We come now to consideration of the spriggan, the elusive, feminine nature spirit of the deep woods. Of course, we all know the name from the taunting children's joke that goes:
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"Spriggan butt!"
…But beyond this juvenile jest, what can scholarship tell us about these half-flora/half-fauna creatures? Unfortunately, though I have consulted all the standard sources, the academics of Tamriel have little to say about the spriggans' whys and wherefores.
From both legend and from authenticated stories of personal encounters, we know that spriggans are somehow mystically tied to certain copses or thickets, verdant groves which they fiercely defend against trespassers. Spriggan sap is said to be venomous, and they are known to be able to magically heal themselves when wounded, making them dangerous opponents
.
In addition, spriggans have some sort innate connection to the animals and plants that inhabit their sacred groves, and there are many verified accounts of animals fighting at their sides against intruders. These allies include not just animals that are naturally aggressive, such as bears or swarms of hornets, but even usually timid creatures like deer and elk.
Whether these animal allies defend spriggans out of love or friendship, or whether they are magically summoned by an innate spell ability on the part of the spriggan, is an open question, and a matter of some debate among those who study mystizoology. There is no doubt, however, that spriggans are creatures of a magical nature, as is clearly evidenced by the powerful qualities of the so-called "taproots" that are harvested from their bodies when slain. These taproots are prized by alchemists for their undeniable arcane properties, which enable the concoction of complex potions from powerful reagents that are otherwise immiscible.
As to their origins, that is a mystery that so far none have solved. We find accounts of "Spryggain Groaves" dating all the way back to the beginning of the First Era, as well as mention of "tree-daughters" in the ancient myths of Y'ffre and the Earth Bones. Their common name seems to derive from "sprig," the Nedic term for a fresh green twig or offshoot, but beyond that everything about their origins is obscure.
From a purely physical standpoint spriggans certainly come in several forms, with reports of a variety of barks and foliage. This may represent different strains or sub-species, or it may simply be a reflection of the spriggan's mystical connection with its local flora. Spriggans seem to resemble the plants of the groves wherein they live, even reflecting the seasonal nature of those who reside in the deciduous forests of northern Tamriel. In the opinion of this scholar, the so-called spring, summer, autumn, and winter spriggans are all the same creatures merely undergoing seasonal metamorphosis.
Some have gone so far as to assert that spriggans have a hierarchy, with lesser members of the species owing allegiance to the greater, who are sometimes termed "spriggan matron" or even "spriggan earth mother." Here is where we must draw the line between scholarship and storytelling: though a spriggan's form outwardly resembles that of a human female, there is no evidence whatsoever that they can engage in intelligent behavior, or that they can organize into hierarchical groups. The creatures of the natural world, even those that are quasi-magical, behave entirely according to instinct, and to endow them with human emotion or thought is mere sentimentalism. If you're partial to that sort of fanciful twaddle, I refer you to the works of Lady Cinnabar of Taneth, who produces it in great reams.
Field Guide to Spriggans
17th of Sun’ Dusk, 4E 203
Grulmar set up a camp under a rock overhang near a flowing stream that was his destination, to the west of yet another one of those strange stones that were apparently all over the island. After he warmed himself by the fire, he took some time and sneaked alongside the stream until he reached a point where the stream broke off to the north-east where it raged on rocks. The other part continued northwest, calm and steady. He stopped there, crouching as he watched Nature's Guardian walk on the other side of the bank. Nature's Guardians my arse, he silently snorted. From his position, he was able to see only one Spriggan, but there was a chance that more of them were out of sight, somewhere behind the rock, near the waterfall.
There were too many unknowns for Grulmar's liking and he shook his head, cursing himself for getting himself into this. One Spriggan was usually more than people could handle, fire being the best response to these wood-like creatures, but the problem was that Grulmar needed their Taproots. If he burned them to ash he wouldn't get their Taproots and he needed them. Tusk! He scratched his goatee and then slowly began walking back to his camp.
One is usually more than ya can handle, matey. And now ya need to get three of them on their arses, without the option of burnin' those arses to ash. Just lovely, he thought at as he climbed a slope towards the rock formation under which he made his camp. The fire was still burning, mostly with wet wood, white smoke rising into the air and he guessed that someone would probably be able to see it. But on the other hand, who was out there beside Skaal and Rieklings? So far, he hadn’t come across a single bandit, and Ash Spawn weren't that far north. So he was alright with taking his chances with either the Skaal or Rieklings.
