Skyrim Audio-Adventure
Chapter 11
"Back in the woods"
The canopies of the conifers tapered to neat points at there tops, they swayed like drunken ladies, dancing with all the fluid grace of the grass on the plains of Whiterun. The wind bent them in much the same way only slower. Now and again the hunter's stomach did somersaults when the a tree leaned over so far he thought it might come crashing down on him. However all he needed to do was turn his head to the side and he was in a deathly still forest morning, blue sky above, pale mist hugging the needle carpet of the forest floor. He was down here, far separated from the blustery day up above.
The hunter lay on his back half buried in sprigs and needles, pine cone off his right ear, two stones resting on his feet, false finger gripping his bow, arrow notched to the string. He was waiting patiently, listening to the thrush and the sparrow, to the muskrat and the martin. He was looking forward to getting back to the river and washing his cloths as he had deliberately laid down in a pile of elk droppings to mask his scent. Luckily he didn't have to hold his breath too much thanks to fresh pines needles under his nose. It was best that his natural musk be thoroughly hidden, he had a date today. He'd been tracking activity in this area, something had been foraging. He had a few guesses as to what it was but one fact seemed certain, it would be coming back.
He breathed as slowly and quietly as he could manage, the faintest wisp of chilled fog curling out of his nostrils. It had been a week since he and Bracknel had taken the trudge out of Whiterun, across the plains, through the little village that had sprung up around Hunningbrew Meadery, up the foothills, to the slopes and back into Riverwood valley. They had time to readjust of living off the land but not to make headway into the mystery of the mountain. Legs were tired, plans needed making, pantries needed stocking, and for the hunter, his skills needed testing. He was glad to be back on the trail, though it took him sometime to catch so much as a squirrel given how clumsy he was.
Healing magic or no, a walk to Whiterun and back, a brush with werewolves and several long days hard training with the companions, would have any hunters facilities in a fragile state. The hunter decided Aela deserved to be her own category of ordeal. Combatting her antics had easily taken a few years off this life. Not too mention his head would randomly hurt from time to time. He wondered what she was up to, he had had time to think of more questions: if vampirism could be contracted as a decease, could lycanthropy as well? She obviously had enhanced senses but were they more acute in her wolf form? What happened to her clothes when she shifted? Best not to ask that last one unless he wanted a week of teasing and half the guild would here about it.
That was strange, since when did he care what someone else thought about him let alone a group? He should focus on the questions that really mattered, like what was the date? He'd forgotten how easy it was to lose time out here. Rain's Hand had passed and they were well into Second Seed now, but how far? Mid-year couldn't be long away right? Maybe another week, or was it already mid-year. Since their return Bracknel had been taking advantage of his lack of success on hunts to show him the basics of alchemy and scrimshaw, because when you've got no hides to sell, you can get by on antler carved trinkets and stamina potions. Bracknel had been eager to teach him how to mix an aphrodisiac but as sure as he was that it would sell, something in the way Bracknel brought up the idea made the hunter doubt its effectiveness.
He was brought abruptly back to Nirn by a distinct rustling sound and the snap of a twig. His date, whoever they were, had arrived. As a wise man once said "twigs never snap on their own, they snap when someone snaps them", he was sure his quarry had just entered the killing zone. Now that he thought about it there were actually several times when a twig might snap on its own. High heat could make wood pop, dense foliage could snap a limb with its weight, wind, water and stone, all of these things could snap a twig. Who was that man who said that anyway? When did he say it? What brought it about? Was it even a man? Were they really that wise? Who's to say who is wise? Is it a matter of substance or results? There were moments he considered Bracknel wise, but he lived in a shack; if he was truly wise shouldn't he be in a manor? He knew he'd never last in a manor, like a bird who builds a nest to big to maintain, he would eventually abandon it. While, to many, these thoughts would seem useless, for the hunter they gallantly saw him through the twenty seconds of boredom it took for the prey to get settled into foraging. Not wasting another second he sat up and took his shot.
