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

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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:

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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.

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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…