He warmed his hands by the fire and then began unpacking his sack, putting the items on the cold ground he had swept clean of snow before. He lined them all up in front of him and scratched his goatee in thought. There was a box with vials, potions and poisons, stuffed with straw so that they wouldn't break and he put it to his left. He knew he would need those.
Then there was a rope, a blanket, a spare fur cloak, a hatchet as long as his forearm, a set of four silver daggers, old as tusk, but still shiny, the darkened metal pommel of their little black leather twisted hilts in the shape of a cat’s eye, the stone inlaid in each eye a pale shade of green that Grulmar had never seen before - Torvalian daggers, gift from Sir Shiny the Saint. Slightly heavier for my own likin', but definitely worth keepin'. Will have to make a sheath for them later - his Aetherium shard, four spare throwing knives, a wetstone, a leather package with rations, a waterskin, a pan and a spare pair of boots.
It wasn't much, but he preferred to travel light and because he didn't have to carry around a tent, he really was travelling light. Though right now I'm not sure how a pan and spare pair of boots are goin' to help me… He sighed and put the hatchet to his left side.
He checked the weapons on himself, checking to see if every knife was coming out easily from its sheath. Four light knives in his bandolier. Check. Two heavy throwing knives under his left arm. Check. One light throwing knife in each boot. Check. Orichalcum dagger at his belt. Check. Three elemental darts on each of his wristguards. Check.
Fire helps, definitely, but they can snuff it out with their magic. But it weakens them and prevents them from regeneratin' while they're on fire. It's the only thin' that makes them feel pain, so it is a good distraction. But if ya want to keep their Taproots there's only one way to put them on their arses. Ya have to dismember them, destroy their bodies beyond repair.
And when he thought about it, looking at the hatchet, noting that it was only a forester's tool for cutting off small twigs and chopping splinters from pieces of wood, he wasn't really sure how was he going to do that. Come on, matey. Chin up. Ya have much more tricks in yer sleeve now, think outside the box. His mind raced through his options while he opened the box with vials and began taking few of them out.
His eyes then rested on the Shard and sad smile crawled on his face. Damn, ya Uncle. What would I give to have ya here right now? What would ya say, hmm? He then chuckled and cleared his throat. He knew exactly what Uncle would say. “Fuck this shit,” he tried to imitate Decimus' voice. “Stop thinking about it, lad. They're just dumb pieces of wood. That can cast poisonous magic. And summon animals. And regenerate. So just hack them to fucking pieces damn it!” He then laughed, because his imitation came out rather poorly, sounding much better in his head, but it still seemed like if the Imperial was sitting on the other side of the fire.
It was a strange feeling, knowing he was about to fight - yes, literally fight, with weapons and all that - for few pieces of damn wood. Back in the old days, he would never do anything like that, not unless someone was paying and definitely not unless he had someone to do the heavy lifting. So many people fought his battles, he made so many people fight in his battles, and when he was alone, he either ran or outsmarted his opponents. But now he was alone and he had no other choice but to fight.
Do I? I could just walk away, walk away from here, forget all that Telvanni business and just walk away. He realized that talking was pretty much everything he was doing. Ya talk about yer own freedom, matey, taking yer life into yer hands, but...that's all ya do, right? Just talk. The Telvanni has power and knowledge and ya want it, so how about ya get of yer arse and do somethin' about it, eh?
He suddenly laughed, his shoulders shaking. Now that sounded like Uncle. His eyes went towards the stream again and he frowned. Ya aren't the same person ya were before, matey. Not the same bungler. This time, there are no people to fight your battles, no runnin' and no outsmartin' damn pieces of wood.
No more runnin'.
He jumped over the raging stream going north-east, turning into a waterfall, and crouched. He could see the Sea of Ghosts to his right, with the Solstheim coast down under the cliff he was on and frowned. Better not to fall down there, matey. There was one Spriggan on the other side of the bank, under the cliffs, but Grulmar had to count on the possibility of another Spriggans on the other side of the rock.
The rock was as tall as him, and approximately ten times wider him, half of it jutting into the stream with a trunk of a dead tree lying next to it, half-submerged by the water, forcing it against the rock. To the right was a solitary tree between the rock and the cliff, the gap barely two steps wide with the tree exactly in the middle.
Grulmar, under the effect of an Invisibility potion, began picking his path to the right, towards the tree and there he peaked around the rock. During that, he involuntarily looked down from the cliff and his head spun. He gulped and focused on the ground in front of him. There were only two trees, a lot of snow, the cliffs and a waterfall and a Spriggan walking between the trees, just few steps in front of him.
