Glenmoril Witches
A few days later, I was enjoying some breakfast when Aela approached me.
"Hi, Aela," I greeted her. "Is there any more work to be done?"
"Yes," she replied. "But I fear that Kodlak's gotten wind of our recent efforts. He's asked to see you. My advice? Be honest with the old man, but don't tell him anything he doesn't need to know."
I made my way to Kodlak's room, where the Harbinger was sitting.
"Thank you for coming," he greeted.
"You asked to see me?"
"Yes, Svanhild. Have a seat."
I sat down.
"I hear you've been busy of late," said Kodlak.
"Yes," I replied. "Aela and I work to avenge Skjor's death."
Your hearts are full of grief, and my own weeps at the loss of Skjor. But his death was avenged long ago. You have taken more lives than honor demanded. The cycle of retaliation may continue for some time. In any case, I have a task for you. Have you heard the story of how we came to be werewolves?"
"Skjor said it was a blessing from Hircine."
"Aye, that sounds like him. As in all matters of faith, though, the reality is more complicated than one believer would tell you."
"So what is the truth, then?"
"The Companions are nearly five thousand years old. This matter of beastblood has only troubled us for a few hundred. One of my predecessors was a good but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power."
"And they became werewolves?"
"They did not believe the change would be permanent. The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But we had been deceived."
"But aren't you more powerful now?"
"The witches didn't lie about that, of course. But it's more than our bodies. The disease, you see, affects not just our bodies. It seeps into the spirit. Upon death, werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for eternity. And that is their choice. But I am still a true Nord. And I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home."
"Is there a way to cure yourself?"
"That's what I've spent my twilight years trying to find out. And now I've found the answer. The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won't give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undue centuries of impurity."
"Consider it done."
"Good. Now move quickly. And don't leave any of them alive. Talos guide you, lass."
On my way to Glenmoril Coven, an Argonian thief jumped out in front of me. He wore leather armor and had a dagger in hand. "All right," he said. "Hand over your valuables, or I'll gut you like a fish."
I looked at him with a smirk and laughed.
"What's so funny?" He asked. "Do you think this is some sort of joke? I demand that you hand me your valuables!"
I then unsheathed my sword and pointed it at his chin. "You could try to take them, but that would be stupid of you. For that reason, I'd walk away if I were you."
"Nice try, but you don't scare me."
"So be it," I said before plunging my sword into his heart, twisting the blade before yanking it out. The thief let out a feeble gasp and his limp corpse fell to the ground. "Idiot," I scoffed. "A smarter person would have backed off."
Before long, I made it to Glenmoril Coven. Upon entering, a Hagraven shot a fireball spell at me, which I narrowly dodged. "Your blood is ours, Companion!" she squawked.
"We'll see about that!" I roared before I charged at her, ramming my shield into her chest, and knocking her off her feet. Before she had time to recover and get up, I thrust my sword through her chest. I then proceeded to cut her head off.
After killing the other witches and taking their heads, I returned to Jorrvaskr. I saw Aela and Torvar standing outside with several dead Silver Hand warriors at their feet.
"By the Nine!" I cried. "What happened here?"
"The Silver Hand." replied Torvar. "They finally had the nerve to attack Jorrvaskr. We got most of them, but I think a few stragglers made it out."
When I entered Jorrvaskr, Vilkas approached me, his face blood-red with anger.
"Where in Oblivion have you been?" he asked angrily.
"I was doing Kodlak's bidding," I answered, showing him the witches' heads.
"I hope it was important because it means you weren't here to defend him. The Silver Hand. They found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We fought them off, but..." Vilkas started to stammer and tried to hold back his tears. "The old man, Kodlak. He's dead." I then noticed Kodlak lying dead near the fireplace.
"Was anyone else hurt?"
"No, but they made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad. But you and I are going to reclaim them. We'll bring the battle to their chief camp, Driftshade! There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung! We will avenge Kodlak, and the Silver Hand will know terror before the end!"