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

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

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

“What!” I exclaimed, completely taken aback.

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

“You’re insane,” I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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