Oo, the plot thickens! (DUN DUN DUN)

I must say, your descriptions are so vivid that I can see it all within my mind, and even feel some of what your characters are feeling. Your chapter about Alerianna as a vampire was awesome. I haven't read the next one yet, but I'm sure it will be just as pleasing. This is getting more interesting each time I read it. I thirst for more.... :foodndrink:

EDIT: Yes, indeed the plot thickens... Now I'm going to be biting my nails as I await chapter 13... But I'm watching your thread already, so I'll be notified of any new activity.... I look forward to it with anticipation... :ahhh:

Keep me posted for Chapter 13...I'm looking forward to it...

I did!! hell im the one who reminded him about it since I noticed he didn't put anything down about her getting scratched back near the begining mwhaahahah

Ah, so you are privy to the secrets of the story, eh? :hubbahubba:

Yes, you did. And I thank you for it.


Some secrets. Other are left in mystery

Yep ur welcome

yes just SOME and ALOT are mystery considering my memory loss causes me to forget some lol

Uh-oh... hopefully you won't BOTH forget something vital...if you are Werewolf's backup memory...

I really like your story, its great, it really makes me :tes:

No. I didn't forget anything important.


I will. Chapter 13 will be a workload. That I promise.


Much appreciation. You guys give me inspiration to keep writing.

~Chapter 13: The Curse Of The Werewolf, part 1~

Veronica made sure the brim of her helm was covering her face, and she kept her head down as she entered the village. Of course, besides giving her a bit of anonymity, the helm helped keep the imperial warm. It was chilly, and there was a dusting of snow on the ground. Surrounding the community area was a plant she recognized as Canis Root, although she did not know why it was used for. The village was a fairly large town, at least by local standards. Its center had a number of small wooden buildings that were one or two stories high. Like much of the surrounding land, they had the look of age, having stood unchanged for decades. The people of the village looked positively vicious and she didn't need additional trouble on this trip; she figured she would have plenty soon enough from Kraven and the Morag Tong. Even as she moved through the crowd, the men and women stared down at her with contempt. Veronica fell silent and she looked over to see some of the villagers giving her suspicious glances.

A tall nord in a warrior’s armor appeared in front of her. Long, stringy blond hair and a sharp cheekbone gave him a skeletal look. There was something odd about his eyes as well; they were large and manic. To Veronica he appeared to be the leader; one who took perhaps a trifle too much pleasure in his leadership. “Welcome to the village,“ the man said in Nordic, menace clear in his voice. Immediately on guard, Veronica knew what would happen next; she had certainly heard of it enough times. All the villagers who had been watching her took several steps in her direction and, as if by magic, produced knives, daggers, and pitchforks. In seconds, the Imperial newcomer was quickly surrounded. Veronica scanned the crowd. Though they could be dangerous, a mob's mentality was almost childishly simple. Veronica had only one move available to her, and she would have to act fast. A group like this had no individual courage; their will came from their collective strength, directed by a single leader.

Veronica guessed that the man in the armor was indeed that leader, one who would have to be rendered powerless before the crowd came any closer. Though Veronica could probably survive even a direct assault by the group, she could not be hindered by injury. If I am to capture a renown gladiator slave alive, I must be in well condition, she thought.

She stayed her hand, though, since the villagers seemed unwilling to advance, almost as if they were waiting for instructions. Moments later an older man appeared, and Veronica saw immediately who the real leader was. He took a place on top of the waist-high stone wall that ran around the well. A Nordic warrior encased in armor and a dangerous horned helm. Along his cheek was a scar, and his eyes were blue as the ocean. “What is it you seek in my village?“ It was a command, not a request. Veronica was not very good at taking orders. She raised her head slightly and looked up at him.

“Why do you care?“ she asked.

“Because strangers are not to be trusted.”

With good reason, in this land, Veronica thought. "I don't trust anyone," she countered in Cyrodilic.

“Relieve this woman of her weapons.“ declared Havelstein. Several of the village men started to move closer. Veronica glared at them. The leader had changed the whole equation: This would not be a common encounter with an angry mob because he was no ordinary leader. This might actually be interesting.

“Back off!“ Veronica bared her teeth, keeping a warning in her tone. The men stopped in their tracks, and Veronica could see their resolve wavering under her glare. Maybe this will not be interesting after all, she speculated.

“You dare refuse to obey my rules? My laws?“ Havelstein asked.

“The only law in this world is the law an individual makes for themself,” Veronica countered. "I don't give a damn about your laws."

“So be it.“ Havelstein said. He turned to the crowd. “Kill her,”

The villagers raised their weapons and started to close in.

"I'm here to retrieve a fugitive.“ Veronica offered.

“What fugitive?”

“I’m afraid I cannot speak of the nature of my quest with public ears surrounding me.” Veronica said “Maybe if we can discuss this in an enclosed location, I can find what I am looking for and leave quicker than I arrived.”

A hush filled the square. Veronica scanned the crowd and found that they all murmured to each other. Veronica allowed herself a moment of satisfaction: She had successfully taken a diplomatic approach to the situation. Something she wasn’t fond nor skilled of doing. The people then began to point and gawk at her. There was something aggressive about the attention; it was definitely not a sign of admiration from a grateful populace.

One of them stepped forward. “That amulet she holds around her neck is cursed!”

Damn these superstitious villagers, Veronica thought, looking down on her wolf pendant. She looked over at the leader, who appeared just as confused as he studied it with a unshakable gaze. She brought the wolf amulet to her face and stared deep into the red eyes of the wolf. These people seemed to have a natural fear of wolves….why?

The first nord approached with an amused smile. “You carry a legendary necklace worn by a man who plagued our town many years ago.”

Once again the villagers seemed to conjure pitchforks and weapons from nowhere and started to move in toward Veronica. She gripped her axe tighter. She hadn't wanted this fight. She had come to find and capture a fugitive slave, not slay the misguided peasants. She could escape from this and with a quick burst of words, she came to:

“I killed the old man when I was attacked. And took ownership of this necklace.”

A murmur washed over the crowd. Finally, there it was: admiration. “She killed the hunter of Hircine.” she heard. She had only been there a few days, but already Veronica decided that she liked Skyrim better than Cyrodiil. To quickly change the subject, she pulled out the dusty and crumbled wanted poster originated from Morrowind. The fugitive’s face plastered on the front. The various curious stares tried to get a glimpse of the poster, but Veronica handed it to the leader for him to read. She wasn’t going to risk exposing herself and her quarry to who might otherwise be Morag Tong in disguise. He snatched the weapon from her hand and read it to himself and frowned.

Havelstein, the leader, gave her a nod. “You are a bounty hunter? Your work here is welcome.”

Veronica shot back a long, hard look. “Yeah. Should of said that a bit sooner.”

Clearly he was not used to being spoken to with anything less than total reverence. For an instant it looked as if he might once again order her killed, but he simply laughed as he stared at the poster. “Well, perhaps we can help each other out .” Havelstein turned to the crowd.

“This woman is indeed not our enemy.“ he proclaimed. After giving Veronica another appraising look, he said, “Tend to her as if she was our own.

****

Veronica walked in with the nord leader who introduced himself as Havelstein. He had agreed to allow her to stay for awhile until she found the fugitive. Until then she would be granted a room with privacy. She was perceived as non-threatening to the village. She walked by him as they entered the tavern. The interior of the tavern was sparsely spaced and wide. Filled with round tables and wooden seats, as most taverns she had been to was. Instead of being filled with drunk nords, however, this tavern was almost empty with the exception of the bartender. Everything was of bleak condition, having no basic interest to the wandering eyes of the Imperial. Everything matched the other taverns she had visited with the exception of the heads that dotted the walls to the west side of the room. Veronica went to see them for herself, and as she got closer, she looked more disturbed.

The work of a taxidermist was at hand. Hunting trophies were cluttering the wall. All manner of game was displayed. A cornucopia of animals were shown; mountain lions, bears, saber-toothed cats, and even a werewolf’s head. The Lycanthropic beast had it’s teeth opened in an eternal growl. It’s yellow eyes were full of fury and hunger. It was grey and had a black line of fur along it’s head. Veronica reached in closer and began to pet it slowly. She was too distracted to notice Havelstein walk up to her.

