Game of The Huntsman

Chapter 1: Cold Moons, Winter Watch

Listen to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCp8rbgBNKk and/or this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-Njbqlmck4 while reading the 1st. Chapter...

Village of Winterhold, 3:33am, Middas

“By the Gods, it’s cold this morning…”

Tryggr mumbled to himself as he wrapped himself even closer in the woolen cloak his wife had made for him. It’s once dark crimson hue faded into dirty brown with the many years spent on the watch, and the brown bear fur trim around the edges was matted and in some places had started to fall out, leaving only bare hide in the places of frequent pulling and wear. It wasn’t much to look at anymore, but it was sturdy, well-woven and never failed to keep him warm…

It had been another uneventful night on the watch at the docks and the night fought hard with time making the minutes seem to bleed into hours…He glanced up at the Moons, both full and fat, which gave form to his once shadowed face, revealing the hard thin angular lines and deep crags akin to the wind-driven coastal rocks out near the cliffs that stood defiantly strong against the long trudging passage of time and the tumult of the salton seas around them. The moons, which had now decided to come out of hiding from the deep silver clouds, seemed to stare at him coldly with only very slight acknowledgement for the one who had kept them in stead-fast company for the past 27 years while manning the night watch at the docks…

“Piss off, the both a ye…”

replied Tryggr in reciprocated indifference, his words caught and held in crystalline clouds around his face. He reached out and held the lantern out into the darkness, his bright green eyes narrowed into slits but viewing only the winter fog that made its slow advance over the harbor and silently and stealthily crept up the docks like an army of dead souls borne on the icy pre-dawn breezes…

“Hmmph”

He mumbled to himself as he turned around to make his way to the rickety watchman’s shack that had been his nocturnal home for so many years. The shack was constructed in typical Nordic fashion, raw wood framing, carved in simple yet elegant interwoven patterns supporting a pine-bough thatched roof, now covered with snow. It had a simple wooden door on the left-hand side and a little 3-foot arched window made of hand-blown glass tiles held together by a wrought-iron framework that overlooked the docks. Inside there was just enough room for a table, two chairs, and a little cast-iron stove to keep its occupants somewhat warm. The two had grown old together and he smiled softly as he opened the door which seemed to welcome him with a gentle creak. Shaking off the cold winter’s night, he carefully removed his cloak revealing long straight silver white hair that was gradually receding. He folded the cloak over the chair and sat down with a groaning sigh…

‘The winter’s starting to get to these old bones…”

He said to the little shack around him. Though he knew the shack could never answer, it was comforting to have someone to talk to on the long nights.

“What do you say we make some tea? Hmm?”

And with that he opened up the little door to the cast-iron stove and placed two more sticks of kindling into the fire and placed the kettle on the stove. He reached now for his old clay long-stem pipe and carefully loaded and tamped down a pinch of tobacco he had taken from his doe-skin smoking pouch, his old worn fingers shaking more from age now than cold. Sitting back in the simple wooden chair he gripped the warm mug of pine-needle tea and honey while he puffed wistfully at his pipe thinking of his wife, who was now abed, and the comforts of home and hearth that awaited him soon. A gentle rap at the door quickly woke him from his reverie and startled, he quickly stood, turned and opened the door, pipe in hand.

“Hey there old man…” Said the voice at the door.

“What in the name of the Gods do you want?” replied Tryggr gruffly

The visitor’s lips once dour, now wryly turned into a smile.

“Well! Come in. No sense to be letting the winds in too…” Tryggr snapped with a smile.

“How’s the watch tonight?” The stranger asked as he drew back the cloak from his head revealing the intricately adorned steel helmet that covered his nose and eyes leaving only a well-groomed and braided fire-red beard below.

“The night’s not giving up too easily tonight Asgierr…”

When the old man turned he noticed Asgierr had set his spear against the wall of the shack and placed his helmet upon his knees.

“How about some tea? I just made it…And you look like you could use something warm young pup…”

He placed the cup upon the table and began to carefully pour the water his aged hands still shaking. Asgierr noticed how frail and unsteady the old man’s hands were at performing this simple act, but decided it would be best not to dwell on such things…At nearly 75 years of age Tryggr was one of the eldest folk in the village and deserved the well-earned respect he had in the village. It was said that his folk had come from old and ancient lands, a remote and mysterious island to the north of the lands of the Dunmer…

“Please…I would love some” Asgierr replied, hoping that his tone would not belie the genuine affection and admiration he felt for the old man…

“How’s life in the Chieftan’s employ treating you?"

