There was a hammering on my door this morn and, feeling a little bleary-eyed after last night’s festivities, I threw on a robe and went to see who was there. Outside stood a tall, fair-haired woman with brilliant blue eyes. She was carrying a huge pail, from which rose an appetising smell. Bobbing a curtsey, she stepped inside and walked to the table in the corner. Fetching a bowl from the shelf, she removed the cover from the pail and ladled a grey coloured gruel into the earthenware bowl. “Will ye be having the salt or the honey wi’ yer porridge?” she asked.

“Honey,” I replied, nonplussed. With a smile, she fetched a small wooden box from her apron and, opening it, she scraped a thick curl of honey from the comb inside and dumped it into the steaming gruel. Taking a spoon, I sat and tentatively tasted the stuff. The smell hadn’t lied ~ despite its unappealing appearance, the ‘porridge’ was very pleasant. A thick mixture of some grain and milk, boiled until it was thick and glutinous.

“I have messages for ye,” the woman said. With my mouth full, I indicated with my spoon that she should speak. “The Shaman wishes ye tae see, at your earliest convenience. An’ Snedbrir the Blacksmith has that you visit him asked.”

“Thank you…” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Anyanka,” she replied, blushing slightly before beating a hasty retreat. As the door shut behind her, I scraped the bowl clean of the last traces of its contents and sat back with a sigh. Since the blacksmith’s forge was closest to Rigmor’s… my house, I decided to visit there first.

“Bloodskaal,” Snedbrir said, setting down his hammer as I stepped into the workshop at the back of his hut. “I have for you something more fitting than the furs ye’re wearing.”

I noticed my Templar armour sitting on a bench. The blacksmith had hammered out the few dents it had picked up and polished it until it gleamed. This, however, was not what Snedbrir meant. Beside the forge was a form, a simple block of wood carved into the rough likeness of a human figure. Adorning this mannequin was a set of armour. Made of a silvery-coloured metal, the tiny interlocking rings glistened in the light of the forge. Elsewhere, beaten panels of solid metal had been worked into various designs ~ swirls and knots predominantly, but there was a scene on the shield that ~ on closer examination ~ showed a stylised Dunmer battling a wolf-like creature.

“My Gods, it’s beautiful,” I breathed as Snedbrir lifted the ring-mail cuirass from the wooden form and helped me into it. It was quite a bit heavier than the Templar armour, but not so heavy that it would cause me a problem. The shimmering links of chainmail flowed like heavy water as I moved. In addition to the long cuirass, there was a pair of greaves, a pair of boots, gauntlets, pauldrons, and a massive helm. The huge, square shield completed the equipment.

Clad in my Skaal armour ~ shield slung across my back in imitation of the Skaal guards, I stepped outside ~ slipping the short silver-blades that I seemed to have inherited into the sheaths that Snedbrir had affixed to the belt. I wished that I had a reflecting glass but the admiring glances of the guards as I walked passed them told me how good the armour looked. Korst seemed quite impressed as I stepped into his hut, nodding his approval.

“A true warrior o’ the Skaal ye now look,” he said. We sat, and Korst told me that he feared that Tharsten Heart-Fang had met a similar fate to Captain Falx Carius. I got the impression that Korst Wind-Eye knew far more about what was going on that he would, or was willing to, tell me. Worried that pressing for an answer might offend the Shaman; I listened as he detailed what needed to be done.

“Afore he went an’ vanished, Tharsten was tae speak wi’ ye about something that needed tae be done. Did he?” I shook my head and Korst sighed. “So, a ceremony there is that we need tae perform. This ceremony is called the Ristaag. I have my suspicions about the threat we’re facing but the Ristaag will confirm it. There is a wee problem. Afore we can the Ristaag perform, we have need o’ a token o’ the Skaal. ‘Tis a necklace, simple leather wi’ a wolf-fang an’ a bear-claw on it.

“‘T’will take a fierce warrior tae get the Totem from Skaalara,” he continued, “and 'tis you that I’m sure should go. It cannae be coincidence that ye here should arrive just as these strange events start tae happen…”

“If you’re implying…” I said, cutting across what he was saying. “…That I had anything to do with whatever is going on…”

“Whist,” he said, dismissing my interjection with a wave of his hand, “the cause o’ the events? I think not. But the trigger that started these events: aye that ye may be. An’ for that reason, ‘tis you who should fetch the Totem of Fang and Claw from Skaalara.”

“What events?” I asked. The Shaman sat, lost in thought for a moment, and then responded to my question.

“Some ~ the disappearance o’ Tharsten an’ your Captain Carius, the sudden appearance o’ so many werewolves, the flames on the open ice ~ ye ken already. Some, such as the unquiet dead, ye dinnae know anything about. There are others that I will nae discuss wi’ ye at this time. Others have not yet come to pass and, askin' the One’s favour, willnae.”

“Unquiet dead?” I asked.

“There have reports been,” he said, “o’ the walking dead near tae Telos Rin. I’m no convinced that these have anything tae do wi’ the Blood…” he stopped suddenly. “Anything tae do wi’ the problems we’re facing,” he concluded. “Ye may want tae look into it. Telos Rin is down by the coast, speak tae the caretaker if ye’ve a mind tae investigate.”

Finding Telos Rin wasn’t difficult, I just headed over the edge off the hill and down towards the shoreline. The caretaker was a thin Nord named Fjolfr Brown-Eyes. He seemed to think that there are catacombs below the tombs but he knew very little about the recent disturbances: in fact, he asked me to report back to him if I discovered anything about them. With Fjolfr’s blessing, I entered the dark Barrow that housed the tombs of the Skaal.

The Barrow was quite small, just four chambers branching off from the main entrance. In one of the chambers, I discovered a Dragon-Slayer blade ~ a heavy, two-handed sword of the sort favoured by the legendary warrior Kilgarn. Despite its unwieldy size, I took this ancient blade ~ even if I cannot use it, it will make an excellent addition to my growing collection of artefacts. In one of the side-tombs I discovered a hidden door that led down into the catacombs below the Barrow.

A short, snowy passageway hacked into the ice led down to another set of chambers. The grey stone walls stretched away in front of me, broken on the left by a passageway. Deciding to head down the short passageway, I quickly found myself in a central burial chamber. The mouldering corpse that had been chained to the pillar of stone directly opposite the entrance to the crypt gave me pause for thought ~ as did the note affixed to its grinning head:

Well, you might as well wave a sword at a Nordic warrior as put something like that on a note in a crypt. Any self-respecting thief, rogue, or adventurer is going to be compelled to examine the contents of the tomb after a warning like that. I was no exception. The fluttering banner identified the scattered bones in the first niche as Felos Bear-Kin. Arrayed by the shelf were some fur-covered armour (from the bear’s head helm I guess that this was bearskin), a large, double-headed Nordic axe, and a small stone chest. This stone box yielded up five ten-Septim pieces.

Since nothing untoward had happened when I’d taken the coins, I moved around the chamber to the second niche. The rotting banner identified these bones as having been one Kelos Keen-Eye. Now this was more like it: there was a demon-bound longbow, three pieces of armour, and a chest containing ten five-Septim pieces. Touching the box seemed to trigger some form of summoning spell, there was a clatter of bone behind me and I turned to face three skeletal warriors armed with axes.

Great new addition Override

Mmm..

Telos Rin, what mod would that be a part of? As i've not encountered such a place ingame.

[quote=Aki]Mmm..

Telos Rin, what mod would that be a part of? As i've not encountered such a place ingame.

[/quote]
Surprisingly enough... Telos Rin Graveyard by Dalin. You can find it at the Summit

The title to this new part just draws me in to reading this more and more. You do have a way of words. Please keep it up. :goodjob:

The Blodskal sang a triumphant song as it cleaved bone, spinning white shards flying off with every impact. The shield proved to be a gods send, allowing me to block the axe-blows and force the weapons up and away while I hacked away at the skeletons from underneath. When I had reduced the defenders of Kelos to small splinters, I turned back and examined the armour ~ which was of a type I’ve never seen before.

Much of the armour was made of the same glistening metal as the armour I wore but, where there were glistening sheets of tiny metal rings on my suits of armour, there were solid plates of a pale blue metal on Kelos’ armour. When I picked the armour up, it was far lighter than I expected ~ the massive plates of metal had made me think the armour would be very heavy yet it was, in truth, not much heavier than the chainmail I wore. Since I was unable to carry the armour in my pack, I took the cuirass, greaves, and helmet to the top of the icy slope and stacked them there ~ along with the demon-bound bow ~ so that I could take them with me when I left.

The third niche contained little more of Belos Swift-Feet than a few shards of bone and a lot of dust. There were two pieces of fur armour, the dark colour made me suspect that they were made of wolf-skin, beside the niche but they were so rotted as to be almost unusable. A demon-bound short-sword didn’t add to the value of the goods, although the inevitable stone box contained another fifty Septims. If there was a spell on the remains similar to that one the skeleton of Kelos, time had eroded it.

Nearby was a simple stone altar, the dishes and plates arrayed around and upon it filled with decayed vegetable matter. The one hundred and seventy-five Septims stacked on top of the altar was much more interesting.

Returning to the main corridor, I made my way cautiously down it “'n waedlyd Annwfn!” I yelled, throwing myself flat on the floor as a section of the passageway went ‘click’ under my foot and a huge spinning fireball launched itself down the corridor at me. As the spell detonated against the snow-covered incline that led back to the tomb, I risked looking up and down the corridor in the direction the fireball had come from. Dimly I could make out a small hole in the wall at the end of the corridor, the orifice surrounded by soot. Okay, this Telos character hadn’t been joking when he said he’d trapped the catacombs.

On my hands and knees, I crawled forwards down the corridor ~ cringing every time I moved my hands forwards. Inevitably, Telos hadn’t been content with a single trap: the floor went ‘click’ under my hand and I threw myself down as a pair of fireballs, one after the other, vomited forth from the trap at the end of the tunnel. Crawling past the boulder that marked the edge of the trap, I went past the charred remains of a former adventurer ~ one who’d not been as lucky as I was.

The second trap in the corridor proved to be the last ~ although the pair of rotting and skeletal wolves that guarded the golden door at the end of the next corridor showed that Telos was pretty adamant about deterring unwelcome visitors. This door led into a simple chamber ~ the centrepiece of which was a raised and shaped stone platform. On this lay the preserved remains of a Nordic warrior. In the final chamber I discovered another shredded corpse, although there seemed to be no trap associated with this one. Fluttering near the body was a note which stated that Melos Rin has grown tired of treasure-hunters and tomb-raiders defiling his family’s tomb and that he had ‘taken steps’ to protect the catacombs. Having narrowly avoided death on several occasions as a result of those ‘steps’, I thought this somewhat of an understatement. Several books nearby indicated that this Melos was a fairly powerful necromancer ~ which would certainly explain Korst’s ‘unquiet dead’. Since Fjolfr Brown-Eyes would probably be interested in this information, I decided to return to the surface.

Except that, somewhere in the maze of narrow passages, I took a wrong turning. The long corridor I found myself in ended in a door ~ upon which was carved ‘HALLOWED GROUNDS’ in Nordic runes. No amount of brute-force, magic, or finagling with a lock-pick would convince the door to yield so, defeated, I backtracked and sought out the surface one more. Fjolfr Brown-Eyes was, as I’d thought he would be, interested in hearing that Melos was defending the tomb. He thanked me for exploring the catacombs and giving him the news. As a reward, he gave me a ring he described as ‘The Rin Family Crest’. The ring bore some minor enchantments so I thanked him for it.

I made my way to the place Korst had said I would find the Totem of Claw and Fang, the Tombs of Skaalara. There was one interesting snippet of information that the Shaman had neglected to mention ~ the damn place was crawling with werewolves! Drawing the twin silver short-swords and preparing a line of healing spells, I stepped over the corpse of the first werewolf and ventured into the tombs.

I was fortunate, in a way, I was carrying many potions that I’ve picked up in my travels and some of them ~ the restore health, restore magicka potions certainly came in handy as I hacked and slashed my way through the dark tunnels ~ the eerie howling of the lycanthropes echoing all around me. The spells that Jaron taught me also came in very useful ~ the swirling frosts and killer snows I was able to create helped push back my attackers when things got very crowded. With flashing silver, explosive spells, and my heart in my throat, I pressed on….

Shaken by my experiences in the tombs of Skaalara, I beat a hasty retreat as the sun set. Korst was delighted to receive the Totem of Fang and Claw and rewarded me by teaching me something of the Skaal magic. Since their magic is intimately tied to the land, much of their Craft revolves around manipulation of stone and trees. Some of it is a little more… aggressive, and it was one such spell that Korst taught me. When I left the Shaman’s hut, I was accompanied by a padding shadow, a spectral wolf that I had successfully conjured up out of thin air.

I've got a short attention span at the moment so I can only read the first paragraph but the choice of words are exquisite...you wordsmith you. :goodjob:

Something had been nagging at me all night and, as I sat and ate the porridge that Anyanka had served me, I thought hard ~ wracking my memories to find what it was that tasked me. I grinned as I put the spoon into the clean bowl: I knew what it was. When I’d spoken to Fjolfr Brown-Eyes at the graveyard, he’d said he looked forwards to speaking to Melos again. Yet, according to the note and belongings I found, Melos was actually using the catacombs as a base of operations ~ hence the tales of the restless dead.

I returned to Telos Rin and made my way down to the catacombs again. Searching much more carefully, I came across a small shield-shaped crest. This bore the same device as the ring that Fjolfr Brown-Eyes had given me yestere. More importantly, the shield was exactly the right size to fit into one of the rebates alongside the door to the ‘HALLOWED GROUNDS’. As I hoped, slotting the shield into place opened the door.

As befits the home of a necromancer, the area under the Telos Rin graveyard was crawling with resurrected creatures ~ skeletal bears, wolves, and Men. None of these posed much of a concern to me, although I have to admit that seeing the bulk of a skeletal bear rising up on its hind legs, rotting flesh handing from its bones, gave me pause for thought. Close to the entrance was a chamber, guarded by two skeletons, which had served as a base for Melos. It was in this small chamber that I began to get an inkling of what had transpired. There were many pages in the journal I discovered, but the most interesting were the ones that detailed Melos’ work in the catacombs. The two most pertinent passages read as follows:


There were no entries following the one headed “Day 4”: making it fairly obvious that Melos had failed to gain control of the situation and had been killed by this ‘guardian’. Unhappy with the thought of such a creature so close to the Skaal village, I decided that I should investigate further and destroy it, if possible.