“This one was killed by Alerianna few years ago.”

“Alerianna?”

“A redguard from Hammerfell. Her family moved in our village with other crusaders in search for a rogue werewolf. Ever since they have lived here.”

“Where are they now?”

Havelstein was silent for a second, his saddened look only confirmed Veronica’s suspicion.

“Slain by the very things they hunted.”

“An entire family killed by werewolves?” Veronica sounded surprised.

“Alerianna is the only one that lives. She departed yesterday after he lover was murdered four days ago by a werewolf.”

“Unfortunate” Veronica agreed as she passed by the bartender who was a little bit overweight. He looked at the lithe Veronica and smiled, baring his yellow-stained teeth.

“Poor girl. You appear as if you are suffering from a famine.”

Veronica scoffed, looking at his bulging gut. “Yeah, you look like the one that caused it.”

She said nothing more, but knew well the fat man was frowning at her. She quickly headed out and went upstairs to her desired room. Everything was of old and ancient quality. The wooden floorboard creaked with every measure steps she made. All went silent as she reached the chambers.

The room was unnaturally clean, and though sparsely furnished, it meant the town seldom had visitors. An alcove at the end of the room held a soft bed. It was, as most Nordic beds were, a wooden square that passed as a tool for slumber. The coverlet had the color of silk and the humble design that bordered it was of golden color. The linen of the sheets was bleached to snowy paleness and edged as normal as the coverlet, but with chopped lace, the eyelets covered in silk.

A table stretched the length of the room. Veronica’s first impression was that it was very ancient and her second that it could of once graced a castle. Oak and steel-hard with a shiny gleam, the surface full with curving ivory leaves. The chairs that stretched the length of it were of equal quality. At one end of the table beside a fireplace set into the stone wall stood a high-carved chair before a bookstand. The book on it was a large one, and Veronica’s eye caught the gleam of bright yellow and red illumination on the parchment. One piece of furniture in the room stood out the virtue of the fact that it did not match the quality of everything else surrounding it. A wooden bench with a pillow at the end of the table opposite the carved chair.

Veronica took a seat on a long table beneath a window that looked down on the village. Cold, tethered blinds covered the window. The shiny rays of the afternoon sun shone through the partially open window, creating a pattern of gold on the floor. Havelstein walked inside the room of the tavern where Veronica was staying at. She was starving as always. She even spent a few septims on food. Not a lot, but enough to buy chicken, boar meat, venison and elk flesh along with beef. The chef had put them together in a large pot to cook over the fire, but not enough to burn it. By request, she desired her food a bit raw and still bloody. After it was finished, she chewed on the tasty chicken meat, and dunked her bread in the rich broth.

“Enjoy our food? Made by the finest of our village.”

“I’ve tasted better.” Veronica spoke honestly, munching down rudely on her food with her mouth full. She did not bother to look over at the curious Havelstein who now admired her ravenous hunger--but his eyes not looked over at her glowing pendant.

“And how did you manage to kill the man who’s pendant you now wear?”

Veronica cocked her head, caught utterly by surprise. But she betrayed no emotion. “I separated his head from his body.”

“You claimed he attacked you?”

Veronica paused, but only for a brief instant. “Yes, I was wandering the forest near Windhelm for my bounty and that’s when he attacked me.” she lied.

“Interesting,” the nord said, half amused.

Veronica wasn‘t so sure what to say, but she kept her next words to minimum significance. “It was no accomplishment, really. He was a savage old man who gave no proper thought to what he was doing.”

“How long ago was this encounter?” asked the curious Havelstein.

“Two days ago.” she said.

“Did he scratch or bite you?”

Veronica shook her head. “No.”

“You are not lying to me?” Havelstein walked closer, his every step a menacing motion.

The Imperial bounty hunter collected her thoughts on what to say next. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but she was certain as to why it was happening. From what she understood from stories and legends is that Skyrim is plagued by werewolves. Men and women who turn into wolf-like beasts at night to feed on the flesh of their prey. The old man who gave her the pendant was undoubtedly one of these Lycanthropes. The village must of recognized her necklace from it’s wearer who originally could of harassed the town after some unfortunate event. And now, this man suspected she was infected with Lycanthropy.

“No. The man barely even touched me. I caught him by surprise.” she lied again “Why do you ask?”

“Our village has been plagued by Lycanthropes for many years. But we have fought them back to the brink of extinction.”

“Werewolves you mean?”

“Yes.” Havelstein said.

Veronica smiled, cocking her head a bit as if she didn’t sound too convinced. Moments later she buried her face in the warm broth, swooping up the content’s with a wooden spoon. Havelstein took a seat across from her and watched as she ate her food like a starved beast. To break the uncomfortable slurping and chewing, he continued the conversation.

“Do you believe in curses?”

Veronica swallowed the food hard almost as if she was frozen. Slowly she looked up to Havelstein, smiling a strange smile that etched across her face. Her response was a sinister chuckle. She began playing with her food with an almost noticeable aggression.

“You find it amusing?” Havelstein sounded offended. Not a bit bothered by her creepy gesture.

“I never fought against a werewolf before. Must be terrifying.” she nodded, not directly answering his question.

“You have no idea.” Havelstein said “You may think you have seen it all. But in my years, I have seen a single werewolf kill as much as five of my men. Savage beasts controlled by their own lust for flesh and blood, incapable of thought or feeling. Only out to kill.”

“I have read that werewolves can survive on berries and roots alone. They have no reason to attack humans.”

Havelstein coughed up a chuckle. “Ha. Is that what them scholars teach these days?”

“You disagree?” she asked, reaching for a bottle of Mazte.

“Werewolves only kill what they need to survive. When the crusades first began, I saw firsthand men and women awake as if their life had been drained from their bodies. Because they were locked up and confined in their alternate form, they did not feast on human flesh. And in return, they were weak and debilitated.”

“Interesting,” said Veronica as she leaned closer. “Why is that?”

“Hircine is also known for the sacrifice of mortals. It makes sense for him to want his children to take a human life in honor of the hunt. In return, he grants them greater power and a healthy morning upon awakening. You see, it satisfies the Beast inside.”

“You know much about these creatures.” Veronica gulped down her drink.

“Many centuries ago this very village worshiped Hircine. They bowed to his will with offerings of pelt from bear and wolf and praise. And in return they were blessed with a plentiful hunt thereafter.”

“I never seen any worship when I first arrived.” Veronica leaned back.

“That is because we no longer serve him. You see, after a missionary group from the Empire arrived, we have learned to serve other gods and rely on their blessings. We turned from our heathen ways and began serving the Nine.”

Veronica scoffed. “I’m sure you pissed off Hircine.”

“Not as much as we first imagined. He showed signs of his displeasure when we had to travel very far to hunt for food. As elk and caribou were scarce.”

“How did the village managed to survive?”

“With the blessing of the Nine. We pursued a faithful life in the path of the Nine. Kyne has blessed us ever since we abandoned our heathen worship.”

“Kyne?” Veronica asked.

“In Imperial culture, she is known as Kynareth.”

The name has made Veronica’s throat sour. The name itself was revolting and disturbing. She hated the gods, all of them. Especially Kynareth. The distaste was obvious in Veronica’s features, as best as she tried to hide it, she could not. She felt herself angrier than before, an uncontrollable urge had washed upon her as if something inside was distressed.

“What does she teach?”

“The Imperial does not know Imperial religion?” laughed Havelstein.

“I never paid much visit to the chapels.” Veronica hissed.

“Kynareth's teachings is simple: fear and respect Nature and all Her creations.”

Veronica suddenly stood up from her chair, causing it to fall over. She pointed an accusing finger at Havelstein and snarled. “I was under the impression that Lycanthropes are also part of nature. And yet you do not respect them. You kill them as if they are insects and hold them to display on your walls!”

