Skyrim Audio-adventure
Chapter 3
(Count to Nine)
Of all the horrors and decrepit denizens of the night, the vampires have always been the most noble. It is they who boast long powerful lineages, who jealously guard their riches deep in foreboding castles. They whose powers are a gift and a curse. They who hunt mortals with not just ferocity but malicious cunning. The world of the night is stern but fair; a place you can walk as an apex predator and carve your greatness from the flesh and minds of the weak.
It is into this world that Hert had stepped so many, many, years ago. As she had lain there, her body rent by the beasts of oblivion, choking and shaking in pale fear as she felt herself slipping away, far from help, far from hope, an unknowable distance from home, a dark voice came crackling into what was left of her mind. It had said how pretty she was and what a waste it would be to lose her. It had offered her salvation if she only asked, and she did. She begged and pleaded and with a bite the contract was sealed. She came to the night, to the fold of Lady Solania.
Once she was settled she set about her training. Not to be a warrior, but a seductress, a mind molder. Her art was to be one of lust and subtleties and deceit. However, it was not to be. Several years of futility past with growing frustration on the part of Lady Solania. It wasn't so much that hurt could not seduce, her natural beauty was as striking as ever, but she could never seem to hide what she was. Her grip on the minds of her prey was never strong enough to hide the signs of her true nature. Inevitably they would begin to wake up. Again and again they ran through her fingers like water, and she was left with no thrall, no food and no information. Lady Solania was livid with her ineptitude and soon she was cast out to wander the Twilight.
It had been a long time since then, when out of nowhere came this hapless stumbling fool. Her instincts stirred inside her and she reached into his mind to find it totally open to her, totally willing. He was vulnerable and shaken. A ferret chased from his den, living in a state of constant flux. He was the perfect clay and the perfect prey. He would be her first thrall. She surreptitiously took his blood to tighten her hold on him, and her seducing arts were working well. Until he was suddenly startled by a large gash on his hand and ran away to clean it.
She'd expected him to return soon, so when he did not she began to fear. Sure enough she found him in the meat shed where the remains of a foolhardy bandit were still draining. As he turned to her she felt any semblance of her control over him break like a glass sheet. It was a familiar feeling and it infuriated her. Rage began to burn in her as she felt the mistrust and hostility rise in him. He would not escape.
"You will not resist," she hissed as her fake smile fell.
"You are a vampire?" said the stranger, in a voice somewhere between confusion and heartbreak. "Hert..."
"You will belong to me. One way or another, you will submit before the end." Such wrath flowed through her words then, she truly was a child of Molag Bal.
She saw the stranger's mouth tightened momentarily. "That's not going to happen." he said, before suddenly lunging for the large meat cleaver lying on the table. But she was faster and in a flash she'd picked up the blade and swung it at his outstretched arm. He leapt backwards, drawing a dagger from his belt, and like that, bedlam commenced.
Hert pressed forward delivering a flurry of vicious slashes as fast as the eye can see. Stranger was quickly backed against the table, the red contents of the bowl sloshed as he bumped into the structure. Just for a moment she thought she saw him glance back at the table, this was her chance. She swung her weapon at his neck, longing to shed his life blood on the floor; but with a flash and a clash he parried her with a backhand grip; a feet that seemed to surprise even himself as he was slow to stop her follow up kick to his leg.
Stranger grimaced as she slammed her boot into his knee, and yet he twisted just before she made contact avoiding a broken leg by a fraction of a second. Hert had to smile a bit; he certainly was quick for a mortal, but not quick enough. With ease she sent her free palm crashing into his jaw and swiped at his right hand with her cleaver. In a flash of steel and blood, the hunter's dagger, along with half of his index finger, fell to the floor.
She paused then, not out of pity or fatigue, but because she wanted to watch him cower and wail over his lost digit. She wasn't expecting what happened next. He closed the distance between them and grabbed her, catching her off balance and driving her into the wall; but not just any wall, the wall covered in meat hooks. Hert threw her arms out behind her to catch herself, dropping the cleaver in the process. Her smile grew wider. So he was clever too; he was proving to be quite the fun prey.