He did not explode out of the pine brush like a saber cat, and he did not need to draw back his arrow in a long exaggerated motion. His arrow was readied and he hardly sat up enough to rustle the foliage. He was already at full draw, with steady anchor-point when the clearing came into focus.
Faintly red tinted tree-trunks led the eye down to the patchwork floor of a tree-fall gap. Bushes flourished next to tiny trees all eager to win the race to the light above. White and yellow mushroom caps sprung out from the gargantuan carcass of the fallen sentinel. Though rotted, splintered and broken the tree was still breath taking in proportion, even on its side the trunk stood several heads taller than the hunter. In the foreground, camouflaged in the stodgy brown underbrush the hunter spotted movement. He waited the fraction of a second it took for his eyes to discern a forelimb and a ribcage, aimed for the spot where the heart would be and released.
The arrow hadn't even struck home when the hunter was kicking the stones off and scrambling to his feet. He had made a mistake. As the arrow was flying to its target the hunters brain had finished interpreting what his eyes were telling him. He didn't need to hear the pitiful squeal as the arrow hit home to know what he'd done. He didn't need hear the angry screeching and snorting, he just needed to run. He made for a low tree he'd spotted earlier and leapt up into the branches, hanging upside-down like a opossum he looked down to see the adult wild-boar shoot out of the bushes run circles around his tree and glaring up at him with blinding fury.
Many would mistakenly aliken wild boars to their comparatively docile domestic counter parts, those people would be wrong on two counts. Firstly pigs had a surprisingly high capacity for bastardry as most intelligent animals do, secondly wild boars are outstandingly aggressive and deadly. Those razor sharp tusks could easily tear him apart or at least cut the main artery in his leg. He'd seen it happen to other hunter's first hand. Throw a piglet into the mix, the aggressive goes up ten fold and he had just shot this one's child in the heart.
The crazy thing kicked its legs around wildly in what he could only interpret as rage. It wheeled around his tree at a startling speed before making an attempt to run directly up the trunk. The hunter cannot account for the noise he made when it nearly got 7 feet up and swiped at his rear with its tusk. Alas it fell back to Nirn with a thud and started passing back and forth under him while he just clung the branch like it was the only thing keeping him glued to the world, regretting everything.
He knew this might happen, the sign had had traces of boar but he'd been betting on a deer with shape of the tracks and nibbled vegetation. Perhaps rutting had been covered up by debris or something, he should have seen this coming, he was better than this. He rubbed his forehead into the rough bark of the branch with agitation, there was a time and place to beat himself up and this was not it. His bow was still clasped in his augmented hand, did he have any arrows? There was a chance that his desperate scramble into the tree had shaken them loose from his quiver. Breathing away the tremor in his hand he reached down and felt the fletched ends. It seemed he'd lucked out, most of them were still there.
Just for a moment he saw Aela's gorgeous body laying back across a rock as she shot with that unorthodox yet impeccable form. The shrieks and angry snorts of the boar brought him back to Nirn with a rude jolt. Shaking the memory out of his eyes he grabbed three arrows from the quiver, paced two in his teeth and awkwardly notched the other, arms still wrapped around the branch. Adjusting his legs so one was swung over the branch with its ankle locked by his opposite knee, he tentatively let go with his hands and let himself swing slowly down towards the boar. When his head could finally look down he saw sabers and a snout rushing up to him. He gave a panicked squeak and pulled himself back up to the branch. He felt a distinct lightening and heard a clattering that could only be the rest of his arrows tumbling to the forest floor.
He would have swore if he wasn't sure he'd lose the two arrows he had in his mouth if he did. Turning his head he glared down at the swine. Any guilt and sympathy he felt for this grieving parent had dried up in the blink of an eye, now this dammed thing was just a problem. It was running circles around the tree, every now and then stopping to pace back and forth below him eyes daring him to try it again. The challenge lit a fire in the hunter's stomach, he knew a way around this.