Havelstein was taken aback by her sudden outburst that he required a moment to recollect himself. He steeled up and sighed. “Werewolves are not the creation of Kyne. No werebeast is. All of their vile presence is spawned by Hircine, for he is the Father of Manbeasts. They are not part of nature, but oddities. Repulsive beasts that deserve to be exterminated from our world."
Veronica gritted her teeth. “They are wolves by night. But men and women by day. How can you justify the killing of these people in your idealistic crusades?”

“We have been responsible, yes. But we send most of them warnings. We give them a chance to cure themselves. If they do not, then they are influenced by the beast. All trace of human emotions is distorted by the wolf within. That is when they cease to become wholly human.”

Veronica held her tongue. She tried to keep her feelings on the matter a secret, but she realized she was angrier that very week and even more hostile that that. She was easily prone to outbursts and arguments. It wasn’t her fault, she just was that way in these coming days. She even noticed her nails on the table and was surprised to see scratch marks on them made by her own hand. She clenched her fist and attempted to calm herself down but was unable to. Rest would be best for me, Veronica thought.

“I am tired. I had been walking all day. If I may take rest here for the night. Tomorrow I will continue my search.”

Havelstein looked at her in a peculiar way. She already had rose suspicion in his eyes for the manner she was behaving. It would be best is she chose her next actions carefully. Veronica slowly stood up and motioned for him to leave. But he did not leave his seated position.

“And what of the fugitive?” he asked.

“I will search for him in daybreak. But tonight I will remain here.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“A slight headache. That’s all.” lied Veronica.

Havelstein blinked a few times and nodded. He lifted himself up from his seat and approached Veronica. He removed a small bottle from his belt holding and handed it to Veronica.

“Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

Veronica took the bottle from his hand, but did not open it, a skeptical look appeared on her face. “What is it?”

“A potion to cure disease. You may have contracted something in your travels these past days. I suggest you drink it.”

“I will later.” Veronica said.

“It is better if you do it now!” Havelstein said, his voice rising in each word.

She nodded and opened the vile and drank the potion down. Gulping it’s contents. She wiped her mouth and sighed. She handed Havelstein the empty potion with a faint smile on her face.

“I feel…refreshed. I feel much better!” she cheered.

Havelstein cracked a grin and nodded. “You see, it was better if you drank it now.”

“Yea, I need to prepare myself for tomorrow.” she said, walking toward the door. Havelstein followed and walked past Veronica as she prepared to rest. He stopped by the doorway and turned around.

“If you ever require anything, just ask the cook downstairs.” he said as he descended down the stairs, disappearing in the corner.

Veronica shrugged and closed the door without saying much reply. In truth, she wasn’t as tired as she claimed to be. She saw the way Havelstein stared at her after he argument on killing werewolves. And the sudden act of handing her a potion to cure illness and infection. That could only mean he actually thought she was a infected with lycanthropy. Fool, Veronica thought.

She jumped on her back, landing on the bed with a heavy thud. It was amazingly soft and comfortable, cozier than the one in Windhelm. She got undressed and into a relaxing fur bear coat. She removed the wanted poster with the plastered image of the fugitive slave Kraven Desselius on it. She took time to look to his appearance and found that instead of studying it, she was admiring it. The man was of good-looking nature, bearing long black hair and a strong jaw with amber colored eyes. Known to be a warrior of renown with names and titles that bore testament to his strength in the Arena; The Beast Of Kvatch. Kraven The Undefeated . She understood he was responsible for disorderly plotting against House Redoran and even House Telvanni. As she understood from the wanted poster, there was a great deal of drakes being rewarded to whomever captured him. And some even offered the same to take his life, which the agents of the Morag Tong would try to be doing. The man appeared of the barbarian sort, but she did not doubt he would pose some challenge. She would have to successfully ambush him if she is to survive for a few minutes. While she can hold her own against bandits, she wouldn’t dream of facing a gladiator champion. Veronica leaned back in her bed and allowed sleep to take over.


It was a dark night in the Darksky Estate Mansion. In the musty atmosphere reigned the weight information of the ages. The dark oak shelves bent under the weight of countless volumes of knowledge and history. Illuminated manuscripts, illustrated and painstakingly copied by ancient monks shared the shelves crowded with the abundant fruits of literary generations. Memories, stories and fur-bound codices were stored in double rows or stacked in piles on the floor in a precarious balance that threatened to topple at any time. There were dusty artifacts - memories of past centuries - scattered here and there among many written records: a bronze chalice of the first era, the scimitar curve of a Morrowind general dead for centuries, an embossed silver plate commemorating the Battle of Sancre Tor, a scepter of gold filigree with the symbol regions of Hammerfell ... all of them precious relics of her grandfather.

The seventeen year old Veronica had all the remote library to herself. The archaic tomes were covered in dust and cobwebs, which demonstrated how rare it was that the books received a visit from one of the connoisseurs who lived in The Darksky Estate. Not even the numerous servants of the mansion came only rarely in those dusty rooms. Her eyes scanned the crowded shelves for the information needed specific. Still dressed for a party, she walked around the library with her fancy attire bedraggled. Outside, a storm raged on. The rain lashed the windows of half a point from the library and cast eerie, watery shadows danced on the walls. Her eye fell on the door of the innocent rectangular pine wardrobe, wedged between two huge oak shelves. In fact, she had spent almost two years to examine the books in person but vaguely remembered the chronicles relating to the early decades of war were kept in that cupboard abandoned. In theory, the information that she wanted had to be there.

Veronica gave a gentle tug to ancient silver knob and found the closet door was closed. Of course,she thought, frowning. Who could only know what had become of the key? But she was not ready to be discouraged so easily, so she lifted her leg and struck- the stubborn door ripped from its hinges. Dusty light crept into the cabinet and its contents was revealed for the first time in many years. Veronica smiled at dozens of tomes, stored in a large glass cabinet, as she remembered. Victory, she thought. The cabinet was unlocked, which spared the need to continue breaking things. After opening it with her eyes, she screened volumes, examining their backs and caps worn by time. She selected four or five of the most promising candidates and took the thick text to a table, Cyrodilic maple that dominated the center of the library. She blew on the table tops and to remove decades of accumulated dust, and then sat down to inspect the ancient chronicles. In a perfect world, one would have taken time to examine them carefully and would read carefully until the last of the words. However, she felt that time was running out so quickly but gently she passed the dry and crisp pages, looking for the answers she needed urgently.

Intricate calligraphy columns were accompanied by half erased images depicting scenes of the long crusade against werewolves. At first, Veronica nodded approval to see the portraits of ancient perpetrators riding into battle and her innocent heart swelled with pride. However, as she continued to examine the intricately detailed prints, her feelings began to increase with growing dismay, with illustrations that appeared to represent more than battles massacres. Scary images worthy of finesse, showed men and women-beast recognizable by their coats and paws, tortured and burned at the stake by their enemies. Children were thrown as fuel to the flames or trampled by the hooves of the horses of the werewolf slayers, for those whose condition did not constitute a guarantee for any quarter. From across a gulf of centuries, the fear and anguish of Lycanthropes was heard loud and clear. Frowning, she turned a page and found another equally disturbing illustration showing several accused Lycanthropes chained, as males than females, forced to kneel and slain like cattle. Cruel crusaders, armed with pikes and crossbows, attended the scene as the red-hot silver impaled the body of the unfortunate Lycanthrope.

What is this? Asked Veronica, gasped while turned away from the horrifying images. Myths of antiquity? Moral propaganda?

She ran a finger along the yellowed parchment trying to find some explanation for the disturbing pictures in the book. Her forehead wrinkled ivory while trying to decipher the surrounding text. Unfortunately, the tiny characters seemed to use an archaic form of the old times that was beyond her knowledge. Veronica watched with frustration at the tiny, indecipherable handwriting, which was cunningly interwoven with several thumbnail images which represent the different symbols that mark the meat of the howling victim.