“Well enough, I suppose…”

With that response, Tryggr looked over the man seated before him and carefully studied him with his piercing green eyes which glinted behind
narrow the slits. He saw before him a young man of 28 with fair skin and freckles and bright blue eyes framed in curly locks of well-kept fire-red hair and beard all carefully and proudly groomed and dressed in the bright silver chainmail and grey wolf’s fur cloak of the Chieftan’s guard. Sensing the boy’s misgivings, Tryggr spoke:

“It’s a good thing you do…Our lord has proven himself to be both noble and just to the people of this village...”

“Yes...Well I know…But sometimes…” his words trailing off...

“Sometimes what?” the old man inquired.

“Sometimes I have the feeling that I have angered someone…”

“Who?”

“I don’t know…Look…Here I am, nearly 30 years of age, no advancement in rank beyond sargeant at arms
after 8 years spent in service to the guard…Still on night patrol…”

“That’s just dribble lad…You’re worth more than you know boy…”

“How so?” Asgierr replied despondently, leaning back into his chair eyeing the mug in his hands…

“The night watch is the most dangerous posting for a guard…You’d do well to remember that and keep your wits about ye lad…They only pick the brightest
and the best of the guard to do this posting…”

Looking up from his mug, Asgierr gave the old man a doubtful look, but knew he had to be right and gave a light self-deprecating chuckle and knew it was time to change the subject.

“How’s the missus?” he inquired of Tryggr.

“Just fine…She’ll have breakfast waiting for me when I come home this morning…”

“Lucky old buzzard…”

“"What the devil can that be?”

leaning over Asgierr’s shoulder to notice the tiny orange flickering light out past the docks in the fog…


Chapter 2: Red Morning, Grim Findings

Listen to this while you read the 2nd chapter: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CriOF8z-wTM&feature=related

Village of Winterhold, 6:00am, Middas

Holding the lantern aloft, Tryggr called out to the light in the darkness and fog:

“Ho There!”

The only response came from the silent and slow approach of the light…

“Ho There!” He called out yet again…

All was silent and still, save for the light of the approaching vessel, which gently bobbed in the fog. Asgierr, standing behind the old man, gripped and steadied his spear, not at all comfortable with the silence of the coming vessel that now made him tense and gave him an unsteady feeling in his gut…
Asgierr approached behind Tryggr and gently grabbed his shoulder placing the old man behind him.

“Ho there Vessel!…Announce yourself and be heard!” Asgierr called out in firm, unwavering authority…

Wringing his hands around the grips of the spear he pointed the razor sharp silver head
towards the mysterious vessel that still approached with no reply…

“I am Asgierr of the Chieftan's guard…Announce yourself and be heard or face arrest!”

No response…

The coming of the early lights of dawn cast the harbor and docks in stark contrasts of black wood and grey light as the silent ship slowly emerged from the fog into visual range. A hulking mass of wood and timbers, its mainmast was splintered and broken, the torn and tattered bloody main sail draqed over its decks and into the icy waters.

“Tryggr go ring for the guard now!”

Asgierr commanded sternly. The ship’s approach finally stalled out when it collided gently into the docks with a load groan and splintered creak, shaking the wood pilings of the dock. Grabbing the nearest mooring rope, Asgierr fashioned a knot and slipped it quickly over the prow. The sound of the warning bells now broke the eerie silence, giving Asgierr a start as he carefully hoisted the boarding plank into place dropping it with a dull thud. Once upon the boarding-plank overlooking the ghost ship his eyes grew wide with the horror that he faced. The ship’s decks were awash in broken weapons, blood and bits of body parts barely recognizable. A piece of intestine here, a bit of liver there, bits of brain splattered across the ship’s sail told the grim tale of the fate of this ship’s damned crew…

“Asgierr…What do you see?” came the deep voice from behind.

It was Ullrik Heart-Fang, captain of the Chieftan’s guard. Held in paralysis by the horrible abomination he was looking at, Asgierr
made no reply…

“Asgierr!?”

