks up the hills? We've seen sometimes it's tracks, which are huge, but we haven't found it nor seen it."

There was something strange going on here, Hecerilar knew, but he already could picture the beast's pelt as his helmet. It was far too great temptetion for him. He remained silent.

"Afraid, elf?" the nord mocked. "Don't go, elf." He whispered that, suddenly looking him with a strange look in his eyes. Was it pity, remorse? "Some others have done that, but have never returned."

Hecerilar just laughed, gulped his drink down and entered the woods.

Night was starting to fall. The last rays of sunlight lighted the hills ahead of him. His breath came out as big white clouds, as Hecerilar started to jog forward. Frost draw it's pictures to the hunter's clothes.

*****

Finally he found some tracks. They looked like ones left by wolf's paw, but there were something strange about them. First of all, they were huge.

But as he studied them closely, he shivered. Now he noticed the thing that had bothered him in the first place. The beast that had left those tracks, was not walking with four paws. It had runned with two.

And he realized, that one thing had changed. He was no longer the hunter, but the hunted.

For those tracks could've been left only by one creature... A werewolf.

Hecerilar got up, and took last long look at the track. He stared into the darkness, face expressionless. He calculated his chances. He had a bow, some iron arrows and a steel shortsword. No silver with him, except a few jewelry. He swore silently. This was not his fight. He turned back to the route he had come.

Suddenly, a lone howl erupted from the woods in front of him. His eyes went wide, and his nostrils flared.

A second howl, this time from his left. Then a third howl joined the choir from his right side. This wasn't just a lone werewolf. Then it became silent. And then, at least dozen howls filled the night. There was only one direction to go to. The tracks of the werewolf...

He started to run.


_____________________________________

Here it is as in one piece. For now on, the posts won't come so often, but they will be longer. (If there's enough tale left to tell, this wasn't originally meant to be long)

Nice story man. I bet that the nords are the werewolves and they were trying to warn him before they were forced to kill him in thier wolf form.

I need to pay more attention to the fan-fiction forum, lookin' good.

Yes Aki! please do.....there are some really good stuff here....such as this story f.ex!

Very good... Werewolf tales are always nice Good and easy discription of the actions, tho I wish there could be more text in your updates

I really like how its turning out now with the howls and werewolf track...

An interesting story. The idea of an Altmer hunter goes against convention (at least, what we usually see in the game), but that gives the story the potential to be quite unique. An Altmer with knowledge of werewolves is probably even more rare than an Altmer hunter; perhaps we'll get to learn how he came to this knowledge? So far, this story has been excellent; I'll certainly be looking forward to future updates.

He ran, until he tripped over a tree root. Then Hecerilar sobbed, and tried to get up. He couldn't. He was too exhausted, too cold, too terrified. The howls started to close. He started to crawl forward, too scared to just stay there.

Then the howling stopped. They were close enough to attack, and kill. No reason to give up their whereabouts.

He lay down and tried to be as small and as silent as he could. Maybe they wouldn't find him.

Not a chance. He could hear them smell the air, catching his scent. The snowy trees stood around him, silently witnessing.

The werewolf bit his arm. He screamed. Something surprisingly answered his scream. The werewolf letted his arm go, and raised it's head. Then it was decapitated by a nordic silver axe. The nord with axe and torch walked over me and the corpse. Too bad that the werewolf wasn't alone after the altmer. Hecerilar tried to get up, sobbing, and fell down again, exhausted and scared.

The horrible noises conjured memories from the past, memories he had thought he had buried long time ago. Memories he did not want to re-live. The nord screamed in agony. It reminded him of another scream, another time, time when he had been unable to help the screamer, just like now. His father. Hecerilar whimpered on the ground, possessed by his memories.