Despite the fitting warm clothes she wore, a shiver ran through Veronica. As her mind turned her back to the disturbing implications of old engravings. She pushed the volume away and reached for a different book. Fortunately, this was written in Cyrodilic. However, she turned the pages to realize that many of the pictures and paragraphs had been covered with a generous application of Breton ink. While browsing the battered volume, met with the image of a lone male Lycanthrope with lupine claws extended on both sides. The oddest thing was that the face of werewolf had been burned down and around the top edge of the image was no more than a circular hole. Veronica examined more carefully the maimed portrait. Under the portrait, the blurred legend read: Carnius Darksky. Lycanthropic Scourge.

Veronica smiled grimly. We are finally getting somewhere, she thought. That was what I was looking for. Under the portrait of Carnius, there was another beheaded engraving which represented a battle between werewolves and werewolf slayers. Crusaders, armed with swords and crossbows of silver, attacked a group of humanoid and lupine, with each side inflicted heavy casualties on the contrary. The cavalry of Knights and Witchhunters impaling werewolves in their silver spears, in threes and even fours, while in another part of the page, werewolves completely transformed humans to unfortunate pieces with claws the size of knives and fangs. As background was smoke and fire that amounted to the night sky from the mouths of several caves of a distant mountain. In the sky, the moons, with the features of a Daedric Prince, watched the bloody scene with the horns of a stag and the spear of a hunter. Only a piece of the puzzle. Only the beginning of the Darksky Legacy.


****

Veronica awoke with the sound of frantic screaming and shouting that infiltrated her ears. She sat up quickly to notice the entire room was pitch black, lacking sunlight. She realized night had fallen. Quickly, she got up from bed and looked out the window to see many villagers running away from a dark figure that stood in it’s hind legs. It took moments for her vision to adjust until she realized that the creature she looked upon was a werewolf. She gasped and closed the curtains as she went to grab her weapons; Her bow and quiver full of arrows, as well as her hunting dagger and axe and headed down the stairs.

Outside the growls of the werewolf increased and doubled, as was the cries of terror and fear. Veronica stepped outside to see the seasoned werewolf hunters rush to engage the Lycanthrope in battle. She stood back at the door and marveled at the creature’s ferocity and might. The way it charged with unimaginable power to tear the flesh of their enemies. Veronica stood in place as she witnessed the brave villagers join the three warriors who held against the werewolf. They seemed to be at an advantage until another werewolf, brown and black emerged from the darkness of the trees and into the fray. Amazement took over Veronica as she witnessed the carnage unfold. The two werewolves attacked a single man, tearing into his flesh with their teeth. He was overwhelmed and quickly fell to the ground. Before he had hit the grass, the second werewolf leaped at the next villager holding a wooden staff. He was instantly killed as the werewolf bit onto his throat. She was a happy spectator until Havelstein came into the scene, commanding Veronica to give aid. She was frozen at first, never had she attacked a Lycanthrope, let alone kill one. But to keep up appearances, she had to at least fight. More warriors emerged from the buildings to fight the two large werewolves, but Veronica was already upon the Lycanthropes.

Running toward the two beasts, Veronica screamed as she lit up a torch in attempt to scare away the Lycanthropes, to no avail. They snarled and barked at her with slavering jaws, but they did not attack. Instead, they stood in their hind legs and snarled. Veronica was frozen, hoping that they would run off instead of attack her. But Havelstein’s voice only rattled them.

“Kill the beasts! Kill them!” he shouted as he grabbed hold of his warhammer.

Veronica had no choice. She grabbed hold of her bow and reached for an arrow, only to see the first grey-skinned werewolf howl. It is not a howl of hunger, but of yearning. Veronica pulled back the bow as the werewolf charged with animalistic urge. The arrow flew straight and true to the werewolf’s snout, piercing it. The wounded animal yelped and tried to remove the lodged arrow in it’s snout with no apparent success. She reached for another arrow and aimed at the werewolf’s heart, but instead it flew to it’s stomach.

The second werewolf accelerated toward Veronica who quickly reached for her axe. The beast lunged at her, fangs baring and claws at the ready. She wasn’t quick enough to dodge the attack, she was quickly tackled down. It’s claws raked her chest from top to bottom, creating large bloody gashes. Then the animal began to bite at her face, but her arms blocked the beast from reaching her any further. Veronica cried in pain as the blood began flowing from her injuries, but she clenched her teeth and began pounding at the beast’s head with a single hand while her arm reached for her axe. With only quick movement, Veronica flipped the werewolf over as Havelstein entered the scene. Not picky about it’s meal, the werewolf ignored Veronica and attacked the brutish nord who held the mighty hammer. He swung it horizontally but missed as the werewolf’s forepaws smacked against his chest. The large man fell to the ground, enduring various bites and scratches from the werewolf, his cried for help did not go unnoticed.

“No---,” he shouted “Help me!”

Veronica grabbed hold of her axe and marched toward the werewolf. She held up her axe high above her head and finally let it fall with strong force. The sharp end of the silver weapon made the air sing as it cleaved the back of the furry monster. The beast howled in pain as Veronica repeated it again and then again. Finally slaying the monster. Havelstein was bloodied and injured, but he managed to point at the other surviving Lycanthrope she had embedded her arrows in. It tried to bite whomever approached it but it was unable to do much damage with a weakened snout. It was helpless.

Veronica’s axe was dripping with werewolf blood that stained the snow as she walked toward the next one. The second werewolf cried as it tried to bite Veronica but was doing no good. It’s aims were full of flaw, it could not manage to bite her as she prepared to deliver the killing blow. She held her weapon tight, raising it yet again. The werewolf began panting as she noticed it’s wounds began to heal itself, to completely regenerate. She would have to kill it before it killed her. A twinge of sympathy was obvious in her expression, but she needed to destroy the werewolf. She allowed her axe to fall to the animal, almost severing it’s neck. The creature howled and finally died in the snow, blood-chilling growls sounded off as it’s life faded away.

Veronica sighed loudly as she sniffed the air for the intoxicating scent of spilled blood. She looked around and saw that many of the men were slain by two werewolves which she had just killed. Of course, they were wounded before Veronica killed them, so they had indeed increased her chances of survival. She looked upon her own wounds and noticed they were more horrific than she imagined. She winced in pain as she walked over to the nord leader, Havelstein. The villagers also crowded the area to where she was in. Some inspected the dead werewolves while some went to assist Havelstein. Veronica looked up to the sky to see that neither of the two moons were full, which made her wander how these werewolves came to be.

Havelstein’s son came to help his father who was unable to get up from his position on the snow. The level of sanguine was gradually increasing which meant if something was not done soon enough, Havelstein would be die from blood loss. The peasants helped up the nord by carrying him to his own home after applying herbs and oils to his flesh. Some thanked Veronica while other stared at her with a suspicious glare. She dismissed both of those and went to study the dead werewolf that was being inspected before being carried away to be burned.

She kneeled down beside a villager and looked at it. The claws were clotted with the tattered flesh of the unfortunate townspeople and children it had killed. It’s jaws were long and wet, it’s teeth were white aside from the blood that stained it.

“A shame we shall never see who is the werewolf now that it has been slain.” Veronica said looking up to the sky. “And tomorrow is a full moon. Not tonight.”

The scrawny man looked at her and shook his head. “This is strange. I have seen many werewolves before, but I can tell from the paws and teeth that this was it’s first transformation. They were infected three days ago and somehow attacked this village.”

Veronica gritted her teeth as she stood up. “Someone infected them while in human form.”

“Must be,” he said, looking up to Veronica. “You should drink a potion to cure the infection. You have Sanies Lupinus, if not cured in three day‘s time, you will be doomed.”

Veronica offered a smile in return that masked her emotions. “Do not worry. I shall see it done.”

[EDITED]: I merged the chapters into one.

Let's just hope she forgets that cure disease potion...

Indeed

Based on what I've read, I don't think that she will become a werewolf from not drinking the potion. Please continue!

It's a surpirse. Can't reveal much until the next chapter.

This is getting better and better and it was already great!!

and indeed, i don't think she'll become a werewolf from not drinking the potion.

yay havent missed anything yet:D

Your fan fiction overpowers my critic powers *wooOoooOOoo*

That's good to hear. I worked hard on this ne, but I didn't think it was as good as it could of been.

next chapater soon?

I've been rather occupied. But I will post part two soon.

