Chapter 2: The Curse
In the frozen wastelands of Solstheim, the snow was coming down heavily on the nord men that ran across the plains. Any normal person would probably seek shelter in weathers like this one, but because of the men's heritage they only felt more powerful, more alive in this terrain. One of these men was Ulfgar, newest chieftain of Thirsk and slayer of the horrible Udurfrykte. He was clad in thick fur armour, and wielded a war axe made of stahlrim, magical ice that was as hard as the most durable metal. His long hair and beard was covered in snow, and his clothes were soaked and cold from the snow. Still, he endured all of this only to prove to his fellow nords that he was the most courageous, toughest and strongest of them all. The hunt had been going on for two or three days now and there was still a lot to go. None of the warriors of Thirsk had collected any wolf pelts, and the absence of wolves was a problem that just wouldn't leave Ulfgar's mind. He also thought about the strange dream he had been having the night before the hunt began. In it, he had been ordered by a man with horns to "join the hunt", and he had been surrounded by nord men. These men had reached out for him, and suddenly they started changing into something that looked like wolves. Ulfgar hadn't really given the dream any other thoughts, other than that it was pretty weird.
As Ulfgar climbed a small hill, he realised that these fields were not familiar to him. Despite that he had lived on the island as chieftain of Thirsk for a whole year now, he had never seen this place before. It was a large field, outlined with large boulders and trees. He descended from the hill and strolled into this field, curious of what it might be. He stopped in the middle of the field, and looked around him. He had this nagging feeling of unease stuck in the back of his mind, and he noticed a lot of strange things about this field. He bent down and felt the grass, and it was as warm as a summer day in Morrowind, despite the fact that it should be covered with at least a three-foot layer of snow. He also noticed that there was an unusual absence of sound, not even a wind to break the silence. These things, as strange as it might be, were not the main reasons for his concern. As he had entered the field, he had suddenly recognised the scenery, but he did not know from where. He decided that it was best to leave this place, and come back later on with a couple of his friends to investigate. As he turned around and started to walk, a voice that felt suspiciously familiar, spoke to him.
"Join the hunt…"
Ulfgar froze, and for a moment he felt a very strong chill run down his spine. He recognised the feeling, as it was fear that had struck him. He quickly spun around, the stahlrim axe in his hand, and gazed at the shadowy figure that stood a couple of feet before him. Although he could not see the figure very well, he knew the voice and those horns. It was the man from his dream, now standing before him. "Who are you!?" Ulfgar shouted, and you could tell from his voice that this was not a man that he wished to meet. The man simply laughed, and repeated the words again. Ulfgar was feeling very scared at the moment and started to back away. Suddenly, he heard a low growl behind him. He turned around, and to his surprise saw a half naked nord standing there. Ulfgar remembered his face from his dream, and started to pray to the gods that this would end well. The man standing before him suddenly looked very strange, as if he was experiencing some extreme pain. He fell down on his knees, both arms wrapped around his stomach in agony, and he let out a howl much similar to the one of a wolf. Ulfgar noticed that three more nords had surrounded him, cutting off all escape routes. All of them were now on their knees, howling in pain, and Ulfgar readied himself for what was to come.
What followed was like something out of a nightmare. As Ulfgar watched in horror, the nords grew fur all over their bodies. Their teeth got larger and more fang-like, and their hands and feet grew large claws. They all stood up, and Ulfgar knew know what he was facing. Werewolves, he thought to himself as he recalled the stories being told in Thirsk. Men and women, seemingly normal during the day, but at night they show their true forms. They turn into ferocious wolves, moving on both two and four legs and strong enough to rip apart even the strongest of men. They hunt during the night, for their curse not only provides them with unparalleled athletic and physical abilities, but also with a longing for the human flesh and blood. Ulfgar thought that this was going to be his end, devoured by werewolves. He thought about the family he once had, and all of the people close to him that are going to be terrorised by these fierce creatures. He especially thought of one person, Svenja Snow-song. He was thinking of how he would never see her again, never feel her scent or hear her laughter. He had failed to protect the people that he cared about. No, he thought, this is not over. He let out a war cry, and swung his stalhrim axe over his head. He took a quick step towards one of the werewolves and brought the axe down on it with all of his strength. He could feel the axe going into the beast, and blood gushed out of the wound he had caused it. It shrieked loudly and backed away, and to Ulfgar's horror, the wound stopped bleeding and closed up. The werewolf looked at him, and growled angrily. How can this be? This axe has never failed me! Ulfgar suddenly remembered a phrase from the tales told to him about these creatures:
"…Cursed blood runs trough its veins, and the might of silver shall be its bane…"
He tucked the axe under his belt, and unsheathed a small silver dagger with a blade no longer than the hand of a man. The mere sight of the dagger made the beasts cower in fear. Ulfgar no longer felt scared, as this weapon will be their undoing. He ran towards the werewolf that he had attacked earlier, and stabbed it several times in the chest. The beast fell to the ground, as the wounds started glowing with a silver-coloured glow. It rolled around, trying to get back up on its feet, and soon the rolling turned into more of a twitching motion. Then, the beast closed its eyes and stopped moving. Ulfgar felt a strange satisfaction in ending the beast's life, but that feeling faded as the other three werewolves closed in on him. He waved the dagger in front of him, as he knew that it would scare the beasts and buy him some time. He hardly noticed that there was another werewolf behind him, stealthily moving towards him. Ulfgar turned around to make a run for it, but was knocked to the ground by the werewolf that was behind him. He hit the ground hard and felt the silver dagger, his only protection, slipping and falling from his grip. The werewolf stood above him, closely watching his every move and waiting for an opportunity to strike. Ulfgar reached for the dagger, but it was beyond his fingers and in the corner of his eye, he saw the werewolf making ready for a leap at him. Ulfgar focused, and remembered a spell taught to him by a member of the thieves' guild. He closed his eyes, and muttered a few words. The next second, he felt the dagger's handle in his hand, and thanked the Khajit that had taught him the "Telekinesis" spell. He rolled over, and just as the werewolf leapt into the air, he stabbed the dagger right in its throat. The beast let out a howl that would wake the dead, and it sank its large fangs in Ulfgar's arm. Ulfgar screamed, as he felt the weak armour crumbling under the sheer strength of the werewolf's jaws. He felt the sharp fangs piercing his skin, and a warm fever like feeling spread in his body. The world around him became blurry, and he himself felt like everything just disappeared around him. Just before he passed out, he heard the man's voice once again:
"Now, You are a part of the hunt as well…"