She pushed herself off the wall just in time to see a massive wall of blood and viscera flying at her face. She shut her eyes tight as she was doused, the blood quickly matting her hair and running down to her feet. The clunk of the bucket on the ground and the sound of rapid footsteps let her know that he was making a run for the door. Very clever... but futile.
The hunters bid for freedom was cut short when he was grabbed from behind and flung with unnatural strength against the lakeside wall. Hert bore in on him, a grinning, black eyed, crimson nightmare. A well-earned a sense of satisfaction flooded her as she felt his mind shift from defiance to fear. She coiled her arm back and sent a palm strike at the hunters heart. The blow thudded off his forearms as he curled up defensively. Before he could even wince at the impact, Hert grabbed him by those arms and pulled him in before slamming him as hard as she could against the wall of the shack. Perhaps it was the rotten wood, perhaps it was her vampire strength, but the wall creaked, cracked and splintered as the hunter was sent flying out of the shack. He crumpled as he hit the ground and rolled limply coming to a stop near the lakes edge.
Hert stood for a moment and watched her unmoving prey. He was in a sorry state; blood ran from both his hands, particularly from the ugly stump on his right. Under his shaggy hairline, she could see more blood trickling around his ear. His face was covered but she knew a bruise would soon be forming on his cheek. This was over. She looked down at her blood-stained clothes and scowled, not because his stalling tactic had cost her an outfit, but because it was her brute strength that had won her the day once again. It is as it has always been, but perhaps in this weakened state the prize of his mind may yet be won.
She stepped easily through the hole in the shack as rattling breaths hailed Stranger's return to consciousness. Hert approached him calmly and turned him over. His eyes rolled dumbly at her as if they couldn't find focus. His jaw hung slack.
"It hurts doesn't it." she cooed, her velvety voice returning. "I can make it go away. Serve me and I can make it all fade away. Give yourself to me and I can save you from wandering the paths of aetherius. Pledge to protect me and you will know such ecstasies you've only known in your dreams." The hunter's eyes focused and looked dully into hers, "I know your mind," she said as she cupped his dirty blackened face. "Such loneliness, how long you've wandered the wilds. How long you lingered at the pass, growing colder and colder in the pale winds, your tears frozen on your cheeks. Do you remember why?... I know why."
Suddenly a viscous spray of projectile blood and mucus flew from the hunter's nose and into her eyes. She barely had time to be disgusted before she felt his legs lifting her and kicking, sending her flying over his head and landing with a splash in the shallows of the lake. Hert rolled to her feet and stared daggers at Stranger, "I suppose it was always going to end like this." she growled. However just as she took a step towards him, something grabbed her leg and a sharp pain shot up through her cold flesh.
Her eyes widened as she looked back to see her leg clamped between the jaws of a slaughterfish. As it doggedly began to drag her back into the water, she felt the mud and silt begin to slip out from beneath her boots. As the fish thrashed its tail and wrenched at her limb. She twisted, grabbing its jaws to pry them open. It was not an easy task, even for a vampire, but soon those jagged, serrated teeth were free of her flesh and she flung the fish in a high sailing arc out into the lake.
When she turned back to the shore she had just enough time to register that Stranger was standing, before the strong wood of a bows wing was whipped across her face. Her vision shook and her head swam. The sky seemed to rush down, consuming the image in front of her, and then she felt the water strike the back of her head. She splashed and sputtered trying to regain her sense of balance. Then, when she had just about got it, something rammed into her back with the force of a sledgehammer, and with it came that familiar pain. She looked left to see a wicked yellow eye. The slaughterfish had her by the collar and she was being dragged out into the deep.
