The Protectors of the Night - Part 4

  • Brandr, Borug, Raccan, and Daris were once again walking through snow, returning from slaying werewolves. However, this time, as a group they decided to not skin the carcasses. It seemed too much like the Silver Hand, they all agreed, and they definitely didn’t want to be associated with them. Not that the Silver Hand were around anymore. They wanted it to be clear that the Protectors of the Night were only about putting down ferals, who had lost their mind and attacked people, instead of about torturing and killing any werewolves, no matter the state of their mind, or the purity of their heart.

    They had stopped at Dawnstar on the way back, where Erandur had healed Brandr’s hand, which had been broken when the second werewolf smashed his shield out of his hand. The four also notified the town that they had nothing more to fear from werewolves, temporarily at least. Brandr had checked with Rustleif, who unfortunately, had no silver. A strange man over by the lower mine had overheard them, and screamed something about Brandr buying quicksilver, but Brandr declined. He knew very well that there were differences between quicksilver and silver. Nobody made weapons from 100% quicksilver.

    When all four men had finished warming up at the Inn, they conferred briefly, and decided that getting silver weapons for all of them would indubitably be wise. And as everybody in Skyrim knew, Markarth was the place to go for silver. It was decided that they would take a detour on the way home, and pool together their gold to buy enough silver for all of them.

    They took their time on the way to Markarth, dodging Forsworn and enjoying the warm weather as a welcome change from the unforgiving Pale. When they arrived at the gates, Borug took the lead, as he had been to Markarth before. He led the way to the left, and up the steps to the blacksmith, Ghorza gra-Bagol. Along the way he explained to his friends, “She’s a damn fine smith, but her assistant, Tacitus, is useless. Can’t even make nails right.” Borug and Ghorza greeted each other warmly, and when Borug explained why they were there, Ghorza hurried over to the box containing her silver ore and ingots. The four had about 300 septims to spend, which was enough to buy all of Ghorza’s ore (about 12 pieces) and 4 more ingots. They figured that would be enough for a silver battleaxe, sword, dagger, and bolts for Raccan. They paid Ghorza, and continued on their way.


    - - - - - - - -


    Three days later, the four hunters arrived victorious to Fort Dawnguard, once more.

    The gate guards yelled to them in greeting, and Celann asked, “Hey, did you get one?”

    Borug chuckled, saying, “Hell no. We got two!”

    Celann whistled. “Damn, that’s some good hunting,” he said. “Glad you’re all still healthy.”

    The four then proceeded up to the fort doors, where they decided to split up. Borug and Raccan would bring Gunmar the silver and help him smelt it and make weapons, while Brandr and Daris would inform Isran about how the hunt went.

    Borug started off towards Gunmar, and Raccan hurriedly set down their newly-patched tent and followed him. Borug was lugging a sack of silver ore and ingots, and he dropped them down behind Gunmar.

    Gunmar smiled. “Ah, brought something back for me, did you? You have my thanks.”

    Raccan chuckled and said, “No, that’s not for you, but this is,” and having said that, he pulled out an Orcish warhammer, which glowed a bit with a light blue color. “Daris says it has a powerful frost damage enchantment. Not useful to us, but you should be able to sell it for a good bit of gold,” he said with a smile.

    Gunmar smiled again. “Well, thank you for that, then. I appreciate it. So what’s in your sack?”

    “Silver,” Borug said. “We all need some new weapons. Raccan and I would like to help. I know a bit about smithing, but he has much to learn.”

    “I’ve never worked much with silver before,” Gunmar said, curious. “It’s always interesting to work with something new. I’d love to make all of you some weapons.” He opened the sack and noted that there was still raw ore in it. “Raccan, why don’t you start by smelting this ore into some more ingots, and Borug and I will start on the first weapon. I’m guessing you’ll want new battleaxe,” he said with a chuckle.

    “Yeah, I could definitely use a new one,” Borug said, looking down at his still-broken half of a battleaxe. “Maybe we could fortify the shaft, too, I’ll probably be doing some blocking with it.”

