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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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I was standing at the entrance to a tall tower with a thin white mist curling around my feet. The door to the tower swung open and a tall, golden-masked figure ushered me inside. Mounds of skulls lined the walls of the large chamber I found myself standing in ~ of the masked figure there was no sign. A voice, deep and resonant, spoke to me, saying, “There are many rooms in the House of your Master. Rest easy, for I have from the hands of thine enemies delivered you.”
A long plinth had appeared beside me, upon the surface lay a figure covered with a thin white cloth. Red candles burned in tall stands at the cardinal corners. With a trembling hand, I reached out and removed the shroud from the figure. I found myself looking down into my own waxy features as the corpse opened its eyes and drew in a breath… and started to scream.

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