He let go again and heard the boar run up and jump, however he kept his core tight and didn't offer the devilish thing a target. He heard it hit the ground and knowing that it would need to run to around to get an angle on him again he let himself down and drew his arrow. The boar darted around the far side of the tree, the hunter took aim at its flank and shot. The arrow stuck in the ground by the protruding roots of the tree and the hunter immediately plucked an arrow from his mouth and drew back again, he knew what was coming. He aim to his right just as the boar came blazing around the tree to take another swipe at him. The hunter shot but knew he'd missed the second he released. He was slow and had already been curling back up to the branch when he'd let the arrow go. He didn't bother making note of were this one landed; if he lived, he'd track it down, if he didn't then it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he'd missed and was down to his last arrow.
He took the arrow from his mouth the shaft slippery with saliva and notched it as he thought about his next move. The damn boar was too fast. If he dropped down he'd almost surely get his legs slashed open. He couldn't climb up so he was on top of the branch without the risk of dropping his bow, even if he pulled it off he'd have a longer shot and more canopy to contend with. Speed was still the rub, the boar was a troubling compilation of too fast and too close. He almost didn't have space to lead his shot, he'd need to catch it when it was standing still. Trouble was it was never standing still, it was darting and pacing and whenever he dropped down it was running up the tree and taking a swipe at him.
He must have mulled it over for about a minute, and had even considered just trying to wait the boar out as crazy as that was. The boar could eat practically everything around it while his pack was hidden off in a nearby hollow. What more is that the boars don't normally travel in pairs, if he wasn't quick the whole family might be brought down on his head, there would be no waiting out that. At long last he had a thought that would prove to be the happiest thought of the day, he took a deep breath and started moving.
He started with a cheeky wiggle of his bum just to let the boar know that something was happening, then he let himself swing upside-down once more. The boar scrambled up the trunk and leapt, he brought the arrow to bare just in time to see the boars tusks shooting up towards him. The hunter didn't flinch however, for this time rather than seeing a threat all he saw was his target suspended helpless in the air before him. He drew to his anchor and released the arrow.
"So that's how it happened." said Bracknel sitting back on his bar stool wiping ale froth from his beard.
"Yep, every detail." said the hunter sipping from his own tankard. Around them The Sleeping Giant Inn was gently packed. The reason for the gathering was apparent to anyone who walked in and saw the large boar roasting on a spit over the central fire pit. The smell would have been enough to lure most of them in but Orgnar had decided to breakout the good salts for this one. The normally lethargic cook had come alive and was fussing over the roasting beast like a worried mother, or perhaps a meticulous artist. The cinnamon from the south, sujama from the east, apples from the north and assorted salts from the west. He sprinkled, rubbed and lathered, he'd even sown some apples into the boars gutted belly. Now as rivulets of fat dripped into the fire hissing tantalizingly the inn was hooked, they could smell a feast coming and not one of them wanted to miss out. Out of respect for the hunter's skill Orgnar had left the arrow protruding from the top of the beasts skull. Bracknel and the hunter looked on from the bar comfortably.
"I was wondering how the arrow wound up its mouth."
"I just took the shot I had."
"It's quite the story," commented Delphine "If you believe it,". The surly barmaid sidled back to their end of the bar and placed a fresh cup in front of the hunter.
"Well you don't need to believe it since you've already paid for the pig." the hunter reached for the new drink but paused when he felt the cup was sickly warm to the touch. "What's this?"
Delphine watched him evenly, "Its a drink, courtesy of Sven."
The hunter took his hand off and leaned down to sniff its contents, after a moment he recoiled and quirked an eyebrow at the barmaid. "This is piss."
"Yup," Delphine nodded, "it certainly is. You want to tell me what that's about?"
Bracknel leaned in cautiously peering at the cup "You just cannot get along with these bards eh? What did you do? Go and sell him a bum potion? Rope him into the war? Moon him from across the river?"