    Gunmar and Borug set to work, grabbing some paper and a quill, and drawing up plans for a double-bit battleaxe with longer and thicker blades than its steel cousin, which was Borug’s idea. He thought that the extra length would help with larger cuts so that a werewolf would bleed to death quicker, and that the thicker blade would have an easier time crushing bones. Both combined would increase the overall momentum of his swing, and make it quicker for him to pull out of an enemy. Gunmar nodded his head when they were all drawn out, ready to set to work. This was a weapon he would be proud to help create.

    By that time Raccan had finished smelting up the ingots, and was sweating from the exertion. “Damn. . . I never thought it would be so much work to melt down some of this shiny shit.”

    Gunmar laughed. “Thanks for doing that, lad. It’s a good starting point for any smith. We can get to work on your bolt tips too, here’s the mold that I use for steel tips. Once you have a few ingots melted, pour them into the mold, and set it off to cool. Then you can start fletching. I’ve got the shafts and feathers back over here,” he said, grunting and reaching under the counter opposite of his forge. “With the way these people shoot, I’ve got to have a shitton of these,” he said with a laugh, and pulled out a huge box with a divider down the center, one half with bolt shafts, and the other with feathers.

    Normally Raccan would have complained about all of the work, but he was more than happy to work on anything that would help him kill werewolves faster.

    After an hour or so, Borug and Gunmar had finished the battleaxe, and Raccan had about four dozen bolts done, and was working on another dozen.

    “Alright, what’s next?” Gunmar asked eagerly, loving the challenges presented with the new material.

    Borug said, “Let’s draw up some plans for Brandr’s sword next. He told me that he wanted the blade about a foot longer than normal, so that he can keep his distance, and a strong hilt for blocking with it, if he has to. He wanted a strong, thick blade, too, something that a werewolf can’t snap in half with two fingers.”

    With that said, they grabbed a fresh quill and more paper, and began drawing up some rough plans. Raccan was sitting at the large dining table next to them, on his seventh dozen, when they finished the plans and started smithing. After a while, Borug and Gunmar finished, and Raccan had decided that he had more than enough bolts, about ten dozen.

    “Holy shit!” Borug exclaimed, looking at where Raccan had a huge pyramid of bolts built up on the dinner table.

    Raccan chuckled and looked up, saying, “Yeah, I think I’ll make another quiver, so that I have two. Good practice for my leatherwork too.”

    “You can only fit maybe 16 bolts in each quiver, so two seems good. You shouldn’t need a ton for just a werewolf or two. You’ll have to find somewhere else to store the rest of those, though,” Gunmar said, eyeing the pyramid.

    “Sure, sure,” Raccan said. “I’ll grab a box to fit them in. Thanks for letting me use your forge, Gunmar.”

    “No problem Raccan,” Gunmar said with a smile. “You can use it anytime you need to. We’ll make a fine smith out of you yet.”

    While Raccan went off to find a box for his bolts, the two more experienced smiths started on the third set of plans, this time for Daris’s dagger. They went with a thinner and longer blade, to make it easier to swing while allowing Daris to keep his distance from a foe. They decided to ditch the hilt, as well, as Borug thought it would make little difference against a werewolf.

    Raccan then returned with a box and started neatly loading in his bolts, while Gunmar and Borug grabbed the second to last ingot and started melting it down to be formed.


    - - - - - - - -


    The three smiths stood back and admired the weapons they had created together. All had cooled, and were ready to be presented to their respective owners. Daris and Brandr, who had just finished telling Isran about their hunt, walked up at that instant.

    “You three did fine work,” Brandr said, looking at Raccan’s two full quivers, and the laid out weapons. “That looks like a fine sword, indeed. Thanks for following my ideas,” he said, looking at Borug. “That battleaxe looks. . . big.”

    “Just how I like it,” Borug said with a grin.

    “And that dagger looks. . . small,” Daris said with a chuckle. “Just how I like it.”

    The three picked up their weapons, testing their balance, and liking what they felt.