He took a deep breath and his finger began drawing in the snow, between the tree and the rock. He felt cold sweat on his forehead and forced himself to breath slowly while his finger was drawing lines in the snow. Every line had to be perfect, every symbol had to be perfect and he had a hard time fully focusing on it when the Spriggan was so close. He spend a lot of time remembering every curve, every line and symbol, but under the pressure he wasn't really sure if he got it right. When he was finished, he began pouring magicka into the rune and he silently sighed. Guess I got it right, considerin' I'm still standin' here.
He reached for another Invisibility potion, feeling the current one's magicka pouring out of his body, and downed the vial in one big gulp. Then he began slowly picking his path towards the Spriggan. The snow was a problem though. He couldn't prevent the crunching of the damned substance under his feet, no one could, and so he had to time his steps with the Spriggan's steps. The creature was much heavier than him, it's steps being much louder in the snow. Honestly, Grulmar was pretty much guessing that the Spriggan's hearing worked the same way as everyone else’s - he had no clue if they could actually see or hear, considering they were made of wood and a strange green glowing sap. But it worked and he was slowly getting closer to it.
He was two steps away when it began turning towards him.
Shit shit shit shit!
Grulmar jumped forward, hatchet in his right hand, aiming at the Spriggan's right leg, where a normal person would have a knee. The wood cracked under the blow and the Spriggan dropped on one knee and Grulmar immediately swung at the creature's neck, the hatchet chipping off a large chunk from it. Before he raised the hatchet again for another blow he could see how roots were already growing at an alarming speed through the wood, stitching together the cut he just made. “Tusk!” he cursed, the Spriggan swung with the back of its hand at his head and he quickly ducked. “Tusk tusk tusk!” he kept cursing. “No tuskin' healin!” The adrenaline was taking over his senses, the rage that was in all Orcs boiling under the cover and he reached into that anger, using it as a doorway to a redhot stream of Magicka, drawing on it.
Fire appeared in his left hand and he felt the heat, the pain, the smell of his burning skin when he slapped the Spriggan across its face. “SHIT!” he growled as pain assaulted his senses but the Spriggan's crown of twigs had caught on fire and it squealed in its strange voice, the healing immediately stopping.
Out of the corner of his eye, Grulmar could see the other Spriggan starting to cross the stream, raising its arm and he felt the magicka gathering around the creature. He buried the hatchet into the kneeling Spriggan's forehead, let it go, and then pulled an elemental dart from his wristguard sheath. He immediately threw it into the Spriggan’s path. The dart exploded in a blast of frost, the shards of ice cutting large pieces of wood from the Spriggan, but more importantly, it froze the water in a two-step-wide radius, catching the Spriggan. Its legs were stuck and that gave him some time.
The kneeling Spriggan conjured some kind of wind that snuffed out the fire and Grulmar was forced to repeat his trick with the burning palm - literally burning - and he yelled in pain as he burned his hand even more. He then ripped the hatchet from the Spriggan's neck and began hacking at its neck until the head was clinging by only a few roots. He cut those off and the Spriggan began thrashing around, swinging its arms towards him but he was already backing away.
The other Spriggan now broke free from the ice, releasing a stream of wind from its hand, wind that smelled like rotten earth and Grulmar raised a Ward to block it. Immediately he felt how the magicka was escaping his soul at an alarming rate and he hurried back to the rock, jumping over the rune and then running a few more steps away, finally getting away from the Spriggan's stream of magic.
It followed him, stepping right into the rune.
Blast of frost and shards of ice ascended and Grulmar raised his Ward to protect himself. Several shards broke against the Ward, but more importantly the blast cleanly ripped off the Spriggan's legs as well as cutting the trunk of the tree and Grulmar didn't wait for a miracle. He leapt at the Spriggan that was raising its arm towards him. He brought down the hatchet on the arm, deflecting it to the side and then stepping on it, hacking at it until it came off. And then he began hacking away at the Spriggan's head.
When that was done he saw how the roots were growing through the body towards the arm and head, completely new legs were being grown from nothing. He quickly snatched the head and arm, throwing it down the cliff and hacked into the Spriggan, the green sap spraying into his face, getting into his mouth, until the roots stopped growing,
He spat the nasty stuff out of his mouth and took a deep breath, straightening, his hand on his back. “Shit! Shit shit shit!” Who the tusk came up with this idea?! “Tuskin' piece of shit! Tusk!” he growled and kicked the torso of the Spriggan on the ground.