“There’s something underneath the sail, sir…” replied Asgierr, startled out of his shock.

Ullrik Heart-Fang had now come up on to the plank behind Asgierr, motioning him to join the other guards on the dock with a wave of his massive right hand.
Standing at a towering height of close to 7 feet, outfitted in a the gleaming silver ring mail and plate armor of the guard captain covered over by a grey woolen cloak with a grey wolfs-hide draqed over it, Ullrik Heart-Fang stood as steady as a stone upon the plank, the hood of his grey cloak drawn back revealing the deep ink-vine scar that ran from his forehead down the center of a cold-silver glass eye and down his cheek, his long white hair tied back into a warrior’s knot With slow and deliberate precision, Ullrik gripped the black leather sheath trimmed in grey wolf’s fur with his right hand and carefully drew out his massive claymore ‘Frost-Fang’ , a sword very well known in these parts and much feared by the enemies who dared move against the people of these lands. The ancient and powerful runes etched into the fuller gleamed unnaturally as he drew up his right hand and gripped it in both hands, the wolf’s head rain guard ferociously devouring the blade from above the cross guard ready for whatever came out from underneath the sail. Now upon the ship’s deck, he slowly lifted the sail with the point of his sword bringing to the light of the early morning a new and ghastly surprise, his pale silver eye wide with horror quickly turning to grim steely resolve…

“Cordon-off the docks…No one comes down here, save for the guard…”

The sound of hasty boot steps and the rustling of chain-mail, ensured him that his orders were followed. The villagers were slowly moved behind the cordon lines by the guard. A carefully laid stack of skulls, washed and bleached now accounted for the crew, their captain’s head on top of the pile with a sword labeled ‘Agnithor’ driven home through the top of his skull. Ullrik recalled this sword…

“What is the name of this vessel?” He called out to Asgierr.

Wiping the blood away that masked the name of the vessel with his gloved hand, Asgierr could hardly discern the beautifully carved writing due to the savage claw marks that ran deep into the wood…

“’Eyvindir’, sir…”

With a disapproving and sorrowful nod, Ullrik looked once more upon the ship, his eyes falling upon the savage claw marks that scarred the decks and covered nearly the entirety of the boat…It was then that his steely gaze noticed the scroll that had been fastened mid mast with a dagger. Unwrapping the scroll which was tied with a single silken ribbon, he noticed right away that it had not been made of paper, but of human skin, it’s cryptic message beautifully scrawled in human blood:

‘These mortals were not worthy of the Hunt, nor of the reward of their lives which I so
graciously offered for their participation…This bloody invitation is for you,
Ullrik Heart-Fang of Winterhold…Your refusal would be most unwise…H’


“Asgierr…Wake the Lord and prepare to torch the vessel…And get me that watchman!”

The story is pretty intruiging. But it would be good if you seperated the sentence and paragraphs. Use two spaces to seperate them. Also, don't use alot of caps in the dialogue. To emphasieze the character's emotions use bold lettering or italics. And lastly, location and time of year is good to give us readers a general understanding of the piece being written.

P.S: I smell Hircine's work.

Will do..Going to edit...

Chapter 3: Seeress

Listen to this while you read...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DlC3MDOD-do&NR=1 while you read the 3rd Chapter..

Woods 4 miles from Winterhold, 11:00pm, Turdas

She carefully removed the dagger from its sheath and held it to the light of the fire, running her knurled fingertips down the length of the ancient silver blade…

“Still sharp…Good…”

“He will have need of you before all is said and done…”

The firelight flickered and danced upon the blade, its simple appearance now belied…The pommel, a large canine tooth encased in a circlet of silver, its grip of unknown hide held in place by delicately braided silver wire that was wrapped up to the hilt which was in the shape of an intricately etched silver deer-skull, its antlers reaching up toward the blade…

“He has found him...”

“Called him to the Hunt…”

“You must join him…”

“Protect him…”

“They are coming soon for my counsel…”

With a deep, worried sigh the old woman carefully sheathed the dagger and placed it upon the mantle…She had foreseen this…All of this…But somehow the
knowledge of the final act was kept from her…She turned inward...