    Suddenly Brandr remembered something, “Hermy’s slimy tentacles, I forgot about my damn shield. And it looks like we don’t have enough silver for one,” he said ruefully.

    “You know. . .” Gunmar said slowly. “I remember hearing an Imperial talk about some sorta armor they had down in Cyrodiil, damned if I can remember what it was called. It’s partially silver, but not completely, combined with something else.”

    “Hey, maybe Dexion would know!” Daris said excitedly.

    Borug, Raccan, and Brandr all followed Daris over to where Dexion was sitting in the south-western corner of the fort, where the Dawnguard had helped him set up his combined work and living quarters. He was busy reading when they saw him, seated at his desk, and looked up when he heard them coming. “Ah, I see you’ve all returned in one piece,” he said with a smile.

    Borug and Brandr both look confused for a second, both still used to Dexion being completely blind and not being aware of who was approaching him. “Yep, we got two this time,” Borug said.

    “Indeed? I’ll have to start a new book on werewolves,” Dexion mumbled, reaching for paper and a quill. “Do go ahead. And, Raccan and Daris, I’m glad to be able to meet both of you more formally, as we were rather rushed last time.”

    “The pleasure is ours,” Daris said with a smile.

    “Yes, it is,” said Raccan. “It feels good, to contribute to a book.”

    The four then recounted their adventure, with Dexion noting details specific to werewolves down in one stack of papers (which would eventually become a book on werewolves) while also recording the number of werewolves killed, the location, and the date in a logbook. When they had finished he leaned back with a contented sigh. “Well, you’re certainly making good progress. And you haven’t died yet,” he said with a chuckle.

    “Aye, we’ve been lucky. Three werewolves, and none of us,” Brandr said.

    “Just a slight injury or two,” Daris chimed in. “Oh, and we wanted to ask you, Dexion, if you had heard of a type of armor that apparently is used down in Cyrodiil. Gunmar thinks it was made from a combination of silver and something else, but he doesn’t remember the name.”

    “Oh, indeed,” said Dexion, rummaging around in his bookshelves behind his desk for a certain book. “Yes, I seem to remember a material of that sort. Let me see. . . .Ah! Here it is!” he said, pulling out a thin book. “Catalogue of Cyrodilic Armors. Very creative,” he said with a laugh. “Yes, it says Mithril is a type of armor made by combining silver and steel, in equal amounts. It says it is a lighter material, however. I’m sure Gunmar could change the formula a bit to fit what you want, though,” Dexion mused. “Well, I certainly hope that helps. There aren’t many books on mithril.”

    “Oh yeah, that’s great!” Brandr exclaimed. “Thanks again Dexion! I’m off to tell Gunmar!”

    The other three said their goodbyes and followed after Brandr, who they found conversing with Gunmar.

    “We only have enough silver for about a 30% - 70% mixture,” Gunmar said. “That should be great though, It’ll be damn strong, and werewolves will hate it,” he said with a chuckle.

    “That sound great to me,” Brandr said. “I’d prefer it to be round, and maybe a bit bigger than a normal steel shield. The more protection, the better. The rounded sides should help block a paw, too. And, if you could add little spikes to it maybe two inches long, all around the outside edge, I think that would help catch an arm or paw, maybe give me enough time to lop it off.”

    “Interesting,” Gunmar mused. “Shield spikes aren’t something you see often around here, but I like it. I’ll get to work.”

    While Gunmar worked on the shield, Raccan went to show Sorine his new bolts, and Borug explained to Daris how he should best use his new dagger, while Brandr repaired his damaged chestplate. Then, Brandr and Daris trained for a bit, getting used to their new weapons. “If I get some good soul gems, I can fortify our new gear, and make it much sturdier,” Daris said eagerly. “I learned that at the College.”

    “Sounds good,” said Brandr. “I think we’ve practiced enough for today. Why don’t you go train some more with Florentius. Learn some new Restoration skills.”

    Daris chuckled at the thought of the crazy priest, and walked over to where he was busy at an alchemy lab.