I followed the tunnels, climbing a steep ramp that led to a vast chamber. The bone-wolves proved to be no concern, falling easily before the Blodskal. “Erm,” a voice floated out of the darkness above me, “I dinnae wish tae be a bother, but if ye could see your way tae setting me free I’d be well pleased, ‘cause I dinnae fancy spending the rest o’ the winter TRAPPED IN THIS FREAKING CAGE!”

I clambered up the ladder and leapt across the gap between the two stone ledges, finally coming face to face with the speaker. It was a rather portly Nord with a swirl tattoo on his face. I examined the cage, the bars proving to be solid metal and quite impossible to break. “Look,” Melos said patiently, “I dinnae want tae try and teach ye your job, but do you no think I’ve not tried breaking down the bars? There’s a lever, in the main tomb, that’ll open them. But ye’ll have tae have a care, Akir is in there and he’s no an easy opponent.”

Promising Melos that I would return as quickly as I could, I made my way back down into the passages below and followed them around to the central crypt. There I met Akir, a Dremora lord. As is always the way, the creature attacked the instant it saw me and that aggressiveness proved to be my salvation. For, as Akir raced across the floor of the chamber, there were a series of titan crashes as bolts of energy shot up from various sections of the floor, causing the Daedra to roar in anger.

By keeping my back to the wall, I was able to force Akir to remain in the main part of the chamber ~ being continually shocked by the trapped floor, as I lashed out with the Blodskal repeatedly. Melos had been correct, Akir was a fierce opponent but the combination of my sword-blows and the powerful magical trap, and it didn’t take me too long to send the fiend howling back into the void.

By edging carefully around the perimeter of the chamber, I was able to come to the back of the room where the trap didn’t seem to function. There I discovered the lever that Melos had mentioned, pulling on it should have released the necromancer. I also found a double-bladed axe ~ the blade of which was enchanted with a very powerful spell that enhanced the strength of the bearer threefold.

Melos was suitably grateful that I had released him and seemed to understand when I warned him that I was no fan of necromancy and that I would take great exception if any of his experiments were to affect the Skaal. He laughed, telling me that his experiences at Telos Rin had soured him on the idea of living on Solstheim and that, as soon as he could pack his belongings away, he planned to return to Skyrim.

As I left the Telos Rin graveyard, the sky darkened and deposited a huge cloud of snow on the landscape. As the howling wind whipped the snow into an obscuring cloud, I quickly made my way back to the village. There, behind closed doors and shutters; I stoked the fire and rested.

Still great as always Override! :goodjob:

Great as always

Anyanka had something different today: small, plate-sized cakes of some root vegetable. These were served with thin rashers of deliciously tasty meat that appeared to have been fried. As I enthusiastically munched my way through this marvellous meal, Anyanka told me that Korst wanted to see me.

“Bloodskaal, greetings,” Korst said as I stepped into his hut. “We are, this day, the Ristaag ready to perform. ‘Tis a good idea, I think, for ye tae participate in the Ristaag. As I said before, a catalyst for events you are and it is important that the Ristaag be completed successfully. This, I think was meant to be,” he added, overriding my objections. I spread my map on Korst’s table and he showed me where I was to go. On the western shores of Lake Fjalding, amidst the trees, I will find the Master of the Hunt: Rolf Long-Tooth. He will explain my part in the Hunt to me.

Following Korst’s directions, I made my way to the high ridge that borders the western side of Lake Fjalding and found the Skaal waiting beneath the trees. “A good thing it is, ye to have on the Hunt wi’ us,” he said. He went on to explain that the Ristaag (or The Hunt) is performed each year and that there is a special position for the most promising warrior, the position of Hunt Seeker. This year, the position of Hunt Seeker was to be mine. Rolf Long-Tooth explained that it would be my task to lead the final stages of the Hunt. There was, however, a problem. According to Rolf, the Ristaag wouldn’t start until the moons watched over us. He suggested that I return to the village and prepare, returning closer to nightfall.

Instead, I asked him for directions to the Altar of Thrond. He seemed amused by this, but told me that the Altar could be found east of where we stood. Sigvatr the Strong was exactly where Kolfinna had told me he would be, moping as he sat on the Altar of Thrond, a partially empty flask of Mead beside him. “Greetings Bloodskaal,” he said as I sat beside him.

“Sigvatr,” I responded pleasantly. “Can you tell me, why you have not paid the wergild to Kolfinna?”

“Ka i hellvette!” he snapped, leaping to his feet. “Not ye as well. Another mind that woman has poisoned against me. Let me be telling ye, ‘twas Gustav Two-Teeth that me attacked, no the other way around. I should wergild be demanding from her!”

Well, that was interesting, I thought as Sigvatr paced up and down. Interesting because I’d heard the falsehood ringing in every word. And, from what I understood of Skaal tradition, there was no reason Sigvatr would think he was entitled to wergild and, if there was some vague reason he was, he would have been there demanding it. “Calm yourself Sigvatr,” I said, soothingly. “I meant no harm or offence. Here,” I added, extending the flask of distilled Mead that Korst had given me, “have a drink to show there are no hard feelings.”

We sat and drank the contents of the flask. Well, actually, we sat and I wet my lips from the flask while Sigvatr drank the contents of the flask. It has been my experience that Nords, while they have a vast capacity for alcohol, have a tendency to become garrulous when drunk. Sigvatr proved to be no exception. Maudlin, tears pouring down his face, Sigvatr finally admitted that he had killed Gustav Two-Teeth. The killing was an accident ~ they’d both gotten into a drunken altercation and, when Gustav grabbed his dagger-handle, Sigvatr assumed he was going to attack him. Sigvatr struck first, killing Gustav.

I gently suggested that giving the Pinetear as wergild to Kolfinna might assuage his guilty feelings. He nodded, fishing a small amber stone out of his pouch and giving it to me. I took the opportunity to examine the ‘stone’ as I headed south along the river. I had thought it was some form of gemstone but it was much more rare than that. What I held in my hand was a tiny crystal of that ice-like substance, shaped like a teardrop. Around it, carefully polished and shaped like a larger tear, was a piece of fossilised Pine Sap. It was an exquisite piece and, had it not had such importance to the widow, I would have kept it for myself.

Kolfinna sat and looked at the stone, tears running down her face. Through her sobs, she thanked me for my effort on her behalf and said she considered me to be family. If I needed a bed, or shelter from a storm, I was welcome to share her dwelling at any time. Moved almost to tears myself, I thanked Kolfinna and stepped outside. Sniffling, I headed back to the north.

A copse of Spriggans forced me further west than I would have liked and I found myself once more amongst the Moestring Mountains. The steep slopes and treacherous footing forced me to stay on the western side of the mountain range. I was using Haakon’s staff as a walking aid when I spotted a Dwemer cog jutting from the snow. Now, as far as I know, the Dwemeri never built on Solstheim so there was only one explanation for the prescience of the large metal wheel. A little further on I discovered another cog and a smashed barrel that, by the smell of it, had once contained Scuttle.

After fighting off several wolves that seemed to regard the shattered wreck as a their property, I started sorting through the wreckage. It wasn’t long before I found the Captain’s Journal, grim and depressing reading it was too. It seems that they’d made good time from Vvardenfell (despite a couple of problems ~ like bits falling off their craft) and had found Hrothmund’s Barrow. However, a blizzard blew them off course ~ with zero visibility and no instruments, they had been unable to correct their course. There was nothing after this entry, but the rest of the tale was simple enough to guess. Lost and blinded, they had flown themselves directly into the mountainside. Packing the journal into my pack, I checked the time. It was getting late and I’d need to pick up the pace if I was going to get back to Rolf Long-Tooth before the moon rose.

Long-Tooth was whittling torches when I made it back to the hill west of Lake Fjalding. “An hour, Bloodskaal, then starting we’ll be,” he said laconically as I flopped down onto the snow. Half-an–hour later, he rose to his feet and called over Sattir and Grerid, the two other Skaal who were undertaking the Ristaag with us. He handed us each a torch and grinned. Pointing at the horizon, he said “Jegeren Månen.”

Looking to where he was pointing, I saw that Masser and Secunda had risen above the low line of hills across the lake. Secunda’s dark, small mass was centred in the larger, paler circle of Masser ~ looking for all the Mundus like a vast eye staring down on us. Both moons were full and, despite my patchy knowledge of Astrology, I knew that such a configuration was exceedingly rare. “A Spirit Bear the Shaman has conjured,” Rolf Long-Tooth told me as we made our preparations ~ strapping down anything that might clank or jingle while we hunted. “We are to slay the Great Beast and its heart back to the Shaman take. If the Hunt is no completed by daybreak, or the Ristaag is broken, ‘tis an ill omen for all o’ the Skaal. Now, as Hunt Seeker, ye must follow my instructions tae the letter.”

I was to stand behind Rolf, Sattir the Bold was to take up position to our north while Grerid Axe-Wife was to take a similar position to our south. Making a soft birdcall that didn’t sound out of place in these darkened woods, Rolf Long-Tooth ordered us forwards. I watched Long-Tooth carefully, imitating his shuffling walk. I realised that, although it was much harder than walking normally, this shuffling motion had the advantage of not breaking the snow and making the distinctive CRUNCH-CRUNCH of human footsteps.

We hadn’t gone far into the woods when there was a terrible snarling sound off to our right, accompanied by a loud, abruptly terminated scream. Rolf, who was slightly in front of me, whistled softly, holding up his right hand at the same time. He made a most peculiar motion with his hand, snapping it to the right a couple of time. I blinked; suddenly I understood what the gesture was for. Moving as quickly as I could without making too much noise, I headed to the north in search of Sattir. I didn’t need to find the body shoved into some bushes: the coppery smell of fresh blood was enough to tell me that this had been Sattir the Bold’s last hunt. Grabbing the Skaal’s spear, I made my way back to where Rolf Long-Tooth waited.

Cool

Another great part. The bloodmoon quests seem so real when you write them.

:goodjob:

Awesome. I take it "Jegeren Månen" is "Hunter's Moon" or something? I rember "Jager" or some word like that being 'hunter' in German. I think.

“This is bad,” he whispered after I’d told him what I’d found. “Very bad.” Still, we had no option other than to continue ~ abandoning the Ristaag wasn’t an option. Whistling softly, he moved forward again, I took up my position a pace or two behind him.

We had barely gone a hundred paces when there was another commotion off to our left. Even before Rolf Long-Tooth had made the gesture, I was shuffling across the snow, already sure of what I would find. Grerid Axe-Wife had been attacked, torn to pieces. Distinctly wolf-like tracks came up on the dead body from the south and then headed off westwards ~ looping around in front of the direction the Ristaag was heading.

“Ach,” Rolf Long-Tooth cursed when I whispered the news to him. “Ahead o’ us ye say?” I nodded. Rolf gave me a broad grin, unfastening the leather straps that held his double-headed silver axe and hefting it thoughtfully. I smiled back, sliding the twin silver blades from their scabbards. “Let’s see what we shall see then.”

Side-by-side, we walked through the snow-laden trees towards an outcropping of rock. As we rounded the huge boulder, the snow exploded and two snarling werewolves leapt at us. Standing back to back, Rolf and I engaged the creatures in combat, his heavy axe making a ‘whupping’ noise as it slashed and hacked while my blades hissed as I stabbed and cut at the snarling monstrosity in front of me. For all its ferocity, the werewolf seemed reluctant to get too close and I realised that the silver-blades were the reason.

“Wee haunless bugger,” I heard Rolf shout as something drove him backwards into me. Staggering, I thrust out the swords, hearing a loud roar of agony as they slipped past the werewolf’s defences and slid deep into its chest. Yanking them free in a welter of blood, I slashed the right-hand blade across the snarling snout, simultaneously striking upwards with the left. The wolf screamed its agony to an indifferent sky as the blade opened it from haunch to shoulder ~ steaming intestines slithering out onto the snow.

Kicking the dying creature out of the way, I spun and aimed a wild strike at the bloodied mass of snarling spitting lycanthrope that was attacking Long-Tooth. My blade missed, but the instinctive snap that the creature made was its undoing. Rolf’s heavy axe crashed down on the creature’s skull, sending a thick spray of bloodied matter to splash on the snow. A second, upward blow lifted the creature up off its paws ~ the whimpering creature crashing down into a snow-covered bush a dozen paces away.

“Are ye bitten lass?” Rolf gasped, resting the head of his axe on the snow and leaning heavily on the shaft. I shook my head; all the blood belonged to the werewolf. Nonetheless, Rolf checked me over carefully before allowing me to check him for bites. “‘Tis your turn, the Great Beast to track,” Rolf said, once we had recovered a little.

He stood there watching as I moved a little way away and started to examine the ground. Once I was clear of the area we’d fought in, there seemed to be no signs. Then I spotted a small heap of snow beside a bush ~ snow which had fallen from the bush. Moving towards it carefully, I bent and examined the snow and bush. There! Snagged on the end of a twig was the tiniest little white hair. Keeping low, I moved beyond the bush, my eyes scanning the ground carefully. My senses seemed heightened, tiny little discrepancies in the environment leaping out at me as I looked. A torn leaf here, some disturbed pebbles there, a clump of long grass that had been crushed flat, a track in the snow…

There was a long downward slope ahead of us and there, at the bottom of the slope, stood a huge white bear, head down as it munched on some leaves. Slowly, carefully, I pointed at the crossbow atop my pack. Rolf understood instantly and, without hesitation, he unfastened it, cocked and loaded it before handing it to me. The tiny click of the string locking into place had attracted the bear’s attention, the heavy head swinging from side to side as it tried to pin down the source of the alien sound. I froze in place, holding my breath.

Apparently satisfied that there was no threat, the Great Beast returned to the succulent leaves. A gentle tap on my shoulder made me reach back and Rolf Long-Tooth quickly handed me the crossbow. Turning my head, I pantomimed firing the bow and then running and stabbing. Then, pointing to him, I made a wide sweeping motion and mimicked the chopping motion of an axe. A tiny smile played across Rolf’s face then, as silent as a ghost, he slipped away through the trees. I gave him a long count before raising the crossbow.

