Of Blood and Time: a Skyrim Short story

Crack in A Facade

The fortress was empty. Corpses of silver hand members lay strewn about, torn apart, hearts eaten. This fort, small and decrepit, was overgrown and full of moisture. For a time it was long abandoned, and would soon be abandoned once more. For now, though, the fort had tasted blood and mead once more, both spilled on the ground and splashed on the walls from their shattered containers.

As the cobbled stone and moss drank freely, two figures made their way from the halls to the dilapidated bunk room. An old housing for dozens of soldiers, now the temporary resting place of two hulking beasts, looking to let their blood cool enough to revert to human form.

Werewolves.

Large, hairy, built to hunt by Hircine himself, and running on adrenaline and flesh and blood. The two were hard to tell apart, though one was slightly more scarred from blade and arrow. They both were, of course, but it was obvious as to which was in this state more often.

The werewolf with less scars is the first to try to rest, to let the beast blood cool off. Meanwhile, the battle-worn lycanthrope sniffed the air.

The Silver Hand, a large group of bandits that hunted werewolves, had been mostly wiped out, and what few pockets remained were good at hiding. Not good enough, though.

However, searching via scent revealed that the fort was now truly conquered. The blood that remained belonged to the stone now. Reluctantly, the beast entered and moved two beds together and tried to rest, at least until reverting to his normal state.

The lesser scarred werewolf reverts first, revealing Aela, a Nordic huntress and shield-sister to the other beast. She looks over to the recently named Harbinger of The Companions, sleeping as best as he can with blood-matted fur, still trying to let his clock run without fuel until he reverts form. The only thing close to an annoyance with their group hunting was that he gorged himself more, much more, on the bodies to keep the transformation going, though it was probably that combined with his stronger prey drive and personal fulfillment. After all, his first transformation involved him breaking out of the ritual area and hunting down 5 town guards before the first transformation overtook him.

It took hours, but Aela woke up to the beast-turned-man once again, the argonian harbinger Saves-Many-Souls. His pale grey scales, lavender painted cheek spines, and solid blue eyes portrayed kindness, even despite the fact that he was a fierce warrior, and a relentless predator.

"Aela, how long was I resting this time?" He asked, hoping he hadn't eaten up too much time.

"Hard to say, we're in the bowels of a fort, not exactly a zenith of time-keeping," Aela joked before sitting up and checking a nearby pool of semi-dry blood.

"Considering the dampness of the area and the amount of blood spilled, I'd say 10 hours, give or take." She looked to Souls, a smile on her face. "You made quick work of them as always, shield-brother."

She didn't say anything yet, but she saw a flash of a look on Souls' face. A wince quickly masked with a small smile.

"I see! But don't discount your own efforts, Aela. You're far more calculated than I," Souls remarked. He wasn't lying, she was titled a huntress for a reason, and he felt that he took up too much of the center stage at times, so motivating the others was the least he could do.

"I may be more calculated, but I'm not as an efficient hunter as you, at least in numbers during a hunt," Aela retorted, "with a bow, it's another story. But in the heat of a battle, I'd probably think you were born a werewolf out of the gate."

Souls grimaced for a moment, before nodding with a more forced smile. "Well, thank you shield-sister. However," he spoke as he stepped toward the entrance, "with the time spent down here being a tad longer than expected, I gotta be sure I can make it back home. My steward can do much, but Sissel and Hroar shouldn't be raised by hired hand all the time."

Aela smiled. "You speak so casually of having a steward, it's like second nature," she remarked jokingly.

Souls looked a bit more chipper. "Damn, I do sound like I was raised with a silver spoon in the tail-end, huh?" He chuckled softly to himself before lighting his travel lantern. "I'll be back at the house in a day's time, so I'll probably be back at the hall in about a week."

Aela nodded. "I'll see if I can get info on any more Silver Hand activity. It's getting harder to come by, but it's more interesting than random dens of cut throats. It's good to have worthy prey."

There's a tense silence for a few seconds, Souls looking away, before nodding and quietly exiting the room and subsequently the fort. Aela could feel something was up, it wasn't obvious, but she knew him well enough that he wasn't acting as usual. Perhaps she'd have a chance to discuss it soon.

The cobbled stone continued to drink of blood and spilled drink. Somewhere in the hall, a single support beam buckles slightly. A visible crack in the bone. The fort groans slightly as Aela exits.

Some day the hall will collapse, even if in just one spot. Nobody will be there to see it, but the damage will not be any less real.

Saves-Many-Souls arrives at Windstrad Manor after a long horse ride. Built over months by hand, constructing a beautiful home helped keep his mind busy when not being violent, and now the cows are this project.

He enters the home, and removes his armor, the clattering of metal into a chest awakens Sissel, though Hroar rests soundly this late in the evening.

"Papa! You're home!" The young girl exclaimed, jumping into Souls' arms in a warm embrace.

"My little bowl of fire salts, how are you?" Souls asks after setting her down. "Have you been keeping up with your spell casting?"

She nods excitedly and prepares to show her adoptive father, but he stops her, kneeling down. "Sissel, darling, it's very late. Normally I'd love to see your progress, but can it wait for the morning?"

"Aww, but papa..."

"My darling sweet roll, the moons are right above us, it's very late. It's best to cast spells when rested and on a full stomach. Let's get you to bed alright?"

Sissel nods and allows herself to be picked up and carried to bed. Once she is fast asleep, Souls checked on Hroar and his pet mudcrab Shelly. Hroar was sleeping peacefully, with Shelly being vigilant in his protection. Souls grabbed a small herring and treated her before going upstairs to lay in bed. A deep sigh echoed the now quiet halls of Windstrad Manor, as he tried to sleep and hold back tears.

Another night with internal conflict. Another night a support beam buckles.