    “You’ve returned for more training!” Florentius exclaimed as Daris got closer. “Arkay said it would be so! Let the learning commence!” And with that, he and Daris began practicing a new spell for Daris, a stronger form of Healing Hands, Florentius explained. They practiced until Daris had it down reasonably well, by which time the shield was finished and cooled, and Gunmar presented it to Brandr.

    “Once more, thank you Gunmar. This gear will undoubtedly save our lives quite often,” Brandr said gratefully. “I hope that warhammer is enough to repay you.”

    “Don’t worry about paying me,” Gunmar said happily. “It was a pleasure to work a new metal. The warhammer was just a little extra happiness,” he said with a grin.

    The other three men said their thanks, ate dinner, and then went to bed. The rest of the Dawnguard chuckled when they were going to lay down and saw the large crate full of bolts at the bottom of Raccan’s cot, with him snoring contentedly on top of the cot.


    - - - - - - - -


    In the morning Raccan awoke and laid for a few minutes on his cot, enjoying being safe and in his new home, surrounded by friends. Sorine was once again standing in front of the fire, stirring up breakfast for the day. The rest of the Dawnguard appeared to be asleep. Raccan yawned quietly, and then set up and stretched. He had slept in his shirt and pants, and got up and walked over to the fire to warm up a bit. Sorine looked over as he walked up. “Good morning,” she whispered with a smile. “I’m glad you four are alright. We’re all glad.”

    “Thanks,” Raccan whispered back. “You know, I remember hearing that you and Isran didn’t get along very well back in the day. You both seem fine now, though.”

    “Oh yes,” Sorine said with a smile, thinking back. “Yes, I could be rather annoying back in the day. But so could Isran. We worked together briefly, but broke apart. The Last Dragonborn brought us back together, and I’m glad he did. We’re both better people now.”

    Daris then stirred in his bed, and woke up. He saw the two talking, and headed over to the fire as well. “Morning,” he said to Sorine.

    “Hello Daris,” said Sorine warmly. “I heard your second hunt went well. You’ve done well so far. Both of you have,” she said, glancing back at Raccan.

    “Thanks Sorine,” said Raccan. “A lot of it has been luck.”

    “And I think your luck will hold, with your new equipment,” Sorine said with a smile. “Now that gear is fit for werewolf hunters.”

    The rest of the Dawnguard soon began waking up, and Sorine served breakfast, apple cabbage stew, fresh from the fire. As everyone ate, jokes about broken shields and broken hands were thrown about, which were silenced when Brandr fondly mentioned his new sword and shield. After breakfast Borug, Daris, Raccan and Brandr all lazed around for a bit, practicing a bit more with their weapons. A bit before noon, Isran appeared at the balcony above, and yelled down that he had a new assignment for the Protectors. The message was quickly passed on to them, and they hurried upstairs to where Isran was waiting. He looked grim, all of his usual humor gone.

    “It’s something different this time,” he said. “I got word about a werewolf in Windhelm that was recently infected. I’m not sure if he’s feral now, how soon he’ll go feral, or if he’ll go feral at all. That’s what I want you four to check out,” he said, looking around at them. “Go ask the court wizard, Wuunferth. He’s the one who contacted one of our agents, which surprised me. I figured that old bastard wouldn’t care about anything besides magic. Maybe he considers werewolves a part of that. I don’t know. Either way, Wuunferth will point you to the man. I trust you’ll use your best judgement in dealing with this. Good luck.”

    The four hurried to grab their tent, all of their new gear, armor, and some more food, and set off once more.


    - - - - - - - -


    They hurried to Windhelm, not stopping or sleeping any longer than they needed to, and reached it late in the afternoon of the second day of their journey. This time, there was no rush to Candlehearth Hall. They bypassed it, which was the last thing travelers to Windhelm usually did, and went straight into the Palace of the Kings. They asked one of the door guards about the court wizard, and he pointed them to the door to the left of the entrance. They found Wuunferth hard at work at his arcane enchanter, and were surprised when he looked up when they entered. From stories they had all heard, they were expecting a grumpy old mage. He scrutinized them from his enchanter, his eyes in particular pausing at their weapons. “So you are the werewolf hunters, hmm?” he said. “It is good that you hurried. The. . . person I sent for you about is not doing well.”

