Chip squinted through the rain and the still-dark skies, trying to spot where the ship was headed. The captain had said they were nearing Raven Rock, when Chip had come back up onto the deck, but it was very hard to tell and the ship didn’t seem to be slowing at all. He hoped they’d be able to dock safely, no matter where they were; for in spite of being a good swimmer, Chip wasn’t keen on the idea of doing so after having been tossed from a splintering deck.
In spite of Chip’s misgivings, the crew guided the Northern Maiden into its place alongside the docks without issue. He hopped off the ship as Captain Gjalund was trading news with the Second Councilor and strode down the deck toward town.
The moons were still bright in the sky. It would be some time before they were safely below the horizon. Chip decided to find the inn, both to get out from under their glare and to see whether he might gather any useful information.
The inn – the Retching Netch – was not only beneath ground but very quiet, and Chip found himself breathing a sigh of relief as he walked down the stairs toward the bar. A friendly voice with Dunmer accents called out a greeting.
“Welcome to the Retching Netch Corner Club, home of the finest sujamma that will ever grace your lips! I’m Geldis Sadri. What can I do for you?” The Dunmer bartender wearing deep red clothing smiled at him, and Chip couldn’t help smiling back. Some of the Dunmer he knew had a real attitude, born of the unfortunate prejudice against them still held by so many of the Nords in Skyrim. Chip didn’t feel that way and never had; and even if he’d been inclined to agree with his fellow Nords, his parents and his uncles would have changed his mind for him. Roggi, in particular, had no patience at all for anti-Dunmer words.
“I’ll try some of your sujamma,” he said, sliding the coins for his drink across the bar and taking the drink Geldis offered him. There was another Dunmer on the barstool at his left, a man wearing fine green robes and a noble’s hat. He frowned warily at Chip, but gave him a nod. On the other side of the bar was a wholly unpleasant Orc who looked Chip over.
“I’ll give you this warning only once. Stay out of my way and we’ll be just fine.”
Chip looked him over and couldn’t keep the corner of his mouth from rising into a sneer. Odd to see an Orc here in Morrowind. So he’s the local tough, is he? I wonder what he’d think of my fur coat.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” he said, grinning at the Orc as he pulled his drink toward him. The Orc sneered back at him and turned away.
Chip took a seat at one of the nearby tables and enjoyed his beverage while watching the two men at the bar, and a few others who drifted in and out. It was good sujamma, for certain, though he didn’t exactly have a wide range of samples under his belt. One or two visits to the corner club in Windhelm once he’d finally come of age didn’t exactly make for a broad selection with which to compare. But it was a tasty beverage, and he enjoyed it.
After some time, the Orc rose and strode up the stairs. Chip could hear him bullying someone on the upper level.
Well, good; he’s occupied. Time to ask directions now that he’s out of the way.
He returned to the bar and caught Geldis Sadri’s attention.
“You were right about this,” he said, sliding the tankard back to Sadri. “Very tasty. Listen, I’m wondering whether you might help me out with some directions. I’ve heard rumors of werewolves here on the island. I’m studying them, and I thought it might be good to get another perspective than just the ones in Skyrim. Anything you can tell me?” He made certain to keep his voice low but not suspiciously so; nonchalant but not to the extent that anyone would question his sincerity.
Da would be proud of that, I think.
Sadri nodded. “Yes, actually. The Redoran guard have spotted a pack of werewolves in the mountains. The hunters up on Frostmoon Crag might know more.”
“Frostmoon Crag?”
“Yeah. Let me show you on your map.”
Chip pulled out the map Roggi had given him and handed it to Sadri. He noticed one of the Dunmer’s eyebrows rise a bit when he noticed the markings Dardeh had made, the place he’d pointed out as Miraak’s Temple. Frostmoon Crag, it seemed, wasn’t near it; rather, it was closer to his current location, north and east, and across two ridges.
Sadri handed him back the map. “I’m not positive that’s exactly the right spot but it is up in that area. I’m sure there’s not much else there. It’s all ice.”
“Thanks!” Chip sounded excited, and he was. He was that much closer to potentially learning something about his new condition. If all he found was some wisdom on how to control it, the trip would have been worthwhile. He turned to leave.
“Be careful out there, if you’re heading that way,” Sadri called to him. “Werewolves aren’t the only things out there. People have reported seeing werebears, too, and they’re sometimes even nastier.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Chip told him, waving as he headed for the stairs.
“Come back any time,” Sadri said. “My door’s always open.”
In spite of having had his map marked, Chip managed to lose his way trying to get from Raven Rock to Frostmoon Crag. He found himself much too far east, and needing to cross a substantial ice field to get where he intended to go.
At least I got a good look at the Temple. It’s so huge! I’ll have to ask Uncle Dar what’s in there some time.
As he dropped down from one ice shelf onto another, he heard a series of odd sounds. They were regular, like speech, but sounded more like barking. In the midst of them he heard a man shouting.
“If death is what you want, you’ll have it!”
What the…
He crept to the edge of the ice shelf and peered down over it. There was a man dressed in heavy furs – clearly a hunter – facing off with a huge boar. Mounted on the boar was a small, squat figure, its skin grey, in its hand a spear. Another of the creatures stood just beside it, threatening the hunter.
Rieklings?
Chip had, of course, heard of Rieklings before. They were something like a cross between a goblin and a dwarfed mer, ranging between grey to almost purple in color. They were fond of accumulating things, according to the tales he’d heard; mostly, they collected junk but sometimes the shiny things they gathered included precious gems, and gold, and other items of great worth. Always, they were jealous of their territories; and, if the tales were true, they were fierce fighters with exceptionally good throwing arms and aim.
The least I can do is help that hunter, Chip thought, drawing his bow and taking aim on the mounted Riekling. As he did so, he heard the creature yell.
