As Sotek headed past the borders of Whiterun, the landscape dramatically changed. The mountain capped snow began creeping down the mountainside to lie upon the forests and pathways. A stream slowed to naught but a trickle as chunksof thick ice thwarted the streams natural flow. River banks of earth turned white and the scent of flowers were left behind. The Companion rode into increasingly deeper snow as his horse trotted forwards into the bleakness of winter’s cold icy kingdom.
He knew there was still a of couple hours riding to go and dawn was still a sleep away. Due to the poor light and the weariness of the day, he struggled to distinguish between the snow capped ground and the snow plastered path. The ongoing blizzard slowed his horse, further hampering his progress. From out of nowhere a light volley of arrows slammed into him and his stallion. The horse, bleeding heavily from the brunt of the impact, stumbled forwards, throwing Sotek onto the cold ground.
Although he was also struck by the iron missiles, fortune favoured him as the arrows had failed to penetrate his Dragonscale armor. He grabbed his pack and scrambled to his feet heading for cover into the tree line. Using a large tree he hugged to its shadow to mask his location.
Cautiously, the Argonian tried to look around to see where the attack had come from but through the snowy conditions all he could see was where his horse had died. Luckily for him, judging by their voices, the attackers couldn’t see much either. Scarface’s ability to sniff out the attackers was useless due to the strong winds mixing the scents of man and beast in a cocktail of smells leaving Sotek little to go by except what he could hear.
Cursing under his breath, one man spoke.
“Dam; did we get him? There’s blood here so we killed something!”
A second voice answered back.
“We’ve killed his horse over here, he can’t have gone far”. The difference in tone betrayed the woman; her distinguished voice gave off her position, marking her to be some distance away from the Nord. Sotek smiled to himself, thankful of the times he lay alongside Aela as they listened to the other Companions moving around the Undercroft.
“Na, he must be hiding amongst the trees”. A second male Nord called out from the dark woodland.
“It doesn’t matter, we’ll kill him; and then we can laugh about it over the campfire tonight with th.....” Between the now lessening Skyrim storm and the rustling leaves above, Sotek could hear some of the Nord’s words. ‘They can tell? To who?’ This meant one thing to Sotek; there were others somewhere close by.
He crouched to the ground then sneaked forwards from the large tree to a different one, picking up the scent of the Nordic woman. He moved around to the other side pinpointing her location and judging by her silhouette of her back, she was in her early twenties, about the same age as Aela was but what really stood out was the Silver blade that hung from her hip.
Sotek whispered under his breath.
“Silverhands? What the hell are these bastards doing here?” He could feel Scarface’s restlessness and his thirst for the kill. He guessed the girl had scouted a little way ahead of the group.
Singling out the young Nordic woman, Sotek transformed as quietly as he could. Scarface also knew of the importance of silence and stifled an instinctive howl.
The black Werewolf broke cover, accidently snapping a tree branch as he launched at the girl. Upon hearing a the cracking sound from her left side, the Nordic woman drew her sword and turned to the direction of the noise just in time to see Scarface’s jaws open wide as he launched himself out towards her from between two trees.
The sword fell to the ground as the girl was dragged off into the darkness. The second Nord made his way up the pathway to where his female colleague’s scream had come from and in his haste he nearly fell over the girl’s sword. The leather fur clad Nord called to his leader.
“Ha we did kill his horse. Where’s lynx? I thought she was joking about the horse”.
Scarface flailed his head around, whacking the Nord woman’s head against a tree, smashing her skull into a bloody pulp.
Momentarily ignoring the other Silverhands as they had once again lost his position, he started to feed on the corpse. The fact that he was surrounded by enemies meant little as he genuinely believed in his own superiority. However the foes he faced never lost him for long as they homed in upon the sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh. The ground seemed to dance as arrows thudded by his paws. One arrow pierced his forelimb, forcing him to abandon his meal.
Ignoring the pain he turned and broke straight into a run charging two of them at once. They both let lose a flurry of arrows. One struck him in the shoulder but he was way too fired up to even care. Three times his claws flashed in the moonlight as he wrenched one silverhands ribcage open. In just a few swipes he had eliminated the two that had given the warning.
In the next second he received an almighty blow from his side which sent him sprawling into the undergrowth. His entire side burned from the deep wound inflicted upon him. Pulling himself up he saw the Nord that had inflicted the injury. His target stood over six feet tall and was clad in solid Nordic Carved armor. His hands gripped the hilt of a silver greatsword.
“They said there would be a worthy wolf to hunt. I have to admit I didn’t expect to see one such as you though. Prepare to see Hircine”.
Scarface charged again. His blows rained down at his target but the Nord was no base pray. He blocked each attack then delivered one himself slicing into Scarface’s chest cutting a gash in him. Blood splattered over armor and fur as Scarface roared in pain. He slashed out twice at the Nord’s sword arm then bit into it at the elbow with all his strength.
He could feel the bones breaking from the pressure as his fangs ripped into the bone and muscle. With all his strength the werewolf wrenched at the arm, ripping it off. Mangled armor and torn skin lay at the Silverhands feet. His arm above the elbow was shred in tatters. Scarface stood over the nord who tried to move out of the way screaming as he held his arm.
Scarface lifted himself up to his full height and let loose a devastating howling cry causing the Nord to look up at him in horror. As the werewolf stood there, towering over his prey, silvery tainted blood poured from his wounds. The titan of black fur toppled forwards, vomiting half chewed meat and stomach liquids which caused the man to choke on the heavy acidic smell. He tried to raise a sword to strike a killing blow but a large black paw swiped the blade away from him.
