Legend of the Skaal
I do not own Morrowind, Tribunal, Bloodmoon or any of its aspects.
An old man sitting by the fire, yet still wrapped in heavy furs. Outside, the snow whistled past, freezing any who dared venture outside. In Thirsk this old man was. The entire population of Thirsk was crowded into the hall, with several Imperial soldiers and Fryse Hag's. The old man reached into his robe, the folds gathering around the intruding hand like skin. Withdrawing a clenched hand, the old man opened his hand over the fire. A fountain of sparkling dust fell. The fire leaped to the ceiling, throwing out almost intolerable heat. All the denizens of the hall, their minds slightly dulled by mead languidly turned to the source of the heat. The old man's voice issued forth from the hood, echoing through the hall, above the drunken laughter and moans of pleasure. "Heed me well, citizens of Thirsk. I will tell you a legend, a legend of the greatest warrior the Skaal ever bred". The fire settled lower, and eventually into coals, but still throwing up an eerie light, that didn't seem to touch the old man. "This is where the story begins" the old man said.
Waking from her fitful slumber, Grenwen Wolfslayer, peered at the window. Shards of light penetrated the rock-lined windows, lancing into the room and playing across the walls. Throwing back the furs, Grenwen shivered from the chill that assaulted her bare skin. Wrapping the furs around her, she hobbled over to the fire, muttering about the cold. Sitting down before it, she struck some rocks together and sparks flew. The fire flared up, as if it had been soaked with mead. Warmth permeated every corner of the small shack, and Grenwen threw off the furs. Basking languidly in the heat, she knew that she had to get up for the hunt, buy savoured every second of the heat that she could. Bridles jingled. That was the signal for the hunt. Her armour was scattered across the floor, so she got up, her well muscled legs easily propelling her over the room. Most of the armour was fairly close, but after she had finally strapped it all on, one gauntlet remained missing. Her already frayed temper snapped. The table crumpled under her mailed fist, and the gauntlet appeared in the wreckage. "Stupid gauntlet" Grenwen muttered, before slipping it on. Her skin winced from the coldness of the Nordic Mail, she threw open the door. The jingle of armour announced her presence. The leader of the hunt, Tharsten Wolfbane, smirked at her. In the window, Tharsten Heart-Fang watched his dad go off. Grenwen had forgotten her bow. The raucous laughter followed her all the way in doors, and it was just dying as she returned with her bow and her mace. A quiver of arrows lay forgotten at the edge of the group of hunters, intended for her. Trudging through the thick snow, she grabbed it and slipped the quiver over her shoulder. Several Tusked Bristleback had been captured and trained to help carry the materials and animals from the hunt. "Hunters, our prey lies to the south, a pack of Snow Bears. LET US HUNT" he roared, and the cheers of the Skaalan warriors greeted him. Grenwen took her place at the head of the column, because she was the most experienced, and also because she was the most expendable. Wrapping a horker-skin cape around her shoulders, she stepped out. The other hunters followed her, Grenwen's golden hair poking out of her helm, acting as a beacon. They passed Lake Fjording, its icy cover revealing nothing of what lay underneath. Fresh tracks lay in the snow, wide enough to only be those of the snow bear. Taking an arrow from her quiver, Grenwen notched it to her bow and proceeded, the rest of the hunt fol"lowing her. Several snow bear's appeared on the horizon, and slowly more came into view. A total of 11, a good hunt. Making a signal with her mailed hand, she let an arrow loose. It struck the side of the closest bear, toppling it over with a load groan of agony. The rest of the bears charged. Several of the warriors ran, but Grenwen kept on releasing arrows. Several more bears fell, until one remained. The rest of the party had fled. Reaching for another arrow, she found that she had exhausted her entire supply. Reluctantly unbuckling her mace as the bear charged, she brought it down on the bear's skull, shattering its head. From the bear, the blood flowed like wine over her mace, and she could feel it being warped. The blood soaked into the head of the mace, and the entire mace turned to ice! A cloud of ice crystals hovered around the head of the mace, and the mace became stronger. Grenwen couldn't really explain it, as if a change went through her. Then a voice resounded through-out her head and the clearing. "With the death of this cursed bear, I give to you the Mace of Aevar Stone-Singer, the most powerful weapon ever". Then the voice echoed off across the plains, and with its departure, came the hunters. Grenwen flashed a white-toothed grin at their cowardice, and they turned red. Cowardice was one of the worst attributes of a Nord, and a Nord that lived from a hunt while its fellow hunters were killed, was forever in disgrace. The Bristleback had escaped. Groaning at their stupidity, she picked up her own bear, and found that the mace had increased her strength. Lugging her bear back through the snow, the cold hardly permeated her armour. The rest of the hunter's were lagging behind, weighed down by their own loads. The Greathall loomed ahead, its supports groaning in protest against the blizzard that assaulted it. Reaching the door, she bashed the toe of her boot against the door, rending a small portion of the wood. The door creaked open, and Grenwen strode inside, dumped the bear near the fire in the centre and stood proudly, expecting thanks. What she received angered her greatly. "Grenwen, you stupid Riekling, that bears cursed. Even as you brought it in here, our power begins to wane". "I did not run in the face of the bears, charging me down". "We hereby exile you, Grenwen Wolfbane from the Skaal forever". The last word had risen to a fevered pitch, and all activity in the hall had ceased. Exile was the worst punishment imaginable, and one that was far too severe for the past history of Grenwen. "So be it" she declared, before brining down her mace on his head, shattering it. Everybody was in shock, so Grenwen WolfSlayer stalked out of the GreatHall, and towards destiny.