‘There is no comfort in final solution when the Gods come down to play with the hearts and minds of mortals…You know this Angrboda...His great fore-bearer had succumbed to the darkness…Why shouldn’t he?’

‘Could he be the one?’

From the darkness outside her ram-shackle walls, the winds whistled and blew and the voices of the wolves in the wood began to rise with the moon…First one…Then the response from across the hills a mile off, with the hills immediately surrounding her little cabin erupting suddenly into wolf-song…She had heard them many times before, fallen asleep, labored, ate and meditated to the songs they made, but this was different…She now knew the answer she had sought for so long…Her wrinkled features, dour and timeworn, now given to the slightest smile tinged with a hint of sorrow for the one who the Huntsman sought…

‘Must know more…”

Removing a worn doe-skin pouch from underneath the folds of her skirt she scattered the contents upon the hearth before the fire, gingerly gesturing her fingers above the bones, reading their implications…

“What!?…This is not a common birth-Sign…”

“Fredas, the 29th of Morningstar…”

“Can it be?”

Her heavily lidded blue eyes intrigued at what she read now frantically searched for the final answer…

“But the stars! The stars!”

Pointing to the one bone closest to the fire, her eyes grew wide, reflecting the flames that danced in the fireplace…

"He is the one!"

more but i also want to know why the new birthsign lol

Chapter 4: Council Fire

Listen to this; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bn1ct1xomoY while you read the 4th chapter…

Winterhold, Chieftan’s Hall 9:00pm, Loredas.

The great fire in the center of the hall seemed to rise and fall with the din of two voices vying for supremacy of argument.

“This is surely an act of war! We must arm, go forth and meet these bastards and bring
their hides home as trophies!”

“By whom!? Against whom!? We know not the enemy we face!”

“This is an act of war! Surely you can see this!?”

“Yes! That is why we must hold here, muster our defenses, see to our women and children and wait out this coming storm!”

Asvaldr sat back in his throne, bear-skin robe draqed over his shoulders, wringing his left temple with his fingertips while he eyed the ornate drinking horn full of mead in his right hand. Bjartr and Egil would be at this all night coming to blows and sword point if he didn’t mediate. Tiring of their words and suppressing the coming headache that resulted from their squabbling and too much mead, Asvaldr raised his left hand and spoke:

“Enough of this…”

The hall fell to a quick hush at the sound of his voice…

“Yes…This is an act of war upon our people Egil, but I’ll be damned and rotting in my tomb if you think I’m going to run off to war and feed the fodder of unnecessary bloodshed against an opponent, of whom, I know nothing about, like some blind ass in the night!”

With these words, Egil’s eyes cast downward and the normally hulking mass of a man seemed to shrink and cower to a fraction of his state. Noting Egil’s discomfort and knowing him to be one of the best and bravest warriors of the village, Asvaldr spoke again...

“And you Bjartr…”

“Would have my kingdom threatened so and treated with such affront, only to have OUR People hide and cower behind walls and holes like rabbits awaiting the hounds!”

“No! That will not do sir!”

Bjartr, now put in place, shrank back shamefully into his chair.

With silence now pervading the hall, save for the crackling of the great circular hearth at the center of the hall, Asvaldr motioned for Ullrik Heart-Fang, who had been standing over his right shoulder, a slight grim smile of pleasure on his scarred face at the quickness to silence at the authority of the words of the chieftan…

“Ullrik Heart-Fang has told me that upon close investigation that the ship had left here five months ago… Her name was the ‘Eyvindr’, which left these shores with twenty brave souls, including the captain of no small note; Haldorr Gunnersen whom you’ll recall was no slouch of a man. The watchman of the docks, who was questioned by Ullrik, showed record in the log book of her destination; An island named ‘Ullvens Halda’ …”

“Ullrik here, also found a note upon the ‘Eyvindr’ , which he will now read aloud to all of you…”

And with these words, Ullrik read the note to the hushed mass of men within the hall. The men looked at each other searching for strength and answers when the note had been read…
Bjartr then stood and spoke:

“But m’ Lord…If this grim invitation is for Ullrik alone, surely he knows his course and what he must do to aid our people?”