"I didn't do anything? He implicated me and was being a real creep about it."
"That sounds like him, but what I want to know is whether I need to find a new bard? This isn't the kind of gesture I appreciate in my inn."
"Well no I don't think you need to give him the boot, I imagine I did mess up his whole season."
Bracknel chucked and raised his tankard "Well Stranger you've made an enemy, congratulations."
"Cheers." the hunter said dryly lifting his ale, then double and triple checking that it was indeed ale. "But as I was saying no need to do anything, I don't need him hating me any more than he already does."
The barmaid nodded "That's fair, I'll have a talk with him later. But you mind telling me what you did?"
The hunter turned and looked back at the crowded in. It was easy to spot the bard, he was the only one trying to stab the hunter with his gaze. "Have you seen Camilla around here lately?"
Delphine opened a window and chucked the piss cup out into the weeds, as she turned back her expression was pensive. "...No, not so much. Is that what this is about? We were all wondering why she started spending so much time with Faendal. So what exactly happened?"
"It's a long story."
"Oh please it happened two weeks ago it can hardly be an epic can it?"
"I never took you for a gossip."
"Clearly you've never been an innkeeper."
"Well there was that one time a family a stoats shacked up in my tent. Buuuut."
"I'm sure the eviction was hellish, now come on. Sven. Spill."
"Actually" Bracknel interjected "I'd like to propose an exchange of information."
Delphine rolled her eyes over to the grizzly man. "Brack I'll tickle your nose with a thistle. Don't you make me." she hissed
"Hear me out." he grinned, "the kid and I are smoking and drying the piglet, with that and the coin you've given us, we're just about set to head out around Bleak Falls Mountain like we've been planning. You know anyone who knows the southwest part of that range better than me?"
Delphine pinched her chin and closed her eye in thought a moment "hmmmm... there was an old lady who lived out by the falls, I don't know if she's still there. It's been a while since she's come through."
"Anyone else?"
"Well shit stranger you're from the south ain't you? How about it?"
The hunter jerked slightly as the attention was returned to him. "uh, I know some hunters and fisherman out by the lake but I don't know if they're still there or if the bandits forced them out like they did me."
"Well there you have it Bracknel, that good enough for you."
"That'll do," the old man downed his drink.
Delphine resembled a hawk as she locked back onto the hapless hunter "Okay stranger, let's have it, how did you end up in Sven's next spiteful ballad."
"Um..." the hunter looked between the two nervously "I feel like you too have built this up a bit too much."
Alas he was wrong the gossip was good, the pork was great, the two hunters had a direction and another warm evening at the sleeping giant served to beat back the chill of a clear Skyrim night.
Clear day, the forest smelled of musk and decaying bark damp from the nights dew. The song sparrow sang and the creeper crept. The two hunters were still wiping sleep from their eyes as they stepped carefully along a game trail on the west side of the white river. The elk were nervous, the wolves have fled and the salmon were missing everything pointed to bleak falls mountains. Something had come to roost here and needed shaking loose. The pair's best lead lived apparently half-a-day south, and so with the stink of ale on their cloths and the salty taste of fresh pork jerky on their tongues, the pair grouchily roused themselves at first light and set out.
A woodpecker was testing the integrity of the canopy, flitting around above their heads looking for the perfect trunk. The knocking echoed oddly through the wood making it next to impossible to know exactly where it was coming from. Ferns parted easily at their ankles and wild-berry thickets nipped at their knees. As the pair came to a fallen tree Bracknel held up a hand short of breath.
"Lets... lets have a seat here for a bit. I need to... I got a hitchhiker in my boot."
"Fine by me." said the hunter and the pair veered off toward the gnarled log and parked their respective rumps.
Bracknel sat back and stretched his legs out sighing harshly as his old bones creaked. He rubbed his knees and spotted the hunter watching him. He gave one his trademark crooked smiles. "Don't grow old Stranger."
The hunter shrugged off his pack and began shuffling around in it "That shouldn't be a problem at the rate I'm going."
