In the wild reaches of Skyrim, high in the Jerral Mountains, deep in the valleys of the Velothi's or hidden in the ancient forests of the frozen north, there are isolated clans of Nords who practise the Old Ways. These ancient traditions of their forefathers stretching back to The Return from Atmora are preserved even to this day. Isolated, old and in tune with the world around them, many of these clans share similar worldviews to the Skaal of Solstheim.

One man from a remote clan near the Dunmeth Pass, an apprentice to the village shaman, had recently returned from the wilderness to tell the elders of his experience.

The skalds sing it like this...

'Ranmir Wood-Seer, you have lived among us for eighteen harsh winters. Your beard has grown longer and your dark hair is now flecked with grey, you have more muscle on your bones now than when you arrived and can pull the mightiest of bows. In that time you have learned much of the clever craft and the ways of healing from our shaman. You bear the mark left on you after you traversed the underworld and spoke with the dead; you have seen signs of things to come in the flames; and you have wandered the dark woods and highest peaks alone. Yet never have I seen you as disturbed as you appear now. What happened in the depths of the old forest?”

‘It was as was foretold by the smoke on the day the sky went black and the clouds took on the forms of dragons. Doom Driven I was declared by the earth, the trees and the waters. Yet it was the spirit of the beasts who spoke the words I have known but always dreaded: “Hunted are you”, she told me, “and at last your pursuer has caught up.”’

‘Who is this hunter?’

‘A demon from the old world. The Woodland Man. He was there in the deep centre of the forest where the magic of the earth thrums beneath your feet and you can almost feel it vibrate the air about you. Yet abruptly the peace of the day vanished, replaced by an eerie hush as if a great blanket of dread had been draped over the canopy. The animals were silenced and every beast, both predator and prey, flattened themselves and hid. Even the wind seemed to withdraw and a shadow blocked the light of the sun. I tell you I have never experienced the like. As loath and ashamed as I am to admit it, I fled. Never have I ran as fast and as driven by fear as I did then.’

‘To where did you run?'

‘I headed for the sacred grove where the old magic is strongest, where the earth, the winds, the trees, the waters and the beasts all meet. In that warm clearing the sun still shone and the birds still sang, the wind rustled the leaves and the stream gurgled as it meandered its way downhill. It was there that an owl spoke the words. My fear drained away as I put my hand upon the standing stone and in its place there is now resolve.’

‘You are leaving us, then?’

‘Yes. I am not a warrior so my sword will not be missed. I am not the shaman and so my wisdom will not be needed here. I am neither the best hunter nor the greatest skald so you will not want for food and entertainment. Yet I can do all those things and so I must lead the hunter off until he becomes the prey. I will make for Winterhold and the great library there and learn the secrets of my enemy so that I can use them against him.’

Places Forgotten by ReneAegner

Heavy fog, a blanket, over ancient bows drape,

Old trunk, gnarly branches, creates an eerie shape,

Distant mountains, far foreboding, against the sky scrape,

The hunted runs, eyes darting, searching for escape.

 

Forest silent, animals quiet, the only noise a ragged gasp,

Nameless horror, ancient foe, a hand reaching out to grasp.

 

Twigs break, hunted stumbles, tumbling to the ground,

A looming terror, presence felt, pursuing like a hound,

Heartbeat racing, anxiety gripping, chest feeling every pound,

The hunted rises, continues on, a strangled sob the only sound.

 

A dappled clearing, hopeful light, towards the hunted ran,

Crashing branches, desperate flight, to evade the Woodland Man.

 

Canopy breaks, azure sky, birdsong reaches ear,

A circle of grass, verdant green, a peaceful atmosphere,

The hunted halts, heart calming, mastering his fear,

Now hunted hunts, knowledge prey, known as the Wood-Seer.

 Luminescent by Mutiny in the Air

My soul rose like the smoke from the burning leaves I was inhaling, drifting upwards into the cool and clear night. I could see myself far below, the light of my fire a small patch of orange in the darkness of the surrounding forest. The Standing Stone in the sacred grove seemed to glitter like the stars as its smooth surface reflected the light of the flames. I turned my eyes above as I passed through into the Underworld, the sensation like that of entering warm water. Spirts like fish swam passed me, some large, some small, all heading away from the All-Maker or heading to the Great Falls to plunge into the source from where they came, to have the cares of life washed from them before heading to the World Springs to bubble up into new life again.