Voices of agreement started to rise…

“Yes…Yes he does, and is more than willing to go forth upon his task, but there is yet more that needs to be heard before sending this man, the very best man, of our village to seek out this cruel hunter of men…Bring the Oracle!”

With this command from Asvaldr, the two guards stationed in the back of the hall blew the ram’s horn trumpets with a hauntingly loud and long single note. Discomfort and hushed mumbled voices whispered in the hall as the great double doors at the entrance of the hall were opened, revealing the hunched and aged form that stood like an ancient twisted and knurled yew tree rooted firm against the wailing winter winds outside. Making her slow advance into the hall, the Seeress clutched tightly to her ancient, knotted wooden staff that rattled with the sounds of the bones, teeth and greasy
Raven’s feathers that were affixed to the staff by a single leather thong, assisted by a the guard that loomed over her frail figure, but kept in slow steady respectful time with her footsteps. Upon reaching Asvaldr’s throne at the rear center of the hall, the Chieftan nodded in respect. She then slowly turned around and faced the rest of the hall. Then, with a sudden loud thunderous crack that shook the hall as well as its inhabitants, the Seeress pounded her staff upon the stone floor. She then reached into the large woolen travelling bag that was draqed over her shoulders and drew out a crudely fashioned stone bowl and carefully laid it upon the floor where she knelt. Five small skin pouches she then removed and placed beside the bowl. She then pulled out a single cream-colored tallow candle, which she lit with magic contained in a whisper. The hall was silent save for the men she faced who had started to shift and sink back into their benches uncomfortable with the sight and strange ceremony that was playing out before their rapt attention.

Knotted fingers removed a small portion of each ingredient that was in the skin pouches…

‘Copper sulfate powder…To gain entrance into the works of the Gods…’

‘Powdered tears of the poppy, ripened and ground…To gain vision in the course of events to come…’

‘A lock of wolf’s hair bound together in human hair...To signify the wolf inside the man…The servant of the Deer-Skulled God…’

‘Blood of the Daedra dried into powder, mixed with powdered deer antler...To signify
the Hunter of Man…’

‘Mandrake…For strength of will in the dark days to come…’

After she placed these items into the bowl, she slowly turned, her aged features now like a leering demon as she pointed to Ullrik with a knotted and calloused single finger, her finger nail like a little yellow arrow-head…

“Come forth warrior and give me your left palm…”

A hesitant and skeptical sidelong glance to the old crone revealed his discomfort at being singled out in this dark ceremony, but Asvaldr grabbed his right hand and motioned him to her with an impatient gesture. Confident but careful steps were made to her, ever cautious of the witch and her ways of which he did not understand. Now before her, he raised his left palm. She then removed the ancient silver dagger that sat upon her mantle just a couple days ago…Ullrik, now wholly unsure of her intent, slowly reached over with his right hand, fingering the pommel of his claymore, ready to draw in a flash. Noticing the slow and careful motions of his right hand, she spoke:

“There is no need for that Great Warrior…I will not hurt you…Save for this…”

She then grabbed his palm and with a lighting flash of a stroke cut deep into his flesh, the blood quickly dripping into the bowl and its ingredients…

‘Blood of the Warrior…To signify the sacrifice and honor of a Hero’s blood…’

She then released his hand, which was quickly drawn back with a growl and a flash of furious anger in his solitary silver eye…

She then gently placed the dagger down with a wry smile cast in Ullrik’s direction and then drew out a stone pestal, furiously mixing the ingredients together into a ball.
Grabbing a rolled up scrap of parchment, she placed it over the candle light, setting it a light, then threw it into the bowl which suddenly erupted in a brilliant flame of blue
and white, leaving only a cloud of blue smoke which she quickly inhaled with a deep gasping breath. The Seeress then slumped to the ground with a gasp from the watching crowd who thought her poisoned. Then she spoke, her once pale blue eyes now a black morass…

“So you wish to join the Huntsman’s game?”