I do not own Morrowind, Tribunal, Bloodmoon or any of its aspects.
An old man sitting by the fire, yet still wrapped in heavy furs. Outside, the snow whistled past, freezing any who dared venture outside. In Thirsk this old man was. The entire population of Thirsk was crowded into the hall, with several Imperial soldiers and Fryse Hag's. The old man reached into his robe, the folds gathering around the intruding hand like skin. Withdrawing a clenched hand, the old man opened his hand over the fire. A fountain of sparkling dust fell. The fire leaped to the ceiling, throwing out almost intolerable heat. All the denizens of the hall, their minds slightly dulled by mead languidly turned to the source of the heat. The old man's voice issued forth from the hood, echoing through the hall, above the drunken laughter and moans of pleasure. "Heed me well, citizens of Thirsk. I will tell you a legend, a legend of the greatest warrior the Skaal ever bred". The fire settled lower, and eventually into coals, but still throwing up an eerie light, that didn't seem to touch the old man. "This is where the story begins" the old man said.
Waking from her fitful slumber, Grenwen Wolfslayer, peered at the window. Shards of light penetrated the rock-lined windows, lancing into the room and playing across the walls. Throwing back the furs, Grenwen shivered from the chill that assaulted her bare skin. Wrapping the furs around her, she hobbled over to the fire, muttering about the cold. Sitting down before it, she struck some rocks together and sparks flew. The fire flared up, as if it had been soaked with mead. Warmth permeated every corner of the small shack, and Grenwen threw off the furs. Basking languidly in the heat, she knew that she had to get up for the hunt, buy savoured every second of the heat that she could. Bridles jingled. That was the signal for the hunt. Her armour was scattered across the floor, so she got up, her well muscled legs easily propelling her over the room. Most of the armour was fairly close, but after she had finally strapped it all on, one gauntlet remained missing. Her already frayed temper snapped. The table crumpled under her mailed fist, and the gauntlet appeared in the wreckage. "Stupid gauntlet" Grenwen muttered, before slipping it on. Her skin winced from the coldness of the Nordic Mail, she threw open the door. The jingle of armour announced her presence. The leader of the hunt, Tharsten Wolfbane, smirked at her. In the window, Tharsten Heart-Fang watched his dad go off. Grenwen had forgotten her bow. The raucous laughter followed her all the way in doors, and it was just dying as she returned with her bow and her mace. A quiver of arrows lay forgotten at the edge of the group of hunters, intended for her. Trudging through the thick snow, she grabbed it and slipped the quiver over her shoulder. Several Tusked Bristleback had been captured and trained to help carry the materials and animals from the hunt. "Hunters, our prey lies to the south, a pack of Snow Bears. LET US HUNT" he roared, and the cheers of the Skaalan warriors greeted him. Grenwen took her place at the head of the column, because she was the most experienced, and also because she was the most expendable. Wrapping a horker-skin cape around her shoulders, she stepped out. The other hunters followed her, Grenwen's golden hair poking out of her helm, acting as a beacon. They passed Lake Fjording, its icy cover revealing nothing of what lay underneath. Fresh tracks lay in the snow, wide enough to only be those of the snow bear. Taking an arrow from her quiver, Grenwen notched it to her bow and proceeded, the rest of the hunt fol"lowing her. Several snow bear's appeared on the horizon, and slowly more came into view. A total of 11, a good hunt. Making a signal with her mailed hand, she let an arrow loose. It struck the side of the closest bear, toppling it over with a load groan of agony. The rest of the bears charged. Several of the warriors ran, but Grenwen kept on releasing arrows. Several more bears fell, until one remained. The rest of the party had fled. Reaching for another arrow, she found that she had exhausted her entire supply. Reluctantly unbuckling her mace as the bear charged, she brought it down on the bear's skull, shattering its head. From the bear, the blood flowed like wine over her mace, and she could feel it being warped. The blood soaked into the head of the mace, and the entire mace turned to ice! A cloud of ice crystals hovered around the head of the mace, and the mace became stronger. Grenwen couldn't really explain it, as if a change went through her. Then a voice resounded through-out her head and the clearing. "With the death of this cursed bear, I give to you the Mace of Aevar Stone-Singer, the most powerful weapon ever". Then the voice echoed off across the plains, and with its departure, came the hunters. Grenwen flashed a white-toothed grin at their cowardice, and they turned red. Cowardice was one of the worst attributes of a Nord, and a Nord that lived from a hunt while its fellow hunters were killed, was forever in disgrace. The Bristleback had escaped. Groaning at their stupidity, she picked up her own bear, and found that the mace had increased her strength. Lugging her bear back through the snow, the cold hardly permeated her armour. The rest of the hunter's were lagging behind, weighed down by their own loads. The Greathall loomed ahead, its supports groaning in protest against the blizzard that assaulted it. Reaching the door, she bashed the toe of her boot against the door, rending a small portion of the wood. The door creaked open, and Grenwen strode inside, dumped the bear near the fire in the centre and stood proudly, expecting thanks. What she received angered her greatly. "Grenwen, you stupid Riekling, that bears cursed. Even as you brought it in here, our power begins to wane". "I did not run in the face of the bears, charging me down". "We hereby exile you, Grenwen Wolfbane from the Skaal forever". The last word had risen to a fevered pitch, and all activity in the hall had ceased. Exile was the worst punishment imaginable, and one that was far too severe for the past history of Grenwen. "So be it" she declared, before brining down her mace on his head, shattering it. Everybody was in shock, so Grenwen WolfSlayer stalked out of the GreatHall, and towards destiny.