Grulmar looked at his hand, at the blackened skin with blisters slowly forming in his palm and gritted his teeth. Right then, the second Spriggan came through between the rock and the tree, with its head half grown back and the Orc bared his tusks. “Why don't ya just tuskin' die?!” he growled.
Without even thinking, he threw the hatchet into the Spriggan's face which threw it off balance for a moment and Grulmar jumped on it, tackling it to the ground. He began pulling its head with both his hands, screaming as the pain washed through his hand, feeling the roots and twigs snap. For a moment, it reminded him of a stump being pulled from the ground by horses, the roots were making the same snapping sound. The Spriggan was clawing at him with its hands and he quickly cast a flesh spell, feeling the wooden nails claw against the invisible barrier. But as much as he was pulling the roots, they were still growing back, regenerating faster than he could break them. He saw the hatchet lying on the ground close to him and he quickly reached for it, burying it into the Spriggan's neck, and then again and again.
The head suddenly came off but Grulmar kept hacking at the arms, his left forearm holding the Spriggan's torso down. He then threw all the body parts down the cliff and the Spriggan finally stopped moving.
Grulmar rolled down from it, his back against the rock and he put the hand into the snow. He growled as the cold assailed the burned skin with a different kind of burn and his other hand immediately went to his belt where he had stored a healing potion, only to find that the vial was broken. “For tusk's sake!” He was forced to reach into the streams, to draw the last drops of Magicka and then he reached into his body, trying to accelerate the healing, but mainly to numb the pain. Slowly the pain subsided, but he knew wouldn't be able to use the hand for several days until the healing would take effect. Damn, maybe even for weeks. Never got hurt so bad before…
He looked at the torso and buried the hatchet between the breasts. “So I got my hand burned as if I stuck it into Dagon's plane of Oblivion and for what, huh? Two tuskin' Taproots! Only two! Thank ya very much ya wooden tuskers! This is the last tuskin' time I'm goin' balls in! Ya hear me? Last time. Next time I'm goin' to get a bloody Atronach or Dremora, I don't give a shit, anythin'! Tusk!”
He then sighed, relieved he could let it all out and frowned when the injured hand reminded him of its presence, even through the pain numbing spell. He looked around, almost expecting another Spriggan to show up, but none did and he bared his tusks. Still one Taproot short. Shit! He looked at the waterfall to his left and noticed an entrance to a cave. Yeah, shit. Not goin' to pull that off, not right now.
He growled as he sat on the Spriggan's torso, its breasts between his legs. “Sorry. Ya are attractive and all that, but-” he pulled his Orichalcum dagger from the sheath on his belt and buried it into the torso, “- ya aren't exactly my type.” He pried the twigs and roots open, revealing a strange slimy heart made of wood. He began cutting the roots around it so that he could pull it out and he was taking his time, because it wasn't really easy with only one hand. Then he finally pulled it out with a grunt and patted the Spriggan's torso. “Thanks for the ride. It was lovely, but ya didn't really have to give me yer heart. Oh, wait...” He picked some of the sap into an empty vial, remembering there were some alchemical properties to those reagents too.
He then repeated the same with the second Spriggan and with both Taproots he began making his way back to his camp.
18th of Sun’ Dusk, 4E 203
Grulmar woke up with a start, hectically blinking to try to shake off the sleepiness. He groaned when he rolled over, his body aching and he squinted into the rising sun. He shook his head only to feel his whole body was shaking. I should have brought the tent, he thought when he realised he basically spent a night outside, covered only by his two fur cloaks.
Yesterday evening was a blur. He vaguely remembered drinking two healing potions. One for the pain and the other for the regeneration. He frowned when he recalled using his last reserves of Magicka for setting a circle of runes around the overhang he was sleeping under, and massaged his sore neck. At least ya had the sense in ya to set up few traps, matey.
He looked over the burned out fire place and frowned. “What the tusk-?” There was a load of dry firewood right next to the fireplace, firewood he didn't remember collecting. And right next to it was a dwemer bowl with piece of frozen red meat in it, with leaves of Scathecraw neatly arranged around the inside the bowl. Like a flower. Grulmar quickly got to his feet, scanning the surroundings. The runes were untouched, with only small footprints around his campfire and he bared his tusks. “This is some bad joke,” he murmured, looking around but whoever had been here was now hiding well.