Hert gasped in as much air she could before the bloody water filled her mouth. In the eerie, distorted world of the deep, she could hear the echoing thrashes of the beast's tail and feel its jaws shredding the area between her shoulder and neck. As best she could, she raked at the fish with her vampire claws, but she couldn't get a solid grip. The pressure built in her ears as she was dragged deeper, the warm rays of a setting sun were growing dimmer and dimmer above her.
Finally her mind began to orient itself. She made a spear of her left hand and drove it into the beast's side. A moment later she ripped her hand out, its heart still beating in her grip. The water grew a deeper red as she felt the fish still and slowly loosen his grip. Hert's ascent was swift and she relished the taste of air. She swam easily enough to the shore and sat there on her knees, panting.
The creak of wood brought her eyes up to see stranger with drawn bow, looking at her with a strange expression twisting his features. He was sad. Sad for what he felt he must do, but those misgivings wouldn't stop him. She knew that for sure, just as sure she knew he was lamenting the loss of his finger as his hand seemed to struggle around the bowstring. The arrow was pointed at her heart.
"Stop!" a new voice cut the air, and the hunter froze, his eyes wide. "Now aim at the ground." The hunter did so, looking confused as he moved. "Let down that arrow," this voice was clear and full of a dark authority. As stranger struggled against this new compulsion, Hert smiled. It was the voice of her husband, Hern.
They had grown up together back in mortal life. They had married almost immediately once their families were satisfied with their age and had a very good life set up together. In fact by the time the Oblivion crisis separated them she was already with child. She hadn't known for sure yet, but her miscarriage after turning had been enough evidence.
Five lonely years had passed with Lady Solania when, by some miracle of diligence, a human man had fought his way past the castle guards, demanding to see her. It was him. It was Hern. He'd spent years tracking her down, refusing to accept her death without a body. He'd even made several attempts to cross over into oblivion itself; the chaotic realm of the Daedra. At long last here he was, standing staunch amid a court of disgruntled vampires. She had gone to him without hesitation, even shaking off the command of her mistress to do so. Hern didn't need much catching up, and didn't need any persuading to join her in the night. Hert had bitten him before any of the others had gotten the chance. Neither of them had ever regretted it.
When at last Hert was cast out, Hern had followed loyally. He had listened when she spoke of rejoining the world somehow, listened when she spoke of not wanting to hunt humans anymore, and he had listened and cried with her when she spoke of their ill-fated pregnancy. They had worked nights at inns. They had saved up to buy the land. They had built this quiet life together, and now he had saved her again. He stood high on the bank, a barely conscious deer draped over his broad shoulders, his hunting gear clinging to his fit figure as he regarded the scene from below his crop of long brown hair. He cut a very impressive figure.
"It is not wise to harm my wife," he said in a low threatening tone. Hert rolled her eyes as she stood up, he loved his dramatic statements. She walked past the frozen hunter, over to Hern and kissed him square on the lips. The chill of their flesh could never dim this fire between them.
"It was my fault," she whispered to him, "He was so vulnerable I couldn't resist. This prey has fangs but go easy on him."
Hern only nodded and kissed her again, "Drink from the deer, it's still fresh." He placed the dull-eyed deer on the ground and stepped toward Stranger's static form. Hert gratefully bent down and bit into the animals neck, letting the warm blood flow across her tongue and down her throat. In a matter of seconds she was feeling better, and the wounds left by the slaughter fish were beginning to close. It was a lovely tingling sensation; not as good as the blood of a human, and certainly not as good as when her and Hern bit each other. A little taboo the two of them were more than happy to transgress repeatedly once they discovered it. But, living off animals allowed them to revisit the world of light even if it was only as visitors. It was very worth it to live this life not stowed away in some castle seeking power. Even if it meant fighting their own nature.
"My goodness," she heard her husband say behind her, "you've been put through the grinder haven't you. So many scars... and now the finger. How's your head?" The hunter made several strained grunting sounds, "Sorry," said Hern, "you may speak."
"She was trying to enthrall me."