~Chapter 13: The Curse Of The Werewolf, part 2~

Night layover the village, but the silence it exceeded even that normally experienced by those anticipating sleep. In the center of the small town, a strange collection of people gathered to witness the injured Veronica. Morning was arriving and the town was filled with dread and despair. She saw that everyone around her stared with hatred and hostility, as if she was to blame for the incident. And sure enough, an anonymous member of the village called out from within the crowd.

“She brought this calamity upon us,” yelled the man “That amulet she wears is cursed!”

Veronica had adopted a look of consummate displeasure. And for the first time in awhile, she had nothing to say. Could it been that the amulet she wore attracted the werewolves into the village? Or was it her presence that drew them in?

Another voice called out to Veronica, but it was from a woman’s mouth. “She was bitten. She is infected!”

The Imperial woman sighed and called for anyone who owned a potion to cure disease. She wanted to show to everyone that she would be stripped of Sanies Lupinus. They would never believe it until they beheld the sight with their own eyes. Meanwhile, as someone fetched the potion, Havelstein was being attended to by his own men. He was stumbling as he tried to walk, but his every effort proved sufficient. Many townspeople flooded beside their leader to whisper ill-speech of Veronica and her amulet. They did not trust her at all. And with good reason after tonight, she thought.

Veronica began to think to herself. They wouldn’t allow her to stay in the village, even if she did drink the potion. The amulet alone frightened the people. And she wasn’t planning on throwing it away, so there was only one solution to her problem. Tomorrow would be the full moon, she would have to be well-prepared for that night.

“I will leave this morning.” Veronica offered. “But I will require some aid to help me find the fugitive I am searching for.”

Havelstein coughed a bit, spewing blood and saliva all over the snow. “Take my son and his hunters. They will accompany you in your quest. They are worthy hunters and will not disappoint you.”

Veronica considered it. Havelstein summoned all of his son’s hunters, three in total, including his own son to help Veronica in her quest. All of the five lined up with their weapons at the ready. All nords, an older man and two adolescents. It seemed the hard-boiled men were required to stay in the village incase there were more attacks. Veronica understood it perfectly. And that alone would benefit her for the following night.

“I will help you every step of the way.” Havelstein’s son said.

The young Imperial woman raised an eyebrow and gave him a skeptical glance. The slight young man changed his stance, placed his hands on his the side of his hips, and buffed out his chest, hoping it would make him appear brave and impressive. He tried to give off the image of confident self-assurance he'd often admired in his father. It wasn’t working.

“Fine, just stay close.” She said as she prepared to leave. But the giant nord, Havelstein lunged forward and ripped Veronica’s cloak open, revealing the blood and the puncture wounds in her shirt.

“You have been bitten by a werewolf.“ Havelstein declared.

Automatically, Veronica pulled her cloak tightly closed as his face contorted into a twisted smile. He clenched his warhammer tightly. “You must drink the potion before I allow you to travel with my son.”

Veronica frowned, as if she had forgotten about the cure. She awaited until someone had brought a small bowl of liquid made from a few precious herbs and magical properties. It was enough to cure Sanies Lupinus, but not Lycanthropy itself. If a victim had gone three days after their infection, they would be doomed. Veronica gladly grabbed the bowl and gulped down all of the content’s. Her face twisted at the unsavory flavor. But then she smiled to herself as everyone around her saw that she was free from Sanies Lupinus. Veronica did not apologize, but she gave her farewell to all those around her and prepared to sleep, for in the morning she would awake and begin new. Veronica slept all morning, and a better part of the afternoon. No one saw it wise to awaken her from her sleep. She got up from bed and decided to leave without any food. She called for Havelstein’s son and the rest of the hunters and she finally departed. She retreated deep into the forests, the village slowly disappearing from sight.

****

Veronica marched quickly under the afternoon sun, moving steadily across the bleak, rugged landscape. Her black boots covered the ground in long, bounding strides, propelling her lithe and muscled frame with a sense of fragile purpose. She looked behind her and saw the rest of the team following her. No of them had spoken to her since they departed the village. They expected her to know where to find her quarry and were a little mad that she chose to leave in the afternoon rather than morning. They knew they would still be in the forest by nightfall. But the truth was, she brought them along for a reason other than helping her locate Kraven. They were hunters, all of them. And they were well-equipped, but not well-trained as she expected them to be. But they were dangerous to all manners of Lycanthropes, and like their bestial prey, they all came with deadly weapons. She understood the basics when her grandfather shared stories of his hunting trips.

Hunters usually carry axes and a knife. However, some carry bows and arrows and a few particularly violent ones may carry a small crossbow. They would usually travel to a trailhead or near some spot they have heard is "good hunting." Most of this sort are on some subconscious level aware of the dangers the wilderness holds. It is a rare hunter that will venture into the forest alone. They prefer to rely on safety in numbers. Usually these nordic men and women will travel in groups of 4-8. Most of them seeking deer, but more than willing to seek larger game. They will commonly attack at anything that moves, and are not particular about what they kill. They are content to take down bear, coyote, elk, moose and, of course, wolves.

Hunters with knives usually kill for food or trophy furs. Those that carry crossbows and axes are individuals that take great pleasure in the slaughter of animals, caring little about the condition of the body. To them, the pleasure is in the killing, not the trophy. Hunters are rarely foolish enough to stay overnight in the woods. Occasionally, a werewolf will kill one or two, unintentionally making it look like the attack of a bear. If the number of hunters are small (no more than four), a Lycanthrope will often stalk the humans, remaining out of sight. This is particularly frightening to the hunters, as they race through forest, unsure of what exactly is stalking them, but hearing noises behind them and to the sides. Most never returned from a hunting trip.

Most animals such as horses avoid the Lycanthrope whenever possible. They have an innate fear of werewolves, sensing that they are in some way unnatural. There are rumors among the werewolves that it was not always like this. The old nords claim that, at one time, the werewolves were in harmony with the other beasts of the wild. Some point to this was false, as hunting meant no mercy to all prey. Even if it meant other beasts. This is because of the beast nature, that of a predator. The flesh and blood of humanity is their nourishment, and they take great efforts to feed as often and as fully as possible. They are responsible for much pain and misery in the wilderness. She understood much about these infamous creatures of legend.

****

Veronica’s feet hurt. Her calves were aching. Her thighs burned with every step she made. Yet she ignored the pain and pushed herself to continue on. She refused to surrender to despair. Instead of stopping, she focused all her energy on putting one foot before the other. It was impossible to say how long she continued her willful march-how many hours or kilometers she had endured-before she was finally chose to stop due to the hour. She'd been walking all day long and the waning hours of daylight was quickly fading away. She stopped walking and paused to catch breath. The hunters paused beside her, looking up into the red sky. “Night will come soon. It would be best if we set up camp here.” spoke Havelstein’s son.

Veronica nodded enthusiastically “Yes, it will be better. The full moon will rise in a few hours. If we stay here, we will be safe and prepared.”

The group made camp with the gear they had taken on the trip. Bedrolls were spread and some food was brought, but no fire was made. Veronica understood that nords were resistant to the cold and also fire attracted animals such as regular wolves and bears. It seemed they wanted a good night’s sleep. The nords all laughed and smiled with their tales of their latest hunting trip while at times they mourned the latest deceased with songs. Veronica ignored some of their comments or attempts to strike conversation. She wanted to explore a bit of the wilderness, to understand the difference between Skyrim and Cyrodiil. She excused herself and went her way to explore, despite their pleas for warning.

The Imperial shivered in the chill Skyrim air blowing through the trees. The night was alive with sound. The birds that made their homes among the trees sang their songs among green branches. Her ears pricked up and heard what her eyes could not see- the thump of an owl's wings in flight, the high, thin cries of bats swooping, dodging, foraging for insects in the cold night air. The whisper and stealth of the hunters and the hunted, silent until the last moment. The agonized death chirp of a bird, taken in sleep on the nest by a marauding predator. The sliced-off shriek of a rabbit dying in the talons of an owl was heard moments later. The night was filled with nature. Death and life. The prey and the predators. Veronica counted herself as the latter. She knelt beside a tree and just closed her eyes and waited.