"Oh sure I thought the same thing when I was your age."
"Were you in the legion then?"
The old Nord stared at the canopy for a moment as if counting. "Errr, that I was, that I was."
"An Archer."
"Yep."
"Decorated?"
"What does it matter?"
"I'm just wondering if I've read about you at some point."
"Trying to dig up dirt are you?" Bracknel finally got around to wrenching off his boot and shaking a few small stones loose. "What a dreadful sneak you'd make. Coming right to me with such underhanded endeavors."
"Well I figured you'd be good enough not to rat me out to yourself." the hunter deadpanned
Bracknel cackled and kicked off his other boot to let his yellowed tows breath. "History books? I doubt it; but I definitely helped out some poor sods who needed saving. I reckon I did more than my fare share of that sort of thing."
"You went sticking your neck out like that?"
"Aye, I was proud solder; proud, patriotic... good-looking. I took everything the legion could throw at me. I never hesitated, never worried. Only things waiting for me were a pretty lady or Savengard. Never thought I'd have to live with any of what I saw. Never thought I've have to grow old with it. I've had so many chances but what can I say? I'm just too clever to die."
The hunter had been pulling a pouch out of his pack but paused at his friends somber turn. "If that's so, I'd say Savengard awaits regardless. But you still got some business here. You got the mountain, Hulda, the companions and Aela."
"Oh don't worry about me. I'm not going anywhere." the Nord waved off the concern before leaned into the half-breed, "Whatcha got there?"
"Well," the hunter held up a knotted length of string, a make shift needle and a few sharp boars teeth. "I'm thinking of making a necklace out of these."
"For yourself or to sell?"
"Probably for myself."
"Are you going carve anything into the ivory?"
"Like a fetish or a talisman?"
"Or a superficial design."
"Hmm, no I with thinking I'd keep it plane."
"Nothing wrong with that."
"Say, do you worship Talos?"
Bracknel jolted with surprise, "Bit of an odd question."
"Well I've heard you say 'by the nine' and not everyone does."
"Well I'm a Nord after all. I've heard you say it too."
"Yeah, you're a Nord and I'm half Nord, and we've lived around Nords all our lives but really... It's such a loaded phrase since the white gold concordat, it makes me wonder, do you worship anything?"
Bracknel shrugged, "The mountains, the fields, the woods and stone. What brought this on?"
"I was just thinking about how Aela has Hircine and I was saved by Kynereth's temple. It's just not something I've ever done much thinking about."
The old Nord nodded, "They're a lot of things that you can believe without worship, I was born into the church of the nine divines, and if I can still say nine divines and mean it with all my heart then I suppose that means I must believe in Talos. I've lived my whole life knowing I was headed towards Savangard; and if I believe in Shor's great mead hall then I suppose I believe in Shor as the creator of the world and father to all mortal life. And if I believe in Shor then I suppose I believe Masser and Secunda came from his corpse."
"His corpse? I heard they were siblings, his children."
"Is there a difference?"
"Sure sounds like a difference to me."
"I suppose to you it would. We're putting the machinations of the gods in terms that we mortals can understand. It's like trying to translate a poem from Akaviri to Dwemer to the common tongue. Not everything is going to make sense. You've been ignoring their existence until recently, so for you it's like your trying to read this poem blind."
The hunter paused as he was fiddling with his scrimshaw tools and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well that's encouraging. Where am I supposed to begin?"
"Oh well that's easy, we start with the stars. The canvas upon which the old stories are painted."
The hunter glanced up at the blue skies beyond the treetops. "Hm." he grunted unimpressed.
"Perhaps it's best we revisit this later." Bracknel admitted for now lets focus the gifts we have before us."
The hunter nodded "The mountains, the fields, the woods and stone. I can at least get behind that."
"Not just that," Bracknel stood barefoot and started peering around the edges of the log they sat on. "This right here is a kingly gift." he said, emerging holding up a couple wide-headed pale-brown mushrooms.