    “Are they feral? Have they killed anyone?” Daris asked quickly.

    “No, fortunately,” Wuunferth said. “But I do fear for the state of his mind if nothing is done. I won’t tell you anything about him except where to find him. I suspect it will be better for him to tell the whole tale to you. His name is Scouts-Many-Marshes, and you can find him in the Argonian Assemblage. Help him as much as you can. And thank you for coming. I’m sure he will be grateful too.”

    The four looked at eachother for a few seconds, and then Borug subtly nodded his head towards the door, and they said goodbye to the old court wizard. As the huge doors to the Palace slammed shut once more, they were hit by the freezing cold. It brought back memories to Daris, and he thought of the old man who had saved his life. “Hey!” he shouted to the others, to be heard above the howling wind. “We should go get that old man! He said he would join us if we were up here again!”

    The others quickly agreed, and they made a detour over to Candlehearth Hall. They entered by the front door, and the wind slammed it shut behind them. As they walked by the bar towards the stairs leading to the fire, the barkeeper asked, “Do you want something to drink or eat?”

    “No thanks,” said Brandr. “We’re just here to see a friend.”

    They ascended the stairs, the fire once again providing relief from the cold they had been walking in for the past several hours. Daris was in the lead, and when he got to the top, he saw the old man in his familiar corner seat, reading a book. At the stomp of four sets of feet the old man had glanced up, and a wide smile spread across his face at the sight of the four hunters. He set down the book and beckoned them over to his table. “Pull up some chairs,” he said, still smiling broadly. “It’s good to see you four again. On the hunt again?”

    “Well. . . no, but we could be soon,” Raccan said. “Isran got word from Wuunferth that there is a werewolf living in the city. He wants us to go talk to him, and see if he is feral or not.”

    “Indeed,” said the old man, looking around warily. “Who is this man?”

    “One of the dockworkers, we think,” Borug said. “He’s an argonian, Scouts-Many-Marshes. We were going to see him when Daris remembered that you might want to come along. So, are you up for it?”

    “Oh, yes,” said the old man. “Let me just store this book in my room, and I’ll be ready.”

    Raccan, Brandr, Daris and Borug all followed him down, and waited by the bar until he came out of his room, now with a satchel over strapped over his shoulder. “Ok, lets go,” he said, leading the way out. “I don’t know if any of you have ever been to the docks, but I know the way. Follow me.”

    The column of five men headed out the front of the Candlehearth Inn, and turned left, the path taking them to the lower city doors. They pushed through those, and were hit by the complete and unhindered force of the wind.

    “Shit!” Raccan yelled. “I didn’t realize the city walls were blocking most of the wind!”

    The old man chuckled. “Welcome to northern Skyrim!” he yelled back. He hurriedly made his way over to the door of the Argonian Assemblage, and pounded on it several times. “Go away!” yelled a voice from within. It sounded female. “We don’t want any visitors.”

    “We’re here to speak with Scouts-Many-Marshes,” Brandr yelled. “We aren’t here to harass him. We just want to talk to him.”

    They heard low voices, and then what sounded like a yelled affirmative, and the door opened to reveal a small argonian woman.

    “I’m Shahvee,” she said, yelling like them, to be heard above the storm. “Come on, come in, before all of Skyrim blows in with you.”

    The five men walked inside, and Daris shut the door behind them. All four of the argonians living in the Assemblage were watching them, and one looked more nervous than the others.

    “We all know what happened to Scouts-Many-Marshes,” Shahvee said. “Are you here to help him?”

    “Aye,” said Brandr. “We would like to speak to him alone, if we could. Which one of you is Scouts-Many-Marshes?”

    “That is me,” said a middle-aged argonian, with feather-like protuberances on the top of his head, and two horns coming out of the sides of his head twisting around to face forward. He wore the dirty green-black shirt of a laborer, and seemed to be sweating and nervous. “Please join me back here.” He led the way to the back corner of the Assemblage, and each man grabbed a chair. “So, who are you and what do you want?”