“Travel due north on the Sea of Ghosts…”

“You will come upon a land of fog covered forests and a lone black mountain where the wolves shall bid you welcome…”

“Seek out your bloody host…”

“The Deer-Skulled God, Hircine who awaits you in his halls…”

“With the coming of the hunt two blood red moons shall be seen…”

“Beware his servants…The hounds”

“Once great men they were …”

“Now terrible beasts cursed mad with hunger and blood…”

“Beware their mark of claw and fang…Or join them…”

“Cursed eternally…”

“His games have terrible costs and great reward for those he chooses to participate…”

“Fail and Hircine will loose his hounds upon the lands of both men and mer alike…”

“And this world will drown eternally in a sea of it’s own blood…”

“If by chance you, Ullrik Heart-Fang, emerge victorious…”

“Then you rise above the failure of your great fore-bearer…”

“Resurrecting the name of your family to one of honor eternally…”

“Bestowed with the gift of His hide and spear no enemy shall stand before you…”

“For you will take on the aspect of Hircine in this mortal realm…”

yay! more

Can do..I'll start working on chapter 5

Looking better. Keep it up and remember to add more detail on the scenarios.

Thanks...Will do
Chapter 4 was very hard to write...Took all day...

Werewolf & Vampire, Lunarwolf,
I want to thank you both for your support in helping me navigate this site, this story, and all the ways I might make it a little bit better...

Chapter 5: The Coming Gift of Dawn

Listen to this; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nx_3JH3gFiE&NR=1 while you read the 5th chapter…

Winterhold, Ullrik Heart-Fang’s residence, 5:00am, Sundas


He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands…

Finding no sleep in his own bed, he decided to rise. His dreams had been fitful this night, the witch woman’s words echoing in his ears, commandeering his dreams, driving them to the realms of nightmarish visions of two full red moons, the surroundings bathed in blood-red light while a tall dark figure, solitary and still loomed over him with the head of a deer-skull, and a spear in his hands, while Ullrik lay on the ground, powerless against this foe as his body was racked with agonizing fits and convulsions of a burning pain so intense his body felt liked it had been soaked in whale-oil and set a light. With a deep sigh Ullrik looked out the window to watch Massur and Secunda on the final leg of their nightly voyage sail through churning hoary clouds, casting his room in a silver pallor and making his already pale skin now seem dead and ghost-like as he now eyed his bandaged left hand…

“Damned witch…”

The streets were silent this morning, save for the breezes that whispered through the trees and buildings, catching his breath upon them and carrying them lightly away. His private thoughts though, burdened him like the weight of too many stones upon his back, shown only in the deep furrowed brow which he wore as me made his way silently through the streets. Now down at the shores, Ullrik gazed upon the long-ship that would take him across the sea to his awaiting fate, uncertain in the coming of events to play out, but resolved to see them through…

“You are right to worry…”

Came a voice behind him. Wheeling around in a flash, hand on his sword grip at the ready, Ullrik loosened his grip and stance when he saw the frail figure of the Oracle standing before him.

“What do you want old witch?”

Noticing the bandaged hand that released itself from the point of deadly readiness,
the witch replied;

“Still angry over the little wound you suffered at my aged hands?”

“Back to Hell with you crone...”

“Enough of this useless venom…I’ve a question to ask you…”

“Then ask…”

“Do you know the star of your birth?”

“No…Nor do I care…”

“You should…”

“Explain yourself…If your madness will let you…”

“I know why the Huntsman chose you… Ullrik Heart-Fang!”

Ullrik raised a skeptical eyebrow, awaiting further explanation…

“Your family name is cursed…Your great ancestor Tharsten Heart-Fang took part in the ritual of the Blood-moon long ago, and accepted the gift of a cursed ring from Hircine which slowly consumed the good heart he once possessed, twisting him to evil designs and mad blood-thirst...”

Ullrik closed his eyes and nodded in slow disapproval…

“Do not take my words for granted great warrior…That same blood runs through your veins…Your mortal soul depends on the message I offer…”

“How?”