The bow snapped the bolt forwards, a tiny sliver of death heading towards the white hide of the bear. Dropping the bow, I drew Blodskal and exploded into motion. As I raced down the slope, sword whirling around my head, Rolf hauled into view ~ his legs pumping as he thundered down the slope. The bear roared as the bolt slammed into it, rearing up on its hind legs as Rolf and I arrived on the scene. The axe hammered in from the one side, Blodskal from another. Confused, the bear took a swipe at Rolf and, spotting the opening, I drove the Blodskal in under the massively muscled legs and slammed the point home.

“A bonnie bit o’ plannin’,” Rolf said as he used a dagger to rip open the bear’s chest. “And ye’re no a bad tracker Vahl Dark Elf. An’ that, the ability your prey to track, is what a great hunter makes.” With a broad grin, he slashed his knife at something in the bear’s chest and triumphantly hauled out the heart. Wrapping it in a chunk of the bear’s fur, he extended a bloody finger and traced an ‘R’ rune on my forehead. “The Ristaag completed is and, thank the One, successful we were. Tae Korst Wind-Eye take this,” he added as he passed me the bloodstained parcel. “I’ll finish up here.”

Korst Wind-Eye received the package from me with a broad smile. “There are rituals perform I must,” he said, virtually pushing me out of his hut. “On the morrow ye and I words will have ~ I’ll no discuss this matter in the dark watches o’ the night.” Perturbed by his words, I returned to my hut and settled down for what was left of the night.

[quote=Aki]Awesome. I take it "Jegeren Månen" is "Hunter's Moon" or something? I rember "Jager" or some word like that being 'hunter' in German. I think.

[/quote]
Yep, it means Hunter's Moons

Jägare means Hunter in swedish

Måne is Moon in the same language...


Override...you´re too fast for me..i´ll have to sit up all night now to catch up......

[quote=OverrideB1][quote=Aki]Awesome. I take it "Jegeren Månen" is "Hunter's Moon" or something? I rember "Jager" or some word like that being 'hunter' in German. I think.

[/quote]
Yep, it means Hunter's Moons[/quote]

w00t, fear my skills of deduction.

Another cool chapter by the way. :goodjob:

The morning meal today was thick steaks of some dark meat. Suspecting that it was the remains of the Great Beast, I ate sparingly. Korst turned up just as I was finishing up. “We have much tae discuss, Bloodskaal,” were his opening words.

“E’en though the Ristaag is completed, I have disturbing reports received,” he said, sitting opposite me. “Tales o’ hundreds o’ dead Horkers on the northern shores. I hope ‘tis the work o’ Karstaag but I dinnae ken why he’d butcher so many o’ them.”

“Karstaag?” I asked.

“Aye, Karstaag is a frost giant,” Korst explained. “He has his castle tae the northwest o’ here. His people, the Rieklings, and ours have lived peaceably for many years. ‘Tis possible that this slaughter is the work o’ the Rieklings but, as I said, I dinnae ken why this would be so. ‘Tis my fear that the time o’ the BloodMoon is upon us.”

“You started to mention the Blood Moon the other night,” I said. “If you want me to investigate the death of the Horkers…” here the Shaman nodded “…then perhaps you’d better tell me more about this Blood Moon.”

“An ancient Skaal legend,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “that tells o’ certain signs that appear afore the appearance o’ an ancient evil that stalks the land. Speaks, it does, o’ the lake o’ fire, the tide o’ death, and the hunters hunted.”

“And you think these dead Horkers are the ‘tide of death’?” I asked. He nodded, looking even more miserable that when he’d walked in. “and the pillar of fire on Lake Fjalding could be the ‘lake of fire’,” I mused, “but what about the hunters hunted?”

“I dinnae ken Vahl Dark Elf,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, “I will go to Karstaag’s castle and investigate. While I’m gone, will you continue to research this Blood Moon legend to see if you can glean any more information?”

He nodded, then added, “ye’ll no be able tae enter the castle through the door. However, we have a hidden entrance found, an underwater cave just tae the north o’ the castle.” I sighed, more swimming in these icy waters ~ just what I needed. Korst had one final thing he wished to discuss. He wishes me to learn more of the Skaal magic and, to that end, he has taught me a spell to summon and control a bear.

The journey west was relatively uneventful, a few problems with roaming wolves that I quickly dealt with. As I drew close to the shoreline, I could spell the unmistakable stench of rotting meat. The sight that met me, when I crested the rise, made me feel sick to my stomach. Scattered along the beach were hundreds, nay, thousands of dead Horkers and even more lifeless bodies bobbed on the water. Death tide pretty much summed up what I was seeing. Covering my mouth with cloth, I cut along the top of the ridge, unwilling to descend onto that moribund beach amidst the rotting carcasses.

The glittering ramparts of Karstaag’s ice-castle rose up before me. Although Korst had told me that there was no way to enter the structure via the main door, this didn’t stop me from trying them. A few minutes examination showed me that there was no way to access the building unless the doors were opened from the inside. Since that seemed… unlikely, I levitated up to the roof to see if there was an entrance there I could use. Richer by one massively heavy Daedric pauldron, I levitated back down and made my way to the northern shore. Thankfully there were fewer Horker-corpses here but I still felt distinctly queasy as I entered the water.

I quickly identified the cave entrance and, lungs aching swam down and into the water-filled, upward sloping tunnel. With a gasp I broke the surface of a large still pool, looking around to get my bearings. There was a rocky ledge around the pool and, clambering up onto it, I quickly dried myself and put on my furs and armour. Feeling much more secure (and very much warmer) I made my way around the ledge to the narrow passageway that led up (presumably) to the castle above. I had barely gone ten paces when a tiny figure appeared at the top of the slope.

As the Riekling barrelled down towards me, I cursed my bad luck and drew the Blodskal. “Whoa, whoa,” the Riekling yelled, coming to a stop several paces away and raising its hands placatingly. “No fight Krish bigger, Krish no danger to bigger, Krish want talk to bigger.”

‘Bigger’ I guessed would be me and Krish was the Riekling. With a puzzled frown, I lowered the sword and indicated that the Riekling should continue. “Master gone, missing one-two-three days. With Master gone, Krish thought Krish in charge. But Dulk, he say otherwise. But Dulk not loyal to Master. Dulk make pact with Grahl, seize power, exile Krish this place. But Grahl turn on Dulk, kill most troops. Now Krish down here stuck. Dulk up there stuck, Grahl between us.”

“What do you know about the death of the Horkers?” I asked.

“Krish nothing know. Krish down here been stuck one-two-three days,” was the reply. “Hey. Bigger help Krish, kill Grahl so Krish can to castle get. Krish take bigger to castle. Bigger ask Dulk what Dulk know about tusked-swimmers.”

“What if I just leave Krish here and go by myself?” I asked, not happy with the idea of having a Riekling tagging along with me.

“Ahh,” the Riekling said, “magic barrier. Master invites, you enter. Master no invites, outside you stay. Krish know magic word, open barrier. Bigger take Krish, Krish open barrier. Bigger no take Krish, bigger outside castle can rot.”

Well, that seemed to be an insurmountable problem unless I had this Krish with me. “Lead on,” I said, pointing with my sword. We wandered through the ice tunnels, engaging the Grahl whenever we came across them or, rather, Krish let me fight them while he cowered out of the way. I had fought Grahl before, in the Halls of Penumbra, and I knew that they were slow, stupid, amazingly tough, very strong, and almost completely helpless in the face of fire-based magic. Plus, I had the added pleasure of seeing Krish cringe and flatten himself against the floor every time I fired off a fireball spell. In this manner we progressed up through the maze of tunnels, clearing the way, until we arrived at a shimmering barrier.

Krish, true to his word, extended a tiny hand and led me through the barrier into a large storage area. Where we surprised three Rieklings. These, I guess, were loyal to Dulk because Krish showed no hesitation in attacking them. We continued up a slope and I found that we’d come to a sort of corridor. There stood another Riekling ~ Dulk I presumed.

“Whoa, hold it little feller,” I said, grabbing Krish by the back of his jerkin and yanking the spitting, kicking Riekling up into the air as it rushed towards Dulk. “I need a word with Dulk first, remember. And you,” I added, whipping Blodskal over and resting the tip of the blade on the bridge of Dulk’s nose, “are going to answer my questions, understand?”

Cross-eyed, the Riekling nodded. I asked the question and got the answer I expected, “Dulk know nothing of dead tusked-swimmers. Dulk in charge. Man-beasts appear at door, Master gone. Dulk Master now.”

“Man-beasts?” I asked. “Do you mean werewolves?”

“Wolves outside, that where. Man-beasts here, now gone,” the Riekling responded.

With a shrug, I dropped Krish to the floor where, with a grin up at me, the Riekling produced a large cleaver-shaped weapon and started to stalk Dulk down the corridor. Leaving them to it, I explored Castle Karstaag. I soon found ample evidence of Karstaag’s bestial appetites ~ mounds of scattered and gnawed human bones littered many of the chambers. I also found quite a large sum of coinage, a teal Ioun stone and a few other useful trinkets.

“Me master!” Dulk crowed exultantly, rushing into the bedchamber I was exploring. “Krish dead. Dulk Master!”

“Master of what?” I asked. “An empty castle filled with dead bodies and a stretch of beach filled with stinking corpses?”

“But Dulk Master,” the Riekling said, although there was a great deal less conviction in its voice.

“No,” I said, whipping the Blodskal across in a vicious arc, “Dulk dead.”

“Karstaag gone, by werewolves was taken?” Korst Wind-Eye said when I reported back to him. “And him not responsible for the dead Horkers. I fear there are bad times ahead Vahl Dark Elf, and that the BloodMoon prophesy is coming true. Come, let us the moons watch rise.”

Nor were we the only ones outside watching as Masser and Secunda rose. The whole village stood there, watching as the horizon darkened as night fell and the stars came out. Then the moons rose ~ blood red and full. There was a moan from the assembled Skaal. “Bad, this is very bad,” Korst groaned. “The prophecy comes true and now is the time of the Hunter’s Game. Run, hide, lock your doors ~ the Hunter’s Game begins.”

As the Skaal scattered back to their huts, I jogged beside Korst as we travelled towards his hut. “What’s the Hunter’s Game?” I asked.

“The legend,” Korst replied, ushering me inside, “says that from the ranks of Man, the Hunter will choose his prey. Every age of Man, the Hunter comes ~ who he chooses and how many are every time different.” He dragged a heavy chest out of the corner and after opening it, began throwing various items on the floor until, with a cry of triumph, he produced a wrapped bundle. “Here, I fear these you’ll need,” he said, extending the bundle. Taking it, I set it upon the table and opened it, taking a sharp breath as I examined the contents.

Two gleaming silver swords glistened softly in the lamplight. Slightly longer than the short-swords I’d been using, the blades had a slight curve to them and were razor-sharp along both edges. Each blade was etched with deep-set Nordic runes, and fine silver wire held the black leather grip in place. The pommel of each sword was carved, one in the likeness of a snarling wolf, the other in the likeness of a bear. Each sang softly, a shimmering chorus of ancient magic. Gentle probing revealed that each bore a powerful enchantment of fire. “Fang and Claw,” Korst said as I lifted the blades from their wrapper and slashed them experimentally through the air, “ancient blades of the Skaal. These I gift to you Vahl Dark Elf.”

I was puzzled by the sadness in Korst’s voice but, before I could even start to get to the bottom of it, the Shaman was urging me to get back to my hut ~ saying it wasn’t safe for anyone to be out alone. Slipping the blades into their leather scabbards, I wrapped them carefully in the oiled parchment and carried them back to my abode…

I cannot say what caused me to jerk awake, or what Hour it was. What I did know was that snarling werewolves surrounded my bed…

Awesome, I thourougly enjoyed reading it.

Good work :goodjob:

cool

When the darkness that had obscured my vision cleared, I found myself lying on a slab of cold stone. The dark purple stone that formed the walls and ceiling told me instantly where I was. Shivering, I swung my feet off the slab and stood in the small chamber of the Daedric shrine. Nearby lay the Last Wish, Fang and Claw, along with the Skaal armour. Quickly I slipped the armour on and picked up my weapons. Then I explored the chamber, only to discover it was completely seamless. As I turned back to the middle of the chamber, there was a flicker and a huge figure appeared on the slab. Covered in short brown fur, the figure wore a fur loincloth and a mask, made to look like a wolf-skull, covered the being’s face. At first I thought the massive antlers were part of the mask but as it turned to look at me, I realised they grew from the creature’s skull. A massive spear completed the ensemble.

“Dark one,” the figure thundered, “it is long since I hunted one such as thee. Know thee now that thou art the last of my prey gathered here; the others have gone before thee. The leader of the western men, the master of the Skaal, the giant Karstaag, and the Dark Elf: all are here gathered for the Hunter’s Game.

“Only one of thee will survive the opening moves of the Game, played as it is with my brethren in the outer maze. He that survives shall face me in the true Hunter’s Game. Come dark one, let the games begin…”

The bizarre figure faded from view and, as it did so, the entire back wall of the cell faded as well ~ revealing the familiar ‘keyhole’-shape of a Daedric door. Clutching my weapons, I stepped into the shimmering mist that filled the doorway…

“Knight Vahl,” a shocked voice said, “it that truly you?”

I turned, barely suppressing a whoop of joy as I saw Captain Falx Carius coming around a corner. With a broad grin, I clasped the Captain’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Yes Captain,” I said, “it’s me. What happened to you, where have you been the last ten days?”

“Ten days!” he exclaimed. “It only feels like I’ve been here an hour. I woke up in a chamber just around the corner and some great damn’ thing told me I was part of some game. Then I found myself here.”

“The Hunter’s Game,” I said, explaining what I knew of the game to him.

“So, only one of us is expected to survive?” he said, giving me a slow look.

“Yes, but if we work together against whatever else is in here, both of us might make it,” I said. He nodded, sliding the regulation broadsword from its scabbard and moving to stand beside me as I slid ‘Fang’ and ‘Claw’ from their sheaths.