The altmer boy hided in the chest, while his mother, highborn, locked and barred the door. His father stood by the door with his claymore, the one that was too heavy to play with. He had once tried to lift it, but he hadn't been even able to get it of the table. They had known what risk they had took when they moved to the central parts of Skyrim. It was tough life for an altmer used to luxuries of cities. They had to hunt for their living, and the trader came by only once a month. They were the first colonists that had come to this area. Others were supposed to come in few weeks ago, but none had appeared. Instead, the beast that even right now scratched at the door, searching for an entrance, had come. Then the scratching stopped. They could hear it moving in the night. Suddenly it punched it's fist through the window, and tried to reach in. It was hairy, long-clawed and dirty, and suddenly detached from it's host, as the claymore came to cut it. We could hear it's whimper in the dark, outside the house. His father, his foolish, foolish and arrogant father had decided to go out and end it's life. His screams had lasted so long... Later, when morning dawned, they had went out. They had found his father, gutted like a fish, an expression of terror and pain on his face. They had fled from Skyrim, not wanting ever to return.

But now he was here again. Hecerilar went unconcious.

__________________________________________

Not so long as I had thought, but I think I'll update faster next time (or not, I had an inspiration this morning...).

A great update. I like how you've tried to tie the present to the past; I'll be waiting to see how he gets out of it this time.

Ooh..interesting.

Wonder who that random nord was..

I'm liking this story and am anxious to see what is to become of our dear altmer.

You'll see it on the next update... I promise...

okies....keep your promise then....and please update!

Exactly how I feel. Please! I must know!

I'd by the way like to submit this to the short story section. Is it worth it? Should I? How?


Update will come in a day or two. (I've been lazy now)

awesome story man! i thought the nords were the werewolfs, then that nord came i think it was the guy in the bar. my first time here in this forum i think i'll stay

yeah its brill!!.hey chips u got bunny in signatur too. i hope we help him take over the world!


edited by burntsierra: and try to keep on topic please.

His body gave the altmer only two options: wake up, or die. He woke up, his mind dizzy with the cold. His body was all numb, he could barely move his fingers and toes. He opened his eyes to the dawning light, and stumbled up, leaning to a tree. Had he drunk too much again? But why was it so cold? He numbly stared at the tree. Slowly, but surely, it dawned to him that the trees aren't supposed to be red. He touched the red stuff with his finger. It was some sort of liquid. It wasn't loose. He tasted it. The taste of iron filled his mouth. Blood. Then he remembered what had happened. It felt like waking up just to notice that the nightmares didn't end when the sleep ended.

He stared at the view in front of him. Then he turned around and vomited the little remains of food away. Then he turned back. His face was green but expressionless. The only thing left of the nord was his head, and his axe. He picked up the axe. Right next to the head was two corpses of werewolves. He examined the head more closely. He recognized it. It was the head of the same nord that had tried to warn him at the tavern. He buried it in the cold and hard land.

He felt slight pain all over his body, as the cold started to creep away with his movement. He studied himself. His clothes were shredded, and his body was filled with tiny wounds made by fang and claw.

He watched those wounds, confused. Those beasts could've slain him easily, but had left him alive. Why?

Then it struck him. Sanies Lupinus. The curse of the beast. Hircine, or some other creature of darkness with enough power to control werewolves sought him alive. And insane.

Now he had no option. He'd have to flee in hope that he would find a priest or a mage or an alchemist soon enough.

No use to stick around in this desolate place. He head off to the closest nord village. There he could take a sip of mead and visit their local shaman. The village hopefully wasn't too far away. He could make it during the daylight.

He would follow his own tracks back to the village.

He ran once more.

_____


It always seems so much more when it's on text document than when it's here...

So, he is now infected. I hope he manages to get healed before it's too late. I feel like something significant will happen on the way to the village; I guess I'll have to wait to find out. Thanks for a great update.

Trees flickered past Hecerilar as he sped through the forest, keeping his eye on the tracks. He stopped only few times, to catch his breath and to take a sip of water. It was late afternoon when he noticed a familiar hill. He stopped. If he remembered correct, the village was right behind that hill. He tried absent-mindedly improve his outlook, but then decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. He would buy new clothes from the village. He hurried to the top of the hill, and observed the village. It looked calm and peaceful. Yet there was something strange about it. He couldn't really put a name for it, but longer he watched the village, the more restless he came. He started noticing little things. No smoke came from chimneys. No one walked on the streets. No sounds.