If that whoever wanted ya dead, ya would be dead already, matey, he thought and began putting the wood into the fireplace. He hissed when he grabbed a twig with his left hand and looked at it. It was bandaged in a cloth and he sniffed it. It smelled like his healing balm and now he recalled what he did. That was a crazy day, huh? This is worse than a hangover. Damn, no wonder warriors look like shit. It took him some time before he started the fire, mostly relying on his right hand and when it was properly burning, he put the meat on the stone next to the fire.
As he waited for the meat to cook, he began removing the bandage, hissing as the sticky cloth clung to his skin. When it was clear of his wound, he studied the burns. It actually looked much better than he expected. Normally, the wound would need to heal over the course of weeks, but the spell he cast along with the potions were doing wonders. The skin's color ranged from dark green to brown, looking more like a minor burn than what it really was initially. Almost like touchin' a cookin' pot.
He tossed the cloth into the fire, watching the green and red chemical-induced flames suddenly flare into the air until the fire regained its normal color. Grulmar ripped another piece of fabric from his brown scarf and opened his box with vials. There was a vial with red-orange liquid, slightly more dense than the regular potions, and he poured some of it onto the cloth, rubbing it into the fabric. Then, he began wrapping his hand with it. It was pleasantly warm and he immediately felt the pain subside. He was considering using another potion to reduce the pain, but it dulled his senses, and he needed his head clear.
He looked at the stream and grimaced. He still needed one more Taproot. And there was a cave under the waterfall.
Yesterday was a lesson, he knew that now. He was worried about using fire against the Spriggans, worried that he would destroy the Taproot, but their heart was well-protected. He needed to weaken them, to crack their shell, figuratively speaking. And he also needed to control the fight, not just charge them headlong. That was careless… Grulmar wasn't a fighter, not like Shiny or Decimus, not in the same way. There was a certain elegance when those two fought, a skill, an experience, and he lacked that. He was fast and agile, but he knew nothing about swordfighting. He was just using everything and anything that came into his hands. Knives, spells, rocks, dust, even his damn nails and tusks. Ya lack the finesse so ya need to be more clever this time, matey.
He looked at his hands, noticing they were now trembling and he cursed under his breath. He reached into the box again, pulling out a vial with blue liquid that was slightly glowing with white light. He opened it and poured exactly five drops on his tongue and swallowed. A lightning flashed behind his eyes and he shook his head. Better, much better. For a moment, he looked inwards, into his own soul, feeling the magicka in there, but not as much as he would like. So he reached into the box yet again, this time pulling a vial with a dark blue liquid, and swallowing its contents in one big gulp. His skin began to crawl and he noticed how his reserves of potions were getting thinner. Only the poisons are still untouched.
He was still wondering who left him that gift, while he was chewing the meat, but after a while he decided it didn't really matter. Maybe Skaal, but don't look a gift horse in the mouth, matey. There are other things you should be thinkin' about. The Spriggans.
Grulmar initially thought that he had approached them cleverly, but eventually, he had to resort to brute force against them. He let them control the fight and that was a mistake. Ya can't rely on brute strength when ya have none. The Spriggans weren't going down easily. They heal fast, fire stops the regeneration. Ya need fire but somethin' else besides yer burnin' hand. And then there was their magic, which he really wasn't able to counter. If he used a ward, his own reserves would be depleted way too fast and he needed the magicka. They need to use their hands to cast it. When they point their hand at ya, dodge, jump, whatever. Cut of their fingers or somethin'. Ya need to go close, can't prevent that, matey.
“If only I had some magic I could use against them!” he growled. Illusion was risky, because he had no idea how a Spriggan's sensory system and mind worked and he wasn't really ready to find out. All he was really good at was Telekinesis and he couldn't use that spell on them…
His eyes looked at the rope sticking out of his sack and Grulmar furrowed his brow.
Unless…
Before Grulmar finished his breakfast and got ready, the sun climbed considerably higher, turning the morning into forenoon. He was making his way along the stream again, passing the remains of the two Spriggans he defeated, heading towards the waterfall. He stopped before it and began lighting a torch. Once he managed, that he put his back against the wall, using his fur cloak to cover the torch and slowly walked beside the falling water. Several cold drops landed on his face and he shook a little. Damn cold. Then he was on the other side and he took off the fur cloak, hanging it on a wall.
The cave was dark, with water on the ground slightly above his ankles and he took a deep breath when the cold water sloshed against his feet. He moved forward, finding himself in a slightly larger cave, the water now up to his legs.