“One day, assuming we survive this, you’ll have to tell me about how you got those,” he said as we moved off together. The chamber was a maze, in the truest sense of the word ~ twisting corridors and dead-ends. These were not, however, the biggest problem. The masked figure had spoken of its ‘brethren’ ~ I should have realised that it meant werewolves. As we turned a corner and stepped into the next ring of the maze, there was a howl and a pair of werewolves hove into view at the end of the corridor.

“Damn’” Falx said as the creatures rushed towards us. Carius wasn’t much help in the ensuing battle; his steel broadsword couldn’t even raise a welt on the hides of the werewolves. However, his skilled thrusts and strikes provided an excellent source of distraction, allowing me to plunge my silver blades deep into lycanthropic flesh where the burning spells could wreak terrible damage.

In this manner, the good Captain providing a source of distraction while I laid waste to the werewolves, we proceeded into the heart of the maze. By hugging the right-hand wall, I was able to lead us closer and closer to the centre. There was, however, a downside to this: as we drew closer to the heart of the labyrinth, the corridors grew shorter and the corners more frequent. This meant that we had far less warning of an incipient attack the closer to the exit we got.

Trouble struck, as it usually does, from an unexpected quarter. We had just reached an alcove, inside of which were a crude wooden box and an ice-statue of a werewolf. The box contained a disk, made of some black metal with a glowing red centre. There was no note to explain what this thing was but I felt that it was important enough to take with us since it was the only thing other than the statue that we had seen. As we turned to leave the alcove, neither of us saw the statue twitch and change ~ converting from ice to living, breathing, bestial flesh.

Falx screamed as the werewolf’s claws tore through his armour like it was parchment, blood spurting upwards. With a curse, I span and neatly lopped off the werewolf’s head but the damage had been done. Kneeling beside the wounded Man, I started to recite the words of a healing spell. “No!” he snapped, rolling over and clamping a hand over my mouth, “I forbid it. I know you’re a Battlemage Vahl, but I won’t have you wasting your magicka on an old soldier like me.”

I protested that the spell was simple and consumed little of my reserves but Falx Carius was adamant on the point, even going so far as to make it an order to a subordinate officer. Furious, I helped him to his feet and supported him around the last few turns and twists that were all that separated us from the centre of the maze. The Daedric letters across the top of the arch that dominated the room simply said “Inner Ring”. I slumped on the stone bench beside the Captain, “looks like there’s more of this maze,” I said.

“You go,” he said, passing me the glowing stone disk. “We’ve killed everything in this section of the maze so I should be alright. Let me get my breath back and I’ll see if I can’t get out of here under my own steam. Now go, or do I have to make that an order too?”

Reluctantly, feeling as though I was sentencing the Captain to a lingering, horrible death, I took the disk and walked up the steps of the dais and through the glowing mist that formed in the centre of the arch as I approached…

“Vahl Dark Elf!” Tharsten Heart-Fang boomed, lowering his axe and wiping the splatters of blood from his face. “So that demon has you dragged into the game too? I thought as much when he spoke o’ the Dark One. ‘Tis good tae see ye.”

“Good to see you too Tharsten,” I replied. “Been fighting werewolves?” I added, looking at the blood splattered on the front of his armour.

“Aye, ‘though there’s no so many as there were,” he said with a chuckle. “Still, a friendly face and another couple o’ blades always welcome are.” I nodded and we set off through the maze of the Inner Ring, me leading the way by trailing my hand along the right-hand wall and Tharsten keeping a lookout for the inevitable werewolves. Of which we found plenty.

Tharsten, even though his axe was not made of silver, despatched werewolves with economic ease, the strength of the Man quite surprising. I kept my end up, slashing and slicing my way through many of the damn creatures. Again and again we were attacked, the number of lycanthropes in this section of the maze much higher than the outer ring. Battling our way through the maze, we came at last to the little alcove near the middle of the labyrinth. There was no sign of the ice-statue of the werewolf that I was expecting, nor was there a glowing disk in the crude wooden chest.

“A shame that Hircine chose you for this game,” Tharsten said in a deep and rumbling voice. “Ye’d have made a fine opponent back in the Mundus once I’ve gained more power.”

“Hircine,” I gasped; realisation dawning as I realised the creature I’d seen was the Daedric Prince Hircine. The import of Tharsten’s words as I had this revelation were not lost on me.

“Aye,” he responded when I asked him if he had the disk, “I the key have. And ‘tis me that’ll be the only survivor o’ the Hunter’s Game. ‘Tis time, I think, ye saw me in my true form…”

Even as the transformation swept over him, his face distorting into a snout-like shape, as his hands grew terrible claws and thick hair sprouted on his body, I was moving. ‘Fang’ punched a hole in his chest, the skin around it blackening and crisping ~ although I was unsure whether this was because the blade was silver or because of the darkly powerful spells woven into the fabric of the sword. “NO!” he screamed as I drove the blade deeper, his speech barely comprehensible given the nature of his transformation.

The naked body slumped on the floor, leaving me to wonder how the Chieftain’s armour had vanished. I rolled him onto his back and carefully took the small ring off his finger; something to show Korst Wind-Eye to prove Tharsten was dead. As I touched the ring I was suddenly assaulted with a vision of woods and prey, snapping jaws tearing the throat out of small fluffy creatures, stalking through the darkness with the moons shining down on me as I sought out two-legged prey. With a shudder, I dropped the ring back onto the corpse. After wiping my fingers on the nearby wall to cleanse them of the unclean feeling, I carefully wrapped the ring in some cloth and tucked it into my pouch ~ I had plans for Hircine’s Ring.

I also found the glowing disk under the body, resting on the double-bladed axe that Tharsten had favoured. Taking both, I followed the curves of the corridor around into the central heart of the maze. To my complete lack of surprise, there was another gateway here: one that filled with softly glowing mist as I approached…

great addition :goodjob:

I found myself in a vast stone room, one side of which opened up into an even larger stone chamber. Spires of naked rock thrust their way up through the floor of the chamber and strangely coloured mists swirled and danced like living things. Down the slope stood the bulk of a truly mammoth creature ~ it could only be the frost giant Karstaag. Knowing that there was no chance of any rapprochement with the beast, I calmly prepared my most potent spells, hefted Tharsten’s axe and entered combat.

The Frost Giant roared as the three quickly fired arrows made impact ~ hardly an impressive shot given the huge bulk of the grey-furred beast. I followed those up with a quick fireball, which certainly attracted his attention. Huge paws quickly doused the smouldering spots on its fur before Karstaag lumbered towards me. I hefted the axe I’d taken from Tharsten, knowing that the arcane powers woven into the fabric of the Nordic steel would stand me in good stead.

Ducking under a ponderous swipe of a left paw (which would surely have beheaded me had it made contact) I laid steel to flesh, grinning as Karstaag howled its displeasure of the fire-based spells woven into the axe. I ducked again, my blow missing the bulk of the creature ~ too damn close to wield the axe properly. Rolling clear of Karstaag’s bulk, I put some distance between us, fumbling at the belt-pouch as I ran. Once clear, I spun to face the lumbering giant and threw one of my precious shuriken ~ the tiny steel star seeming ludicrously small when compared to the Frost Giant.

There was a spurt of blood as the hissing disk made impact, followed by an almost indistinct clatter as, impatient at the tiny sting it had made, Karstaag brushed it clear. I only hoped that it had been there long enough…

With a savage yell, I rushed past the hulking shape of Karstaag, whipping the axe across and making a handle-shivering impact. So sudden and forceful was the blow that it stopped me in my tracks ~ just long enough for Karstaag to make contact.

“OOOFFF!” I gasped, feeling myself tumbling through the air from the force of the blow. Clutching the shaft of Tharsten’s axe so that I didn’t drop it, I went with the motion, turning an uncontrolled flight into a tumbling roll. It still hurt like fire when I struggled to my feet: the blow must have broken a rib. Karstaag bellowed in triumph, huge shaggy paws pounding the floor as it ran towards me.

“Vigoratus meus vulnus,” I gasped, backing away as quickly as I could. As the sparkling white light wrapped itself around me, I broke to the left and ran around one of the broken pillars, putting its mass between the enraged Frost Giant and me. Worst of the damage repaired, I tightened my grip on the axe and ran towards the pillar ~ if I got the timing on this wrong I was going to be so dead.

As Karstaag lumbered around the pillar, my booted feet made contact with the stone surface. I grunted as I bent my legs and then leapt, using the angle and my speed to hurl myself clean over Karstaag’s head. Tucking myself into a ball, I flew through the air, straightening and whipping down with the axe as I flew like a Cliff Racer clean over the top of the Frost Giant. I landed untidily, forced to roll over and over before I gained my equilibrium. From behind me I was aware of a dull, interrogative grunt.

“Na Awyra? Ad 'u anadl ddyfrha!” I screamed thrusting both hands out at the Frost Giant. The effect was, if you’ll forgive the pun, electrifying. The air above the giant darkened and swirled, massive bolts of raw power spitting out of the dark clouds. The metal-bound shaft and steel blade of Tharsten’s axe ~ currently embedded in the skull of the burning, jittering Frost Giant ~ made an excellent conduit for all of that power as it sought to earth itself. Almost as quickly as it had come, the storm blew itself out ~ I didn’t dare maintain an effect of that power for too long.

I needn’t have worried. Karstaag, eyes now milky white from the lightning blast, took one, two, three lumbering steps towards me on burning feet and then ~ like a majestic oak that had been felled ~ he crashed forward, twitched once or twice and then lay still, unmoving and unbreathing.

It has been a while since I updated here following the problems with the forum. So, over the next couple of days I'm going to catch you all up and then start posting the new bits again

I've been keeping up on the ES forums, but it'll be nice to have it all here

“Impressive little mortal,” Hircine said, the antlered form of the Daedra Prince appearing on a raised dais as I retrieved the axe from Karstaag’s corpse. “I was sure that the Frost Giant would be the one to face me. No matter, thou hast shown that thou art worthy prey to face me.”

“Ready whenever you are you son of a Guar,” I snapped, displaying a confidence I didn’t feel. In Azura’s name, how was I supposed to best that: a bone-fide prince of the Outer Void?

“Stay thy hand,” Hircine boomed, twirling its spear like a baton. “To have thee face me in all my glory would be no contest at all. Tell me, brave little one, what is the greatest attribute a Hunter may have? Is it the strength to kill his prey, the speed to hunt it down, or the guile to catch it?”

I remembered what Rolf Long-Tooth had said during the Ristaag, that the ability to hunt the prey was paramount. “Guile, so that a hunter may take his prey unaware,” I replied.

“So be it,” the Daedric Prince boomed. “Thou shall face me in the Aspect of Guile. Ready yourself and make peace with whatever gods thou worship… prey.”

The figure of Hircine was surrounded by a glowing red circle of light ~ starting around its feet. Rays of crimson light sprang upwards, growing brighter and brighter until they obscured the massive form. Shading my eyes, I tried to see what was happening.

Something moving fast, something small and well-muscled, barrelled into me, knocking me from my feet and making me scream as a sudden fire burned up my left arm. Rolling on the ground, I scrambled to my feet, turning quickly to locate whatever that had been. There, a short way away from me stood a… well, miniature version of Hircine. Slapping the pouch at my waist, I withdrew another of my shuriken and hurled it with all my might at the diminutive figure.

There was a noise, the sound of air crashing into a hollow space as ~ in a dirty cloud of red-limned black smoke, the figure vanished; the spinning poisoned disk whipping through the cloud to clatter harmlessly against a nearby pillar. There was a puff of air on the back of my neck and I dove forwards as the Hunter’s spear tore through the air where my neck had been. Even as I scrambled to my feet, there was another puff of smoke and Hircine vanished, reappearing right over the other side of the huge chamber.

Rather than race over to engage in combat, for I had a pretty good idea of what would happen if I did, I stopped to take stock of my situation. The Aspect of Guile that I faced was fast and strong, that I had already experienced. It could also teleport itself with remarkable speed and, as the attack from behind proved, some degree of accuracy. I couldn’t count on the Daedric Prince running out of magicka any time soon ~ if it was magicka that powered the translocations; nor could I count on wearing the Aspect down since it would, in all likelihood, have all the stamina and reserves of the full-blown version of Hircine.

So, I couldn’t run it down, I couldn’t weary it, and I couldn’t count on it loosing the ability to move from one spot to another any time soon. Or could I? Looking up at the stationary form, I extended my hand and spoke the words of power that would still any magical powers used by the Prince of the Hunt, “Narro haud veneficus.”

The sparkling green motes of the Silence spell danced around the figure, fading slowly into it. Then, as if to mock me, the Aspect made three rapid jumps ~ one to directly in front of me, one to behind me, and one back to its original starting point. I groaned, clutching my left shoulder as the echoes of sardonic laughter rang in my ears. Front and back I had been pierced, the armour proving little protection against the sharp business end of Hircine’s spear. To my horror, I could feel a creeping paralysis in my arm and chest.

“Vigoratus meus vulnus,” I gasped, moaning as I felt flesh knit itself back together under the power of the healing spell. Whatever toxin the spear had introduced into my system ~ mundane or arcane ~ seemed to fade under the charm too.

Magic wouldn’t avail me here I realised. No, to win this contest I had to be sneakier than Hircine’s Aspect of Guile. With a joyous bellow, the Aspect disappeared, and I was twisting around even as that fact registered. The tip of the wickedly sharp spear whistled past my stomach and I clamped my hands firmly around the wooden shaft ~ throwing myself backwards and away. Taken by surprise, the Aspect loosened its grip on the spear and quickly vanished.

“HA!” I cried exultantly, brandishing the spear towards the distant figure. The figure raised a hand and some force tore the weapon from my grip, sending it flying through the air and into the hand of the Daedric prince. “Oh crap,” I said with some depth of feeling.

Wait… I had a plan. I grinned evilly, the Daedric Prince Hircine had just shown me how I could defeat it. Regaining my balance, I launched three fireballs in the Aspect’s direction. As expected, the figure blinked out of existence before they arrived, popping back into this reality directly in front of me. As it thrust the spear forward, I grabbed the shaft and tugged. There followed a brief tug-of-war as we fought for possession of the weapon. Knowing I must win, I spat the words of the Burning Blood spell at the figure. It howled, releasing its grip and vanishing, only to reappear ~ unmarked and unblemished ~ ten or fifteen paces away.