"Yes she was. You invited it on yourself. That or you're extremely dim."
"You're a vampire too?"
"So you are dim. Yes that's why you can't move. Now, what's your name, meat?"
"Gah... Stranger."
"That's dumb."
"Well nobody asked you."
"Quiet! Now, Stranger, here's the deal. We are vampires but we don't eat people unless they force our hand and won't be missed. But, though you qualify, my wife says you aren't to blame, so you'll live for now. You should know that any attempt to alert the Jarls or the Legion to our presence will be futile, as they are already well aware of what we are and why our nature makes us good at our jobs. I suspect you'll be killed for inciting a panic if you bring it up. In a moment I'm going to release you and you will be free to leave. However you did strike my wife, so expect no help from us. Is that all clear? You may speak."
"Yes." Strangers voice was strained as though standing was a great effort.
"Good then I release you." Stranger gasped as his muscles relaxed and he fell onto the sand.
Hert raised her head from the deer before her to look, the hunter was very pale and covered in sweat. He looked as if he'd been drowned. He slowly and shakily fought his way back to his feet trying to keep sand out of the bloody stump on his hand.
"There you go," said Hern in with a mocking edge to his voice, "Now by the time I count to ten, you should be out of my sight. Actually, considering the circumstance, perhaps it would be better if I count to nine." Stranger glared at him for that crack, but then Hern and calmly began, "One... Two..." Summoning strength from some adrenaline-filled reservoir, the hunter bolted away. Past the shack, past the rocks he'd fallen down, through some bramble and out onto the road.
Hert watched him go. Her mind had calmed now and shame replaced her fury. Her husband knelt down next to her and watched her carefully, his hand on his chin. "I'm... I'm sorry it happened again. I-I just... I really thought I could make it work this time."
"Don't be sorry, it was hard for both of us. At least we were able to save this one."
"And you were able to save me."
Hern flashed a familiar crooked smile at her. "You know I've seen you dodge arrows, right?"
Hert leaned up and kissed his stupid face, blood from her lips running onto his chin. "It was a sweet gesture all the same."
The hunter didn't stop running till a stitch caught in his chest, only then did he chance a glance behind him. He didn't see any sign of pursuit, nor for that matter, much else. As he ran it had gotten dark on him. He let his pace slow and appraised his surroundings.
The moon had yet to rise and the forest was too dark for him to really tell where he was. The pain in his hands was fading, probably not a good thing, but it did clear his mind of some of the adrenaline fog. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. The lake was lapping away far to his left. The unmistakable aroma of cooked fish clung to the evening dew. He kicked at the ground beneath his feet. He had lost the road but he still had the lake, and he wasn't too far from where he and Bracknel had camped.
Bracknel... He was the hunter's best chance but he was probably halfway to Riverwood by now. What did he have? His fingers felt the bowstring across his chest Laria was still with him. Some of his arrows had been damaged in all the falling and fighting, but he knew at least one of them was still air worthy. His pack was here, he still had some berries he'd found earlier in there. He should eat those now. As he knelt down to dig the food out his knee gave a troublesome little pop. Nothing painful, but it did bring back the image of almost getting his kneecap stomped.
He counted himself as lucky, while he chewed the berries. They were just what he needed, in fact on the whole he was actually doing alright. Scared shitless, slightly anemic, but the cut on his hand had stop bleeding, what was left of his finger wasn't bleeding quite as bad, and nothing was currently sticking out of him. Considering the harrowing nature of the fight he'd just been in, he'd seemed to escape with only one major injury. Just then as he went to stand up he was struck by a sudden bout of dizziness. He knelt back down but the dizziness soon turned to nausea, and his stomach turned inside out. Ok maybe he only had one major external injury. His head was still swimming. He tentatively sipped some water from the lake before he set off again. Now he wished that the delicious fog of adrenaline was back. His body was beginning to play tricks on him.
