Skyrim: The Last Dragonborn (The Dragonborn Saga: Book 1)

Chapter 6: Roggnavar

When asked if he knew how to make charcoal, Roggnavar told the smith how he built his own hall and forged nails from charcoal he made in the woods. So during the day, he climbed up the mountain's forest in the center of the island, next to a thin stream, and dug a pit for his charcoal kiln. It was work he had started from sunrise until sunset, stacking wood in a shallow pit with a hole in the center which he then covered with turf.  Channeling his rage, his frustration, the burning sensation that felt closer towards climaxing appeared in the form of white flames that licked the air above the cracked and dray palm of his hand. He dropped the ball of fire down the hole of the pile and made sure the charcoal was lit before stuffing the hole tight and watching for the wisp of smoke peeking from the bracken. If there was too much smoke, he'd known that the belly of the pit was too hot and the wood would combust rather than make charcoal.

But, that's what magic made easy about some things in life.

Charcoal burning wasn't a glamorous life, but it paid its weight in silver and gold. Being a mage met that he could manage the burning and keep the temperature just right - but, he'd have to watch the burning like a hawk. Though, if he did it right, he wouldn't have to watch too hard.

Roggnavar had brought a bedroll from his dugout near the ocean and made a new shelter with branches, turf, and nettle. 

The Nord sat by the side of the pit, in the thin line of smoke, with his knees pulled up to his broad chest. He squeezed his rippling arms around his knees and pillowed his chin between them. Something ached between his legs, a longing. He thought of going back to the village and bringing Tola to the charcoal pit. His mind had drifted to pulling the Horker-pin that held her dress and feeling her nakedness against his.

Roggnavar felt the blood in his body rush to his cheeks and shamed himself for those thoughts. He was married, once, and he couldn't take another woman. The urge inside him, the scornful lusting, had carried him off to sleep thinking about taking Tola in his shelter beside the warmth of the charcoal pit.

***

Roggnavar woke to the sound of bells and shouting. He woke in his shelter beside the charcoal pit, still wearing his clothes made from wool and a vest of horker skin. The Nord rubbed his eyes and thought it was one of his many nightmares, but the ringing was persistent and very real.

He crawled out of his shelter and looked around, still groggy from sleep.

"Rogger!" cried the druid, Modavar, from the top of a grassy knoll. He waved his hands and white robes at Roggnavar in the night air. "Help us!"

Modavar's neck exploded with blood and his body rolled lifelessly down the knoll. Roggnavar saw the archer race over the crest of the hill to retrieve the arrow he had just lost when he locked eyes on Roggnavar. 

The Nord took his axe that rested next to his shelter and charged up the knoll. He didn't care who the archer was, only that he had killed a man of peace. The archer reached for another arrow, drew, and loosed it. 

The arrow grazed Roggnavar's ear and he charged up the knoll. His feet sucked in the mud from yesterday's rainfall. Thunder roared somewhere in the distance over the horseshoe island of Lofoten. As Roggnavar got closer, he could see the archer had candle-like eyes and two teeth like a canine - a vampire.

Roggnavar lept right, dodging another arrow that went hissing over his shoulder. The barbed-end tore free some wool and drew blood - but Roggnavar didn't feel it. Rage had taken over and blood had consumed his eyes. He let out a roar that made the vampire drop his arrow, and, while frantically scrambling for another arrow in his quiver, Roggnavar twisted his torso, and heaved the sharp edge of his axe into the side of the vampire like he was felling a great tree. The vampire shrieked as horribly as a woman giving birth, letting go of his bow as blood and offal squelched all over the rain-slick grass of the short knoll. Roggnavar pressed the heel of his boot into the chest of the vampire, collapsing its ribs, and wrenched his axe free in a fountain of blood.