Confidently, Hircine raised its hand and I felt the tug on the spear. Only this time I was expecting it and didn’t let go, fighting the currents of magic that sought to yank the spear from my grasp. With a roar of frustration, the Daedric Prince increased the power of its spell. The force, doubled and redoubled beyond mortal ken, yanked on the spear, dragging it at speed towards Hircine ~ and dragging me along with it.

Before the Aspect could understand what was happening, the spear and I arrived at the same instant. Anchoring my feet, I twisted and thrust ~ driving the point of the spear deep into Hircine’s chest. Archetypal hunter, Lord of the Werewolves, Prince of the Howling Voids of Oblivion, tougher and more powerful than any thousand mortal men ~ it all availed him naught.

Powered by his own adamant will and incandescent fury, guided and aided by my hand, the spear tore into Hircine’s chest and punched out through the back ~ a pulsing red light spilling from the wounds. Tiny fissures appeared on the Aspect, each bleeding more red light until the chamber was brilliantly lit. Then, with a sound like the fall of mountains, Hircine simply ceased to exist. Clutching the spear, my head ringing and my face burned from the fires of the Prince’s passing, I staggered towards the glistening disk of mist that had appeared. Half-walking, half-falling, I staggered through the portal into the icy chambers I recognised from my arrival.

But all was not well, huge blocks of shivering ice were crashing down and I screamed again as one clipped my shoulder, the breaking of the bone audible even over the thunder of the hall’s ruin.

“Run mortal,” a voice echoed. “The time of the BloodMoon is finished for this era and thou has played thy part. But know thee this, the Hunt is far from over ~ the Moons shall again run red with the blood of my children and Hircine shall stalk the lands again…”

‘Run’ seemed like good advice, if only I could stand….

Wow, you're great at this. Especially writing conversations. Very, very well done. I'd also like to note the spectacular battle scene.

:goodjob: :goodjob: :goodjob: :goodjob: :goodjob: <---- five whole jonajosas for you

A voice cut through the fog that filled my mind, saying words I could barely comprehend. “…skaal, are ye awake the now?”

“Whu?” I said, opening my eyes to see Korst peering down at me.

“I said,” he repeated with a grin, “Bloodskaal, are ye awake the now? But I ken I dinnae need an answer tae that question now.” I looked around blearily, taking in the wooden walls of the hut that the Skaal had made mine.

“How… how’d I get here?” I said, sitting up carefully, relieved to note that I seemed to bear no injuries.

“A couple o’ the guards went out tae find ye,” Korst Wind-Eye said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Found ye wandering up by the Mortrag Glacier.”

I saw the Spear of Hircine, propped up in a corner. “Tharsten!” I gasped, “He was a werewolf!”

“Aye Vahl Dark Elf,” the Shaman replied. “Long I’ve suspected something dark in the Chieftain o’ the Clan but had no proof. Word o’ his death came tae me on the wind and I ken that it was the work o’ your hand.

“Nay, dinnae fret,” he added as I started to say something. “As I say, long have I had my suspicions and tae hear it comes as no surprise. Although, a dilemma it does make for us. By tradition, if ye kill the Chieftain, then ‘tis Chieftain ye become. But you, Vahl Dark Elf, are not Skaal-born…”

“So I cannot be Chieftain?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nae chance,” Korst said, smiling to take the sting out of his words. “Ye’d a bonny Chieftain make, that I ken. But an Outsider, a foreigner as Chieftain o’ the Skaal? No, ‘tis better, I think, if I lead the Skaal until we can a new Chieftain select. But ye have our abiding gratitude Vahl Dark Elf, now and ever more, ye and your kith an’ kin shall always find a welcome here.”

I thanked Korst for his kind words, a lump in my throat. He seemed to understand the reason for my clumsy words and patted me on the shoulder. “I willnae tell ye tae take things easily Vahl Dark Elf,” he said, “for I ken that is no in your nature. But ye’ve been as near tae death as any I’ve treated an’ brought back…” Assuring the Shaman that I would take things as easily as I could, I sank back onto my bed and relaxed while he let himself out. Then I rose and dressed, food was of some paramount importance to me right now.

“Vahl Dark Elf,” was a common greeting as I made my way from my hut and got some food, others simply nodded, or called me “Bloodskaal”. I understood that I had gained honour amongst these proud people and that the sobriquet “Dark Elf” was given not, as it would be elsewhere, as an insult but as a mark of recognition. To the Skaal I would, always and forever, be Vahl Dark Elf, Bloodskaal of the Skaal.

My meanderings through the village took me, eventually, to the hut of Lassnr: an elderly Skaal warrior with a sad tale to tell. It seems that his son, Tymvaul, fell down the well at the back of the hut. Because of the recent problems it has been impossible to send anyone down to collect the body. However, an interesting twist is that Lassnr believes his son is still alive.

“Would ye no go down and find him Bloodskaal?” Lassnr asked, hope shining in his eyes. I was uncertain, but I eventually relented and said I would. He grinned broadly and gave me a key to the well ~ which has remained locked since Tymvaul fell down it. Why did I agree? Well, as I was talking to Lassnr, my gaze fell upon several of the books scattered around Tymvaul’s bed. Books with titles like ‘Poison Song’ and ‘Corpse Preparation’ ~ pretty much standard reading for anyone interested in the Blackest of Arts. A shelf nearby bore a complete set of alchemical apparatus and a copy of ‘The History of The Mages Guild’. Interesting reading material for a young man Lassnr insisted was going to be a hunter.

The wooden cover of the well clicked open when I turned the massive iron key in the crude lock. Casting a Levitation spell, I descended into the darkness, very much aware of the lapping of water far below me. Even though I was expecting it, the shock of the icy water as it wrapped itself around my ankles made me gasp. Dismissing the levitation spell, I took the plunge ~ swimming down through a series of twisting channels until, lungs near bursting, I broke the surface in a large ice-cave.

I had kept a very careful lookout as I swam into the cave and had seen no trace of a dead body ~ nor was there one here on the ice-shelf that surrounded the pool. It would seem that Lassnr was right ~ Tymvaul had survived the fall and was now somewhere here in the caves beneath the village. Of course, given his reading matter, there was no guarantee that I would be able to talk to him.

This proved very much to be the case when I located Tymvaul, his arrogance would have done any Telvanni Master proud. From his rambling comments I gathered that he’d jumped down the well, not fallen as his father believed. The reason for such… odd behaviour soon became apparent. While we had been talking I had admired Tymvaul’s robe ~ a thick, dark material shot through with shimmering threads. Even from where I stood, on the other side of the cave, I could feel the power coming off it in waves ~ dark, malevolent power.

Tymvaul had discovered, from his research, that Rimhull (the caves we were now in) had been the home of a necromancer. And, again according to what Tymvaul had discovered, this necromancer had left behind the robe the young Skaal now wore: The Mantle of Woe. Listening to his grandiose plans and insane plots to seize control of Solstheim, then Morrowind Province, and then the Empire, I wondered if it was he who was mad or if the robe had some corrupting power.

It took a while but I convinced Tymvaul to relinquish the robe and seek power via a different route. I suggested that he travel to Vvardenfell and enlist in Great House Telvanni who would be delighted to hone his powers (and, if I had anything to do with it, his vague anti-Imperial feelings). Tymvaul showed me the easier route out of Rimhull ~ all that remained then was for me to speak to Lassnr. The old Man was delighted that his son stilled lived and thanked me by presenting me with five of the finest white bear pelts I’ve ever seen. It was as I was packing these into my pack that a sudden thought occurred to me.

Despite the poor visibility, swirling snow, and Korst’s fairly adamant comments that I was too weak to travel, I set off to the south as quickly as I could. I’d spoken to the two Skaal who’d rescued me from the ice and they had confirmed that they had found nobody else there. That left me still wondering: did Captain Falx Carius make it out of the Hunter’s Maze safely?

I really should have listened to Korst; within minutes the temperature had dropped from ‘bloody cold’ to ‘Oh My Gods’. Add to that the fact that the slight snowfall had thickened considerably, so much so that I was having difficulty seeing more than five paces in front of me. Just to prove the general perversity of nature, the blizzard didn’t seem to bother the bears, the boars, or the wolves. Fortunately I knew of a place I could shelter not too far away. Turning west from my planned course, I slogged through the worsening blizzard towards the Meadhall at Thirsk.

I knew of Thirsk from speaking to the Skaal. Thirsk was a group of renegade Skaal who didn’t follow the shamanistic rituals of the Skaal: however, there was a great deal of friendship between the two groups of people. Thirsk acted as a sort of traveller’s rest stop for the Skaal, providing accommodation for all who passed that way. I came upon the Meadhall in the snow, literally running into the broad wooden side. Placing my left hand on the side of the building, I began to make my way through the swirling snow.

Okay, two things. First, that’s a damn silly place to leave a tree-stump. Secondly, ouch! I had stumbled over a tree-stump as I made my way around the building, the protrusion made invisible by the snow banked up around it and the still swirling snow that was falling. Fortunately, the snow had cushioned my fall so the worst I had was a bruised shin. As I rolled over and regained my feet, I spotted a sliver of parchment fluttering in the wind. Squatting beside the stump, I dug out the parchment and the oiled-skin package that it was tied to.

Now this was interesting. The note was addressed to “S” and consisted of a simple scrawled line: “The Weak Do Not Deserve To Live”, and signed with the Nordic rune “E”. The contents of the package wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow… in the possession of an assassin. There was a pair of gloves, each ensorcelled with powerful charms of concealment and enhancement, a ring that gave one excellent vision in the darkness, a short dagger that was enchanted with a virulent arcane poison, and five slender Ebony arrows, the heads of which were coated with a dried grey substance that I suspected was a more mundane, but equally deadly, toxin. The Gods, they say, look after those who look after themselves. Since these were such deadly items, I decided that ~ whatever murder was planned ~ I would prevent it by taking the simple option.

Tucking the package into my pack, I continued around the building until I came to the main doors… the smashed main doors. I made my way inside to a scene of utter shambles ~ there were tables and chairs overturned and wounded Nords groaning. One of the assembly, a tall and attractive woman (as pink-skins go) with a shock of snow-white hair, came over and spoke to me. “My apologies traveller,” she said, “but we are, as ye can see, unable tae provide ye with… well, anything actually.”

“What happened here?” I asked.

“The Meadhall was attacked by a beast, the Udyrfrykte,” she said. “It came upon us without warning, out o’ the blizzard. I managed tae drive it off wi’ my bow but, as you can see…” here she made a sweeping gesture to indicate the chaotic state of the Meadhall “…not before it did considerable damage.”

Why, I wondered as I offered my assistance, did these things keep happening to me wherever I went? One would almost think that the powers that be are playing some sort of game with my life, thrusting me into one dangerous situation after another. Svenja Snow-Song, the woman who’d approached me, told me that the Udyrfrykte had its lair down by Lake Fjalding. With a sigh, I put on my helmet, unfastened my shield from the backpack and drew the Blodskal.

Locating the lair of the Udyrfrykte was simple; a child with no tracking skills could have accomplished it. The trail of bloodied snow, if that green liquid was blood, led in a straight line to a cave-mouth at the edge of the lake. The stench that came from the cave, thick and unpleasant, was ample evidence that some foul creature lived here. Bringing my shield forward, I entered the ice-lined tunnels and descended into the lair of the beast.

At the lower end of the tunnel was a large, almost circular, chamber. And, rushing towards me was the black, shadowy form of the Udyrfrykte. The weapon it bore crashed against the shield, warm droplets of something sticky splattering my face. I blinked; the sound of the weapon on the shield had rung with a decidedly ‘meaty’ sound. The weapon came around again, and this time my shield rose to meet it ~ the thudding impact of the two as I drove the weapon up and away echoed moments later by a gibbering scream as the point of the Blodskal etched a line across the creature’s hide.

The creature leapt backwards and screamed at me, the impressive array of needle-sharp fangs clearly visible in the darkness. With a bounding leap, it lunged forwards, the weapon arcing over its head to slam against my shoulder. Staggering though the force of the impact was, I remained on my feet and drove the Blodskal forwards. Thick green ichors began to trickle down the creature’s hide, releasing a truly horrible smell. It screeched and bounced backwards, coming to rest a few feet away and pounding the snow with its front paws. With a determined gritting of the teeth, I took a step towards it, drawing back my sword arm.

Green eyes widened perceptibly, and the freakish creature took several shuffling steps backwards before craning its head forward and roaring at me. So, some degree of rudimentary intelligence. I feinted left, expecting the creature to move to the right in response. I was not disappointed. The bulky creature immediately circled right and stepped straight into the whistling blade of the Blodskal as I whipped it around. There was an explosion of that foul green liquid as the body continued to the right and the head went left.

Seeking to prove to Svenja Snow-Song that I had killed the beast, I did what Rolf Long-Tooth had done during the Ristaag: cut the heart out of the Udyrfrykte and carried it back to the remains of the Meadhall at Thirsk. There, I discovered, Svenja had already organised the repairs and carpenters and craftsmen were scurrying around measuring, sawing, and hammering. “Ye’ve claimed the heart!” she exclaimed with some surprise. “In that case, there is one more thing ye must do afore ye become Chieftain of Thirsk.”

“Whoa,” I said, interrupting whatever she was about to say. “Where did this whole ‘Chieftain of Thirsk’ business come from?”

“Ye killed the beast and brought back its heart as a trophy,” she said. “That is only done by a prospective Chieftain. Tae confirm your position, ye need to go to Hrothmund’s Bane ~ a Barrow up by the Moestring Mountains. Speak the one name ~ Ondjage ~ and enter. There ye’ll find Hrothmund’s Axe. Lay a hand upon it and Hrothmund will speak.”

Since the Meadhall was unavailable and the blizzard showed no signs of abating, I was forced to do something I didn’t want to do. Setting my pack on the ground, I unfastened the scroll-box and, from within, I took one of my precious Divine Intervention scrolls. Shouldering the pack, I spoke the words on the scroll ~ feeling that momentary disorientation that accompanies sudden and inexplicable travel over vast distances. Ignoring the stares of the soldiers as they caught sight of my armour, I raced up the stairs and burst into the Officer’s Quarters.

“Carius!” I yelled with a big smile when I saw him standing by his desk, talking to Saenus Lusius. “How in Azura’s Name did you get out of the Huntsman’s Hall?”