Later that night the hunters wish came true. Just as he reached an area where the edge of the lake ran alongside the road, he began to detect a curious little smell on the air like cooked meat. He wondered if he might be approaching one of the other hunter's camps. Then his steadily improving night vision showed him something that just about stopped his heart. A crumpled mass of a man was lying on the ground, blood glistening in the pale light of the moon. The hunter felt his stomach drop into his feet at the ragged look of the man, but with his next step he let out a relieved sigh. It wasn't Bracknel. The armor was far too new and the legs were exposed beneath a combat skirt. This was a member of the Imperial garrison, but why was he alone?
The hunter took a quick look around, making sure no one was watching then bent down to inspect the body. It was covered in claw marks, they appeared to be five pronged. The only thing he knew that could do that was a bear, but still this wasn't the right area, and the gashes were spaced rather awkwardly for a bear. With spaces this size the bear would need to be huge, with a paw the size of the man's chest.
Keeping his bleeding right hand tucked to his body, the hunter reached out with his left to roll the corpse onto his back. A pale, no doubt once brave, Imperial face rolled into view. The hunter sighed; a bear would have eaten the face. However it would have also emptied the abdomen. As the hunter looked he saw that the chest had indeed been opened, but it had not been torn apart; it had been carved and several organs removed. Naturally his first thought was more vampires, and while the proverbial glove didn't fit it was still enough to spurn him onward and away from this grim spectacle.
The hunter stood and prepared to continue, while taking quiet notice of the persistence of the cooked meat smell. Just then a glint caught his eye at the corpse's hip. A dagger, strong Imperial steel. Using only his left hand he made slow work of the belt buckle and stowed the dagger, sheath and all, in his bag before setting off again through the sea of shifting shapes and shadows that was the Falkreath night.
As the moon crept slowly to its zenith the hunter could feel his legs growing weak. He'd had the stump of his finger jammed into his side for some time now and he was all but certain that he'd stemmed the blood flow, but the damage to his coordination had been done. Every few steps brought a bout of dizziness that caused him to teeter, as though buffeted by a strong wind. Several times he'd been forced to the water's edge to drink more in hope of restoring his equilibrium. On one of these occasions he'd almost fallen in. If he was further down the valley to Riverwood this might be a good idea, slaughterfish rarely breed in rivers and the idea had saved his life not three nights ago. But if he entered here there would be rapids and a small waterfall to contend with.
Filled with arrows only three nights ago, and now losing his finger? Prior to this, it had been years since he'd had such a fateful encounter and now he'd had two in four days. Was he becoming dull or was the world becoming sharp? His sight was better now with the moon on high, and the sea of bizarre shadows had become the silver tinged canyon of trees that housed the road. It was honestly hard not to look up and quietly marvel at their grandeur. They were like so many fingers reaching desperately to the stars. Fingers... and now he was beset by a profound melancholy. A sob that would never be allowed to escape, grabbed at his throat. He breathed deeply and turned his eyes to the road just in time to register the flickering glow and the sound of footsteps.
Without missing a beat he swung his pack and bow off and carried them at a brisk, yet silent, step up into the trees. He laid down on the other side of a fallen log with his gear next to him. He'd just made certain no arrows bows or limbs were sticking out, when the source of the light came into sight and the hunter lay still as death.
He stared silently at the star dappled sky as the orange glow of the torch drifted across the trunks above him. He'd seen just before he had dropped down that the group consisted of five men. Four in ornate Imperial chainmail and one in rags, hands bound. It was some kind of captive escort. They were no doubt heading up the mountain to Helgen and wouldn't bother him. However, with the garrison, he didn't like to take chances, especially at night. He would lay here quite contently and let them pass.
