(From: Chapter Three Act Six: The Hunt (Part 3 of 5))

Torund: Something's happened...

Torund: Taeyva... She... She's lost it.

Torund: We need to talk.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(From: Chapter Three Act Six: The Hunt (Part 3 of 5))

Torund: What the-

Torund: How the fuck did you get so fast?

Taeyva: Heh. Wouldn't you like to know.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(From: Chapter Three Act Six: The Hunt (Part 3 of 5))

Frea: They're called Prophets. They are the incarnate will of Godly beings.

Torund: Wait... So she's not human?

Frea: It's hard to say. Admittedly, we don't know much about them either. They're existence is... rare. To say the least.

Storn: According to legend, they actually harbor a portion of their fathering Daedric Lord's power. Most of that power, however, only comes out when a Prophet is about to fulfill one of their predestined purposes. In Taeyva's case: enacting The Hunt. This could be her only role, or just one of many. It is impossible to know for sure.

Storn: Documented information of Prophets existence are outlandish and few in number. We thought they were a myth. I had no idea what to do when Taeyva first came here fourteen years ago. I tried to convince the child in her to abandon her destiny. She was young, clueless. She couldn't possibly have known what she really is.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(From: Chapter Three Act Six: The Hunt (Part 3 of 5))

Torund: Hey hey hey, look here okay? I'm going to get you through this.

Torund: Taeyva?

Taeyva: You can't. Nobody... c-can.

Taeyva: It's a... p-part... of me.

Taeyva: And yet... I... I still fail...

Torund: You didn't fail, Taeyva.

Taeyva: You don't know that!

Taeyva: I was born into this! Everything I am is just a role! A purpose! No one knows what that's like!

Storn: Now!

Frea: Go, Torund! Run!

Taeyva: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Torund: Don't you dare die on me, Taeyva.

It is quiet in the longhouse. Snowflakes delicately patter against the windows. The fire softly crackles. Occasionally the logs shift and break, gently crumbling into ash. The embers flutter into the air, whimsically dancing about before they vanish. A stray piece rocks back and forth, floating away from the fire. It descends downwards, as if to nestle into the soft fur pelt resting silently on the floor. It sways to and fro, patiently making its descent, when a delicate breeze pushes it off course, snuffing it out.

Another brush of wind passes through the air as Taeyva's chest falls. It gradually rises back up with a long, drawn inhale. Her brows scrunch slightly, pinching her eyelids together. Gradually, they begin to slide open, fluttering frailly.

Taeyva: Nnn... Wha...

As the world around her fades back into clarity, consciousness rushes into her like a shock. She hastily pushes herself up. A readied spell summons into her palm. She frantically looks about and freezes as soon as her head turns.

Torund: Woah woah. Take it easy.

Taeyva's shoulder's relax. She stares at him, what to say completely lost to her.

Taeyva: Torund... I...

Torund holds up his hand. Taeyva stares into his eyes, trying to figure out what he is feeling; aggravation, melancholy, resentment, maybe even all three. She knows she is.

Torund: Now's not the time.

Taeyva: No. Please, listen. I... I couldn't control myself. I'm so sorry. I-

Torund abruptly stands to his feet. His eyes never leave Taeyva while he takes a deep breath.

Torund: Not now.

Each words comes out sternly; patiently. Taeyva realizes the spell still lingers in her hand and she quickly quenches it.

Taeyva: But...

Torund shakes his head. He turns away from her and stomps towards the door.

Torund: Save it. We have other things to deal with right now.

Torund: Come on.

Taeyva shudders as she steps outside the house. The air feels frigid, foreign, and unfamiliar. There is no breeze, no frigid bite, yet a chill passes through her as she sees the village for what feels like the first time.

Every moment from the past few hours lingers in her head clear and detailed, but the memories don't feel like her own. She remembers wooden beams of the center hut exploding. How it toppled over into the snow, spraying a burst of white around it.

Now it is broken, waiting to be disassembled into firewood.

She remembers the house rising into the air behind her. It happened automatically; she didn't even know she was doing it until the shadow had passed over her.

Now it lies still, sunken into the ground like a half-buried corpse.