“I have no idea knight Vahl,” he replied, extending his hand in the western fashion. For once, I over-came my reluctance to shake hands and grasped his outstretched hand. “I do know that, if it hadn’t been for you, I’d have been wolf-food. In recognition of your sterling work, I’m promoting you to the rank of Knight Protector. See the quartermaster when we’ve finished here.”

We sat, drinking mulled Holly-berry wine and talking of what we had seen in the haunts of the Daedra Prince. Naturally out words touched upon many other subjects and I spared no ire when I spoke of the Skaal and their opinions of the Legion and its disrespect for the land the Skaal worshipped. Carius, in his turn, spoke to me of some of the tales he’d learned whilst he’d been stationed here. One was a fairly standard tale of pirate’s treasure, vast amounts of illegally obtained Septims ripe for the taking somewhere on the island. The other tale was of Brodir grove, and the standing stones there. According to what the Captain was told, an evil wizard turned five brave warriors to stone.

I also spoke to Jeleen, the priest of the Imperial Cult. He told me that he was worried about a missionary by the name of Marisa. She, it seems, had gone north to the Skaal village to preach and has not returned. I promised that I would make enquiries when I returned there on the morrow.

Cool. Nice read.

There are few things left that I wish to accomplish on this island. Of these, the most important would seem to be locating and entering Hrothmund’s Bane. So, despite the heavily clouded sky and the bitterly cold wind, I packed some provisions and set off to the north again. A check of my map showed that I could accomplish one of the things I wished to do on my way to the Moestring Mountains. Namely, visit Brodir Grove. Saenus Lusius and Falx had spoken of this grove with its ring of standing stones and the tale that the Captain had told me last night had intrigued me greatly.

The grove turned out to be quite beautiful, the thick trees around the standing stones giving the place an odd splendour. The stones themselves were obviously of great age, great slabs of grey rock that, if looked at out of the corner of the eye, did seem to bear some resemblance to a standing figure. I was about to move away when a tall Nordic warrior approached, addressing me in a strangely archaic manner.

“Thou, what art thou here doing?” the figure demanded.

“I had heard of Brodir Grove,” I replied, “and wished to look at the standing stones for myself.”

“Standing stones!” the warrior said, snorting laughter. “No standing stones those, but the remains of mine faithful companions turn’d tae stone by that stinkard Grimkell.”

Ulfgar, the warrior, told me that he and his companions had come here on a quest but Grimkell, the wizard, had betrayed them ~ turning three of Ulfgar’s companions to stone. For the last five hundred years, according to what he said, Ulfgar has been searching for the entrance to Sovngarde. Of course, I had to make Ulfgar explain what Sovngarde was ~ turns out it’s some form of mythical fortress where Nordic warriors can quaff mead and fight each other forever. It sounded like a recipe for damnation to me, but Ulfgar seemed quite eager to get there. I told him that I’d heard nothing of Sovngarde but that, should I gather any information, I would return and speak to him.

I headed northwest through the gathering storm, the skies are definitely brewing up some very unpleasant weather. I stopped at a place called the Eddard Barrow to partake of my midday meal. The locked door of the crypt quickly yielded to my spell and the bone-wolves inside presented very little problem. It was in this Barrow that I discovered an enchanted helmet ~ the Helm of Bear-Scent ~ and four volumes of Wolf Queen, two of which I’ve never read. Having completed my repast and packed away my latest acquisitions, I headed out of the tomb and continued north.

Things were looking grim; as I approached the Moestring Mountains I could see that the peaks were wreathed in dark, roiling cloud and a strong wind buffeted me as I made my way up through the passes of the range. It was shortly thereafter, as I was threading my way along a treacherous slope, that the skies finally disgorged their load. The first few flakes fell softly, seemingly unaffected by the stiffening winds. Within minutes, however, the snow was falling like a curtain, whipped into phantasmagorias by the howling wind. I have been in many blizzards since I came to this frigid isle but this is the worst I’ve seen.

I need to get out of this, the temperature had plummeted to the point where each breath hurt and walking against the wind is near impossible. Walking with the wind seems a sure recipe for disaster. Add to this the fact that visibility is down to mere inches ~ I can barely make out the shape of my hand when I press it against my nose. This will be the death of me…

After stumbling along for a little while, I came to a cavern entrance of some kind, maybe a Barrow. When I placed my hand upon the door, a deep resonate voice spoke, saying, “What is my name?”

“ONDJAGE!” I shouted over the roar and howl of the wind. With a grinding noise that was audible even over the storm, the heavy stone door swung open and I stumbled inside. I gasped, shivering as the heavy door ground shut behind me ~ various torches and braziers springing to life as though aware of my presence. Shucking off the matted fur cloak and leaving it near the doorway, I huddled close to one of the burning braziers and took a look at my surroundings.

The niches cut into the walls were empty; in fact they showed no sign of ever having been used. Dominating the centre of the Barrow’s inner chamber was a massive stone platform. Ossified fragments of bone showed that this had been the resting place of a warrior. More interesting, however, was the truncated stone pillar ~ decorated with swirls and spirals in the manner of the Skaal ~ that stood near to the platform. Buried into the top of this pillar was an axe of truly gargantuan proportions. Either the axe had been made to impress the Oblivion out of anyone who came to the Barrow or Hrothmund had been a giant of a Man ~ even amongst his fellow Nordic warriors.

Spitting on my hands, I grasped the handle of the axe ~ fully intending to see if this massive weapon could be removed from the pillar. No sooner had my hands touched the shaft than the same hollow voice that had greeted me outside spoke again. “Why come thou here Sudhendra Vahl?”

“I have come to claim the chieftainship of Thirsk,” I replied, surprising myself. It hadn’t been my intention to say that, some strange impulse had made me speak the words ~ I certainly didn’t intend to spend the rest of my life shivering in the Meadhall directing the actions of a bunch of drunken Nords.

“Thou hast destiny writ upon thee,” the resonate voice stated, “and many are the tasks set before thee. Many are the dreams I see thee in Sudhendra Vahl, and thou cuts through them all like an axe. Nor art thou of Nordic blood, yet a warrior true thou art.

“Know thee now that I give my blessing, thou art named Chieftain of Thirsk, now and ever more, unto the end of thy days,” the voice concluded. Which, I thought wryly, might be a good deal further away than you suspect.

To my joy, I quickly found the Amulet of Infectious Charm, the trinket that Louis Beauchamp had asked me to find. It was basically sitting there on the same pillar as the axe. Tucking it into a pocket, I undid my bedroll and settled beside one of the braziers. It might seem morbid of me to spend a night in that crypt but, since the alternative was stepping out into the storm that still raged outside, it seemed the lesser of the two evils.

I really dont know what more I can say about your story.. Think I need a dictionary because its just so freaking great Override!

Keep it up!

As always, wonderfully descriptive. Your words create a world that the reader can step into effortlessly. And Sudhendra's continued growth has been most enjoyable to watch.

What a perverse place this is. I was delighted when, upon opening the door to Hrothmund’s Bane, I saw that the day was beautiful ~ crisp, white snow on the ground and a brilliant blue sky overhead. That’s when the bitter cold hit me, making me gasp and slam the Barrow door shut until after I’d broken my fast. Then, wrapped tightly in the fur cape, I made my way east towards Thirsk.

My return to Thirsk could best be described as triumphal: as I walked up the steep slope of the hill that leads to the Meadhall, the occupants were there to cheer and whistle. The doors of the hall were swung open as I approached and Svenja Snow-Song met me as I stepped inside. “All hail the Chieftain of Thirsk!” she yelled, a cry that was taken up by the people assembled there. With a smile, she extended the handle of a massive claymore to me, leading the cheer as I gripped the hilt of the Clanbringer, the traditional weapon and symbol of the Chieftain of Thirsk.

“I ken that ye have many demands upon your time Chieftain,” she said during a quiet moment when tables and chairs were being dragged into position. “And I ken that ye will no be here for much o’ the time while ye meet these demands. If it pleases ye, I will name someone tae be your second-in-command, tae run the Meadhall in your absence.”

“I think I know whom I want in that position Svenja,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. She blushed an interesting shade of red and dipped her head.

“It would be my honour,” she murmured. “There are a couple o’ matters that need immediate attention…”

“So, let’s discuss them,” I said. Svenja wanted to know if the hunters should continue hunting snow-bears and snow-wolves ~ the white fur of these creatures is highly prized in Nordic culture and the sale of them finances much of the work the Meadhall does as a travellers’ rest. Under the previous Chieftain, the hunters gathered pelts for him exclusively and she wanted to know if this practice should continue.

“No,” I responded, “I will take one pelt out of every ten, the rest are to be used to finance the Meadhall as it used to be. Is there anything else?”

“Mead,” she replied, “we have but a ten days’ stock afore we run out. Either ye’ll have tae order some, or I’ll need your authority tae do it.”

“Can’t have a Meadhall without mead,” I said, smiling at her. “You have my authority to order mead as you… we need it.”

“Then I’ll put an order in this very day,” she said as she turned away, “since it takes a week for shipments tae come from Skyrim.”

With the business side taken care of, it was time for me to meet and greet various people, like the author Bereditte Jastal. This Breton came to the Meadhall a year ago and, so enamoured was he of the rough and tumble lifestyle, stayed permanently. He had a gift for me; a beautifully engraved and decorated volume entitled The Chieftains of Thirsk. From the grin on his face as I leafed through the book, I had a fairly good idea of what I would find in the latter entries. Sure enough, there was written an account of my battle with the Udyrfrykte and my elevation to the position of Chieftain.

Jastal proved to be an intriguing conversationalist, well versed in his letters and an avid bibliophile. He had several volumes of books that he’d written ~ two of which caught my eye. The Song of Uncle Sweetshare told the tale of a kindly old Man who, on Old Life evening, distributed sweets to all the good children. I pondered on this, the description of the mythical Uncle Sweetshare sounded very much like the description of the Moon Sugar Poisoner who had struck at Fort Frostmoth.

Of much more interest was the volume entitled Sovngarde: A Re-Examination. This slender volume suggested that Sovngarde’s entrance didn’t exist in this world but that it is, instead, a portal for the dead. In other words, all a Nord has to do is die in combat and he will enter Sovngarde. I’m not sure, but I think that Ulfgar the Unending might have a slight interest in this.

Before I could follow up on either lead however, there was a great deal of merrymaking to be made. Mead flowed like water and there seemed to be an endless supply of mouth-wateringly succulent meat from the kitchens. Soon there was a full-blown celebration going on with wild Nordic dances and toasts to my health and long life (if only they knew). At one point I could have sworn that I saw Korst Wind-Eye in the crowd. There was a flash of a smile, and then he was gone. Of course, I was fairly… well, the phrase is ‘as relaxed as a drunken Nord’.

Of course, there were downsides. The bard, Bathmar Bold-Lute, insisted on questioning me on every little detail of my life and then singing a verse about it. Badly. And loudly. When the hall started to sway like a ship at sea, I made my excuses and staggered upstairs to the chamber prepared for me. A bed, a bed, my chieftainship for a bed…

My mouth tasted like the great deserts of Elsweyr when I awoke this morn. And my head rang like thunder. Oh wait, that really was thunder. Peering out of the window, I looked out onto a grey and miserable day ~ overcast and wet. Just what I needed. Forgoing break-fast, I stepped out into the cold and the rain, allowing the fresh air to wash away the cobwebs that seem to have accumulated overnight. Then, feeling much refreshed, I set a course for Brodir Grove.

The walk through the forests of Solstheim was just what I needed after the overindulgences of last night. The fresh air, cold and wet though it was, acted as the best tonic in the Mundus and I was soon feeling much more my old self. By the time I came to Brodir Grove, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself for having solved Ulfgar’s problem. Of course, at that point I hadn’t really considered the consequences of giving the book to the ancient Nordic warrior, nor had I considered what his likely reaction would be.

“Kill me,” the Nordic warrior said, putting down the book.

“What!” I exclaimed, completely taken aback.

“I want thee to take up thy sword,” he said, enunciating every word clearly, “an’ I want thee to hit me as hard as thee can. O’ course, since ‘tis an honourable death that I seek, I will try to kill thee too.”

“You’re insane,” I replied.

“D’ye think me so isolated that I’ve no heard that thee battled a Daedric Prince and won the day?” he said patiently. “Or that I’d no hear that thee were Chieftain o’ Thirsk? Thou art a bonnie warrior and tae battle thee would be honourable.”

I looked at Ulfgar aghast. I’d brought the book to him in the hopes that he would find the peace that he so desperately sought. Engaging in combat with him had not even begun to figure in my plans. “I absolutely will not fight you,” I said.

There was a brief moment when there was complete silence, and then it was broken by the unmistakable sound of steel on leather. I was already moving when Ulfgar’s blade crashed against the stone I’d been sitting on, striking sparks. Recovering quickly, the warrior aimed a blow at my head, the edge of his sword chipping off chunks of the ice as I ducked. Unfortunately these two moves had placed Ulfgar between me and the entrance to his abode.

Grimly I drew Blodskal from its scabbard and Ulfgar’s next blow crashed against steel. Driving the blade aside, I slashed at the old warrior ~ forcing him to jump backwards. His return blow made my blade sing, the vibrations shaking me as a second blow crashed against the Blodskaal. I realised that I wouldn’t overpower Ulfgar ~ skill, not brute strength was needed here. Leaping backwards, I threw the Blodskaal at him, his broad blade sweeping up to knock the weapon aside. With a deadly whisper, twin silver blades slid from their scabbards as I squared up to the old Man.

“Now this is more like it,” Ulfgar yelled, dropping his shoulder to block the left-hand blade with his heavy pauldron while he blocked the right with his own sword. “This what I call a fight.”

I grinned as we locked sword, my blades crossed in front of me to trap his. Twisting slightly, I hammered by elbow into his exposed face. With a bellow, the ancient Nord stepped back, blood dribbling from his nostrils. For the next few seconds, the only sound in the cave was the distinctive clash of metal on metal as we lashed out at each other. The edge of his blade nicked my cheek, drawing blood. The grin on his face faded as I returned the favour ~ snaking past his defences to slash a cut just above his right eye.