Suddenly a twig snapped uphill of his log. The hunter's eyes set to scanning the darkness before he'd even registered what he'd heard. It was rare for a twig to snap for no reason. There was a faint rustling to the left of his log and the Hunter closed his eyes. The escort was being hunted. By what? He wasn't sure. He silently drew in air through his nose hoping to pick up some dried blood or iron or maybe a wolfish musk. When he was met with the smell of burning torches he cursed his luck, he was upwind of whatever was approaching. If it was wolves they already knew he was here and he knew nothing. He had no choice but to stare unblinkingly into the darkness. Eye shine was his only chance at a warning. Something long and metallic glinted in the dark and he held his breath. In truth he was glad. Never had he imagined he'd be so glad to know that he was completely surrounded by bandits.
Crude iron weapons emerged from the trees, in the hands of at least seven wild looking men and women. One was only ten paces from him, but he knew that with the torches at his back the bandits night-vision would be useless. He may as well be invisible still he couldn't help but get nervous when one of them put their hand on the log. As the dark, wicked silhouettes crept past him he saw one of them raise a hand and silently give the signal to attack.
The throat-cutters swiftly leapt down the hill and out of the hunter's sight. He let out his breath as he heard a Legionnaire shout, "Bandits! Left side!" and the night was filled with the chaotic cacophony of clashing metal, zipping arrows and yelling men. He watched the shadows dancing through the torchlight on the trees, hoping to glean some idea of what way the battle was going. He jumped when a stray arrow embedded itself in a low-hanging limb near his feet. Bad time to run, he would have to wait this out.
Just as he began to think that the skirmish was dying down, a rapid set of footfalls alerted him to incoming danger. Someone was running back into the trees, they were coming right towards him. He saw the dark figure jump onto his log, he heard their foot slip on the dew slickened wood, and felt as they came crashing down on top of him.
He didn't hesitate, he pulled them down behind the log, found their mouth and covered it with his mangled hand, all the while making shushing sounds as soft as he could in their ear. After a moment struggling, the bandit seemed to understand and went quiet. The two lay still and, together, listened to the sound of someone being run through by an imperial sword and a body crumbling to the ground.
"Is that all of them?" came a strong Imperial voice.
"I saw two run off, shall we pursue?" this voice sounded younger.
"No, if they wish to learn this lesson again, let them come to us."
"They haven't gotten far-"
"Calm down auxiliary! Keep your mind on the mission at hand."
"Yes sir."
"Cruel swine!" this voice was husky and distinctly Nordic, "if you kill my brother so easily why not me? Where was their due process?"
"They forfeited it when they chose to attack us; and as for why we don't kill you, that's because you were far more useful to us alive."
"Why? You wish to parade me in front of the people? Before my family?"
"No. As entertaining as that would be, we want what you know."
"What I know? What could I possibly know that is worth so much blood?"
"That's for you to know and the Penitus Oculatus to find out."
"Bah! You don't scare me the Penitus Oculatus are a myth; just the children's tale."
"Well you'll come to know soon enough. Come on, we're wasting time here."
As the sounds of boots on stone began to once again move down the road, the hunter could hear the nord man yelling that no matter what he would never talk. As the light moved on and the night grew a dark silver blue again, the hunter almost forgot that he was not alone in his hiding spot till he heard a deep female voice come from under his hand.
"By Azura, if you do not let me go this instant I will castrate you with a dull dagger."
The hunter immediately let go and the woman scrambled to her feet and turned to regard him from behind blood red eyes. She was a dunmer, a dark elf.
"I mean you no harm," he said quickly pulling himself up to a sitting position on the log. It was much harder than it should have been to get off the ground.
"As if you could. What're you doing here?"
"I'm just a traveler."
"Well, you're not very good at it by the looks of you?"
"And apparently you're very bad at being a bandit."
She smirked at that, "Oh you may think so, but I say the true measure of quality out here is opportunism."
The hunter raised his hands warily, wondering why he hadn't taken the time to strap his new dagger on. "I have no valuables."
"Course you don't. Obviously someone's already gotten to you." With that she ran past him, leaping back down the hill.