Hecerilar took his bow and few arrows from his backpack and carefully stalked to the village. The snowy lane was filled with werewolf tracks. He putted away his bow. Werewolves are mere humans or other intelligent creatures during the day. There, in the center of the village, were some corpses. There lay the guards of the village, ruthlessly butchered. Their corpses were only partially intact, and it was hard to tell how many there had been. Around them were some corpses of the werewolves. He studied one of the guards corpse more closely. It had been propably killed last night. Then he noticed something strange. Tracks that were definitely not made by werewolves – at least not in wolf-form. They came from the northern side of the village, and seemed to visit all of the houses. There were more tracks coming out than going in. It was clear to Hecerilar that the people of the village, at least some of them, were held as prisoners. He dared not to imagine their fate. Hecerilar hurried forward, to the place he remembered to be shaman's house.

He opened the door, and started to search for a potion cure disease. He noticed a shelf full of potions across the room.

He stopped and stared it, horrified, and sat down to cry. He did not sob. Only tears leaked down his cheeks.

On the front of the shelf, on the floor, were three potions, shattered. The label was still readable. There were the potions he had been looking for, but now when he found them, they were useless.

Those bottles were purposefully destroyed. It was a message.

Someone is clearly going to a lot of trouble to see that Hecerilar becomes a werewolf. I'll be curious to see who it is, and why they want him so badly. Thanks for another great update.

Okay, I've almost written an another update (*sigh* I know, I've for some reason lost inspiration for quite a while).


But now I have to ask it. Do you want to know what will happen to Hecerilar?

Yes!

Yes; I would definitely like to know what happens. You've managed to get me sucked into the story; it would be very sad to leave things where they are.

Very well then, back to the writing...

I'll try and update this in couple of days.

When he got up, he had made up his mind. He read the labels on the rest of the bottles on the shelf, until he picked up and drunk few healing and fatigue potions. Then he took a bag from the floor and started putting the rest of the potions in. Once that was done, he walked to the door and went out to the beginning blizzard.

At this weather, he couldn't travel. He would have to stay for the night in some house, and in the morning hurry after the tracks. It would be a long and difficult way, but with these potions, he could do it. They were a real treasure.

Hecerilar letted his gaze wonder around the street and the houses, in search of a proper housing. There was a somekind of a sign in front of one house. He walked to it, and studied it more closely. The picture on it was two swords crossed and a smith's hammer. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He took the nord's silver axe from his bag, and started bashing the lock, until it broke. He pulled the door open with a creaking noise, stalked into the house and jammed the door shut as best as he could. The darkness of the room blinded him momentarily, but soon his eyes started to get used to it. Only little light came from the thick-glassed, small window that was on his left side. Right in front of him was a long desk, the one that is usually used in shops. On his right side were a couple of shelves that were full of items. On the corner next to the desk were stairs leading up. He opened his bag and pulled out a potion of Night-Eye. He drank it. Slowly the room lit up in his eyes. That room was full of various weapons. On the walls hanged swords of different sizes and styles from claymores to shortswords. The shelves were filled with knives, arrows and other projectiles.

He cautiously sneaked across the room to the stairs, managed to bump his knee on the corner of the table, and limp up those stairs with some swear-words.

The second floor was quite simple. A bed, desk with candles on it, table, chest, fireplace, few shelves with forks, spoons, knives, table cloths, plates and books. There was a larger window in this room, granting him some light from outside.

He relaxed. No one was around in this house. He went to the fireplace and begun to start fire on it with the firewood next to the hearth. With the first tiny flames on the wood, his night-eyes vanished, leaving him to the twilight.

He stumbled his way to the desk, took some candles and went back to the fireplace to lit them. He placed few of them on the table and the desk. Then he did his best to seal the window from any outside intrudors.