Warily, we backed away from each other, circling on the slippery floor as we sought an opening. With a quickness that belied his size, Ulfgar whipped in a blow that I only partially blocked. I gasped, staggering backwards as the heavy blade hammered into my ribs. Despite the rippling chainmail, I felt blood start to flow where the blade had impacted although I didn’t think it was more than a slight wound. More determined than ever to finish this fight that I’d wanted no part of, I extended my hand and launched a fireball at the Nord.

His eyes widened as the glowing sphere hit him, the force of the impact hurling him backwards to crash into the supporting wall. Using the lack of friction on the floor, I swooped in low and fast as he started to straighten up. With sickening thuds, the silver blades tore through flesh and armour ~ one ripping his helm from his head and slicing a flap of flesh over his temple; the other punching through the steel cuirass and tearing into his lung. He swung wildly, the blow deflected by one blade as the other crashed into his shoulder and shattered bone. The uppercut from the blocking blade caught Ulfgar unawares, enlarging the tear in his armour as it cut deep, the blade snagging on bone as it tore upwards. With a whooping gasp, the ancient Man staggered back a step before crashing to the ground. Throwing down my swords, I rushed over and knelt beside him.

“Dinnae fret,” Ulfgar wheezed, a thin trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “Thou fought the good fight Chieftain and, had I the use o’ mine arm, I’d salute thee.” He coughed, the force of it shaking his body. When he had managed to draw in another few shallow breaths, he said, “I dinnae ken what will happen next but, if I am able, I will speak to thee from the entrance tae Sovngarde.”

Those were the last words the living Ulfgar spoke to me, he coughed and exhaled ~ and drew in no fresh breath. Sadly I lowered his head to the floor and stood up. I bitterly regretted purchasing that damn’ book and was furious with myself for loosing control in that way. There had been several occasions when I could have broke free of combat and left Ulfgar’s home ~ I was fleet enough of foot that the Nord would have been unable to catch up with me. Melting some ice in a pot over the still burning fire, I cleansed Ulfgar’s face. Then, placing his sword in his hands, I covered the body with one of the thick furs from the bed and stepped outside.

“I thank thee for the honour you hath performed,” a soft voice whispered in my ear.

“ULFGAR!” I exclaimed, spinning around to locate the source of the voice. There was nothing behind me.

“My wish is that ye hath mine sword, Stormfang, and the cape aside my bed,” the voice whispered as I continued to scan the grove for a source. “A final boon. Each of the stones will grant thee mine companions greatest attribute whenever thee comes here and touch the stones.” The voice had been growing fainter and fainter as it spoke. Fading away, the spirit of Ulfgar spoke one last time, “Fare thee well Sudhendra Vahl, Bloodskaal and Chieftain of Thirsk.”

Having taken the wergild that Ulfgar had offered, I sat on a stone on the edge of the grove and contemplated what I had just heard. I do not count myself to be particularly religious but events were fast convincing me that there were mysteries in the Mundus that I didn’t understand. Fedris Hler spoke of the Goddess Almalexia with awe, and I knew that Sotha Sil and the Lord Vehk both existed. I had come face to face with a physical manifestation of a Daedric Prince and other Princes had spoken to me without the rigmarole of being summoned on specific days by specific rituals. And now the dead had spoken to me from beyond the grave. It was enough to make a girl shave her head and enter one of the cloisters of the Imperial Cult. Except, I reflected, that no Divine had ever spoken to me despite my many travels in many lands. Only here in the wastes of Vvardenfell and Solstheim had I touched the divine, which was certainly something to reflect upon.

In a philosophical mood, and for no other reason that the scenery looked attractive, I slung my new cape over my shoulder and headed west. Perhaps, in the back of my mind, I was hoping to find the missing missionary Marisa. Of course, expecting the fine weather to last on Solstheim is like expecting the Empire to hand back a year’s tax. One moment the sky was clear and cerulean, the next it was full of heavy grey clouds and there were spinning flakes of snow hastening on their way to the ground. Settling the hood over my head and wrapping the cape close, I hurried onward in search of shelter before the weather turned really nasty.

“Of course you can,” the sightless Nord said, throwing open the door of his abode as I approached.

That was cool, i like the way she treats Ulfgar's body with honour after she kills him

“Can you provide me shelter?” I asked before I realised what the Man had just said.

“Geilir the Mumbling,” he replied as I stepped inside.

“To whom do I say thank…” I started to say, before stopping and making an annoyed sound.

“I know; it’s annoying isn’t it?” Geilir said with a smile, moving a chair unerringly in my direction and motioning me to be seated. “And no, I can’t.”

“Could you stop doing….” Once more I spluttered to a halt as I realised the blind Man had already answered my question.

“Oh, since the ship capsized and I was washed ashore,” Geilir said. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “When my wife and children died.”

I thought about what he’d said, and then asked the question, “how long have you been able to do this?”

“It has its compensations,” he said brightly, “and I live here with my companion quite happily.”

“That’s terrible,” I said after a moment’s thought. Talking to Geilir was both difficult and disconcerting.

“She was kidnapped, taken by Draugr,” he said, his brow furrowing. “They’re holding her in Kjolbjorn Barrow.”

“Where is your companion?” I asked ~ unable to stop myself, and then I spat a mild curse as I realised what I’d said.

“That would be most kind of you,” he said. “I cannot promise much of a reward, but Oddfrid White-Lip and I should be able to tell your fortune.”

I nodded, scarcely needing to ask the question that I had been formulating. Still, for politeness’ sake, “I could go and recover your companion.”

The sky was still heavy with snow, although only a few errant flakes were spinning out of the grey clouds. Looking at them, I knew that much more was promised. A quick check of my map was all I needed to confirm the location of Kjolbjorn Barrow ~ I had visited it but two days ago. Although, I must confess, there had been but one Draugr in the tomb and no sign of a companion. I suppose that the kidnapping only happened yestere ~ although I got the impression it was longer ago than that.

Kjolbjorn Barrow was as I’d left it; only the corpse of the Draugr was now stinking up the place. Casting a revelation spell, I checked for hidden doorways but found nothing. With a sigh, I sat on the stone pedestal and picked up the skull that was lying there. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a lady by the name of Oddfrid, would you?”

Receiving no answer, I returned the skull to the spot I’d picked it up from and slowly toured the small Barrow again. This third circuit of the rocky walls failed to turn up any hidden doors that I’d inexplicably missed on the previous two circuits. Returning to the entrance, I stood there with my hands on my hips, biting my bottom lip as I surveyed the dark, cool, chamber. My gaze fell on the central stone plinth and a terrible, terrible certainty dawned in my mind.

“Oddfrid White-Lip, I presume?” I said, picking up the skull again. I think Geilir and I need to have words.

“But I know she’s naught but a skull,” Geilir said as I burst into his hovel, shouting, “you sent me to get a damn’ skull?”

“Because I was…” he started to say.

“BE QUIET!” I thundered angrily. “DO. NOT. SAY. A. WORD. UNTIL. I’VE. FINISHED. SPEAKING.” Then, in a much calmer tone of voice I asked, “why didn’t you tell me that I was supposed to be looking for a skull?”

“Cause I was afraid you’d not go,” he replied.

“Fair enough,” I said. “Well, here’s your damn’ skull.”

Unerringly, the blind Man caught the skull I’d tossed towards him. As he closed his hands around it, the hut darkened and there was a susurration of sound, as though of a voice whispering. In an odd ‘doubled’ voice ~ as though two people were speaking at once ~ that made the hair on the nape of my neck stand up, Geilir said, “The Dragon Dies. The Empire Falls. The Lost Blood Of The Dragon Is The Empire’s Sire. When The Marble Gates Of Oblivion Open And The Blood Tide Runs, The Hand Of The Blood Shall Stem The Tide.”

“No that wasn’t for you,” Geilir said as I asked, “what the Oblivion was that?” I glared at the blind Man, earning a brilliant smile in return.

“You’ll meet a tall dark stranger and gain lots of money,” Geilir snapped as I said, “so, what is my fortune?”

Frustrated, I nodded as politely to Geilir as I could and stepped out into the still gathering storm. I tried very hard to ignore Geilir’s parting “I’ll see you soon Vahl.”

Not too much further west, I came to the shore of the island and, turning roughly southwards, I followed it back towards Fort Frostmoth. The landscape changed dramatically, thick sheets of ice extending out to sea. Ahead, through the glare, I could see a tall, dark-haired Man standing on a rocky outcropping. “Ahoy there,” I yelled, dropping my hand onto the hilt of the Blodskal just in case.

“Ahoy,” he replied, friendly enough. I scrambled up onto the rock and walked across to him. I was paying no attention to the fact that I’d just met a tall, dark-haired stranger. Thormoor, for that was the stranger’s name, told me he had been a Captain aboard a ship bound for Solstheim from Skyrim. Unfortunately an excess of mead had made him fall asleep at the wheel and he’d capsized the boat. When he said that he and one other were the only survivors, I got that funny feeling again.

“Blind Man?” I asked, hoping he’d say no, “Answers to the name of Geilir the Mumbling?”

“The very same,” Thormoor said, still gazing out to sea. “He cursed me to eternal wakefulness. So, every day or so I come down from Thirsk to stand here and look out to sea. I find it very… restful.”

“I know Geilir,” I said, “perhaps I can intercede on your behalf?”

“If you like,” he said.

Leaving the apathetic sailor atop the rock, I retraced my steps and approached Geilir’s hut. As I drew close, the door swung open and the blind seer stepped out. “If you wish,” he said, “you may be right that Thormoor has suffered enough. And no.”

“Will you stop doing that?” I exclaimed, then I cursed when I realised that I’d already had my answer. Geilir laughed and returned to his hut, closing the door in a manner that suggested that he and I had no further business to transact.

Thormoor Gray-Wave was almost asleep on his feet when I returned to the outcropping of rock. He thanked me for speaking to Geilir and, amidst great yawns, told me that I should speak with him on the morrow ~ after he’d had some sleep. As he stumbled off, I turned my face to the western sun and headed back to Fort Frostmoth for the night.

Since yestere’s exploration of the eastern side of the island had revealed no trace of Mirisa, I decided that I would try and cover the western side of the island today. After some fairly good-natured jests about my new style of clothing, I packed some provisions and set off. The first Barrow I visited, Frosselmane, turned out to be completely empty ~ if you didn’t count the ice-wrapped figures tucked into the niches cut into the wall. I wish the same could have been said about Himmelhost.

The Himmelhost Barrow was the final resting place of a pirate crew ~ except that they were not resting peaceably. I had entered the Barrow and ventured down the outer corridors to the inner burial chamber when the skeletal pirates attacked from the darkness. There was some spirited swordplay and quite a lot of magic before I had destroyed the main part of the crew. The Captain, however, seemed impervious to magic and was far tougher than any skeletal warrior I’d ever faced. Clearing my mind, I spoke the words that would summon assistance in the battle, “Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata.”

Brittle bone cracked and splintered under the impact of the Atronach’s clenched fists, the sabre the skeletal pirate was wielding making no impact whatsoever on the tough hide of my Summons. The second blow stove in the ribcage and the third smashed the skull into spinning white shards. I grinned as, deprived of whatever motive force that had animated it, the skeleton crumbled to dust. My pleasure at the ease of the defeat was short-lived.

With a terrible grating sound, the Atronach’s head turned towards me ~ banked fires smouldering in its eye sockets. I felt my control over the Daedra slip and, quicker than I had ever seen one move, the Atronach had turned and was bearing down on me. I tried to re-establish my control over it but the bone-jarring impact of its fist on my mailed chest was a fairly clear indication that I had failed.

I crashed off the wall behind me, just managing to stagger to one side as a bunched fist hammered dust off the wall where my head had been. Rolling away from the conflict, I scrambled to my feet and hurled a fireball at the Atronach. I might as well have thrown snow at it for all the effect it had. Muttering curses under my breath, I dodged around the corner of the Barrow’s corridor, drawing my sword as a flickering sphere of lightning exploded against the wall. Shucking off my pack, I raced around the narrow passageway ~ seeking to come up on the Atronach from behind.

The huge fist that crashed into me as I skidded around the corner reminded me that, while such a creature might not look like the sharpest dagger in the set, Atronachs (and all Daedra) had a scary amount of intelligence. Shaken and bleeding, I back-pedalled quickly, slashing out with the Clanbringer as I did so. The heavy serrated blade struck sparks from the tough material of the Atronach ~ causing the thing to roar in anger as the blade’s vicious enchantment bit home.

Huge gouts of raw energy exploded around the Atronach, a swirling storm of lightning as it focussed on me and started to advance ~ the crackling sphere of instant death that was forming between its hands glowing and growing. I squared off, preparing to strike as hard as I could with the heavy claymore before the Daedra could launch its spell. I had forgotten, in the adrenaline-rush, that time was on my side.

There was a roar as a field of sparkling yellow motes surrounded the Atronach, the solid form suddenly becoming translucent. With a last, furious roar, the Atronach launched the shock-ball at me as it dissolved. I gulped as, scant inches away, the swirling energy sphere dissolved and faded from the Mundus. I slumped against the wall, shaken to my core: like most Mages, I’d heard tales of a Summons turning on its Summoner but had dismissed them as a sort of myth. Now I knew better and I would have to revise my opinion of the usefulness of summoning any form of Daedra. Obviously continued reliance on such creatures had eroded my ability to control them.

It was in this pensive mood that I searched Himmelhost Barrow, the treasures that I found there doing much to lift me from my dark mood. Several rotting sacks yielded up a couple of hundred Septims and the darkly sparkling black Ioun stone I discovered tucked into the bottom of a chest were nice booty. Add to that the sabre and the note I discovered amidst the shattered remains of the pirate Captain. The sabre was nicely balanced and woven with dark and ancient magics: but it was the note that attracted me the most. It spoke of a treasure, pirate’s treasure, buried in the muck at the foot of a stone arch near a ‘house of the dead’. I had seen several such rock-bridges during my travels although I couldn’t remember seeing one close to a tomb.

Pausing only to drink a couple of restorative potions, I continued heading northeast ~ in the general direction of Thirsk. I had not gone far from Himmelhost when I espied a massive stone arch looming up ahead in the swirling snow. Altering my course, I bend down and struggled against the bitingly cold wind, which was howling out of the north, and made my way towards the formation. Close to a holly-bush, under a patch of muck, I discovered a rotting chest.