****

The werewolf stood perfectly still, motionless as only a wild animal could be. It searched the area with it’s eyes, ears, and nose. It’s body shook like a stringed instrument, bound with the intensity of it’s desire, it’s need. Listening, seeing, but above all, feeling with it’s entire body, until far away it heard pvssyr, the distant noises by the night wind to its ears. The werewolf lunged forward at a charge. It ran, the wind in its face, the stars a deep white fire above it. The act of running filled it with profound joy. It reveled in the hunt. It was driven by the lash of ferocity and starvation as it traversed forest in direction to the sounds. It’s belly cramping with hunger. The nords in the camp began to complain to each other. The Imperial woman had not yet arrived. It had been three hours and the full moon was high in the sky. One of them went to hunt for food while the others went in search for the Imperial woman to convince her to return back to camp for her own safety.

The hunter looking for food was alone, he was confident he would bring back food. A twig snapped in the distance. Nelan Half-Heart, his bow half drawn, darted his eyes in the sound’s direction, looking for any sign of motion. Nelan bent down low and moved slowly forward, following the faint tracks through the underbrush. He had taken only three steps when the buck broke and ran from the thick brush, suddenly visible, its body crashing through branches. Nelan stood, drew his bow to full, and aimed at the vanishing deer. He loosed the arrow and heard the animal crash to the forest floor, thrashing. He could no longer see it through the autumn leaves, but its sound was unmistakable. As he approached, however, he heard the snarl of a wolf. But he recognized the distinct difference between a normal wolf and a werewolf, and he was certain that this was no ordinary wolf. He broke free into a run and did not look back, but he heard the sound of the footsteps rushing behind him and the panting of a hungry animal. Nelan screamed out loud at high as he could. But it was cut short as the werewolf tackled him to the ground. He tried to shake it off, to grab his bow, but it was far too late. A Lycanthrope’s jaws can break a person’s thighbone, the longest, most durable bone in the body. It closed them. The spine snapped under its fangs. The man’s death scream was a horror. The werewolf was howled into the night sky, aware its mouth was full with a wave of blood, but not of its own. It continued it’s hunt in that glorious night. It galloped through the woods, snarling loudly, it’s jaws slavering for food. And it wasn’t long enough before it encountered another nord. The younger man was searching for someone, but turned around as he saw the snarl of a wolf. The werewolf lunged for him hungrily. It’s canines laid open the calf of his leg. The younger nord shrieked and chopped down at it with his dagger. But the werewolf leaped clear.

“Werewolf!” he shouted.

The beast circled around and lunged once more at the man. Fangs dripping with the blood of a previous prey. The man held tight to his dagger and stabbed downward as the beast charged at him. The blade stabbed into the beast’s body several times, drawing much blood. But was not enough to kill it as it was made of steel. The werewolf’s claws began to rake his face and chest, causing deep crimson gashes. He shouted for help and heard a reply from another nord nearby, but he knew by the time help came, he would be dead. The beast snarled as another life was extinguished. The werewolf yanked free from the dagger impaled in it’s head and threw it away with it’s claws. Help had arrived, only to see that their despair was in vain. The dead man was a mess of gore. His clothing was soaked with blood, his clothing ripped to shreds. The lone nord saw the werewolf, covered with black fur. It stood on it’s hind legs, being taller than he was. He noticed it was bleeding from injury, but the marks were quickly fading. The stab marks began to heal. The wounds were disappearing as if by divine intervention. Even the muscles and tendons of the leg grew strong, restored to health.

“Foul beast!” cried the younger man with blond hair.

His remark came unintelligible to the werewolf's preternaturally sharp ears. It sniffed the air and bared it’s teeth, ears tufted back to it’s head. The werewolf opened it’s jaws and charged forth in a fury that only Hircine could bless it with. The nord fired his crossbow. A silver-tipped bolt went flying past the creature’s head, missing it’s canine skull by mere inches. It only enraged the beast. Hot breath fogged the cold night air. Foam dripped from its powerful jaws. A snarl burst from it’s snout as it pounced forward to meet the oncoming nord. It’s forepaws hit the man head-on, knocking the courageous fellow onto his back. He hacked at the werewolf with his knife in desperation. The edged steel bit into the Lycanthrope’s shoulder, but the werewolf hardly felt the pain. It’s powerful jaws clamped down on the man’s wrist, and the knife went flying away, taking his left hand along with it. An agonized cry of pain tore itself free from the nord’s lungs right before the werwolf disemboweled him with a single swipe of its claws. The pile of steaming entrails was too tempting to resist, and the werewolf dug its snout into the spilled viscera, gulping down the nord’s organs with rapacious zeal. The hot, fresh, bloody flesh was devoured in an instant. The black Lycanthrope stood in it’s hind legs and howled at the night sky. Satisfied with it’s kill.


****

Morning arrived hours after the hunt had began. Birds chirped high in the sky, their music a direct mockery to what they now witnessed. A black werewolf panting slowly, blood dripping continuously from it‘s heavy jaw. Then, as the sun rose, the Beast was put to rest. A young Imperial woman grunted out loud as her snout retracted back and her black hairy pelt receded. Claws shrank back into human fingers. Canine fangs withdrew into gums. Mass and muscle evaporated into the ether. Yellow eyes dimmed to golden. Within moments, Veronica was a woman once more. Panting with sheer exhaustion, her body drenched in sweat and blood, she stood bare naked in the forest, her tainted skin marked and abraded from her rough trek through the land. Her bare feet were dwarfed by the pawprints beneath her.

I must look a very mess, she realized.

A heavy layer of fog hung over the frigid land, and the ground was damp with dew beneath Veronica’s feet. A small pond rested nearby. She crawled toward it, her senses still going wild from the sudden shift in shape. She bent down near the edge to where a small waterfall poured fresh water into the miniature pond. She glared at her reflection. Her blond hair was stained with red. Gore also marked her naked briast and chest and face, spilled blood surrounded her mouth and arms.

Indeed I do look a very mess, she thought again as she looked at the blood in her hands. The blood of the hunters, Veronica thought. That was why she lured them out into the wilderness; To be food for a werewolf. She thanked her bestial form for not dying in the hands of these amateurish hunters. She didn’t need their help in any manner. She can locate this slave alone. Her thoughts reflected back to how this all began. How suddenly she was weighed upon with a fact that she was a werewolf for a better part of the year. How she inherited a family curse that dated back from the second Era. She remembered how she was often considered different in her family, stronger and aggressive. But only then she realized why. The Curse of Lycanthropy was dormant in her. It always had been. And when she was struck with the normal changes that come with being a woman, her condition finally blossomed. She thought back to when it started. It happened as if it was a day ago.

~Chapter 13: The Curse Of The Werewolf, part 3~

A year ago, The Darksky Manor, Cyrodiil.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oR6As8ZoAFM

Of Colovian stock, Selene was as brown-skinned as Veronica was light. Inky black hair tumbled past her lithe shoulders, and her exotic features were not unattractive, in a noble and civilized fashion. An expensive linen dress struggled to contain her voluptuous figure. Saucy green eyes looked at Veronica with happiness. The affection of a sister. She was younger by two years, but she was equally pretty and lithe as Veronica was.

“Tomorrow is your birthday, sis. Tell me what you would like.”

“If I told you, it would spoil what easily could have been a surprise.” Veronica spoke back, brushing her lustrous blond hair down. Tomorrow she would be eighteen years of age. But yet no one else but her sister and grandfather had given their congratulations. And to make everything worse, her father and step-mother had rented a place in the Imperial City due to her step-mothers depression. Stupid harlet, Veronica thought bitterly, my father deserved to be around when his daughter grows into a woman.

