"We recognized the features of Lucy Westrna, but yet how changed.

The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness." ¬Jack Steward, Bramstoker's Dracula

 

 

We Failed..."I" Failed.

 

  I arrived too late, all that remained were ashes and embers, empty hallways littered with broken urns, their treasures looted. The ancient dead, their usefullness as servitors for the vile cult spent they were simply cast aside, empty husks whose souls were now free to claw their way back to Sovenguard or taken, imprisoned in black crystals, for more nefarious purposes.And there in the main chamber left amidst the blood, mud and less pleasant liquids her captors spilt in their debauchery, Safia al-Rusa. Once daughter of a prominent family in Sentinel, graduate of the Rahni'Za school of warriors, agent of the Passion Dancer, now a lifeless corpse, twisted, broken and defiled.

 

 

  The road back to Markarth seemed longer than the road that lead me here, and yet it was without incident, neither beast or savage harried the paths, the usual visciousness of the Reach did not venture out this day to intrude in the lives of the faithfull. Even it's fog had abated, the cobbled road could be seen for as far as it stretched, free of the gloom that would hide ambush and horrors from those that would traverse it. Nor did it cloak the mountains, concealing the broken towers and tombs where the Forsworn would beat their wardrums and perform black and bloody rituals, the crags were naked of their mist, stone spires fully visible as they calwed at the skies. Skies that were blue, sunny, cheerfull, either the Dibella did not notice her fallen or did not care, either way the heavens did not weep. It could almost be considered a pleasant day, an enjoyable ride through the hills, were the sad corpse thrown across the back of Magnus' saddle not a constant reminder.

 

 

  The priest of Arkay, brother Ikard, had not yet returned from his sojourn to Reachcliff cavern and so mother Hamal performed the funery rites. Between forsworn in the hills, insurgents in the city and the civil war, corpses passed through the streets in a constant steady stream and were no longer paid any heed, and so being a relative newcomer to the city, few knew of the fallen sister, and fewer still came to mourn her passing. The interment was short and somber. The sisterhood removed themselves to the sanctumm to raise a tankard. Nords, they commemorate everything with drink, a successful hunt, a comming of age, a battle, a defeat, a death, anything can be an excuse to break open the kegs.

 

 

  I left them to their revelry to instead stalk the bookshelves where I soon learned of the Nord's second failing, records. The temple library consisted of a mere two ill kept bookshelves and little in the way of literary knowledge. Frostlanders keep their histories in song and saga, with the exception of a few luminaries such as Shalidor, there were less than a handfull of notable nordic authors. Nords don't have libraries, they have Bards. I found myself yearning for the grand cathedrals I had left in Wayrest and Bankorai, sprawling studies and bibliotheca with wall after wall of tomes containing everything from travel logs and copied journals, to prayer books and genologies and of course, being temples of the lady, intricately illustrated texts on erotic instruction, often taken from their shelves and read with quiet giggles by novices.

 

 

  These shelves lacked all of these, most of them had instead been given over to storage of random clutter, potions, oils and ointments, tools other odds and ends the sisters used for ritual then haphazedley stashed away. Perhaps most importantly they were devoid of the items I sought most, bestiaries, daedrologies, tomes detailing enemies of the faith. Pushing aside another book of bawdry poetry and letting out another sigh of frustration as I rescanned the shelves for anything usefull. The sect behind our newest sorrow must be brought to heel and purged from Tamriel, but to find them I would need knowledge. The order of the Hour or the Knighs of the Circle, would no doubt have entire vaults dedicated to the subject, but as far as I knew neither kept chapterhouse in the North.

 

 

  "But Stendarr does."
I had not heard the elder enter the room, slipping beside me to peer at the sorry state of the shelves.
"The witchhunters of Stendarr's Vigil keep a Hall in the North, from there they march forth to harass the populace, seeing Necrology in every shadow and Daedra in every broom cuboard." Her usual shrill shrieking tone that would send novices and suplicants alike scrambling was hoarse, cracked and broken as she peered to me and gave a roll of her eyes, shaking her head and setting her tankard down.
"I always thought them foolish. The Oblivion crisis was over long long ago, they're still trying to fight a war that has already passed and looking for an enemy that no longer exists. But they will have what you seek."

 

 

  She stalked to a cabinet and slipped from her robes a key, rusty and time worn, clinking open the doors and removing from it a large roll of cloth, unraveling it to reveal a finely crafted blade, it's edges shimmering in the candlelight, she held it aloft before proffering it to me.
"Hrmphs! Don't give me that look, I wasn't always a grouching old dragon. I stood in your shoes once, full of fire and vigor, of course, I filled out a bra better." It was only a slight break in her stern visage, if I had blinked I'd probably have missed her lips twitching into a smirk and the sly wink before they settled once more into a mirthless counternance. "When I was ordained a knight of the Lily at her Lady's chantry in Anvil the primate granted me that blade. It ended more threats to the faith than you've had virgins, it might as well do so again."
"What do you ask of me Mother?"
"It's a long road to the Pale, but Stendarr's fanatics are the most likely to have knowledge of this cult. You will go and learn what you can of our enemy and then return swiftly, that we may put them to the pyre"

 

 

  I unclipped my own blade and set it aside, buckling on Hamal's in it's place.  "I will leave at first light and see it done."
I turned to leave and find my quarters when her voice stopped me once more.
"Tread carefully Montalion. The Vigilants are zealous, fanatic, many of them are rabid in their haste to stomp out the profane." Her familliar shrill tongue had returned, her distaste for the temple of stendar clear in her scathing tone. "When you dedicate yourself to your cause by any means necessary, any means neccessary can mean justifying some extreme things." She began to walk away, back to the sanctum doors where the laughter of the sisters as they told yet another tale could be heard echoing from the stone. "Be sure the woman that comes back to us is the the same one we sent out."