For a second Grulmar thought that all his preparations were for nothing, that there was no Spriggan in the cave, but his head snapped to the right when a purple light got his attention. “Oh shit…” he murmured when he saw the Spriggan. It was almost three heads taller than him, glowing with a purple light instead of a green one, with a crown of branches all around its head. Earth Mother! Tusk tusk tusk!
The Earth Mother raised its hand toward him and he cursed. Grulmar jumped forward with the torch, smacking the hand with it, setting the wood on fire. When the Earth Mother screamed in pain, he thrust the torch into its face, setting the head on fire. It swung its arm at him and he ducked under it, getting behind the Spriggan and hitting its back with the torch. The Earth Mother was shaking as half of her body was on fire, trying to snuff out the flames.
Grulmar threw the torch on the dry ground in the back of the cave and pulled out his hatchet, cutting at the Spriggan's leg, and felt his whole arm vibrate upon impact. It was as if he was trying to cut down a two hundred year old oak. The bark could have been made of iron for all intensive purposes. At his third swing, he managed to cut through the knee, making the Spriggan drop to the ground on its knees and then he could finally reach its head. He began cutting its neck and then the fires suddenly died out.
The cave became dark, with only dim light being thrown at the walls by the torch behind him. The Spriggan suddenly disappeared, becoming invisible. “Shit!” Grulmar cursed, quickly grabbing the torch from the ground with his left hand. It hurt, it was clumsy, but he knew he would need it.
The torch revealed ripples in the water and Grulmar bared his tusks. Not so invisible are we? He knew what was coming and he quickly raised his Ward against the poisonous wind the Earth Mother released from her hand, revealing her position.
During that, the hatchet slipped from his fingers, dropping into the water. “Tusk!” His hand went quickly to his wrist guard, pulling out a dart to throw at the Earth Mother. As the dart flew into the air, he realised his mistake. Shock! He quickly jumped from the water, just when the dart struck the Spriggan, exploding in a blast of electricity, which surged through the water.
The Spriggan released a high-pitched sound that made Grulmar cover his ears. The shock effect surged through the water, and he could smell the odor of smoking wood. Then it stopped and Grulmar knew he didn't have much time.
He unrolled the rope from his shoulder and swung with it like he would strike with a whip. It wrapped around the Spriggan's ankle and Grulmar was already running towards it and then around it, wrapping the body with the four steps long rope. It was swinging with its arms at him, but he was always faster, dodging out of the way before the wooden claws could reach him.
When he ran out of rope, he thrust the torch into the Spriggan's face again, lighting it on fire and then took few steps back, smiling. “Surprise, bitch!”
Grulmar reached into the streams, pulling the power from the heavy one and extended his right arm. Orange magic lit up around his fingers and he felt the magic connecting with the rope, his smile turning into a grin. Eat that! He tried to raise his hand up, but he couldn't, almost as if he had a goblin hanging on it. Too...heavy…
The Sprigan raised its arm and Grulmar felt the magic gathering around the creature. And so he pushed.
The rope cut into the Spriggan's body, the invisible force pushing the rope and with it the Spriggan, slamming the creature against the wall so hard splinters flew into the air. Damn! Push and pull, Grulmar! Push and pull!
He pushed with the magicka again, slamming the Earth Mother against the wall again and then he pulled, focusing the magicka on the end of the rope wrapped around the Spriggan's leg. The leg flew into the air, forcing the Spriggan on its back into the water. Grulmar gave another pull, this time using magicka on the entire rope, the force dragging the Spriggan through the water to the other side of the cave, to dry ground.
When it was there, Grulmar jumped on its chest and hit its head with the torch, setting it on fire. He then pushed again, slamming the Spriggan deeper into the ground, the rope cutting large grooves in the Spriggan's torso. He dropped the torch next to the Spriggan;s head, the heat rising into his face and he switched the spell into his left hand, continuously pushing against the rope, pushing himself beyond his magickal limits. And his right hand grabbed the hatchet and began doing the dirty work.
The creature was screaming, its arms swinging around, its head and branches on fire and Grulmar kept hacking at the arms until he hacked them off, then continuing with the burning head which was much easier. It was only the smoke and heat rising up that made it slightly difficult, but he wasn't stopping now. When the head came off, he threw it to the other side of the cave and the Earth Mother finally stopped moving.
He took a deep breath and sat down on the ground next to it, exhausted. “Now that's what I call balls in! Eat that, bitch!”
Comments
That's a lot of knives Grulmar's packing. Why the different weight though?
That's a lot of knives Grulmar's packing. Why the different weight though?