The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: The Hunter's Moons Options

[OverrideB1]

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.

[OverrideB1]

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.