 

 

  Hamal spoke truthfully. The road to Dawnstar was indeed long, made longer by the route I had planned, consulting maps and the Legionaires stationed in the great Understone keep, rather than a direct path to the Hold I charted a course that wound through the province, sidestepping known areas of trouble, bandit encampments and sites where the Civil war still raged. Whilst extending the journey would cost me perhaps a month extra on horseback, it did mean I could take in more of the vast landscape. The colossal tundra of whiterun, miles and miles of miles and miles, a vast sea of grass that seemed to extend for an eternity, broken only occaisionally for some ancient monument to deeds and events long forgotten to the ages. The snowcapped Throat of the World, titanic in size, dwarfing the White-Gold and Adamantite tower of Balfiera both, looming over the winding mountain trails where the holds of Whiterun Falkreath and the Rift met. And the Rift it'self, it's leaves the colour of dried blood and rust, as though the forest were eternally locked in autumn.

 

 

  The paths we took, thankfully, remained uneventfull. Not that I was naieve enough to believe these realms peaceful, the Reach may be the most grim and forboding of the Nine holds, but darkness and savagery will hide in all corners of the world. But none  harassed my progress, short of a few wolves the greatest danger on the journey was tedium. When the sun rose Magnus was saddled and we progressed, when it fell we slept, either in makeshift campsites or in warm rented rooms. Inns and taverns dotted the landscape, seated upon busy crossroads or important traderoutes and in these places the discomforts of the long days ride could be eased. After all, each of them had strapping young men or delicious damsels, several lonely souls who needed the goddesses' touch as much as I needed to allieviate days and weeks worth of aches the saddle could inflict on one's crotch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  It was only upon reaching the small hamlet of Ivarstead that cycle of tedium and lusty delights was broken. Nestled at the foot of the mountain at the edge of the Rift's great Fall forest, a handful of timber houses built around an aged barrow, known mostly as a supply stop for pilgrims on their way to meditate at the reknowned Seven Thousand Steps, but otherwise unremarkable. I expected such a place to be as quiet and sleepy as the countless others I had passed through, yet as Magnus trotted towards the bridge over lake Honrich a scream pierced the air, snapping me from my idle reverie to dig my heels into Magnus' sides, urging him to press forwards toward the source. A man, eyes wide with terror scrambling towards the bridge and beyond him, the source of his horror.

 

 

  A spectre reared behind the man. A withered wretch, the remains of it's dress tattered and sunscorched, it's features rotten and hollow, stained with filth and gore, and around it's brow a crown of woven brambles and withered flowers, a mockery of the wreaths a comely maiden might wear. Perhaps once it had been a woman, but now it was a repungant abomination, Hamal's blade slipped from it's sheathe as I advanced, but she was faster, unearthly fast. The apparition let out another scream, a howl that could stop a man's heart and freeze his blood in his veins, it was all it took for the man to falter in his flight, stumbling on the cobbles and she was upon him. A heart beat, a blink of an eye and he was gone, her mere touch seemed to sap him, his limbs atrophied in seconds he threw his head back to let out a cry but no sound came, his visage shrivelled and his face became locked in that last desperate look of horror. The abberation abbruptly dropped him to the ground and lifted it's decayed head to glare at me and then, she was gone.

 

 

  The remains lay where she unceremoniously cast him aside. Parched and dessicated, as if she had ripped the very life from him, eye sockets and lips blackened and scorched, his clothing burnt away and the flesh where she touched him seared away exposing his bones. It looked as though a man that had expired mere moments ago had been dead for decades. Of his assailant there was no sign, the spirit had vanished into Aetherius leaving no trace, no trails or sign of her passing but the hapless nord she had ravaged. The rest of the street was empty and silent as I had expected it to be when I arrived, a silence suddenly broken by the latching of bolts, the rattle of chains and a creak as a door cautiously opened a crack and a worried, dishevelled head peered out into road. followed by a frantic whispering.

 

"Psst, you! Quickly, in here before it returns."

 

 

  He opened the door wide enough for me to shuffle inside then immediately slammed it shut once more, latching his bolts back into place, I had my doubts that locks, chains and deadbolts would halt the creature's progress should it want entry, but I kept my silence, it obviously makes him feel safe, and if he feels safe, he'll be calm enough to talk. I appeared to be in a tavern, much like the many I had enjoyed on the road here, not as well kept perhaps, but serviceable, larger than I'd expect for a hamlet this size, probably extra space to cater for the pilgrims. Few other souls were gathered within. A man with gritted teeth, sat alone clutching his cup, obviously shaken, a barwench, trying to keep busy sweeping the floors but the grip she kept on her broom and her shaking hands betrayed her nervousness. And the man that ushered me in, now heading to the bar counter where he procured a bottle and proceeded to pour a tankard, sliding it to me before filling his own, lifting it briefly before draining it in one long mouthfull.

