Our campfire’s flames flickered brightly, a comfort in the snow. The other three guards were all in high spirits – well, as much as we could be, sitting in the middle of the Winterhold wilderness – sharing wineskins and gossiping like old women. There were five of us in total; four around the campfire, and Thorald keeping watch. I was busy whittling at a chunk of wood, my hatchet taking more off than I would have liked with every motion. The end result would be sloppy; I blamed the cold.
We were out here to track down a “mammoth spider” that had snatched the herder’s favorite milk cow. They sent Thorald and me, along with the twins and a new guard whose name I could never remember, to deal with it. “Mammoth spider” was all the witnesses could give us, but it had been enough to track the beast. Its… leg-prints… ended here, so we made camp here for the night.
A whispered rumor from our new guard was cut short when Thorald gave a sharp whistle. Apparently he had found our quarry.
“Already? And here I was, thinking we’d be sleeping under the stars tonight,” joked the rookie.
Grabbing our gear, the rest of us hustled over to Thorald’s hill (and away from the fire, as my body reminded me with a chill), peering down into the canyon below. He pointed toward the base; a small overhang covered in a mess of spider silk and animal skeletons. Underneath, the spider could be seen wrapping a paralyzed doe. It was about the size of two horses, snow white, and moving with deadly purpose. It was almost graceful, in a disgusting way, and I could visualize it wrapping up a cow the same way.
“What now?” I asked Thorald.
“Simple. Ah’ll draw it out. Edda, you take th’ high ground, keep it from jumping me. Then three bows are enough t’ stick that cow-thief full of arrows.”
“Understood. Keep the spider down,” I replied.
The twins nodded, with an “Mhm,” and a “Will do,” while the other (wish I remembered his name) pulled out his bow.
The five of us circled down to the canyon floor, and got into position. I had a good view from my boulder perch: Three guards crouched in the brush with arrows nocked, while Thorald advanced on the spider, banging his heavy axe against his breastplate and hollering a loud “Oi!” …Do spiders even have ears? Either way, Thorald got its attention, and it began to scrabble forwards on spindly legs.
“Edda!” Thorald shouted as he stared the creature down.
My turn. Rubbing my hands, I began to cast. The spell came slowly, but after a few seconds, a flurry of snow was sweeping along towards the spider. It found itself beaten back by the wind, not able to make any headway in Thorald’s direction.
In near-perfect coordination, three arrows appeared from the bushes, two hitting while the last went wide. The spider made a noise like a creaking door, and shook it’s mandibles furiously. Another three flew by, and all of them hit their mark this time. Clearly in pain, the beast dug its legs into the snow in a feeble attempt to resist my spell’s force.
“Yaagh!” In that opening, Thorald stormed in, his axe swinging in a long overhead arc. The weapon buried itself in the spider’s head with a soft squelching sound, and legs splayed wildly before going deathly still.
I jumped down to where Thorald was trying (and failing) to yank his axe out of the creature.
“Having some trouble there, Thorald?” I said playfully, cocking my head.
He only smiled at me, straining at the shaft. With a sigh, I drew my hatchet, and hacked at where the axehead was stuck. Hack, hack, hack at the dead flesh. Moments before Thorald’s weapon was free, however, a thunderous sound filled the air, shaking me to my bones. It rumbled, the sound of voices, of powerful voices, and it felt like the very ground shook before it.
“DOVAHKIIN!!!”
Regaining a little composure, I still couldn’t help but yell. “What… what was that?! Was that… what it sounded like?!”
Turning towards me as slow as a glacier, Thorald had a wide grin on his face, and his eyes flickered brightly, a frightening look. “It was,” he replied, and shouted into the sky, “the legends are TRUE!”
Thorald fell into a fit of laughter, rolling in the snow like a madman. I felt some of his awe, but at the same time, I felt crushingly cold. My hatchet slipped from my hand, and my heart seemed to stop. I don’t know why, but the difference in our reactions made me feel like I didn’t even know Thorald. It was only much, much later that I found my despair was justified.
Edited: I've changed this to simply a short story (months after the fact) since the second chapter has been sitting on my computer unfinished indefinitely. If I'd had more free time, maybe I would've continued, but it's extremely unlikely at this point.
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