There is no excuse, no remedy. She knows what she is. The power inside of her... no. That's not what it is. As Taeyva glimpses each of the Skaal's faces, the weight of their fear, their suffering, their anguish, plummets onto her. Her jaw falls slack as the realization of what it truly is hits her.

A curse.

Taeyva: I did this...

Taeyva: It was me...

Torund: No, Taeyva.

Torund speaks up, his voice consoling and gentle. It does not sound genuine.

Torund: That wasn't you.

He doesn't bother turning to face her, instead gesturing ahead of them where four of the Skaal are loudly discussion in a group. Of them are Frea and Storn plus the other two Skaal who were maintaining the barrier.

Frea: Time is running out. Herma Mora could be here any moment.

Storn: It's our only option now, Nikulas.

Nikulas: No! We've done enough for her already! She owes us!

Nikulas: She can fight him off while we try to get the barrier back. Her life doesn't matter no-

Torund: Ahem!

The four Skaal immediately silence at Torund's impertinent interruption. They turn in unison to face him, each adopting a different expression.

Torund: You should choose your words more carefully.

Nikulas grimaces and narrows his eyes, unswayed by Torund's words. Beside him, Finna adamantly places her hands on her hips, cocking her head with a scowl.

Nikulas: And you should sail back on your fucking ship.

Finna: Take the bitch too while you're at it.

Storn shoots them a look, shutting them both up, and swiftly returns his attention to Taeyva.

Storn: You're awake. Strangely, I find myself relieved.

Taeyva fidgets in place. The toe of her boot draws circles in the snow as she deigns to look Storn in the eye.

Taeyva: Storn... I... I'm so sorry. If I could have stopped myself I would have. I just-

Frea: You can apologize through actions. Not words.

The remark is enough to get Taeyva to lift her head. She steps forward. Hopeful and nervous, she speaks hesitantly.

Taeyva: What do you mean?

Storn cocks his head, giving a bemused smile.

Storn: In an odd twist of fate, it seems you are now our only hope.

Taeyva shirks back. She glances at each of the Skaal guiltily. Storn and Frea appear anxious, yet hopeful. Nikulas shakes his head in frustration while Finna is locked in what looks like a continuous eye roll.

Frea: Our barrier is gone. With it, our only defenses.

Storn: Herma Mora is on his way. He seeks the sacred knowledge of The Skaal and after that our lives.

Storn: There is one way to banish him from Solstheim, however.

Taeyva's brows raise. She already knows where they are going.

Storn: Your ritual, The Hunt. A Daedric Prophecy can purge all other daedric presences within it's area of effect.

Taeyva gawks at Storn and Frea, mystified.

Taeyva: You actually want me to enact The Hunt?

Torund chimes in, silent for most of the conversation.

Torund: Surely it's not that simple.

The two Skaal smile in unison, as if they were hoping they would say just that.

Frea: We know there's no way to stop you from doing it. We just ask that any remaining werebeasts on the island are returned to normal.

Storn: Surely you could spare those few so that we can rebuild Solstheim in peace?

Taeyva relaxes. A massive weight leaves her chest and she straightens up, placing one hand on her hip. Despite the melancholy still hanging over her, she cracks a faint, fragile smile.

Taeyva: It's a deal.

Torund led Taeyva to the edge of the village in silence. The walk may have been short, but to Taeyva it seemed to stretch on for miles. She was biting her lip the entire time, struggling to find the words to say to a man whom did not seem to care.

They stopped beside the brazier resting at the start of the path out. Somehow it had avoided her earlier wrath, still planted firmly in the snow with the flame still blazing brightly inside.

Taeyva: Torund... I really am sorry.

Taeyva: I get it. You're mad. You have every right to be. But-

Torund huffs, exhaling unnecessarily loud. Taeyva gulps and bites her swelling lip.

Torund: Do you have everything you need to do this?

The question takes Taeyva off guard. She gapes at him, transfixed on his solemn, unwavering eyes. It's as if he never even heard the apology.

Taeyv'a shoulders sag and she droops her head.

Taeyva: Yeah. I don't need anything else.

Torund nods his head without saying a word. Taeyva looks at him expectantly, scouring for any semblance of emotion in his cold, distant expression.