 

 

  "So it got Skagrim." He said topping up his tankard once more. "I told him. I TOLD HIM! Stay indoor, but no, probably thought he could sneak out catch a glimpse of Tembra or Fastred bathing, Idiot!!" He proffered the bottle at me again, I waved it away.
"You knew him?"
"Aye. Skagrim, Vanskyr and Hrorond. Used to be miners in a place called Soljund's, came into town months ago and took work at Temba's mill." Another drink, slower this time less frantic. "Rogueish scamps the three of them, always chasing the skirts, but harmless, good boys mostly. Or they were, Now both Vanskyr and Skagrim are gone, taken by it."
"What is "It?""
"The thing from the barrow. I told them, I told everybody. That place is haunted, it's always been haunted. But they all laughed, Wilhelm, spinning tales, trying to lure people to the "haunted tavern." pPyah! Look how many of them are laughing now." The man lifted an arm and gestured to his two patrons, sloshing alcohol on his counter with a scowl.
"Nobodie's been to investigate the Barrow?"
"No, nobody's been foolish enough, before the hauntings began Reyda used to go there, collecting herbs. She was the first to be taken by it. These days? Nobody veentures out unless they have to. Except Naarfi, but he's...."Different.""
"Who's Naarfi?"
"Naarfi is Reyda's brother. Harmless if a little eccentric, hasn't been the same since his parents passed, and once his sister was taken, well..." A pause, another drink. "He won't leave the remains of his house, no matter how much I urge him. So far It's left him alone, but it's a matter of time."
"I'm going to need a room." I dropped a small pouch of coin on the counter. "And a list of people the wraith has killed."

 

 

  "Reyda, Reyda, Reyda." I'm not sure the innkeeper's description of "Different" was a strong enough term to describe the hermit. "I can't see you Reyda, why are you hiding? Hidey, hidey, hidey."
I found him in the ruin of his family home, a wreckage of timber and ash, I had my doubts the wraith had caused this devastation, did the fire happen before or after his family had died out and who caused it? I'd have to make a note to ask Wilhelm. Whatever had happened to this family, the man's mind was gone, dancing with Shegorath in the isles. His clothing, long neglected, was now rags, torn and tattered. Looking him over I couldn't detect any charms or wards, no amulets that might explain why the spectre choose to leave him be. Perhaps it feared his madness, or perhaps it simply took pity upon him, a lost soul as wretched as she was. Either way, with his mind in this state he was a dead end in my enquiries.

 

 

  Geirmund's Hall, Wilhelm's "Haunted Barrow". According to the innkeeper the source of the hauntings for generations, yet in the afternoon sun it looked peacefull, a serene island on lake Honrich. A cursory walk around the locale revealed no traces of the wraith's passing, clawmarks had been scrabbled in the ground in places several trees bore fould smelling stains but no signs of the scorching the fiend's touch brought, probably wolves frequenting the island marking their territory. The only sign I found that the island was visited at all by men was a woven basket, dropped haphazardly to the ground, spilling flowers and herbs, most of them now withered. The innkeeper had told me Reyda, the first victim. frequented this place to collect flowers and herbs. So the basket was hers and this is where she fell, but where was the corpse? I'd have to venture deeper, drawing my blade and entering into the barrow's cave entrance in search of answers

 

 

  Another ancient crypt, built to house the Nordic dead whilst they await the call to Sovengarde. If you believe the tavern boasting of adventurers and treasure hunters, every nordic tomb is a hive of walking dead and festering evil, the same claim can be heard in Cyrodil, Highrock, Alinor and any other realm where necropoli were built. Truth is far more mundane, most crypts are quiet somber graveyards, devoid of both life and unlife and perhaps more dissapointing to those same treasure hunters, devoid of riches. This barrow followed that pattern, no rattle of chains, no moans of shambling draugr, as far as I could tell there was no tampering with the crypts, the dead slept soundly and seemed content to remain that way. Despite the presence of yet more stains, their scent betraying that the wolves had wandered into the crypt at some point, and a number of large cobwebs, my exploration was not interrupted by beasts that might have laired within. Like the island's exterior, it seemed as though Geirmund's barrow had been almost free of trespass. Untill I found the corpse.

 

 

  Nord, female, somewhat young. Tethered to a plinth with worn leather binds, they didn't look like the work of the ancient nords, a newer addition to the crypt. She had curious runes scratched into the flesh around the collar and a number of other bruises and wounds but probably not what killed her. she was thin, too thin, gaunt face it's lips stained with dried blood, small teeth marks, human, dotted her arms at odd angles almost as if she'd made them herself. Starved to death, twisted her head around and tried to chew through her own arms to stave off her hunger. Her wrists were discoloured from the cuffs and her fingers bore dull the dull green stains of someone who'd been handling flora. Reyda then, the flower girl. I rose to my feet again, dusting off the dust and debris and simply stood peering at the sorry thing. The phantom hadn't killed her, even if she'd have had the tell tale marks where it's touch had seared her, I doubt the spectre would have gone to the trouble of chaining it's victim up and leaving her to expire from famine. Someone else was behind this.