He turned and followed curious to see what she meant. The road was strewn with bodies, all of them nords. Several had arrows buried in their hearts and necks, and one woman had a single arrow protruding from her forehead. The hunter made a mental note to never underestimate Imperial archers again. "You know the great thing about the legion," said the dark elf as she bent over one of her former comrades, "they are too proud to loot the bodies."
"How did a dunmer come to run with a nordic crew?"
The she elf produced a slightly scratched blue gem from a pouch on the bandit she was searching and muttered something about 'holding out on her,' then turned her red eyes to him again. "What's it matter to you?"
"I was just curious."
"Curious hm? Well I've got one for you. Why was an imperial hiding from the legion?"
"Actually I'm not really pure Imperial," the hunter said bending down to check the belts of one of the bodies.
"Same difference, you looked the part."
The hunter sighed, "Well it's dark, I didn't know who or what this was, plus the Legion and I have a-"
"No no no no no stop! Don't tell me! You're not supposed to tell me!
"But..."
"Did you see what I just did to you? I didn't answer your question, did I? Don't just give away information like that it makes you an easy mark."
"But you don't mean me harm."
"Not now. Maybe tomorrow I will, who knows? So if you want to be honest, then honestly I don't care why you were there. Here, take this and piss off." She produced a cloth and threw it at him, "And leave the bodies alone. My crew, my loot."
The hunter took the cloth and stood examining it. It was actually quite clean, surprising for a bandit. He nodded thanks as he passed her, but she didn't look up. He threw his gear back on and wrapped his mangled hand in the cloth before continuing on to Riverwood, hoping that his mind wouldn't turn this encounter into another fatal fixation.
When at last he'd passed the falls and jumping into the river was a viable option, he realized that his legs had found a new strength. No doubt spurned on by the encroaching chill of the night. Turns out being thrown about, torn at, rent, cut and soaked, hadn't done anything to help his furs ability to conserve heat. It was probably time to think about getting new garb. He might be able to use his bear pack to repair some of the damage, but then he wouldn't have a sleeping sack. It was a comforting little dilemma, he'd learned that these were good problems to have.
He wasn't alone as he walked, he could feel the presence to his right. It was a presence shaped of all the small noises one picks up once they internalize the silence of the wild. It was about 50 yards away and keeping it's distance. The two walked like that for hours it seemed. The hunter wasn't sure if he was being merely watched, escorted or stalked. The presence had stopped about when the hunter passed the deer tracks from the previous day. He had paused to look back into the shadows of the trees, and far away, flashing in the dappled light, he saw a single eye staring back at him.
The rest of the long nights walk would be made alone. The sky was beginning to lighten when the wooden archway of Riverwood came at long last into view. Delphine had smiled when she saw him if only for a moment. Predictably her first question was about Bracknel but the hunter explained how they had gone their separate ways, and how the old Nord was probably already asleep in his treehouse. He quickly spun some story of a vicious troll to explain his missing finger; he could tell Delphine didn't believe a word of it, though she didn't question him.
"I can't create new flesh and bone," she had told him, "I can only close the wound."
"That's enough," he assured her.
"This one's going to cost you," she'd added as she got to work.
Now the hunter sat on a rock under Bracknel's treehouse. He could hear the old man's snoring if he leaned his head against the trunk. It was good to know that he'd made it home safe. The sun was up and he was picking at a loaf of bread Delphine had given him. It was unendingly strange to grab things using his thumb and middle finger. Every so often he'd mess up and try to use his index only to be greeted by a sharp pain.
His new steel dagger sat next to him on the rock. It wasn't ornate but it was strong, military, standard-issue steel and it was far finer than any knife he'd had up and to that point. Trouble was he couldn't hold it; at least not while doing anything. Just sitting there practicing, he'd already dropped it so many times he was surprised the racket of metal and rock hadn't roused Bracknel. Finally, he gave up picking up the bread and just gripped it as best he could with both hands and took a massive bite out of it. He was, after all, ravenous.