The hunter blinked at him. "Fungus?"
"Not just any fungus, this is Mora Tapinella. It's a very useful alchemically ingredient."
"You're not trying to sell more of those virility potions are you. I know I don't have much pride but..."
"No, no, no this is legitimate. This cap is full of revitalizing energy, just the kind of thing an old fart like me needs now. These frills underneath the cap will expand your mind, help you reach out to the stars and hear the whispers of the gods, the neck will untangle your senses, help you manifest your reality upon the world, and lastly, you see this black gunk around the base?"
"Yeah."
"That will just about kill ya."
The hunter watched his friend for a moment doubt evident on his face. "I believe one thing you just said, I'll let you guess which one it is."
"Ah you'll learn it all with time," Bracknel said scooping the frills out of one of the mushroom caps and eating it. "As a hunter you really should know these things."
"I know plenty. Do you know why everyone liked Pino the friendly mushroom?"
The old Nord chewed in thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Why?"
The hunter gave a rye smile "Because he was a fungi."
"Oh divines preserve us." Bracknel buried his face in his hands. Snap! Suddenly the two hunter's were crouched down behind their log. The wisdom of the wild written deep in their bones, honing their relaxes to fine and uniform point. Like nervous squirrels down a hole they slowly para-scoped their heads looking for the source of the disturbance. After several seconds the hunter spotted the culprit. An elk, proud, male, rich main and a full rack of antlers. It was grazing about a fifty yards up hill, stepping along apparently oblivious to them.
He signaled to Bracknel, indicating the creature and its direction. The elder hunter followed along and nodded slowly before dropping to the ground drawing his knife. The hunter looked on quizzically as Bracknel cut the stalks of several fern fronds and start stuffing them in the hunter's pockets and tangling them into his hair and furs.
"What are you doing?" the hunter whispered.
The old Nord's eyes were urgent "You need to get closer."
"We have jerky and this isn't what we came here for."
"We're not going to kill it. You need to get a closer look at its wound."
"What wound?"
"Its limping, didn't you see?"
The hunter hadn't. He looked back as a full fern was stuffed down the neck of his furs and sure enough the beast did appear to be limping. On top of that it seemed to be a little impaired, stumbling as it grazed, twitching its head to odd angles and apparently oblivious to the two humans down the slope.
Understanding the hunter waited until the Bracknel gave him a thumbs up and, quiet as a musk rat, started creeping his way through the underbrush. It felt strange sneaking up on an animal without his bow but he found that it helped to have the extra hand free form support and navigation. More than once he wound up crawling on his belly wishing he could slither like a snake. He scared a tiny lizard from its perch but luckily it was no rabbit and the elk didn't notice. The woodpecker continued to knock up above seeming never to be satisfied with the wood it found. A huckleberry bush proved to be the savior of his little adventure. It distracted elk with its succulent fruit just long enough for him to hop a log, take refuge behind a tree, and peek out at the unwitting creature. What he saw made his blood run cold.
One of the Elk's hind legs was blackened and oozing with half dried blood and fresh yellow puss. The flesh was hairless gnarled and cracked like dried mud and leaves, in those cracks angry red flesh peeked out at the world. There was no gash or bite or puncture, rather at the epicenter of the damage there was what looked like a faint imprint, a hand. He smelt the air the flesh was necrotic, rotting while still attached to its host. The tinge of char was on the air. The Elk had been burned. Forceably and deliberately burned. What could do that, he had no idea. Why anything would do that, he knew even less. It moved gingerly, only putting pressure on the leg when absolutely necessary, huckleberry juice dripping sloppily from its lips, eyes glazed over with what he could only imagine was enough pain to rend the mind asunder.
Out of shear burning pity the hunter didn't move so as not to spook the poor creature off its treat. After several minutes it hobbled away and the hunter stood, strange fern-man that he was, and turned to look at Bracknel. The old Nord waiting back by the trail with their packs, but the hunter was sure the man could see the shocked whites of his eyes even from this distance. The investigation had certainly gotten off to a curious start.