 

 

  I left the gloom of the catacomb behind, more questions spinning their way through my mind. The tales of a haunted barrow kept most locals away from the isle, made it a perfect spot to ambush and kidnap the girl. Ivarstead was a small community, tiny really, that narrowed the list of subjects. Mulling through my thoughts I did not notice as she unfolded her arms and peeled herself away from her tree, a smile curved on her lips and brown eyes twinkling as she watched me. Her hair was grass-green, crowned with a pair of antlers. Her skin was a dull green patched in places with tree bark with dark veins visible, pulsing as she approached.

 

 

  "Curious, isn't it? Yes! Things of Flesh do not come here, do not like it's island, fear it. But not the Thing of Fire, no she is not afraid, much like the Thing of Flowers is it not? yes!." Her voice was cheerfull, but shifted in pitch constantly, soft as a gentle breeze then shrill as birdsong and back again. "Poor, poor thing of flowers."
"It's her isn't it? Reyda is the Wraith." I paced forwards, slowly, not gripping the hilt of my blade, but keeping my hand close. She didn't seem to be a threat, but I wasn't about to take chances.
"Curious, isn't it? Yes. Asks a question and then answers it." She paused in her steps and seated herself on a rock, still beaming her smile, arms swinging by her sides. "Yes. Poor Thing of Flowers is now a thing of sorrow." She peered past me to the cave entrance and her smile briefly broke into a frown.
"I'm assuming you weren't behind it. And I'm guessing you don't know who is?"
"No, she does not. The Thing of Flowers, she would come and visit, she would talk with the forest and she would sing. But then she cried, and the cries became screams. She screams still and her screams sicken the forest." The creature shook her head slowly and raised a hand gesturing around her.
"And you, what are you?"
"She is her." The creature nodded firmly then noticing my confusion burst into quiet giggles. "She is a thing of the forest, so are the others like her. The Thing of Flowers called her "Sunberry""
"Sunberry, that will do. You're a spriggan? A sylph maybe?"
"Spriggans, sylphs, sisters! All the same, all things of the forest. The mother of winds planted the seeds, they grew into the forest and they grew into things."

 

 

  There's a myriad of forest spirits, Stormhaven alone was home to at least a dozen, their demeanor's varied greatly, from cheerfull nypmhs and mischivious sprites to Spriggans and Neireids. Whatever manner of creature this one was, it seemed benevolent for the most part. She seated herself on a boulder and started to sing to herself though not in a tounge I recognised, a beautifull voice, it made me wonder what Reyda's voice sounded like when she came and they sung together. Reyda came here as she had done countless times before, yet this time she'd been waylaid and left to die, alone and in agony. A tragic end, and enough to keep her spirit here, angry and vengefull.
"Going to have to bury the body. And investigate the village, someone knows something." Musing to myself really, didn't realise I'd muttered aloud untill the creature spoke up.
"You should start with Amarok." She beamed her smile once more and hopped from her rock, arms swaying.
"Wilhelm never mentioned Amarok, who is he?"
"Amarok is what the Thing of Flowers called him when he'd come to the island to cool in the waters and leak all over the trees."
"The claw marks...sprite, wolves's can't talk."
"The Amarok can't speak in the tounge of the snowmen, so he can't tell the thing of fire things. But he comes to this island often, and he has eyes."
"How does that help us?" I raised a brow at her, suddenly curious once more.
"Come, she will show you!" She reached out to grab my wrist, tugging me along as she began to turn and prance through the forest.

 

 

  She entered the lake and submerged, appearing at the other side a short while later, I unhitched the small rowboat and took it in her direction. She lead me through the forest, still singing her merry tune as she skipped and traipsed effortlessly through the undergrowth. Occaisionally she would pause, dashing from her path to pluck up wild flowers, sprigs of grass or mushrooms, she seemed to know their locations almost by instinct, springing back into step and never pausing in her stride. Wildlife that would usually scamper into hiding as soon as there was so much of a hint of human intrusion paid us no heed, whether Sunberry was purposefully soothing them or if her mere prescence put forth a calming aura, I could not tell. Whilst deer, squirrels and rabbits gave us no more than a cursory glance, I wasn't prepared to take that chance with the wolf.

 

 

  The wolves' den was carved into a cliff, the great mountain of High Hrothgar looming overhead. The small grotto sat beside the river, fed from waterfalls leading down from the direction of Ivarstead and the mountainside, Nirnroot chimed along the banks, Sunberry stooped to snatch them up as she has so many other herbs along the way. It was probably a reliable source of fish, salmon serving to stave off hunger when the beasts hunts failed. That didn't seem to be an issue for them lately, I could see the carcase of deer and goats, along with the dry bones of other animals the bear had already picked clean. None of the remains looked human, but I imagine given a bad hunt and enough desperation that could change. I placed my hand on the blade's hilt, I've never been a hunter, but I knew enough that I could handle a wolf, both of them if need be.

