The Hunter's Moons
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:
CODE
Be Warned:
All who seek their fortunes amongst the remains of the dead shall find only remorse. I will no longer stand by and let my family's remains be pawed over by mere thieves. Leave this place, and remove nothing, lest fate deal with you as it has those who've come before you.
Above all else - do not approach the resting places of these honored warriors.
You have been warned.
Melos Rin
Son of Felos "Bear Kin"
6th Year Necromancer
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.
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.
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:
CODE
Day 3
Progress continues on my efforts to thwart these would-be grave robbers. During the fortification process in the catacombs however, one of the rock walls gave way, exposing a much older sub-chamber. I'm not sure why my ancestors felt it necessary to seal off this portion of the catacombs, but I intend to find out.
I have covered quite a bit of these subterranean caves, and removed most of the traps in the first three chambers. I saw a glimpse of what might have been a field of some type. I'll resume my efforts in that chamber tomorrow.
CODE
Day 4
Unfortunately, and quite ironically, I believe I have triggered one of my ancestor's many surprises, and released a creature that I have never seen the likes of before.
It is some sort of last defense guardian, but he won't submit to any of our family's enchantments. I fear I will have no choice but to do battle with the beast. Something I am not looking forward to as it managed to tear through three of my warriors in a matter of seconds. Thankfully, that gave me enough time to teleport back to the entrance.
I shall remain here tonight, and think of a means of dealing with the creature in the morning. I've set two of my best sentries as guards, and set a bone-hound at the entrance to the catacombs - nothing escapes their attention. With any luck, I'll dispatch the beast, and continue with my plans for converting these caves into my own private sanctuary.
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.
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 M�nen."
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.
"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.
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...
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...
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.
"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....
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.
(c)2005 OverrideB1
On to part 2