Selene lay on her bed with a smile plastered across her face. Always in a serene manner, as why she was named such. She turned on her bed and looked at Veronica, who brushed her hair while reading a copy of the Black Horse courier. She was fascinated with the recent attacks that had happened around the Black Forest. Most of which were from rabid animal attacks that sprung up in the recent months. Somehow she had linked the attacks to her grandfather’s absence from the house. Sir Carterious was a lovable man, but he was also odd and eccentric. He stayed in his room most of his days and always stared to the night skies with his telescope. And on some nights, he disappeared into his cottage somewhere in the Great Forest to “Collect his thoughts”. Veronica read the dates on the Black Horse courier and then matched them with when Carterious vanished from the Darksky Estate. Even her own mother was in that list of deaths:

“Melson sixtius worked as an itinerant farm hand on the land. He was known to frequent the local wine house in Skingrad. So when the townspeople saw him lying face down in the moonlight at the edge of town, they assumed he had passed out. It was not until morning that they discovered he had been killed, perhaps attacked by ravenous wolves that had torn at his face and bitten deeply into his right side. That night was a windy Full Moon."

“Janiston Delanol was a local shepherd whose body was found savaged on a distant reach of the Great Forest surrounding Odiil Farm. Imperial foresters found it difficult to identify Delanol’s corpse due to the extent of his injuries and damage he sustained. Both the shepherd and most of his flock of cattle lost their lives in this brutal moonlight attack. That Night. Deep Fog. Full Moon.”

"Lady Vanessa, beloved mistress of the Darsky Estate. Her body was found on a moonlit night in the garden of the manor near the forest. Though it was officially ruled that Lady Darksky had taken her own life, the condition of her body suggested an attack by powerful hands. That night: Light wind, Full Moon."

“You read too much into to that--” Selene said before being interrupted by Veronica.

“Quiet. I hear something.” Veronica shushed.

Veronica heard voices…outside. She crept to her window and peered out. Below, partially hidden in the darkness of the garden she saw her grandfather and a loyal Khajiit maiden, Skirvaana. Carterious was uncharacteristically distraught and bedraggled. His face was furrowed and distressed. He held a lantern in a single hand. The female feline maiden looked frightened and she stood with her hand resting on the end of a silver staff.

“Please,” urged the Khajiit, “you must allow me to help her.”

“She doesn’t need any of your help, Skirvaana.” snapped Carterious. “Give me the damn keys!”

“No, sir Carterious. I can’t.”

Carterious had set the lantern down as quickly as a serpent grabbed Skirvaana’s right wrist and pried something between her fingers. From all the way above, Veronica could hear the rattling metal clanks of keys. Carterious stepped back, snatched his lantern and pointed a warning finger at the scared khajiiti maid.

“Don’t follow me.” he commanded with harshness.

Veronica closed the curtains and dropped her brush. She took a drink of her Cyrodiilic Brandy and got dressed as if going on a journey. She was quick about it, placing shoes over her bare feet and a shirt over her bra. Selene regarded her sister with mild curiosity.

“Where are you going?”

Veronica shook her head, refusing to answer the truth. “I’m going out for a nightly walk.”

“Well…” Selene said, “May I come with you?”

“No,” Veronica hissed in a whisper-like manner. “And please…don’t follow me.”

****

The moon rose into the sky with shining grace and the inevitability of death. It was large and very beautiful. The Prince of the Hunt reached down with claws of shining moonlight to take the village of Bleaker’s way by the throat. Veronica Darksky finished her brandy and watched her grandfather, Sir Carterious, heading down the path of the forest toward the gorge. Without thinking, without knowing why she was even doing it, Veronica left her room, sprinted down the stairs and followed behind. She passed the dark halls of the manor. Sculptures and statued of long-dead men and women flanked a pair of sealed wooden doors. Ancient beasts cavorted on a marble archway about the timber doors, which looked as though they had not been repaired in many years. An empty stoup, which had once held fresh bath water, stood outside the entrance, its sunken basin now as dry as the deserts of Hammerfell. Rusty hinges creaked loudly as Veronica pulled the doors open. She cringed at the annoying sound, but the noisy echoes appeared to attract no attention from the maids and servants from the house. She did not bother to take a lantern of her own. The moonlight was very bright, even though the larger moon had not risen yet to it’s full height.

Veronica followed the path her grandfather had taken. And it wound down into the woods and then the forest floor separated as one section continued it’s descent to a heavily wooded valley and the other skirted the banks of a rocky pond. Veronica followed the lower path until it disappeared into dark tunnel created by the outreached branches of the trees. Once inside, the roof of the tunnel lifted to a low slope, allowing Veronica to straighten to her full height. She moved silently, but very quickly. All the while wondering why she had not attempted to call her grandfather in the silent pursuit. Instinct, maybe, or the caution to not raise any nearby dangers. The Labyrinth of yews emerged into a clearing and Veronica glimpsed the light of the lantern just for a brief moment ahead.

Following with even greater caution, she crawled forward. Knowing very well where the path her grandfather was taking. When the shape of the mausoleum materialized out the gloom, Veronica saw that her guess was correct. The door stood wide open. Veronica licked her dry lips and swallowed deeply, while she pulled the door open all the way. The whining of the ancient hinges were terribly loud and she paused, awaiting a fierce rebuke from her grandfather….but there was no sound coming from within. The place held superstitious dread deep inside Veronica. Her mother was buried here. And was everyone else. Would their ghost welcome her invasion? And if she was truly cursed, would the sacred seal of this place allow her entry?

By the Nine, she thought, Can this be done?

She stepped inside. There was a miniature entrance foyer and then a set of wide steps that led down to a circular chamber was larger than Veronica imagined. Gray mist hovered over the floor and moss grew from the cracks within the stone walls. There were sconces in the walls and several candles lit within them. Her grandfather’s work, she knew….but why? Movement from inside the crypt froze Veronica, draqed in darkness, she watched as Sir Carterious traversed across the crypt and stood nearby a sarcophagus. The old Imperial stood beside it, looking down on the similarity carved on the ponderous marble cover. Then he bent down and kissed the cold stone. He then steeled himself and brushed at his face. He searched around and inhaled a heavy breath and then moved through the chamber and disappeared into a narrow corridor.

Veronica awaited for a full two minutes to be sure that Carterious was not returning. She paced toward the direction Carterious was walking to, but she stopped near the sarcophagus of her mother. She could not remove her eyes from it. It was crafted from creamy marble, a masterwork of the stone cutter’s work. A woman in a noble dress, her hands resting on her chest, finger curled around the stem of a rose. Serene beauty forever staring into the blank eternity.

“Mother….” Veronica whispered sorrowfully, almost collapsing to her knees.

Here she lies, her similarity in stone so real that her crumbling mind thought for a moment that it was her, that a kiss would awaken her long dead mother. Not a romantic lover’s kiss, but the kiss of a daughter. The daughter, which seemed that lifetimes ago, witnessed the life be taken away by her own hands in a fateful night. Tears poured from Veronica’s eyes and she did not wipe them away, allowing them to fall in the same measure as the rain had poured when she first found her dead mother.

“Mom…” she said, and at the moment her voice resembled that of a younger child. An infant learning it’s first words, expressing it’s most normal needs and reaching out to establish a connection with the world. Veronica placed her hands atop the closed fingers of the stone statue.

“Mother, I miss you.” said Veronica Darksky.

Then a sound echoed silently behind her and she instantly returned to herself. She turned and searched for the sound in the room and then finally located it. On the deep side of the room, barely hidden at the back of a niche that held the statue of one of the Divines, was a small door. It was ajar and the glow of the lantern light brightly shin within. Veronica rushed over and knelt down so she could take a peek inside. Carteriouse’s lantern simply stood in place, the light revealing a set of stone stairs that led downward into bedrock. Carterious must of went in that direction.

Was the old man aware that he was being followed by his granddaughter? Did he leave the lantern there as a manner of invitation? Or was there a source of lightning beneath and he only left the lantern to find his way back?

“Grandfather?” Veronica called out, but there was no reply.

She picked up the lantern and slipped into the walls of the mausoleum. The spiral staircase was pretty narrow, so much that Veronica had to be careful not to slip. She held the light out in front of her and the constant advancing light gave the eerie impression that the shadows below were slowly retreating as she descended. The stairway was widened at it’s core and Veronica held the lantern high to reveal the cobbled walls of an ancient catacomb that stretched beyond into the darkness. There were numerous niches cut into the wall, each of them baring a statue with arms folded and eyes shut, and between each niche was a burial chamber with carved sarcophagi. There stood the remains of all the Darksky’s preceding her, all of them who were born and died in the DarkSky Manor. The crypt was beyond old and only the Nine knew who or what was buried down here.