“The lone star that heralded your birth is very rare…Those exceptionally few that possess it are endowed with the power of the wolf as a guide to their destiny…Did not
you ever wonder why you connected so quickly with the wolves that lived in the wood outside your uncle’s cabin? Learning their ways, hunting with them,
and becoming adopted into their pack…”

His eyes now glimmered and grew wide as he recalled his childhood after the death
of his mother, running at night through the trees, keeping pace with the wolves…

“You, Ullrik Heart-Fang, were born on the 29th of Morningstar thirty years ago…A night when all the stars were paled by the light of the full moons, save one, which shone brighter than any others that night…The Wolf’s Eye…Very rare…As it is not seen but once every two generations…It is this star that could offer the possibility saving your humanity and the sanity of your soul if a wound were to be suffered by the beasts that serve Hircine…”

The Seeress drew out from the folds of her skirt, the blade that she had drawn Ullrik’s blood with at the ceremony that night…

“This blade is for you…It is forged of the purest silver and will protect you in your most dire moment of need…Keep it close…”

Ullrik gingerly accepted the blade from her bony fingers and looked upon it with
curious study, noting the large fang of unknown origin at the pommel…

“That is the fang of the Werewolf…This ancient blade was forged after an attack by the beasts on your great ancestor, Tharsten Heart-Fang’s village on the isle called ‘Solstheim’…This was a gift given to one they called Nerevar, a great hero of ancient prophecy, who came to aid the village and defeated Hircine during the last Hunt…”

And with these final words, she took the bandaged hand that held the knife in hers and patted it reassuringly...

"Be strong my boy...For the trials that await you will require everything you've got..."

Wha? Thankz but I have hardly helped at all :confused:

EDIT: Turning out pretty good

I direct descendant from Tharsten. Interesting. I see you too favor the family curses approach!

That is one of the reasons I love the werewolf stories. Their not like the vampire stories filled with wonton, hypnotizing bloody six and a cold lifeless eternity where the vampire loses its
humanity. The werewolf is a sad cautionary tale that brings out the human side behind the curse of a character of not wanting to die alone, sick for what they are and become, shamed
and doomed to live and die alone and afflicted...

Indeed. Most characters in both ES and real life lore have tragic characters who live miserably with the curse, dreaming of a cure. On the other side, there are the individuals who embrace Lycanthropy and see the Curse as a Gift. Like Thartsten Heart-Fang in Bloodmoon who enjoyed being a werewolf. But vampirism and Lycanthropy are often parallel. It's what gives us writers the mindset to create interesting characters and stories.

This is true. But for those few of good heart that embrace the curse will always struggle painfully to retain their humanity and at times, use their curse to benefit the good...

As some would say, good is a point of view. Lycanthropy is the definition of change and transformation from man to beast. Humanity is subject to exercize a violent impact on the surrounding world. There will always be predadators and prey. I would say those who are cursed become predators at night and hunt those who are the prey, normally, humans and Mer. But that is no different than the wolf or the lion who hunts down a rabbit or deer. It's survival of the fittest. But most people see Lycanthropy and Hircine as the work of evil. Although hunting mortals certainly does not qualify him as a particularly benevolent Prince, Hircine can not be counted as one of the evil Daedra. The scope of his own hunts is limited, and hunting in and of itself is an activity many mortals enjoy just as much as the Prince himself. But mortals see him and his werewolves as evil because they feel threatened by a greater power. They see it as a perversion of humanity and the natural concept when some may fail to see it's simply evolution. But that's simply my opinion. I look forward to reading your perspective on the matter in this story.

I agree with your argument, but as uncle Ben said in Spiderman 'With great power comes great responsibility...'

And as Norman Osborn/Green Goblin said: "Well, to each his own. I chose my path, you chose the way of the hero. And they found you amusing for a while. But the one thing they love more than a hero is to see a hero fail, fall, die trying. In spite of everything you've done for them, eventually they will hate you."

But I will await the next chapter.

Chapter 6: Comfort and Pain

Listen to this; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pfi1UQ_PKQI while you read the 6th chapter…

Winterhold, Asvaldr’s Dining hall, 8:00am, Sundas

The soft light of the morning sun poured through the stained glass of the great dining hall, washing across the ancient stone walls and intricately carved wood timbers that rose to the peak of the roof in gentle hues of red, orange and gold. The many tapestries that were hung with care in the hall seemed to dance and come alive, their intricately woven patterns of great battles and victories now brought to life in the soft dancing light. Ullrik stood steadfast before Asvaldr, focusing on the tapestry of the Royal deer hunt and the great horned buck which so deftly maneuvered in the wood away from the mounted hunters and their hounds, the terror and sadness in its black eyes now clearly visible in the morning light as it ran for its very survival through the woven wood, knowing its ultimate fate at the end of a hunter’s spear, but still defiantly and eternally out-pacing its captors...