 

 

  "I assume you have a plan? Some kind of forest magic?" I asked her as I crouched low, not wanting to alert the beasts to our presence just yet.
"Oh yes. she knows a mixture." She chuckled, patting the small sack of herbs she'd picked. "When it bubbles it will make Smoke, the Thing of Fire breathes this and she will see what Amarok has seen."
"We should get to it then, start mixing." I didn't take my eyes off the beasts, yet despite the situation, I couldn't be frustrated at Sunberry. Her constant smile and enthusiasm were infectious.
"Soon. She needs one more ingrediant, Amarok's liquid." She waved a hand at the wolf and nodded.
"You want me to get you it's blood?" I tightened my grip on the hilt once more, it was going to be a battle after all.
"Of course not!" She gave me a look of pure panic, horrified I'd even suggested it, flailing her hands in a circular motions whilst she tried to find the words. "His seeds!"
"Calm dow..wait what?" It was my turn to stare at her bewildered, my jaw flapping as I tried to form words. "His seed? How do you expect me to get that?"
"Copulation! Procreation!" I was speechless, my mind stunned  but she seemed entirely jubilant about the idea. "You mate with him of course."
"Sunberry...it's a wolf." I wanted to yell the words at her, but all I managed was a quiet hiss. "How?..Why?...What??"
"It is simple, the Thing of Flowers did it all the time."
"Reyda... Reyda laid with wolves?" My thoughts were reeling, this woodland spirit had gone from joy and cheeriness to utter madness.
"Not wolves, A wolf. Singular." She pointed at Freki. "And now you must, we need the seeds."

 

 

   I was still trying to process the fact that Reyda had lain with the beast, let alone that Sunberry now wanted ME to lay with the it. But She had already gripped my wrist once more and had started to drag me towards the lair, even as I started to form protests to stammer at her.
"Shhh. No loud noises. The Thing of Fire follows and watches, yes?"
Both Amarok and his fellow cainines had by now awoken, giving a quiet growl, a shake of the fur and pushing up onto all fours, watching the scene cautiously. As with the other woodland critters, they made no warnings or took effort to move, beyond a yawn, Amarok took no actions at all, clearly Sunberry's presence had a calming effect on the forests.
"Move slowly, yes? You will handle Amarok, she will occupy the other. Watch her carefully and do exactly as she does." Letting go of my wrists she turned, crouched, thrust out her hands and got onto all fours, lowering herself and lifting her rear.
"Now you. Yes, yes. Loose some cloth weaves and then do as she does."
I stood, somewhat limp and simply stared at the scene aghast, the creatures ears had perked up slightly, it lifted it's head and sniffed the air, suddenly curious. I began to question whether Sunberry was a creature of Kynareth or of Sheogorath, this was madness. Yet after a brief hesitation I found myself stripping away cloth and chain, clenching my teeth, biting into my lip and mimicing her, squatting down, crawling to all fours and assuming the same position the Sylph had.
"Good, now shake yes? entice him." She began to shake her rear, peering at the wolf, her firm round cheeks swinging back and forth to tantalise the beast. With a sigh I began to sway my own, she sent me a wink. "And now we wait."

 

 

  It was the snout first, hot breath on my posterior as he began to sniff, cold wet nose eventually pushing into my buttocks nudging the cheeks appart to investigate the scent more closely then moving down towards the mound snuffling at it. A quiet whine had me peering across to Sunberry, the wolf examing her somewhat more eager than Amarok, it had already begun to graze her with it's tounge, I could see her tense and arch her back, giving a small shudder with every touch. Either encouraged by his pack mate's example or simply to prove he was still the alpha, I soon felt Amarok push against me. His coarse tongue starting to rub against my crevice, nudging appart the folds to better lap at the soft flesh. I could already feel the heat fush into my cheeks and embarassing as it was to admit feeling arousal at the contact and as much as I tried to fight it, I couldn't help emulate the forest woman, giving involuntary shivvers of pleasure.
"More yes?" Sunberry's voice had me peer across, she'd shifted her body, coiling around to brush the wolf's fur and reach beneath him, taking his manhood first to her hands, then to her lips. "More yes. Need to encourage them to get what we needs." I heard her splutter between licks and slurps against it's prick.

 

 

 

  It's disturbing to admit how reluctant I was to break contact with Amarok, but eventually I turned myself to peer at him, trying to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. Thoughts that went something like this. "Are you doing this? It's done, you can stop this insanity. Do you want to stop this insanity? You want to continue. You NEED to continue." And that was that, before logic and reason could reassert themselves I found myself sliding beneath the hound, his cock now fully unsheathed and his sacks bulging I steeled myself and extended my tounge. Warm and slick and surprisingly tasty, Amarok pawing into the mud told me that it was as enjoyable to him as I was finding it, masaging his testicles as I moved up and down washing his member with my tongue, planting soft kisses against it's sticky surface. Dibella's faithfull have been accused of harlotry since time immemorial, but this? This was a new level of debauchery, this wouldn't be discussed in the cloistered halls with the other sisters.