He doesn't move.

Sighing, Taeyva turns away. She takes a step to leave then stops and faces Torund.

Taeyva: The Hunt won't affect you. I'll make sure of it. And I promise Torund...

Taeyva: ...I'll never force you to help me again.

As soon as she concludes, Taeyva turns and marches down the path, calling out to him one last time.

Taeyva: I hope we can start over after this.

She doesn't hear his sigh over the crunch of snow beneath her boots.

Torund rubs his thumb over his wrist as he watches her leave. It isn't until she dives into a sprint that he pulls away.

With his hand placed on the back of his neck, Torund trudges uncomfortably back into the village. He despises this feeling, one he felt only a couple of times before. It's a festering emotion, distracting and exasperating.

But he has bigger problems right now.

As per his suggestion, the entire village has formed a defensive bubble in front of the longhouse. When Hermaeus Mora arrives, they will immediately be put on the defensive. Survival will depend on whatever upper hand they can scrounge up. Under normal circumstances, the Daedric Lord could probably kill them all with a wave of his tentacles. According to Storn though, he needs them alive in order to withdraw their knowledge.

All they can do is try and bide time for Taeyva to complete the ritual. It isn't the greatest strategy Torund has fought under, but it's all they have.

Frea: So? Is she on the way?

Torund nods.

Torund: She is. Just sit tight and stay prepared. Hermaeus Mora could appear any-

Voice: ...second.

A unanimous gasp emanates from the Skaal. Many shuffle backwards, nearly stumbling over their own feet. Most already begin to tremble and have difficulty holding onto their weapons. Torund curls his lips when he hears the sound of steel cluttering onto the snow. Turning to face the voice, he takes a deep breath and grasps his warhammer.

Torund: I guess time's up.

Hermaeus Mora bellows a heinous laugh.

Hermaeus Mora: Yes. Yes, it is.

Hermaeus Mora: Your time is up.

The hallowed moon rises as the sun over Solstheim descends. The sun disappears behind the island's mountains, casting a dark shadow of Lake Fjalding, plunging it into darkness.

Taeyva stands on the shoreline, watching the chunks of ice sway atop the water. She knows she shouldn't stay idle, but this is something she is going to appreciate. After fourteen years, it is finally time is fulfill The Hunt. Even though it did not start out how she dreamed, Taeyva is determined to end it in a way only she can.

Her fingers tingle with anticipation. The Hunt has four rites that must be fulfilled, concluding with the Bloodmoon's rising. The first rite was completed hours ago. All she had to do was bring werewolves to Solstheim. Torund's willing, yet also unknowing, participation in that worked out perfectly. Hircine was right to withhold the information about the ritual until he arrived, else risk he not agree to do it.

However despite the process already underway, it isn't until now that Taeyva feels like she has truly begun.

Taeyva: Shall we begin?

Taeyva smiles as the grass ruffles behind her. She sensed their presence earlier and is now pleased to call on their aid.

She turns to face her guests; a warm smile spreads over her lips as she gazes at the beasts majesty.

Taeyva: It's been some time since I last saw your kind.

Two werebear trudge heavily towards her. Their paws burrow beneath the snow with each step, leaving large holes in their place after they rise out. The fur covering their bodies bristle and flare out, their teeth are bared and powerful huffs blast visible breaths into the air.

Their threatening appearance does not phase her.

Taeyva: Beautiful.

The werebear march to her side. Their mighty shoulders rise and fall with heavy, gradual breaths. Taeyva runs her fingers across each of their snouts, reaching into the human trapped inside. As much as she yearns to believe they are just beasts, she can no longer deny the existence of their other lives. It is something she will force herself to remember in the days to come.

She turns away. Extending her arm, she reaches out to the lake, spreading her fingers wide as tendrils of fire ignite around them.

Taeyva: The hound has arrived. Now the pillar must rise.

As she speaks, the fire in her hand burns hotter. Embers begin to surface atop the lake, dancing atop the water, unafraid of being snuffed out.

Taeyva: Burn the glass. Before the eye...

Taeyva: ...only red will pass.

Hermaeus Mora: You Skaal have evaded me long enough.