As he chewed thoughtfully, he heard the distinct sound of feet hitting the floor above him. He took another bite and picked up the dagger with his good hand. Using the butt of the weapon, he wrapped three times on the trunk of the tree. After a few moments he heard the treehouse door creak open.
"Stranger?" came the familiar voice.
"Yep!"
"Mind the latter." Moments later the rope ladder came clattering down next to the hunter. Needless to say it was a very difficult climb.
"Morning Bracknel," said the hunter through a mouthful of bread as he arrived on the landing.
"Morni- by the nine!" The grizzly nord stood, wide-eyed, looking the hunter up and down. There was a long uncomfortable silence. "Why don't you come in," Bracknel said at last. The hunter silently followed him inside the treehouse and took the chair he was offered. "Do you want something to eat, besides that bread? I still have plenty of fish."
"That sounds divine."
Bracknel nodded and produced a plate from the cupboard, threw some fish, cheese and cabbage onto it, and presented it to the hunter, who took it gratefully. The nord sat down on his bed and looked at the ragged, still bloody hunter. "So...", he said, "what happened?"
His guest sucked air in through his teeth and began, "Well as we both know, I've got away with women."
Bracknel couldn't stop the laugh that burst from him, but he soon composed himself, and again fixed the hunter with a sober gaze. "Really, what happened?"
The hunter took a deep breath and told all.
"Shit..." said Bracknel, when he came to understand the events that had led to the hunter's current condition. "How long did she have a hold on you?"
"Well, her magic's been swimming around in my head for a few months now. I don't think she was aware of it, but I guess, by the time I saw her I was... ripe, in a way."
"I see... Is your head all right?"
"I vomited earlier but I think it's okay for now."
"Gosh, I am sorry stranger."
"Don't be. It's not your fault."
"Well of course it wasn't. I'm sorry for you. I mean... your hand..."
"You know what? I'm glad, because I learned something."
"Boy, you don't have to rationalize this. It's just bad, that's okay."
"No no, Bracknel, you know what I learned?"
"What did you learn?" sighed the elder hunter.
"I lived on my own, I didn't bother anyone and I was self-sufficient... but trouble still found me. So what do I do? I take a risk, step out of my shell, and now this. Look at me... look at my arms..." the hunter held out his forearm, showing the bite marks and puncture wound. "Look at my hand, my back, my legs, my..." he seemed to purse his lips a bit as if holding something in. Bracknel didn't interrupt, and simply waited for him to take a deep breath and continue. "This world is taking me apart Bracknel. Just taking me apart piece by piece."
"As it does to us all, you should be commended for outlasting it."
"But I won't outlast it; not in the end. No mortal ever does. I can see it now, no matter what I do the world would just keep cutting away at me. So what does it serve then?"
"What does what serve?"
"My survival, my fighting through this."
"I can't know that. Perhaps there's a piece of trash and Markarth that you're destined to clean up one day. I thought you wanted a quiet life. I thought survival was its own reward."
"Not in this world, it won't relent. I saw so many corpses just on the way home! I want this to mean something... If I am to live and live free, I want to live for something. If the world would carve me up regardless, then I would likewise take the knife to it."
That gave Bracknel pause, "So, will you strike out? Embark on the unending quest for purpose?"
"Perhaps not... but I won't be subject to the whims of fate anymore. I will cut through the world like a river cuts the land."
"How will you manage that?"
"I don't know, but I have a feeling that I should come to know a sword," he looked down at his hands, "though that will probably be very difficult."
Bracknel stood and began to pace, "You've grown boy but you are not wise. Freedom is a grand and worthy prize, but if this is a quest for power it can only end in ruin."
"Power is the means, not the end."
"Hmm we shall see. For now, I think I know someone who can help you."
"Really? Who? Where?"
"Relax youngblood, you're on the mend. Finish your food. I'll grab you some furs so you can sleep on the porch. When you're ready we're going to Whiterun."