    “I’m an old man, and these are my friends, Daris, Raccan, Borug, and Brandr,” said the old man with a smile, pointing to each man in turn. “We heard that you have a. . . problem, although we aren’t exactly sure what. . . state it’s in. We want to help. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

    Scouts-Many-Marshes swallowed, still nervous. “I was taking an evening walk seventeen days ago, which is fairly normal for me. Work was done for the day, and I wanted to relax. It was pretty clear, no wind blowing or snow falling or anything. Then, I heard pounding. I figured it was just a deer or something. Not unusual around here. But then I realized it was a hell of alot faster and louder than a deer, like the thing was heavier and slamming into the ground harder. Now, all I had on me was a little dagger,” he said sheepishly. “I knew that wouldn’t be enough to defend myself against. . . anything, really. So I started running back to Windhelm. I figured that even though the guards don’t like argonians, if the thing chasing me could threaten the whole town than they might actually kill it and save me in the process. I was almost to the river when I started hearing it panting and growling, and realized that it was too close. I didn’t turn around, but I heard it roar, and saw its shadow as it jumped at me. I was only about 10 feet from the river at that point, and dove towards it, but that bastard hit me. The force from his hit threw me nearly fifteen feet into the water, and it was cold. Plus, I was bleeding from where he had hit me, and the saltwater stung terribly. I was feeling weak, but started swimming upriver, trying to get to the docks, where I hoped somebody could pull me out. Then, while I was underwater, I heard it howl, in anger, it sounded like. I’m guessing the bastard had never learned to swim in its normal form, and couldn’t as a werewolf either. I swam all the way over to one of the docked boats, and pulled myself up the side. The guards seemed to have abandoned their post, or maybe they were drunk somewhere. Either way, they weren’t there. That was probably good for me, they might have killed me on the spot if they had realized I had been infected by that werewolf. Anyway, I pulled myself over to the Assemblage and pounded on the door until somebody opened it. Shahvee knows a bit of Restoration, and she healed me back. But I couldn’t think of any way to cure the disease. I went and asked Wuunferth, but by then it was too late. He must have sent word to you five.”

    “Have you transformed into a werewolf yet?” Brandr asked.

    “Yes,” Scouts-Many-Marshes said quietly. “I could tell it was coming, so I took another walk, farther from the walls this time, and then I transformed, although I didn’t try to, it just happened. It was. . . strange. I didn’t have complete control over myself. It felt very instinctive. But I won’t lie to you, I did enjoy it somewhat. Hunting as a werewolf was far different from unloading cargo,” he said with a laugh. “But why did Wuunferth contact you five?”

    Borug cleared his throat and looked around at his colleagues before beginning. “Well. . . we probably know more about werewolves than anyone else in Skyrim. But that’s only because. . . we’re werewolf hunters,” he ended with a grimace. “Sorry to ruin your evening with that.”

    Scouts-Many-Marshes swallowed again, more obviously this time. “I’m guessing. . . and hoping. . . that you aren’t here to kill me, right?”

    “Look,” said Brandr, “We haven’t had a situation like this before. We pretty much just started this job. But I think we all can agree, that as long as you can control yourself and not kill anybody who doesn’t deserve it,” he said with a smile, “we don’t have a problem with you being a werewolf. So far, we’ve only killed feral werewolves, ones that can’t think like us anymore, and only live to hunt and kill. We killed them to protect the people of Skyrim, and have no regrets about it. But you clearly still have full control of yourself, and we’re glad about that. If you use this curse, or gift, depending on how you look at it, for good, we’d be damn happy. We have heard stories about people who have maintained control of themselves, and we’re sure that you can. Just because you’ve been infected with a disease doesn’t mean you’re evil.”