Both enemies finally understood their opponent and the mortality to their own existence. The man, a warrior, murderer knew that not all creatures would so quickly be put to the sword and killed. The beast felt the sting of silver, it choked his throat and lungs, his eyes burned while his head felt heavy and dizzy. Both needed to end the fight, to lay to waste their opponent lest that same fate befell them.
Cradling his arm, the Nord broke into a run, hoping that the beast was in no state to follow. Scarface lurched forwards and tried to pounce but his paws were left behind. With a crash like a fallen tree, the beast fell to the ground. With a pitiful whine he watched as his prey made good his escape.
The great beast stretched out his limbs and pulled himself up once more. The sweet sticky smell of blood filled the air and he turned towards a half eaten body. Ignoring the burning in his gullet, Scarface began to feed.
Fresh meat aided his own healing ability, supplementing his regeneration. Even before the silvery pigment in his eyes had fully dispersed, Scarface was charging through the forest in search of his prey. Half blinded, he struck a tree with his shoulder, knocking him to the side. He staggered up on his hind legs and began to search in a far more systematic pattern; the scent of blood guided him like an invisible hand, beckoning him ever forwards.
The Nord cursed the hand of fate which dealt him such a hand along with the man who sent him on the ‘errand’. A simple task, locate and kill the Argonian from Whiterun. They watched from the mountainside as he left Whiterun behind. Fate seemed to be on their side when he rode towards them. Fate... he cursed it for all he was worth.
With every second that now passed Scarface got stronger, all the while the Nord’s life blood poured from his arm. Scarface watched him from the darkness for a few seconds then moved in for the kill. This time the Nord held a one handed sword in his good arm but he was too weak. A single swipe of large black claws was all it needed to disarm the man. He fell to his knees, unable to stand, let alone fight.
Scarface lent in close to his face, he could smell the putrid blood soaked breath as Scarface stood there motionless. The beast’s eyes tightened as he fixed his gaze on the Nord. Within a second both massive paws gripped his head and lifted him up off the ground as Scarface tore his head from his blood soaked body. The werewolf looked at the dead Silverhand then he fell onto all fours then slowly and systematically fed while his body fought off the last few traces of silver which burned through his veins.
As Scarface’s fangs tore flesh and muscle from bone, he heard a familiar voice, one which initially rattled him. The feeling passed quite suddenly, almost like a dog snapping when he’s suddenly woken up but who quickly recognises his master.
“That one gave you some trouble my hound. A hunter must know not only his strengths but his weaknesses as well. Don’t make the mistake of presuming you’re unbeatable, because you’re not”.
Scarface stopped eating then turned to Hircine who proudly stood in his hunter’s aspect. The Daedra Lord held out his hand to stroke the beast as he would any werewolf but the threatening growl held his hand back. He moved slightly away and pointed to the ‘meal’ by Scarface’s paws.
“Ever hungry... and still untamed. I hoped that She-Wolf would temper you as a mother teaches her cubs but that is not to be. I will have to try something else with you my hound. Feed, you’ve earned your meal after all”.
Scarface looked hard at him, then turned back to the dead Nord, within seconds he was once again tasting the fleshy, bloody heart in his mouth.
“You did well my hound; Aela was right to choose you. He didn’t pick his prey too cleverly; after all you’re alive and he is not”.
A second later Sotek changed through no will of his own but directly under the control of Hircine. As it did when he was ‘Albino’ the white werewolf, his transformation took far longer than what he expected. All the agony which he had all but forgotten returned. Sotek lay panting, curled up on the ground in a ball while Hircine looked on.
“Yes; when you’re forced to change it’s not much fun but here you are”.
“Hircine! What do you want with me now?” Every word was strained and the effort to speak caused beads of sweat to drip from his forehead.
Hircine stabbed the ground with his spear in anger. It was forever constant at his side. A ghostly ethereal spear of silvery vapour.
“Want with you? I own you, you’re mine, you’re all mine. Don’t start all that ‘Aela belongs to me’ nonsense either! War is coming and Whiterun is going to fall”.
“We are ready, we will defend it”.
“Oh yes and you will fight well. But it will fall and you all will die. That is not my plan I have need of you and Aela. Now you may have noticed that I haven’t included the others, I have no need of them so I am prepared to let them go. They can find a cure, then they are free of me. Listen well hunter, Whiterun must stand, you must stand. Kill the Stormcloaks in my name”.
“And how do I do that? I can’t change in a battle! Even if we did and beat Ulfric, we then would be hunted by the empire”.
“That is not of your concern. You will kill them in my name; Scarface will feast on Stormcloak blood in Whiterun itself. You are right though; you just can’t go ahead and do this. Against my better judgment I bestow a gift, an artifact; it is yours. Take it and hunt well my hound. Look at your prey... this Nord is a Silverhand elite. Ulfric knows what lies at Whiterun; he has let loose the silver hands, so I have let loose my champion, hunt well”.
Within moments Hircine had vanished. Sotek looked at the ground where he had stood, but he could see no artifact, no weapon or anything. It was only when he went to cast his candlelight spell that he noticed he was wearing a ring. He took it off so he could examine it. The ring was made of pure silver; a perfect ring except the front had a wolf’s head. He put it back on but he felt no different; no surge of power or dark magic flowed. Shrugging to himself he looked at his horse, then he removed the few bits of equipment still strapped to its side before making his way to Windhelm on foot. Moments later he stopped as a thought occurred to him. If he came here on a horse then surely they did as well. He shouted out using his aura shout.
“Lass Yah”.
To the left of his position, hidden from sight behind a copse of trees and shrubs he saw the unmistakeable aura of four horses. Smiling at his own audacity, he walked over to them and mounted up on one. With the other three in tow he headed off once more towards Windhelm.
Comments
See what happens when you stop to monologue?
Now I can actually say something. So Hircine is interested, eh? That's interesting.