Celdryn jolted up. The beating of his heart was thunderous. Duhnk-duhnk-duhnk it went. It took several minutes to calm it down. The cannibal looked around; the moment he disbanded himself from the dreaming world and emerged in the real one, the surrounding scent of crimson-happiness told him he was in unfamiliar territory. An unfamilliar glen in an unfamilliar region of Skyrim. The Twin Moons penetrated the thick green roofs and gave light to several things; a naked Celdryn, the aforementioned blood (large quantities of it, too), and something that could only result when somebody plays with a corpse using a grindstone. Celdryn rose, ignoring the little winter-needles stabbing at his whole body, and kicked the cadaver on its back.
He doesn't know who this one was, but the Breton thanked him. Thanked him for providing the meal that would satiate the wolf and the demon inside for a time. Too bad he didn't have any clothes to offer. Not that the Breton needed it, but a single spark of decency wouldn't hurt anyone. He doubted the nearest town would welcome him at the state he was in.
From the corpse to the surroundings, the royal-red stare assessed the location. Judging by the strong smell of the ocean, and the position of Azura's Star in the sparkling sky, he was somewhere in the... West? Northwest?
Strange.
Memory offered him the latest news after Celdryn racked it mercilessly; of a dungeon dive with Faendal the Elf. Near the city of Windhhelm... The duo discovering some relics.... And them. The silver ones who hunt. One of them landing a nasty blow to the Bosmeri. And rage. The terrible, terribble rage.. The wolf carrying the wounded elf to safety.. Void after that. And then, the here and now.
Hmmmm.
Celdryn found a log and sat on it, chin on hands, royal-red stare directed at the corpse, serpentine mind considering. From above, the stars and the corpse of Lorkhan watched the Killer-King. When dawn was painting the blue skies with the orange of the rising sun, Celdryn decided to rebuke Hircine as his patron. This blessing is becoming quite the curse, its wolverine gifts be damned to the lowest pits of Peryite. With this in mind, Celdryn rose and walked towards the North.
But he stopped dead, a void beginning to gnaw at his black heart.
With the dawnlight, he was able to see clearly that the corpse, amidst all the blood, had the familiar silver hair.
And the cursed, wretched, damned, elven ears.
---
Within the Palace of Kings, Ulfric Stormcloak, the infamous 'Bear of Markarth', heard a distant cry of a mournful wolf.
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Yes. Its true. But not so dramatic and corny like the one I painted here. So yeah, while me and Faendal were adventuring in Gallows Rock (the second time for Celdryn, first for Faendal), the err, uhh, 'occupants', shall we say, have crossed paths with Celdryn again. They were numerous so I turned into the Mangy Beast and went into Maim-Eviscerate-Feast-Evil_Laugh Mode. So did Faendal (without the Evil_Laugh mode), who charged at the 'occupants' with the Mangy Beast, elven-axe flailing. I don't know why he did that; he usually goes Legolas at the backseat.
Aaaaaaaaaand. Yes. I accidentally sent him flying across the room with a Power Attack. I hoped he was okay, but when I checked him, he was deader than a dead Draugr.
This is the first follower death I experienced in a loooong while. And by my hand, too. I gotta say again, Faendal usually goes Legolas from afar. Why imitate Celdryn the Psycopath? Tsk-tsk-tsk. Oh, well. I can always reload.

EDIT: Fool! What a fool I am! Like, seriously! I'm looking at Faendal's inventory right now and HE DOESN'T HAVE A BOW. And I have a Dwarven Bow of Sparks in MY inventory. I forgot to re-arm him! WOOOW. This amazes me. I know that I am forgetful. Huzzah!