He took a step back towards his companion but suddenly jumped at the harsh rustle and thud of something falling into the brush. He spun around looking for the source of the sound. At first he saw nothing but the brightening forest. Then he spotted a depression in a cluster of ferns and stepped over to it. He saw there on the ground, eyes dried and empty, feathers faded, beak worn blunt, a dead woodpecker.
They danced with the a river most the day; at times they could hear its roar as a whisper in the distance, at times they were walking along its bank and at times the river was far below them in a ravine while they navigated rocky cliffs. The shade of the trees had just began to creep along the ground is if fleeing the all consuming shadow of the mountain. It was into that gloom that the pair trudged. A path had become clear, one worn away not by the claws and hooves of beasts but by the feet of man or mer. A ghostly light danced ahead of them flickering between the trees like a blinking eye. As they approached, cautious as they always were, and peered from atop a sunken bolder hemmed in by thick roots, they saw that the light was coming form a window in a small wooden shack. It had a modest garden with an ineffectual fence, it had a quant chimney that was leaking a faint wisp of smoke, the walls were home to mosses and lichens but not enough to indicate neglect or abandonment. The shack was altogether unremarkable save for its very presence in this seldom wondered corner of the valley.
"You think this is it?" the hunter whispered scanning the clearing.
"Must be." said Bracknel in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by his own scratching of his beard.
"Old woman living out in the woods... I mean it's not like she'd be in a cave right?"
"Not necessarily, I've known my fare share of crones who preferred the wild crags to the comforts of home."
"Can't say I don't understand, at least a bit."
"Oh you're well on your way, just need to grow out you're nails and you're set."
The hunter just scrunched his lips and shook his head, he couldn't afford the laugh he'd caught behind his teeth. "Shall we go say hi?"
"Aye, I'll go first and play the diplomat, you watch my back."
"Got it." with that the pair broke cover and slowly descended into the shadowy clearing. Flecks of sunlight slithered through the high canopy like fairy lights as the sun got lower in the west. The hunter couldn't help but crouch slightly in his shoulders as he moved out of the safety of the trees. The shack sat in its conspicuous banality, the light in the widows following their movement like eyes marking their approach. The hunter noted that the ground was soft like that of the wheat field. As they rounded the far side they saw a poorly mounted door, so full of cracks and gaps in the moulding it really seem more a superficial gesture than a true barrier against the elements. Alas it sat closed and there seem nothing to do but brave the quaint stone footpath and knock. Bracknel glanced back at him and shrugged, he gave a nod and the old hunter approached the door and lifted his hand to knock.
"Why hello there." The pair would have jumped clear through the canopy had they not already been on alert. Sitting in a chair adjacent to the door, in pain view of them a grey shrouded figure appeared. A woman swathed in assorted mismatched rags, a kindly withered face peeked out from an oversized pail hood. How on earth had they both missed her? Perhaps it was that her cloths camouflaged her against the back, perhaps they had just been too focused on the door, perhaps she had simply not been there a second ago. "It's rare I get visitors out here, what can I do for a couple wild-lings such as yourselves?"
The hunters hand was still hovering over blade but Bracknel composed himself and bowed politely. "Good afternoon m'lady, we are hunters come seeking your wisdom and insights."
"Is that so," the robbed figure cocked and ear "and what insights could a poor old woman like my self provide."
"Nothing so much as experience of the land. We are new to these trails and woods you make your home, and a lovely home it is. Won't you offer us counsel?"