Before me the misty current dissolved to reveal a colourful forest stretching off into the distance. Like a leviathan of the oceans, a form resembling nothing so much as a whale swam guard before the entrance to the coral woods.

The Spirit of Water spoke: ‘A wandering soul approaches, one whose memories are still tied to mortal life. Have you come seeking unburden in the Pools of Refection?’

‘Not now, but soon.’ I answered as was custom.

‘Then tell me this, mortal man, what here do you seek?’

I answered as was tradition, ‘I am here to align myself with the currents of time.’

‘To what pattern of life’s wheel do you attune?’

I replied as my heart dictated, ‘The Learner.’

‘The energies of life will flow quickly in you but ever will you be sensitive to their touch. The natural world will feel as an extension of yourself and the movement of the spirits will not be hidden by your Sight.'

‘So be it.’

The Water rippled, ‘Fare thee well, Raan Mir, Seer, until next we meet.'

The warmth of the fire and the gentle peace of night greeted my opening eyes. The breeze carried with it the soft hoot of an owl.

Ancient Knowledge by Ehecod

It is said you can tell the age of a tree by counting the rings in the wood stump after cutting. So it is with me for I think I will be dead before I know my age. All I know is that which the elders told me, that I arrived in the village on one foggy morning eighteen years ago. I was thin, half starved and in desperate need of healing. The shaman took me in, fed me and nurtured me until my strength returned but I never recovered my memories, if I even had any to begin with. The spirits gave the shaman only the vaguest of answers, but it seems I am an aberration, an old soul previously mantled and burdened still by past meanings.

Perhaps I am here for a reason, that I cannot return to the World Springs until my soul is purified. Yet despite this I am at peace. The clan is my family and the quiet beauty of the land and the rhythm of the wild is my home. It is all I have ever known. There is no desire in me to solve my own mystery as it simply holds no meaning. Sometimes I have found it odd after watching the young ones learn and grow that I never needed this process, that I awoke in the old hut, wrapped in furs, with language and life-skills already developed. However, I trust in the All-Maker and the Great Spirits. I trust I would not be here without a purpose, perhaps only now I am hunted is that purpose becoming clear.

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So that was my thing. Helped, inspired and supported all the way by Edana, Legion, Karver, Spotted Fawn, and The Wing. Now it's done and I have actually finished something. Thanks guys :)

This is one of the most unique Profiles I have seen around. I dig the art, I dig the lore and I absolutely love those Seekers. 

The end really striked a tune in me, the part where it seems Mora won. So that´s how it ends, nothing changes, another Mora´s plaything? The Woodland Man...always gets the last say? 

Thanks my Lorc, how sweet of you :)

I wanted to make it with as little exposition as possible, but the themes of poetry, language and knowledge - and how they all sort of tie into the concept of forests, trees and The Woodland Man were too complex to put in without resorting to explanaitions. So I sort of buried them. But you've now given me the opportunity to talk about how the druids of Celtic Britain used an alphabet called Ogham, believed in legend to have come from Oghma, god of poetry and language. Tie that with Herma's Oghma Infinium and his Woodland Man aspect and we start to see another layer emerge - or such is my hope that it is just about discernable beneath the trans-mundane :D

As for the end.... Hmmm. Best left to interpretation. I like to think that reality is very much in one's own mind. You walk out your house, a red car passes you. The person across the street sees a maroon car go passed. The red makes you think of your wine at the weekend and suddenly you're happy without knowing it. The maroon makes the other guy think of dried blood and the person who died in his arms. Both your realities have been altered by a car which was, in fact, crimson.

So I think that if we take Miraak's chant and see the word "world" as a person's reality, we have:

And when the world shall listen - Whose Thu'um was whose?

and when the world shall see - Who went into that arena at the Summit of Apocrypha?

and when the world remembers - Who came out?

that world will cease to be.

Duuuuude, this is bloody brilliant! I won't lie to you, I had to stick a bit of epic nordic music on so I could feel immersed in the story even more, which I definitely recommend.

Like Karver said, this profile is unique beyond belief, but you get an indepth view of a character more detailed than a traditional profile, and it's written in such a way to make you sympathetic towards him. Bravo man, I love seeing alternative takes on profiles and guides, and this is probably the best example I've seen of that.

You're too kind Zonnonn. Thank you :)