Hermaeus Mora: But now, finally, I will reap the last remaining knowledge of this decaying world.

Hermaeus Mora: Are you ready?

Torund scoffs at the question. The Daedric Lord's mocking, pompous attitude makes his lips curl. Hermaues Mora is not going to wait for them to prepare anyway. If that wasn't obvious before, then the lurkers who seem to have appeared out of nowhere have made it blatant.

Frea: Do not fear! We can and will survive this!

Torund chuckles. Frea's boisterous and confident cry is well-said, but redundant. He doesn't even need to look behind him to know many of the Skaal are riddled with terror. The shaking of their breaths is not from the cold, nor is their antsy footwork. To the Skaal, the creatures stomping towards them are more than menacing foes, they are death itself. However, Torund has to give them credit. Here they still stand, accepting whatever fate awaits them.

Torund: Hold the line! Charge on my command!

It feels strange issuing orders to people he considered rivals just moments earlier. Commanding a battle is not something he has experience in, but Storn and Frea insisted on him doing it. It had nothing to do with leadership, instead with, as Frea put it, "you're loud and brazen. Maybe your recklessness will rub off."

Torund: Wait for it!

The lurkers' approach is slow. They trudge with heavy steps, laden by the weight of their own bodies. Torund had no trouble taking one down, but even with the Skaal behind him, the five lurkers he faces now are daunting. And until Hermaeus Mora is gone, their numbers will only increase.

Torund tightens his grip on his hammer. It's time.

With a deep breath, he slams down his first step. Charging straight into the center, he lets out a bellowing, boisterous warcry.

Torund: Now!

Right on cue, the Skaal match his holler, roaring with a fired up intensity that only warriors fighting to their last stand could muster. Without the tiniest semblance of terror, they rally behind him, charging headlong into the fight.

The lurkers don't falter. They immediately drop into stance. Emanating a shrill, pitched scream, they rear back their claws, ready to strike.

Torund: Take this, you fish fuck!

Torund sprints into the center of the group, Frea alongside him, taking it on themselves to deal with the bulk of Mora's forces. He sets his sights on the center most lurker. It lifts it's burly, slimy arms over it's head. It's claws flex as it sends it's hands crashing down; too slow.

Torund: Hrah!

The lurker roars in agony as Torund's hammer impales it's chest. He hears it's rib's crack as the lurker tumbles to the ground. As his foe falls to a heap, he sees Frea having equal success. Her axe burrows into her opponents chest. She twists the weapon around, causing the beast to scream in agony. It's bones shatter with an audible snap, somehow louder than the shrieking.

However while he and Frea are making quick work of the creatures, the remaining Skaal are struggling.

Finna: Oof!

Nikulas: Gah!

Oslaf: Hrraaahh!

Baldor: Ahhh!

With an infuriated grunt, Torund yanks his eyes away, just as another lurker charges at him. He isn't going to get the chance to help them.

Torund: Fine. If that's how it's going to be.

Torund: I'll kill you all myself!

The tide is still on Solstheim's northern coast. The moon casts a faint glow upon the almost entirely black water, illuminating the blood trickling into it from the shoreline.

Taeyva: Sorrowful seas...

Taeyva inhales the aroma. The scent wafts through the air and fills her nostrils.

Taeyva: ...massacre the slow.

She shudders as the power washes over her. Her heart beats with a ravenous intensity, as if it is feeding the blood from the corpses into her own bloodstream.

Taeyva: Down the moon...

Every bead of the horker's life essence is at her disposal. Though it all lingers in puddles atop the snow, she can feel the blood drench her. Her hands feel moist and slimy. Her nerves tingle as it trickles down across her arms and drips from the tips of her fingers.

Taeyva: ...their blood will...

She gazes upon the hallowed moon with a shaky breath. There is only one place to direct this power.

Taeyva: ...flow.

Nikulas: Look out!

Deor: Get back!

Deor: Hraaaah! Take this!

Oslaf: Stay back, creature!

Oslaf: I won't let you kill any others!

Torund: Get off of me, you fuck!

Torund punches out against the lurker, making more impact with his fist than with his warhammer. The lurker groans, tipping over as it's feet slip out from under it.