The key I’d taken from the pirates’ remains in Himmelhost fitted the ancient lock perfectly and the lid sprang open to reveal the mellow glow of large quantities of gold coin. Amidst the two hundred twenty-five-Septim pieces ~ all of which bore the profile of Septim the 5th ~ were scatted a number of glittering gemstones: rubies and emeralds for the most part, with a scattering of diamonds. As you can image, it was with a great deal of glee that I scooped the contents out of the chest and distributed them between my pack and my purse. One thing I’d have to do in the not too distant future, was make a deposit at the Bank of Vvardenfell. There’s a considerable amount of weight involved in five thousand Septims, regardless of the denomination of the coinage.

While I had been helping myself to this horde of archaic coinage, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, so there was no real surprise there. What had been a fairly thick descent of swirling flakes had grown much worse ~ snow plummeted out of the sky in massive scurries, the swirling wind whipping them into an obscuring curtain of whirling motes. Forget about finding Marisa, or getting up to Thirsk, finding some shelter had become my immediate worry. Slithering down the slope beside the stone arch, I was startled to see a looming shape in the snow.

“Bloodskaal, it that ye?” a voice shouted, struggling to make itself heard over the weird piping of the wind.

“Who’s that?” I screamed back, relaxing my grip on the hilt of the Blodskal but not letting go just yet.

“Ingmar, ‘tis Ingmar,” the voice yelled back as the looming shape moved closer. As it did, the reason for the figure’s shape became apparent ~ the huge cloak wrapped around the very large Skaal gave him a very odd appearance. I vaguely recognised the young Nord, I was pretty sure I’d seen him around the village.

“What are you doing here Ingmar?” I said as the massively built Nord raised an arm, allowing the huge cloak to settle around the two of us. “You’ve got to be insane to be out in this weather, Skaal or no.”

“Ye’re out in this weather,” Ingmar replied, not unreasonably. “Besides, I have the Valbrandr Draugr tae kill.” Ingmar went on to explain that he was undergoing a trial of manhood; he was to kill the Draugr in the Valbrandr Barrow single-handedly and return with a trophy to the village. I nodded; Korst had spoken of such rituals and their importance. Ingmar, however, had a problem.

“Twice I’ve tried,” he said sadly. “An’ twice I have failed. Yon creature is too much for me tae single-handedly defeat.”

“I have an idea,” I said, unbuckling the massive Nordic shield from my pack. “Why don’t we go in together? I’ll distract the beast and you can kill it?” Ingmar wasn’t sure that this was allowed but, as I pointed out, if he was the only one to attack the Draugr and I just happened to be there, then the spirit of the ritual was being observed… just not the strict letter.

Ingmar seemed to accept that and we made our way back up the slope and into the small amount of shelter offered by the Barrow’s entrance. Dropping the fur cape, Ingmar hefted his sword and I made sure my shield was firmly in place. Then, kicking open the stone door, we rushed inside. There was a grunt as Ingmar’s sword connected with the Draugr, simultaneously there was a violent hammering on the shield I carried. Pushing back against the blows, I continued to act as a distraction as Ingmar’s blade struck twice, three times, a fourth…

“The treasures o’ this Barrow I’ll leave tae ye Bloodskaal,” Ingmar said, “I would nae feel right in myself about them taking.” There was a swirl of snow as he pulled open the door, and then he was gone. His parting words had been that I should visit him at his home when I was next in the village.

Since the storm is still screaming its fury outside, I took flint and tinder and built a fire. Setting my bedroll beside it, I prepared a meal and then retired for the night.

I couldn’t say what hour it was when I woke, my screams echoing around the enclosed space of the Barrow. With a dry throat I added more fuel to the fire and wrapped my cloak around myself. The dream had been deeply unsettling…



The dream had seemed so real and had contained imagery that I found so deeply unsettling that I sat and shivered by the fire for the rest of the night.

Nice update.. very nice Override. The fight against the Atronach was very nice written.. as always Cant wait for more..

Weary from my vigil against the reoccurrence of the dream, I left the Valbrandr Barrow after breaking my fast and continued north through he snow-shrouded woods. The crisp morning air was just what I needed after a night like last night and I soon found myself feeling far cheerier. So it was, in this fairly good frame of mind that I came upon a most bizarre sight.

There, nestled amidst the trees, was a small cabin that was festooned with brightly coloured lanterns. As I approached, I saw a small, huddled body in the snow ~ a Suthay-Raht whose body stank with the distinctive acidic smell of Moon Sugar. Clutched in one paw was a sheet of paper; scrawled on this were the same verses I’d read in Thirsk.

He he! Ha ho!
To the workshop he will go!
My Uncle's candy is so sweet!
It's such a yummy winter's treat!
When the sugar is warmed by the pale hearth’s light
The happiness spreads throughout the night!
He he! Ha ho!
To the workshop he will go!
Uncle Sweetshare is coming near
To spread his candy and his cheer!
It's better than trinkets, games or toys
So say all the little girls and boys!
He he! Ha ho!
To the workshop he will go!
Candy, candy -- he makes so much!
Uncle Sweetshare has a magic touch!
So it's back to the workshop in the snow!
With lovely lanterns all aglow!

Inside the hut I found a grossly fat Bosmeri, a ridiculous white Colovian fur hat perched on his head. With a glower at the grinning figure, I asked, “Are you the buffoon that’s going around giving everyone Moon Sugar?”

"My candy treats are tasty, they are! And filled with special sugar and love!" he exclaimed, performing a mad shuffle. "They bring happiness! Happiness to everyone on Solstheim! That's what I do, you see! I give out my special sugary treats and spread happiness throughout the land! It's difficult work, but oh so very rewarding! M'nashi certainly thought so. Ahh, M'nashi, the dear lad...."

“M’nashi?” I asked, “You mean the dead Khajiiti outside?”

"M'nashi was my assistant! He helped me make my candy! He so loved his sugar, M'nashi did," the grotesque little Bosmer said in a singsong voice. "Loved it a little too much, I'm afraid! He died, you see. His… ah… sweet tooth got the better of him. I buried him, just outside. We had a lovely little ceremony. The Horkers came and sang for him, they did! He he he! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

“Now listen up short-stuff,” I went on, poking a finger into his ample girth, “this has just got to stop. You can’t go around poisoning people with Moon Sugar. Severia Gratius has…”

"Oh, that Severia Gratius is so grumpy!" the Bosmer said, pulling a rueful face. "Maybe I should visit her next! Because that's what I do. I visit the sad and miserable and spread all the happiness I can! It is the way of Uncle Sweetshare, you see! Now that Jeleen, there's a sad, sad boy. His true love has disappeared, don't you know. Very sad, very sad." The Bosmer smiled a sudden and utterly crazed smile, adding. “That’s why I sang to him! He needed something extra, something special! Sugar and a song! It cures all!"

“You’re completely insane, aren’t you?” I said, unable to suppress a grin at the thought of this little twerp singing to the very stern Severia Gratius.

"He he he he he!" 'Uncle Sweetshare' giggled, clutching his wobbling stomach. "Mad? Mad, you call me? Oh no, Dark Elf, it is you who are mad! For how can anyone who doesn't recognize true happiness ever be considered sane? Oh why oh why can't you people just be happy? Well, let's get to it then! He he he, ha ha!"

With that, the still giggling Bosmeri scooped up a handful of fine white powder and threw it right in my face. With a cry that was half outrage and part pain, I lashed out at the spot the rotund Bosmeri had been standing. Of course, my fist contacted with nothing but air.

With a resounding ‘CLANG’ that set my ears a-ringing, something heavy and metallic bounced off the back of my helm. Staggering forwards, I rubbed frantically at my streaming eyes, cursing and coughing as, damn’ near blinded, I lurched around the hut. It was fortunate that the burning powder had gone in my eyes ~ the agonising pain made them flow copiously with tears and this was rapidly washing my eyes clean.

Everything was still very blurred, but I could just make out the brown-robed shape lining up another blow with the heavy iron pot he was toting. With a scream that echoed around the hut, I yanked the twin blades from their scabbards and slashed out with them. My scream was echoed by another as the blurry figure in front of me was suddenly covered in red. With evil hissing sounds, the blades whipped through the air in a complex pattern, the slight tugging as their razor-sharp edges made contact all I needed to press forwards.

When there were no more sounds, I reeled to the nearest wall and trailed my bloodied hand along it until I reached the door, yanking it open; I rushed outside and scooped up a handful of snow. Ohhh sweet Azura that felt so good. When the stinging and burning sensations had gone, I wiped my face and stepped back into the hut.

Stepping around the leaking corpse, I quickly examined the contents of the hut before taking the Colovian helm and tucking it into my pack. If I was in the Moon Sugar trade, I could have made a vast fortune from the crystals that were piled everywhere. A small, portable mortar and pestle caught my eye ~ other than the helm, it was the only thing I took from the hut.

Thirsk loomed through the snow, and I trudged up the slope and through the fortifications, into the welcoming warmth of the Meadhall. I had, during my trip up the eastern side of Solstheim, seen no trace of Marisa and I began to fear the worst for the missionary. She’s either lost in some ice-cavern somewhere between here and Fort Frostmoth or she’d become lunch for some of the local fauna. Either way, finding her is going to be quite a task.

Thormoor was standing by the fire, quaffing mead and, wiping dark beard, he came over to speak with me. “I’ll tell ye of Gyldenhul Barrow,” he said. “Its’ the location of a lost pirate treasure and I’m gifting it to you. Here is the key, let me show you where it is on your map…”

I was, let us say, a little sceptical about this treasure; after all, I’d already found the pirate treasure that Captain Carius had mentioned. The chances of a second pirate treasure on the island seemed to be fairly remote, especially given the vast riches that Thormoor had described. This scepticism continued right up to the moment I unlocked the door to Gyldenhul Barrow and stepped inside.

The treasure I took from that crypt were exceptional: in addition to the piles of glittering, scintillating precious stones I also found a Glass sword with a fire-enchantment on it; a heavily gold-inlaid Ebony sword; a Glass helm; and a mound of coin. Coinage of the realm, vast heaps of it, covering almost every surface. I have some fairly wild dreams, but the nine thousand Septims were riches that almost exceeded them. Staggering under the weight, I returned to the Skaal village.

I packed up the things I wished to take back to Vvardenfell with me, Gods above and below, I hadn’t realised I’d gathered so much whilst I was here.

After paying my final respects to Korst Wind-Eye (and paying a quick visit to Ingmar ~ who gave me a powerfully enchanted belt in return for my assistance yestere) I used my last Divine Intervention scroll to move myself down to Frostmoth. There I spoke to Severia Gratius about the late Bosmer who’d fancied himself as ‘Uncle Sweetshare’ and gave her the Colovian fur-helm. I was well rewarded for my actions ~ Severia gave me an enchanted short-sword and fifteen hundred Septims to add to my already bulging purse. She also told me that Carnius Magius, who has something to do with the East Empire Company, wanted to see me. He maintains an office above the Imperial Shrine.

Which suited me fine, I had to speak to Jeleen and tell him that I’d found no trace of Marisa since she’d left Thirsk several days ago. He was disappointed that I was unwilling to expend more time looking for her but I did tell him that I’d asked both the people at Thirsk and the Skaal to keep an eye open for her.

Which left Carnius Magius. The representative of the EEC smiled at me as I entered his office and said, “I understand you have some sort of comprehension of those savages up north. That could be quite beneficial to the EEC so I’ve decided to offer you a position with us.”

“Which is a shame,” I replied, having taken an immediate disliking to Magius. “Since I have no interest in working for the EEC. And I’d advise you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth when you speak of the Skaal ~ they’re liable to remove it if they hear you call them savages.”

“Huh,” he said with an expressive shrug. “Why should I care what some Dark Elf thinks a bunch of savages will do? After all, how would they hear what I said about them?”

“Some of us,” I commented as I swung open the office door, “have a special understanding of the Skaal and might, inadvertently, mention what you said.” Leaving him spluttering ~ I’m sure that nobody had ever dared speak to the fat, oily, Imperial slug like that in his entire life ~ I slammed the door and made my way down to the docks. I had one last task I wanted to perform and, for that, I needed to book passage back to Khuul.

As instructed, the ship’s Captain woke me when we were roughly halfway between Fort Frostmoth and Khuul. With wide, uncomprehending eyes, he watched as I tipped a tiny silver ring over the side and watched as it sank into the murky oceanic depths. Having disposed of Hircine’s Ring, I returned to my cabin and whiled away the rest of the voyage. Once back in Khuul, I wasted little time in translocating to Tel Vahl and dumping my pack ~ leaving the contents for Raissu Asserbas to sort out.

Here ends this chapter of the Tale of Sudhendra Vahl

I've finally read The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl from chapter 1 to the end of chapter 8. Thank you for an amazing story. With the story being so long, I have a hard time recalling all the good writing you did, but I will try to name those that leap to mind right now. Overall, I especially like the attention to details of fights. You do that extremely well. Both the ones you go into little details about, and also those you look at at a glance. It's good for the pace of the story that you don't describe every fight.

Also, it's fun to read about the many mods you obviously installed during the game, too. Most of them I haven't tried myself, but you've made them seem natural to the original game. Here I'm thinking particularly about the master smith Lheros, the Ioun stones, the apprentice scrolls, and the master trainer in elementals.

Your reasoning for training new skills in magic and other weapons apart from your trusty axe is good and seems like a logical step.

I've laughed out loud several times while reading your story. E.g. when Sudhendra and a vampire has the same idea to creep along the wall and peer around the corner - peering into each other's eyes, both yelling surprised.
Or recently in Solstheim when she is talking - always a step behind - with Geilir the Mumbling.

The first regular chapters were great in that you managed to convey the feeling of being in an alien place where everything is new. I really enjoy that you spell out the incantations to the reader.

I look very much forward to reading the continued Tale of Sudhendra, and I can see that chapter 9 is well under way.

PS I read your Tale from the main fan fiction and discovered at least two missing text parts. I've made a short post in the two concerning chapter threads: Chapter 1, part 1 and Chapter 1, part 2. Just wanted to let you know because it's a shame to miss out on those if people only read it on the main page.

Edit: Spelling.