» Sun Jun 03, 2012 1:21 am The Tale of Hjoldir the Beastmaster
Prologue
The headsman's axe fell like thunder, splitting the soldier in two. Much like his pooling blood, my whole life suddenly poured out, right before my eyes. I saw http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/632987624192816868/99B3C92B67600115531FFDBFF5E114B549718891/, and old Grelod, may Kyne curse her black heart. I recalled my escape from that accursed place, and subsequent life as street urchin and pickpocket in the dark alleys of decadent Riften. I remembered the rats scampering about me as I lay to sleep, the nauseating stench of the gutters keeping me up most of the night. I saw a courtesan laughing stupidly, her ruined teeth reflecting a tortured soul. I saw disgust stamped on the plump faces of the wealthy, who never gave me anything but the end of a boot.
I knelt before the blood-drenched block, my heart beating uncontrollably inside my chest. I remembered how fast it also beat when I ran far from that world of decadence, deep into the wild, where I spent many miserable years under the stars, enduring the freezing cold and cruel hunger. I saw the kind face of Gunnar, the old ranger who was to become my mentor. I saw us out in the woods, training archery, and studying the flora and beasts. I relived our many hunts together, where I learned to appreciate the beauty of nature's delicate balance. How we laughed together at life's simplicity.
The bloodied axe was raised, its blade shining in the pale morning sun, as if blessed with a Divine, righteous light. So too shone in the distance a flickering light, on that fateful evening on my return from http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/632987624192925702/C000EE9B83ABED3D88A446EB64285347D5581B0B/, where I had buried Gunnar. I headed toward the light, braving the chilling mountain wind that urged me away with its sombre voice. I wish I had heeded it. As I approached the soldiers and their burning torches, we were ambushed by an overwhelming force of Legionnaires, bound, and sent to our deaths on horse-drawn carts. Was this what I was destined for? To die a senseless death at the hands of corruption?
A http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/631860316840216790/5D4F35193562235C51F3A09CDF8AD82C199BF61B/ descended upon Helgen on black wings, its deep, intelligent eyes fixed on me. I wondered if death herself had come to take me. Indeed it was death, but it was not meant to be my own. Fire erupted all around us, the charred bodies of men and women falling lifeless to the ground. In the chaos that ensued, I managed to escape the ill-fated town and breathed once again the sweet air of freedom. Behind me, all was silent.
My life was about to change.
Chapter 1
Turning Point
There was a half-hearted knock on the cabin door. As the rusty hinges creaked in protest, Gunnar collapsed on the ground, convulsing. He was almost completely frozen. I threw some more wood on the fire, changed his wet clothes and put him to bed. Thistle tea seemed to calm him somewhat, but he was still unresponsive and mumbled incoherently. Finally, he fell asleep. I sat by him all night long, keeping the fire going and holding his weathered hands.
We relocated very frequently; Gunnar would tell me that Skyrim was too beautiful to settle in any one place, and that was good enough for me. But recently he had begun undertaking mysterious, solitary journeys. He was as headstrong as anyone I'd ever met, and would not disclose his destination nor the reason for his protracted absences. He had at times returned feverish, but always alert and sharp as ever I knew him. I had never seen him so sickly. I worried deeply.
The next morning his condition had deteriorated. A vicious fever ravaged his body, and he became delirious. He beckoned me to his side and, with his last remaining strength, whispered a few words. His voice was nearly unintelligible, but I understood something about a blade and a scroll, forgiveness, and finding words of power.
Unsure if it was the fever talking, I turned to look for his fine blade, hoping to find some clues, when I heard his parting breath. I fell to my knees, hugging the old man who had become so dear to me. I kissed him on the forehead, my tears flowing down his pallid face as if he too were weeping. The only friend I had ever known was forever lost to me. The cold wind outside battered the cabin's walls, singing a solemn hymn through the cracks in the wood. I had never felt so alone.
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"Dovahkiin...". The word swept through the tundra like a tidal wave, giving voice to my thoughts. Dragonborn, the men called me; Dovahkiin. I had already found an ancient word, and now I had gained the means to unlock its power. This must be what Gunnar meant by "words of power". Did he learn of the return of the dragons, of Alduin? Was I, as Dragonborn, destined to defeat them?
Gunnar meant for me to find words of power. I would honour his parting words, even to my undoing.
Chapter 2
Into the Wild
Feet spread apart at shoulder length, bowstring pulled to its maximum draw, eyes fixed on the target, my whole body was like a coiled snake ready to spring into action. The arrow ripped through the air like a peregrine falcon, climbing to a great height as if to survey the land before diving furiously and unerringly towards its target. It struck the cave bear in the neck, causing the poison to course rapidly through its body. The great beast roared defiantly and charged, only to find its movement debilitated by the powerful muscle relaxant. The fact that it was still rapidly gaining ground was testament to the animal's formidable power. I ran back between each shot, less as the bear's fight diminished with each arrow, until finally it collapsed on its side. Thanking Kyne for her mighty gift, I took all I could from the animal's carcass and headed north towards Hjaalmarch.
The twin moons' great eyelids were wide open, their delicate glow reflecting off the low-hanging mist that permeated the miles of swamp stretching all around me. Life was rich and varied: the deathbells danced to the insect choir's majestic melody, while the fungal pods hunted with their bittersweet allure, and the vigilant dragonflies patrolled the murky waters. It was a place of simplicity and balance, free from the political intrigues and machinations of the outside world. An eery mantle of mystery seemed to blanket the swamp, such that one felt encased in a magical cocoon.
I dropped my backpack and knelt before a fungal pod. Gunnar had taught me how to safely extract the toxin inside, but it required a steady hand and much patience. The effort is well worth it; when combined with imp stool spores, the toxin is greatly fortified. It affects the central nervous system and can paralyze even a fully grown mammoth in seconds. It is short-lived and non-lethal, but is extremely effective.
Lights danced playfully in the gloom like will-o'-the-wisps, far off in the distance, but I knew them to be torches from the town of Morthal, capital of Hjaalmarch. I wondered if any of the townsfolk had seen Gunnar on his final journey. Weary and famished, I decided to stop for the night.
(chapter continues)
Hope you like the start of chapter 2.