 

 

 

  The sound of gasps and spluttering told me the nymph had already milked her quarry. I could hear the sensible voice in the back of my mind, wishing that her beast was the alpha so that we would now have the prize we sought and we could be done with this debauched absurdity, it was drowned out by a louder voice, one that was wanton and shameless and wanted no end to the depravity it was enjoying. Amarok was not going to give away his bounty as easily as his packmate had, pulling away from my lips he paced around me, I'd thought he'd lost interest and heard the quieter voice give a sigh of relief, the thought had barely formed when his weight landed upon my back, I could hear his hind legs scrabble for purchase against the ground as he sought to push aside my lower lips and impale me on his thick round member. The voices returned, one urging a prayer to Dibella for deliverance, the other offering a scream of delight, in the end I did neither instead scrunching my eyes shut and clenching my teeth as he entered, his bulbous tool expanding and then beginning it's assault.

 

 

 

  An initiate into the temples of Dibella see's a great many genatalia, all shapes and all sizes, those who go onto take their vows will taste and experience a great many more, with varying degrees of satisfaction. I wonder how many had experienced one such as this, and how many would admit to it? Rutting in the mud and dirt, it was at once horrifying and liberating, it was unlike any I had taken training as a novice, and unlike any I had trialed since. Amarok's girth alone allowed him to stretch my chasm further and lunge deeper than any man or mer had, and his vigor outstripped them all never once pausing in his violation of my chamber, nor did I imagine my own stamina been put to such purposes, the more he fucked I found myself fucking back.  Glancing to the nymph drenched in white filth and her companion his own piece still on display, the pair of them only furthering my lust, so much so that I found myself reaching for him wrapping my fingers around his organ and tugging him closer. As euphoric as Amarok's onslaught was, if this was to be my path to Oblivion, I wanted more and he obliged.

 

 

 

   If one hound felt divine, two was utterly rapturous, all thoughts and concerns evaporated, replaced with a frenzied delirium. All orrafices plundered and despoiled, first my lips, then my rump and sore yet still eager cunt. Involuntarily thrashing and wailing like a whore untill I could take no more,tensing and then releasing with a last shudder, I broke. Neither seemed to notice, neither seemed to care, both continued to pummel their throbbing lengths into both whoreholes. I was spent utterly, just a ragdoll to be speared for what seemed an eternity before they too threw their heads back letting loose unified howls of victory as they released a deluge of warm white cream building up inside and then exiting in sticky torrents down my thighs and across the floor.

 

 

  "If you listen closely, you can hear the mother of winds rejoicing!" The Nymph chirpped at me jubilantly whilst I gasped for breath. The beasts were spent and with a yawn, curled up once more to sleep. I wanted nothing more than to join them, dripping with sweat, mud and filth and leaking from the holes that had been so thoroughly used, the ravaging the beasts had given me, left me exhausted, every muscle in my body seemed to ache. Huddling into their warm fur to rest was more than tempting. Unlike the ever cheerfull Sunberry, I couldn't hear any celebrations on the winds. I doubted either Lady Kynareth or Dibella would be overjoyed at this outcome, Hircine perhaps, Sheograth likely, Sanquine absolutely, but I imagine the Divines hid their gaze in shame.
"I Assume we got what you needed." I asked her through ragged breaths, I didn't glance over at her, I still wasn't sure if my expression was one of humiliated or lusty triumph.
"She did! You are covered in it yes?" Sunberry chortled at me. "And the Thing of Fire got what she needed to did she not? Yes! Strenuous workout, sensual whines, rosey red cheeks. Does the Thing of Fire feel all warm and glowy?"
I didn't bother answering and instead just waved for her to collect her "Sample," then with some effort got to my feet and staggered to the river to bathe, the sooner I cleansed the smut and grime away the sooner I could hopefully forget this whole ordeal and see what new mischief the Nymph would inflict to discover what lead to Redya's sorry state.

 

 

  The last ingrediant for Sunberry's Mixture, would have to come from Reyda herself. Blood, hair, I was told it mattered not, just something to focus the beasts vision. The Nymph was visibly less chipper, becoming more and more nervous as we probed further from the surface and progressed through the crypt, trying to navigate the labyrinthine corridors and retrace my steps back to the tragic body. I was hoping that if we could identify who did this to her, the wraith would be pacified, but there was no room for chance, the body was going to need to be buried properly, both to set the spirit to rest and because leaving her here in this state was unconcscionable. A hamlet the size of Ivarstead would have no dedicated priest, I couldn't grant her Arkay's law, but what sanctifications Dibella could provide was hopefully enough.

 

 

  Sunberry put her unease at this place aside, or at least suppressed it and began her mix her concoction. A strange sight to watch, unlike most alchemists and herb women who'd carefully prepare their ingrediants and measure out precise dosages. Sunberry's blend seemed to be created haphazzardly, plucking handfulls of the herbs she'd gathered and simpley tossing them into the bowl as she pranced around it. Perhaps the strange jig she danced as she worked was just part of the forest magic, I had heard rumours of an elixir the blasphemous clerics of Vaermina would brew, it would take months to prepare, the ritual surrounding it as important as the complex alchemies, perhaps this was similar? And much like the vile daedric draught, the Nymph assured me this woodland mixture would allow us to see previous events through anothers eyes, albeit the eyes of a beast rather than a man or mer, much less reliable. I tried not to remind myself it was the same beast I had stretch my pussy a few hours prior, lest embarassment flushed to my cheeks once more, or worse a stirring between my thighs. I had no part in the ceremony and so instead I settled myself down and kept alert lest the spectre return to the place of it's demise and hamal's blade was required to fend it off.