    “Well. . .” said Scouts-Many-Marshes slowly. “I appreciate that. Thank you. You have my word that I won’t kill anyone (who doesn’t deserve it) and that if I get the opportunity, I’ll use it for good, killing bandits maybe. And if I learn anything about my new form that could help you in hunting the ferals, I’ll let you know. I’d be happy to help.”

    “That would be great,” said Daris. “We have a man at Fort Dawnguard who is writing a book about werewolves from what we’ve learned so far. I’m sure he’d be glad to have someone new contribute to it, from a different point of view.”

    “And, not that we’re trying to force this on you, but if you ever get tired of being a werewolf,” Borug said, “We’d be happy to help look for a cure. We aren’t aware of one right now, but we could probably find one if we looked hard enough.”

    “Yes,” said the old man. “That would be something to consider at some point. All werewolves are pulled to Hircine’s Hunting Grounds when they die, instead of going where they would go naturally. It’s said that they hunt for all of eternity, there. Sooner or later you will have to choose whether you would prefer your natural place, or the Hunting Grounds.”

    “I didn’t know that,” Scouts-Many-Marshes said, deep in thought. “I will most definitely consider both options. I have learned much today. Thank you again for coming, all of you,” he said, looking around at all five men. “I may have gone feral if I hadn’t talked to someone about this.”

    “We’re glad you didn’t,” Raccan said with a chuckle. “You may want to keep an eye out for Vigilants, though. They aren’t around as much as they used to be, and the last time I checked they aren’t great at actually finding werewolves, but I don’t think they would look upon you as a friend. Just something to keep in mind. And, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear, I believe we killed the werewolf that attacked you, probably right after he attacked you, actually.”

    “That’s good to hear,” Scouts-Many-Marshes said with a smile. “And about the Vigilants, I will be cautious. Thank you once again.” With that, they all said their goodbyes, and the five men left, feeling good about their choice. They saved lives that day, although for once, not by killing something.

    “So what do you think you’ll do now?” Raccan asked the old man.

    “You know, I was thinking of going with you four back to Fort Dawnguard. I’d like to meet some of the people there, and see the Fort,” he said.

    “That’s great!” Daris exclaimed. “I’m sure Isran would love to meet you!”

    “Well then,” said the old man with a smile, “let me just grab my books and my bit of gear, and I’ll be ready to go. We may want to wait until morning, though. It’s still damn cold out here.”

    In the excitement, the others had forgotten that it was nearly midnight. They agreed, and trudged up to Candlehearth Hall to rent rooms for the night. In the morning they awoke, ate a quick breakfast, and started the trip back to Fort Dawnguard. The trail rang with their voices even more than usual, with the addition of the old man to their party. All was well for them.


  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  June 18, 2016
    I´m with Lissette. Who the heck is the old man? 
    Another good chapter, Tim. 
  • Tim
    Tim   ·  June 17, 2016
    To be honest, I haven't thought that far ahead yet, lol. I don't really have anything planned out beforehand, I just kinda write. I dunno if that seems strange or not. But now I have to think about who he is
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 17, 2016
    Yay! All caught ups! I am really curious as to who the heck this old man is. 
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  June 17, 2016
    Well don't let this persuade you, it's your story.... buuuuut it would make sense for me. They can keep an eye on him and help him  keep control also what better ally than a werewolf when it comes to a scrap with claws and fangs.
    Looking forwards to...  more
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  June 17, 2016
    Well don't let this persuade you, it's your story.... buuuuut it would make sense for me. They can keep an eye on him and help him  keep control also what better ally than a werewolf when it comes to a scrap with claws and fangs.
    Looking forwards to...  more
  • Tim
    Tim   ·  June 17, 2016
    Thanks Sotek :D
    I decided pretty early on that I did want to have that distinction. No epic battle with the Companions, :P, although they will probably appear at some point. I hadn't thought about Scouts joining the Protectors, though. I'll keep tha...  more
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  June 17, 2016
    Awwooo Tim.
    A great distinction between feral werewolves and other ones such as the Companions for instance. I really do like the way you separated them out in the two groups. I can see a nice opening for Scouts-Many-Marshes to join the grou...  more