He sighed heavily. He felt really tired. He blowed out most of the candles, leaving only two left, and added some wood on the fire. Then he lay down on the bed and tried to get some sleep.




****


Okay, soon is time to start writing the next update...

He certainly is determined. I am a bit concerned about the locked door; if the village was carried off as prisoners or killed, why would one of the houses be locked? And with nobody inside? I sense great danger for our dear Hecerilar.

Thanks for the update. I'm looking forward to seeing how much my instincts have misled me

ohh please hurry up, ive been coming over here(this topic) everyday(sad i know) to see if there's been an update to the story so please hurry

Nightmares bothered him. Hecerilar walked the icy lanes of the small village, and saw his father across the street. He shouted to him, calling him to come. His father did not respond. He started to walk slowly to his father, speeding as he went. He yelled his father's name. Charislar.... Suddenly the voice started to echo. ....Hecerilar....

He woke up slowly from his deep slumber. The echo didn't die, but turned into loud voices calling someone. “Little elf! Where are you? Come out, we won't hurt you!” The last phrase sounded somehow.... Malicious. He could here more shouts little further away. He bounced off the bed and to the window.

Suddenly he realized something. The fire. He quickly took the bucket of water he had melted from the snow, and threw it to the fireplace. The fire hissed. Then he realized the full extent of his error. He had added the last wood to the fire late last night. There were only embers left in the fireplace, and he had just thrown a bucket full of water to it, extinguishing the fire to cease some little puff of smoke that it created, only to cause a large cloud of smoke to rise from the chimney.

He hoped that the – whoever they were – had not noticed it. If his guess was right, he would regret the fact that he would be found. He listened.

“Hey! Feros! Did you leave a fire burning to your forge?” Hecerilar cursed heavily under his breath, and tried to move as silently as he could. He picked up his outdoors clothes and put them on. Then he grabbed his potion bag. The voices were getting closer. He took a restore fatigue potion from the bag, and with some juggling managed to drop it. He froze. “Did you hear that?” Hecerilar cursed with extreme words now, and not under his breath anymore. He took another potion from the bag, and gulped it down. He expected the rush of energy to come. He checked the label. 'Restore fatigue', it said with large clear letters. No apparent effect. He shrugged, grabbed his sword and headed downstairs.

“Hey! Feros, your door's lock has been broken! The elf must be here! All, come! Remember, catch him alive! Mere fast death would not be enough for this one!” Hecerilar froze just down the stairs. He could see someone opening and closing the door, as if to see the damage done to it.

He made up his mind fast. There was no way out upstairs, and the windows were too small downstairs. There was only one way out of here. The door. He took a deep breath, and sneaked to the door. He could hear the man breathing outside, and see the breath from the little opening.

He kicked the door to the man's face and made a run for it. He could hear the man cursing behind him. He headed up to the hills, where the tracks lead. An arrow flurred past his head. He ran and ran until he was out of breath. He was away from the village now.


*****

Yet to continue....

ohh yeah thanks, i wonder were those people untransformed werewolf's and how did they know our hero ???

whens the next update???????

Thanks for the update; it's been a while in coming. Hecerilar seems unable to extricate himself from this series of problems; I do hope that his luck will soon change.

ohh come on, more story more story...

I don't know.... I haven't been working on this in ages. I'm also participating one rp in another forum, and planning to participate another in Elderscrolls.com. I've also acquired Oblivion about a week ago, and I'm busy playing on that do.

They're rather timeconsuming.

I will propably finish this fanfic some day, but it might take months before I find the inspiration and will to do so.

And I also have a real life.

The rest of us don't!... just kidding. Anyway it's nice to see werewolves being more.. oragnized

likewise, but what's wrong with vampires?

damm live always getting in the way of things....

I know exactly how it is! You write a story, then real life intrudes and you have to take a pause in writing! I just have..I haven´t updated since may......but nevertheless I welcome an update when it comes!