He has no idea how that managed to incapacitate the beast, but right now he doesn't care. Another lurker charges him from behind, it's thudding, cumbersome stomps announcing it's attack. Without breaking pace, Torund lurches around. He extends his arm and jabs it between the legs.

Torund: Not even close!

Frea: You good, Torund?

Frea hollers at him in the heat of battle. Despite being a holed up on Solstheim her whole life, she is remarkably potent in a battle. Torund is pretty sure most of the lurker corpses are her handiwork, though he isn't about to admit it.

Torund: Ha! Better than ever!

The fight has only lasted for a few minutes, but the casualties say otherwise. Torund and Frea alone have slaughtered more than they can count. However with each lurker they kill, it seems two more take it's place. And while Hermaeus Mora's forces are endless, theirs have already started to suffer. He witnessed Finna dying firsthand. Impaled by a lurker's claws, she was thrust into the air and tossed around like a rag doll. Another on he only caught out of his peripheral vision, chucked through the air like a small stone. Plenty of horrified screams of both pain and terror told him that many more deaths have occurred as well.

Frea: Take this!

Frea swings out with her axe just as spirals of flame shoot out from her foes open jaws. The heat swells against her cheek. She keeps moving, twisting around her arm to get behind the lurker's armored leg. The flames shoot by her. The snow melts into a puddle, conjoining with the blood. The lurker can't recuperate as Frea slices the back of it's calf. It tips over with a roar, blood spurting from the open wound.

Frea: Yeah! Take that!

Torund: Grrrr!

Torund strikes his hammer into another lurker's gut. Breath flees its lungs with a loud hiss as it crashes into the snow.

Torund: Grah!

He doesn't waste a second. As the lurker struggles to get back to it's feet, Torund swings out. His warhammer cracks against the monster's skull. He hears another lurker behind him. Reforming his grip, he tries to spin around to face it. His boots slosh through the blood and melted snow and slip out below him as a massive pain jabs into the small of his back.

Torund: Ahhh!

His helmet flies from his head as he falls. His warhammer slips out of his grip and clatters against the ground. For a brief moment he is completely airborne before he face plants into the snow. He forces himself up by his hands, spitting snow from his lips. It comes out a diluted mix of blood and water.

Torund: Ack... Damn it.

Torund did not realize how exhausted he was. His arms tremble as he tries to sit up, while his vision blurs and doubles. The snow below him appears as a kaleidoscope of fuzzy red and white.

Tiny chunks of ice hop up and down with the pounding of heavy steps behind him. He desperately tries to stand up. With a final, brazen attempt, he pushes up with his arms, only managing to flip himself over on his back.

Torund: Fucking shit.

Towering above him, a lurker raises it's talons. Torund instinctively shields his face, knowing it won't do any good either way.

Torund: What a way to end it.

Torund squeezes shut his eyes and awaits the killing blow.

It doesn't come.

He hears a heavy thud to his left, followed by many more, alongside stunned, incredulous gasps.

Torund: What the...

Torund opens his eyes. A gasp leaves his lips as he glances upon the lurker's lifeless corpse, collapsed in a heap beside him.

He looks over the rest of the village.

Hermaeus Mora has suddenly vanished, without a sound. The remaining Skaal stand frozen, eyes glued to the carcasses at their feet.

Frea: Did she...

Deor: I think so...

Nikulas: By the All-Maker...

Oslaf: They're dead.

Frea: She did it. It's done.

 

To be continued in part 5...

 

I realize that I didn't go into super detail explaining exactly what the four rites of The Hunt are. It isn't my idea, it is a part of Elder Scrolls Lore. And honestly, the steps are not all that important to the story, so I didn't bother shoving them in. Feel free to look it up, but if you want to know, here:

1. Werewolves appear on Solstheim

2. A pillar of Fire erupts from Lake Fjalding, known as "Fire from the Eye of Glass"

3. Horkers are slain along the northern coast. This is called the "Tide of Woe"

4. The Bloodmoon appears, specifically over Nirn's smaller moon: Secunda.

But where The Hunt is not mine, the little rhythmic Taeyva recites is. So don't look that up expecting to find anything on it.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 5