"Why of course." the old woman said in a disarmingly kind and matronly tone. "How could I say no when you ask so politely. Please have a seat. I hope you're young companion doesn't mind standing, I only have one extra chair." the hunter moved cautiously to lean against the shack as Bracknel set down his bow and quiver and offered his hand to the strange woman. She placed her had in his and he paced a gentle kiss on the back of it. As he eased himself into a wooden chair that had also blended into its surroundings remarkably well, the mysterious woman lowered her hood. Rather than a corpse-faced crone with features hewn by the elements they saw the sweet kind face of a woman who bore all the signs of having been a true beauty in her youth. Fine white hair tied back in a bun, a button nose, snapping sapphire eyes and handsome smile lines all gave the impression of grace and quiet kindness.
"I am Bracknel and this is my companion Stranger."
"Stranger..." the woman exclaimed and turned those snapping eyes onto the hunter, "quite an interesting name you have young man."
The hunter opened his mouth to respond and his ears popped, "Uh... Thank you."
The woman hummed through a sweet smile "Hmmm, well I'm Anise. It's a pleasure to meet both of you."
"Anise." Bracknel echoed with a nod "Charmed truly. How long have you been out here anise."
"Oh about 10 years now, after my husband passed away I came out here to get away from all the pitty and memories. Once I recovered I found that the quiet life suited me and here I am."
"Do you have a business or any wealth to sustain yourself?"
"Oh no I'm just a poor old woman dear, no one ever bothers with me and I don't bother with them."
"What do you eat?" the hunter chimed in plainly.
"Oh my garden provides for me. I have some wonderful summer tomatoes and winter gourds. Not to mention I can go down to the river and fish when the I feel like it. I imagine you'd know something about that being hunters."
"Aye we do, I noticed you also had some elves ear in the your garden."
"Oh yes I do, I use it for tea when I'm feeling ill. I take it you're an alchemist?"
"That I am. I came across some Mora Tapinella earlier if you'd be interested."
"Oh thank you but I've managed to gather enough myself."
"Very good very good. One should always know a little something when one lives off the land."
"Indeed they should." Anise agreed.
"I'm still trying to teach this clatty lout."
"Oh, is this your apprentice."
"Aye, that he is." said Bracknel straight faced. The hunter's neck tensed so he didn't double take hard enough to spin his head. Whats more his hand was starting ache, he'd have to loosen then straps soon or he'd loose feeling in it.
"Well that's wonderful. Skyrim needs wild-men to guide the good people through this harsh land."
"And the land needs someone to protect it from the good people." Bracknel retorted with a wink. "Which is why we need your help."
"I see." Anise nodded "so you would say that you are here in your capacity as wardens or stewards."
Bracknel chuckled "Oh you make it sound so grand, we're simply children of Skyrim who care for our motherland."
The old woman smiled "Well this is very exiting. I how can I help?"
"You said earlier that you fish on occasion."
"I do."
"Have you noticed an absence of salmon in the river?"
"I suppose their have been fewer lately but I still see them around."
"And what of the histcarp?" the hunter interjected rubbing his augmented hand in what he hoped was a casual way.
"I'm afraid I don't know what those are."
"I see."
"Is that all you need to know?"
"Well not necessarily." Bracknel leaned forward crossing his arms over his knees. "As you have said we are here as wardens, we have detected curtain anomalies within the natural order, little things going awry, natures rhythms being disturbed. Each incident when viewed on its own is strange, but when taken together..." the Bracknel looked at the woman through is bushy eyebrows. "The mountain is sick. More and more the critters are being affected by it. We've come to root out this illness and hopefully send it on its way. If you could draw us a map to help us get around that would be ideal but first, do you know what's happening here?"
Anise looked at Bracknel steadily then appraised the ground, threading and unthreading her fingers. "I... fear that I do." she confessed, "though I had no idea that their influence had gone that far."
Bracknel leaned forward so far he was in danger of falling out of his chair, "What do you mean?"
"You see about three months ago this young fellow came by he seemed nice enough but I sensed a dark pit in his heart. He wandered up into the peaks above the falls and I haven't seen him since but lately I've felt an unnatural cold coming from the mountain. At night I've heard terrifying sounds come by on the wind, whispers of spirits and unnatural monstrosities. I fear that the mountain has become home to a necromancer."