 

 

  "The Mother of Winds, she see's all things." The Nymph sang at me. "Every tree, every leaf is her ears, every beast is her eyes, every breeze is her tongue. Now Come, breathe deeply."
Sunberry gestured across to me, urging me to push to my feet and pace over to inspect her work. If the nymph had created a witches brew it certainly looked the part, a pulsing green liquid, faintly glowing and billowing with smoke. Despite it's appearance, it did not smell foul, more a sweet mix of forrest fruits and herbs than eye of newt. And it was intoxicating, as soon as I peered into the bowl and the vapors hit me my eyes began to water, my throat felt like it was on fire causing me to throw my hands up and clasp it, vision blurred and the room started to spin.

 

 

 The crypt, the bound and broken Reyda, Snowberry and her brew all faded from view to be replaced with the fall forest, it's colours muted and hazy. I could hear the quiet noise of Amarok's heavy breathing and another sound, voices, male, several of them, and as the vision padded closer I saw them, one I recognised, the man on the road who had fallen to the wraith's touch, Wilhelm had identified him as Skagrim. Two others stood together in convosation as he approached.
"Hail Skagrim!" One lifted his hand in cheerfull greeting and beckoned his companion over. "You come to watch this fool too?"
"Hail Hrorond, what mischief is he up to now?"
"Phah! Fool found a journal and an old stick, now he thinks he's Shalidor himself." The pair stood together and observed the third man, clutching what looked like some sort of staff with a look of intense concentration on his face.
"We'll see who's laughing when hordes of Oblivion answer me. If I could just get it working."
"Give it up Vanskyr, you're more likely to summon splinters and a burst blood vessel than a daedroth." They burst into laughter at their compaion's expense. The man, apparently named Vanskyr wasn't giving up so easily though.
"Who want's a daedroth?" He made a series of gestures in the air then tried once more, aiming his staff at the ground to no effect. "Haven't you seen the fresco's at the temples? Shapely women with Dibella's curves and six tits to boot. Imagine what you could do with a woman like that serving you."
"No doubt six cunts too." Skagrim smirked, "Bet you wish you could summon yourself six dicks to match them, though from what I hear, one would be an improvement."

 

 

  "A curious image. But you are doing it wrong boy."A new voice, somehow I or Amarok smelt him before we heard him. Unlike the village boy's humble earthly smell the stranger's scent was...Wrong, fetid and foul. The trio seemed as surprised as I was at his arrival, whirling around to face him, startled. He was tall, robed and hooded in black with an ornate mask.
"Who goes there? Who are you?" Vanskyr recovered from his startled state and spoke up first.
"A friend." The stranger spread his arms out wide and gave a deep bow, whilst his mask concealed his face, for some reason I could picture a smile beneath it. "Perhaps even a mentor."
"You? Mentor me?" This time it was Vanskyr that chuckled.
"You seek to contact the maidens of the swirling void? This sorry shaft of wood will not aid you with that task. But I?" The stranger shook his head and traced a symbol in the air, sparks of light began to circle his hands as dull flames becan to dance along his palms which he raised aloft for the group to observe. "I have studied in Winterhold, in the halls of the whispered college and the faculties of the Synod. I have probed the endless libraries of more..."Forgotten" academia. I know much of what you seek."
The villagers watched awestruck, taking a step back from the strange magician, save Vanskyr, suddenly emboldened by this display.
"You know why this staff doesn't work then?"
"It is depleted, empty, a hollow shell of dead oak." The stranger dismissed his magics and tilted his head to peer more closely at the nord boy. "And even if it were not so, they would not answer."
"Then how DO I get myself a daedric whore?" Vanskyr threw the staff aside in frustration and turned to face the magician once more.
"You haggle for them." The stranger explained calmly and upon seeing the nord's puzzled expression continued. "Conjuration is an exchange, a bargain. Like any market transaction, to gain Oblivion's favor, you need to give them what they want."
"And what do they want?" Vanskyr asked. I could not tell if it was desperation or fascination in his voice. The wolf who's eyes we borrowed had seemed to loose interest and turned to plod away through the forrest. As the vision faded I heard the stranger's words.
"Come closer and I shall tell you."

 

 

  The fall forest again, damp and wet, the wolf was on the shores of the lake. cooling itself in the waters. The sound of birds chirping and of a woman singing, a soft cheerfull voice, not beautifull but neither unpleasant and then another familiar face strolled into view carrying a basket full of flowers and herb clippings. Reyda. Fully clothed in white and not covered in dirt and blood. She looked a lot younger than I'd assumed, and beautiful. A girl like that would have rose quickly through the clergy in Dibella's temples, were she in Highrock, she could fetch a Wayrest duke's ransom as a dowry, it was hard to imagine that this spritely youthfull thing had wound up the sorry crumpled corpse I discovered in the crypt, much harder to picture her becomming the screaming spectre that benighted these woodlands.