“Am I hearing you correctly Ullrik?”, Asvaldr inquired in doubtful tone of what he had just heard…

Asvaldr’s breakfast of eggs, smoked deer sausage, orange wedges, buttered rye bread and mulled cider pushed aside, now cold with inattention from its owner were eyed
hungrily by the two giant, shaggy, grey wolf-hounds Gylffang & Loki, who laid attentively at their master’s feet, eying their possible quarry with rapt attention, drooling and whimpering slightly and uneasily as the temptation of the ignored feast that sat just a few feet away from them and wrestled fiercely with their ultimate obedience to their master…

“You seek to go against this god alone Ullrik?”

Hearing the disapproval in Asvaldr’s voice, Ullrik turned his attention back to Asvaldr and then cast his eyes humbly downward to the stone floor.

“Yes m’Lord”

“Of all the foolish…”, Asvaldr trailed off, sighed deeply and leaned back into his chair, the furrow upon his brow highlighting the many spider-lines of age around deep and sad eyes that had witnessed the many tragedies of his rule and now took upon yet another…

“But why Ullrik? , Noticing the unease of his hounds, Asvladr placed the silver platter on the floor whereupon Gylffang and Loki consumed the whole lot ferociously in massive gulps and chomps…

“I cannot allow…”, Ullrik stopped seeing the pain that he caused Asvaldr with the words of his decision. But knowing explanation was needed he continued…“…any of my men to die for a burden that is mine alone to bear.”

“But Ullrik…Is it not also a showing of strength of character to have the brave men of this community behind you when you face this challenge? All of them have gladly offered their lives willingly to aid you in this… ”

Avaldr’s sad eyes now pleaded, close to heart break as he looked upon the man who
was a son to him. Asvladr’s wife, Lifa had now been dead for many years, the painful memory of her lying on the birthing table trying in vain to bring his child into the world now recalled fresh in his mind of taking her hand for the last time, feeling the release of her grip upon his hands…

“Yes m’Lord…But they, as you, have my immense love and respect as well…The great and likely possibility of their deaths at the hands this violent host is too much a burden for my heart to take on…”

“But Ullrik…”

Asvaldr drifted back into tragic memory…Asvladr looked down at his hands which were Now shaking and recalled the sight of the blood of his wife and child that never ever really washed away from them…’Please…Not another…’

Ullrik could now see tears welled up in the eyes of the great man that had for these many years shown him nothing but love and respect, and took his hand gently while
he knelt down, softly grabbing the back of the crowned head, caressing the long white hair as he softly pressed his forehead against Asvaldr’s…

“I must do this alone father…”

“But surely…” The old ruler’s words were broken soft and weak by the sadness that had overtaken him but his hands now clenched around Ullrik’s arms holding him tightly as if Ullrik were already dead and letting go would see him drift away into spirit…

“There is no other way…You know this…”

“The thought of losing you is too much for …”

“I will return father…”

And with that, Ullrik kissed the ruler gently upon the forehead and then soflty released Asvaldr, stood proudly fighting back his own tears silently leaving the hall…

i liked it but seemed kinda short....wants more tho lol

Your story is captivating, and I look forward to reading more as you continue to write it. There is one thing, however, that I would like to point out, and I hope you don't mind... I've noticed that sometimes when you have dialogue, you separate the sentences into their own paragraphs with separate quotation marks, even when it's meant to be one character speaking. It's a little confusing, and anytime you have one character speaking without interruption from another character, the dialogue should all be contained within the same paragraph and the same set of quotation marks. I'll give you an example of how it should look:

"I cannot allow…” Ullrik stopped seeing the pain that he caused Asvaldr with the words of his decision. But knowing explanation was needed, he continued, “…any of my men to die for a burden that is mine alone to bear…”

Since it is all one character speaking, and it is part of the same sentence and thought, it should not be broken up into separate paragraphs....

Other than that, you have a good story and I urge you to keep writing and posting. (And I like how you revealed the relationship between Asvaldr and Ullrik, by the way. I was not expecting that. )

Thank you for your input. I've made the edit you suggested. I'm glad you like it and I'll keep writing if you guys keep reading....

Yes...I hope you like it...