Veronica composed herself and began moving down the long halls of the deceased, and once more the light from the lantern caused the darkness to flee, making them appear as if craven creatures fleeing the scene. As she passed by the long dead members of the family, she glimpsed a large door ahead, a faint light glittering from inside. She followed it with cautious steps, still pondering on her own bravery. As she approached, she noticed it was a large chamber. Veronica took a deep breath and stepped inside. It was built like a large vault, but it was no tomb. Replacing a sarcophagus, was a massive steel chair fixed to the floor. There were no other furniture and the entire room was filled with trash and garbage; left over food, empty bottles of wine, animal bones mixed with human bones as well, old crumbled parchments too. But was captured Veronica’s attention, captured and imprisoned it, was a huge alcove cut into the wall facing the seat. A number of candles were lit and their gloomy glow revealed many portraits and pictures of a few selected members of the Darksky family. One which included Veronica at the very bottom. Veronica stared directly at it, unable to breath, unable to turn her head.

“These are the blessed members of our bloodline.” Said Carterious from right behind her.

Veronica screamed out in surprise, jumping to the side to face her grandfather. “What…where am I?”

Carterious did not look at her. But his eyes were focused on the paintings of the long dead family members. He was smiling a sad, tragic smile. “Each and every one of them, including me and you, are gifted.” He shook his head and began pacing around.

Veronica recoiled from her grandfather as he passed. There was something peculiar, something odd in which the way Carterious moved. It was not the gait of an elderly gentlemen, nor even the careful steps of an old man. No, this was something else entirely. Her grandfather moved with a supernatural vitality that chilled her to the marrow of the bone.

“I beg you to understand, my child. Tonight is your night. I have counted the years, the months and the days.” His eyes fell upon Veronica and they were hot and mysterious as they were intense. As Carterious paced back and forth, Veronica walked back slowly until her back touched against the open gate that led to the Great Forest. She shot a quick studied look at the doorway and back to the old man.

“There was a time in which our ancestors have been granted long-lasting life. They were blessed throughout the years. You see, my child. A gift dwells inside a select few of us. Dormant, waiting to be awakened when the time is right.” Sir Carterious ended his constant pacing and faced the shrine. As he did, Veronica backed away slowly into the doorway.

“You do understand what I am speaking of?”

Veronica remained silent.

“You--” Carterious turned away for a moment to consider his answer. And as he twisted his body to Veronica, she felt a fire ignite in her that somehow he had an answer, someway he would respond. But as the candlelight’s flushed her grandfather’s face, she knew he had no answers remaining. His eyes were no longer human, they blazed with bright yellow fire and his teeth revealed a smile that was wicked and sharp and predatory. Veronica Darksky stared at her grandfather, then at the broken chair and the debris, then finally at the wall with the handpicked “gifted” members of the family. She turned and saw the deep claw marks on the walls and floor, made by a large beast. The gates of Veronica’s mind finally had opened and the realization of what was happening nearly caused her to fall to her knees. Carterious heard Veronica’s muffled cry and smiled, he began walking toward his frightened granddaughter. After shock had taken it’s hold, Veronica finally shouted out loud.

“You! You’re a werewolf!" she cried, and as if the pieces were finally put together.

Carterious moved toward her. Slowly, taking a step at a time. Veronica taking twice the measure of steps back. “You murdered all those people…And mother…she found out.That’s why she took her own life.”

“So much pain.” He said, and then he moved with a blur of speed. Veronica threw her hands out to ward off the attack, but there was a loud clang at the door. Veronica stared at what had happened, the cell door was shut. She heard a key turn the lock, and saw that Carterious trapped himself in the chamber. Carterious stared from behind the bars. Veronica’s mind could not process this. She turned and back to the corridor that would lead to the stairs and to impending freedom. Her escape was at hand. Her grandfather leaned down on the bars and spoke from within the cell.

“Tonight is your night. The curse always blossoms on the first full moon of your eighteenth year.”

And then she understood. Carterious did not trap himself on the cell as a sign of punishment. He had trapped Veronica outside...liberated…free. Veronica sank to her knees as the full weight of what was transpiring landed on her.

“I can’t be…” she whispered. She suddenly raised her arm up and reached out to her grandfather. “I’m going to trans---no!”

The pain that emerged in her hand was so sudden, so surprising and so unexpected that it shocked her to silence. It was as every nerve in her hand was dipped in flame. And as Veronica watched with horror-filled eyes, her hand began to change shape.

“Grandfather…” cried Veronica “You’re going to allow the villagers to kill me?”

Sir Carterious chuckled. “Oh I doubt they will kill you. But you will be blamed.”

Agony began to spread through Veronica’s arm, exploding through muscle and sinew.

“Why?” demanded Veronica. Tears began to fall down her cheeks.

Sir Carterious turned away for a second, to consider his answer. And as he turned around, Veronica felt the brief hope that somehow he could change the moment, that somehow he would have an answer.

“Do not try to hold the Beast back. Allow it to awaken. Feed it. Sate it’s hunger.” Carterious said, but his words were mangled by a mouth that was not made for spoken language.

“Kill or be killed.” Those were the last words that left his mouth. The rest was a vicious snarl of hatred and hunger that caused Veronica to stand to her feet and flee from that awful place. She crawled up the stairs from the crypt, grabbing the steps with fingers that were not human. She pulled herself up with hands that had transformed to something out of a nightmare. Pushing with gnarled and malformed feet.

“Mom…help me….” But her words sounded out as a fierce roar. She fell inside the main room. Collapsing to her knees inside her mother’s crypt. The candlelight from the crypt was beyond bright that it caused her to turn away quickly. She could feel her eyes changing, shifting to a glowing yellow. It was the most nauseating thing she had ever experienced. And then it had worsened. Her sensed had exploded, sights, sounds and palate had flooded impossibly quick. In the span of a few seconds passing, she saw a group of insects swarm into focus. She could smell the traces of plant matter and animal blood on each proboscis. She heard the water in a brook became a crashing wave in her ears. Her mind limped at the sensory assault.

Veronica could feel everything that was happening to her. Her flesh was burning, as if every cell in her body had transformed into a furnace of raging inferno. Her respiration quickened until she was panting like a wolf. The landscape of her brain changed as her mind pumped new thoughts that quickly replaced all trace of human mindset, she withered and shook as it died and faded away. Veronica screamed and screamed. She could feel her body painfully changing as bones bent to macabre new shapes and muscles tore apart and merged together in unnatural manners. Somehow her body mass increased, causing her arms to create new muscle and strength. Her feet expanded as well, and black claws tore through the shoe as if it were paper. The golden trimmed shoes cracked as a fiddle string as her feet changed. Her heel rising, the claws digging into the rock of the tomb’s stone floor.

Pale hot pain flared in her jaw as her molars shifted forward to give way to the growth of powerful new carnassial teeth, and the fangs and canines became deadlier and more pronounced. Sharp incisors pointed into the ceiling. Veronica screamed her grandfather’s name, but what shook the chamber was the growl of an animal. There was no trace of humanity left in that roar. The growl was so powerful that dust flew from the sarcophagus and caused the nocturnal vermin to flee into the cracks of the walls. The howl was as loud as all the fury, the anger and the despair in Tamriel. It spread through the steel doors and out into the night sky. It was not the cry of a woman. In that very moment, that very hour, that form of Veronica Darksky existed no more. What remained was a thing that stood up in twisted legs and tore up with monstrous claws. It was no longer human. It was a beast of the oldest of legends. It burst from the mausoleum and stood in the cold watch of Masser’s light. And there, under the watchful eye of the Prince of the Hunt, the werewolf threw back it’s head and howled it’s fury at the night.

Wonderful...I've been waiting for your latest chapters my friend...You do not disappoint...Absolutely & Deliciously Wonderful As Usual...