 

 

  Her flower basket spilled to the floor and song broke off, suddenly replaced by a yelp as she was grabbed from behind. Hrorond.
"Got her!" His voice wavered as he struggled with the young maid. Tightening his grip he called out to his companions once more as they appeared. "You..you're sure about this, I mean.."
"You heard what he said." Vanskyr spat as he paced around to inspect their quarry. "An exchange, they want souls. The purer the better, and none of you've managed to knob this bitch. Bet her brother tried a few times though ehh? Crazy bastard. Speaking of, Skagrim, you taken care of him?"
"House is alight, they'll be busy fighting the blaze for hours." Skagrim muttered. He didn't seem to happy with the thought, nor did he seem pleased with their current situation, he didn't even look at the girl squirming in Hrorond's grasp, just paced past them and into the crypt.
"Well, lets get on with it then. I memorized the chant, going to have to come back every new moon and do it again. Bring her in." Vanskyr turned and began to follow after Skagrim.
"In there?"
"Where else? It's quiet, secluded." Vanskyr peered over his shoulder at his companion and gestured for him to follow. "No one ever comes here, Wilhelm has the entire town thinking it's haunted. WhoooooOOOooooo! Fucking scary!" He gave a cold chuckle then dissapeared into the depths, Vanskyr tailed after him not long after, the flailing Reyda in tow.
I did not see what happened next, I didn't need to, I'd seen the miserable corpse, "Every new moon" Vanskyr had said, did they forget about her? Or merely neglected her as they performed the stranger's cruel rite?. Amarok did not follow, as the vision faded he simply looked to the skies and let out a long mournful howl.

 

 

  As the darkness abated I found myself laid on the floor, blinking away the  to find Sunberry looming over me.
"Oh, it is alive isn't It? yes!" The Nymph chirpped as I pushed her away and tried to sit upright. "Did the Thing of Fire see things?"
"I saw enough. More than enough." I shook my head trying to clear the fuzzyness coulding my head, entering into the vision state had been sudden and somewhat alarming, coming out of it was slow and hazy, even adjusting to colours again rather than the muted hues of Freki's sight left a queasy feeling in my stomache and a faint buzzing in the back of my skull heralded a coming headache.
"Did she learn how to stop the Thing of Flowers howling?" Sunberry trilled whilst I sought to get to my feet and wobbled unsteadlily for a moment before finding my footing.
"I've a good idea how to put her to rest." I told her as I tried to recall all I could remember of spectres from the libraries back in High Rock. Either raised unwillingly by black necrologies or in Reyda's case, bound to the world by a violent, unjust death. She was seeking justice, but she was enraged. I'd watched Skagrim fall when I'd first arrived and Wilhelm had listed Hrorond amongst the previous victims, the others? Probably just had the misfortune to stumble into her path as she rampaged. Wilhelm hadn't mentioned Vanskyr though.
"Probably best if you weren't here for it." I gazed over at the woodland Nymph, She'd found her smile again, even in this place. "I don't think it's going to be pretty. And..ehh..Thankyou Sunberry. You were a great help in this." I tried not remind myself what I had to do to acquire that help, I'd process that some other time.
"The Thing of Fire is welcome isn't it? Yes!" She bounded across and gave my hair a ruffle, it was foolish, it was childish, and I could not help but chuckle. "Comes then, we leave yes? Sunberry will go and see what the willow tree is doing and the Thing of Fire does....hmmphs, whatever Things of Fire do!"

 

 

Once I knew who I was looking for, finding him was simple. And my activity would probably cause a problem in normal circumstances, but the fighting men had been drawn away by the war, Ivarstead found itself without guardsmen, the streets were empty of people who might ask awkward questions as I spirited the man from his bed and through the town. I'd cracked him over the head to ensure he remained in senseless slumber but he awoke on route to the isle and began to struggle and spout muffled protests through the sack, I gritted my teeth and ignored them, after what I had seen I had no sympathy no matter the pleadings, and even less mercy. It wasn't untill he was securely tethered in the same spot he'd restrained Reyda that I removed the hood from his head and he became audiable.
"Who are you? Where are we?" His spluttered questions fell on deaf ears whilst I tried remember  what I knew of spectres and how they hunted, Sound? Scent? "What are you doing?"
I gripped Hamal's sword by the blade and brought it's hilt down on his leg. I could hear the crack of a shattering bone even above his screams, hopefully she could too. His wailing eventually died to a sobbing whimper.
"Why?..Why are you doing this?" He begged.
"You wanted a maiden from the realms of spirit didn't you Vanskyr?" I meant it to sound intimidating but even I was surprised by how cold my tone was.
"Wha..how? Why..wha.."
"I'm just giving you what you wanted." I turned to walk away, leaving him to scream in the darkness as she had. "Luckily, she wants you too."

 

 

  Sunberry had picked the location. A quiet spot upon a hillside, overlooking the lake and the village she'd called home. A quaint funeral with a quainter attendance, Sunberry singing, Amarok and his wolf pack and with some effort I had managed to bring Naarfi from his ruined house. Whether he understood who was just buried or not, I could not say, but his babbling madness had for the moment ceased. For my part I performed the rites given to me by the priesthood. I'd stayed a few more nights to be sure, but the spirit had not been seen since Vanskyr had vanished from the village. I had to assume revenge and a hallowed burial had finally put her to rest. I did not think I could spare more time, I'd tarried too long already and my task lay in the frigid North, in The Pale Hold. And so I departed, first leaving Naarfi with his sister's necklace, and the hope that in time his mind would find peace.