“Hagajawala! Hagajawala!”
Right. I don’t know what you’re saying, buddy, but get off that hunter.
He loosed an arrow that struck the boar. The Riekling cried “No!” and tried to steer his mount out of the line of fire, but Chip was too quick for him. He shot again, taking down the boar; and both boar and rider toppled, the boar crushing its rider beneath. Chip didn’t have time to do much more than react, then, as a spear whizzed past his ear just to the left. The remaining Riekling was living up to its reputation as an expert spear-thrower. He looked down to see the spear-thrower brandishing another weapon.
“Hagajawala!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” he muttered, firing just as the Riekling’s spear grazed his arm. “Damn it,” he muttered, only to watch the arrow he’d fired sink into the grey creature just as he’d hoped.
“Guuh!” the Riekling groaned.
“You heard it here first, bud,” Chip said, firing again and staggering the Riekling, while trying to skitter out of the path of another spear.
“Hooojarakwafala!” the Riekling cried, tossing one more spear that caught Chip square in the shoulder just after he had fired one last time. Chip yelped and watched the small form drop slowly to the ice and become still; then he healed himself while jumping down the ice to where the Rieklings were.
So where’s the hunter? Did they kill him?
“I saw you, archer. You, with the red hair. You can’t hide from me!” he heard the man shriek. He was off to Chip’s right, uphill from the Rieklings’ corpses, and had been out of sight behind one of the slabs of ice. He was holding up a brutal-looking axe, but looking in the opposite direction, obviously not knowing where Chip was. Chip grimaced, pulled his hood more securely down over his hair and did what he knew how to do best; he dropped into a crouch and scurried away around the end of another huge outcropping of ice to hide from the man and find a better vantage point.
I don’t know why he’s after me. I helped him! Unless one of those arrows hit him instead? I didn’t think so, but he’s after me anyway.
Maybe he’s a bandit. If he’s a bandit, I’m an idiot for trying to help him.
He waited quietly behind the ice, listening for sounds of movement and hearing none. But when he raised his head to sample the air, he smelled the unmistakable scent of a man, and of heavy furs. He growled.
“Come after me, will you? We’ll see about that.” He backed quietly up the mountainside, behind the ice drift, until he caught a glimpse of the man through an opening, a break between two huge mounds of ice. The hunter was searching for him, that was clear. It was also clear that he could neither hear nor smell as well as Chip could. Chip slipped his bow in front of him and fired three times, in quick succession. He heard the man groan as the last arrow hit him, dropping him to the ground.
He ran to the corpses, taking the hunter’s axe and knife, as well as the several freshly-butchered pieces of raw meat he’d been carrying. The boar, in particular, smelled so good that he couldn’t resist taking a bite; and then, realizing that he was ravenous, he wolfed the whole slab down raw. He finished, and then stared at his own hands as though he didn’t recognize them.
Eating raw meat? A whole leg of boar at once? What is going on with me? How could I even hold that much food, much less eat it completely raw?
The Rieklings were another story. The spear-thrower had a couple of lockpicks that he took, gratefully. He wasn’t the best at picking locks, much to his parents’ amusement – or dismay, he’d never been sure which. But the real prize was in one of the pouches that the mounted Riekling had put on his boar. It was a soul gem; a huge one, and very dark in color; it was without the aura of power that meant it held a soul, but even empty black soul gems would fetch a good price.
Then he heard something. It wasn’t very clear, but off in the distance to the west he thought he heard human voices. He turned his head as he did while hunting, listening closely, trying to pinpoint the source of the sounds. Down the hill and to the west; that was where he needed to go.
He retraced his steps down through the passages between ice outcroppings and continued downhill, stopping every few paces to focus again on the sounds he’d heard. Just as he reached an obvious path across the snow, darkened by the passage of who knew how many feet, he not only heard voices but caught a whiff of something in the air. It was a scent that confused him; human, to be sure, but overlaid by wolf, much in the way Sinding’s had been.
I probably smell that way too. But why? I’m looking for hunters right now. Unless…
The path veered off to his right. As he followed it, both the sounds and scents became clearer, more vivid. He slowed to a walk and approached what soon was visible as a large open area – a dugout, of sorts – tucked partially into the mountainside. As he approached the trailing edge of the glacial ice he started seeing movements, and then the flicker of a small campfire, and even the regular form of a pair of tanning racks set back under the rocky overhang. A woman dressed only in the barest covering of furs sat atop a boulder just at the entrance to this campsite. He cleared his throat so as to give some warning of his approach; in the unlikely event she didn’t see his bright red hair she might hear the sounds he made. It wouldn’t do to catch hunters by surprise.
Well, here they are. Took longer than I’d have liked to find them, but here I am.
The woman jumped down from the boulder and drew a well-sharpened dagger, stepping out to block his passage. Chip held up his hands, palms out, to show that he meant no harm and had no weapons at the ready.
“Hold, traveler,” the woman said. “You have no business here. Be on your way.” Then she raised her chin slightly, and sniffed the air.
“Wait. You… you’re one of us, aren’t you? A werewolf?”
Chip’s mouth sagged open for a moment before he spoke. “I was right then. I thought I smelled werewolf on the wind but I couldn’t imagine… I was looking for a group of hunters in Frostmoon Crag. This is the place, right? And to think, you’re also the werewolves.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m babbling. My name’s Chip. And yes, I’m a werewolf. Very recently. That’s why I’ve come.”
“Then perhaps you do have business here. Forgive me. I’m Rakel, of the Frostmoon Pack. Welcome, brother.” She sheathed her dagger and returned to her stony perch, resuming her obvious duties as the lookout for the pack.
Chip approached her, slowly, and smiled as he got near. She was really rather lovely, he noted. Her chestnut hair was tied back into a tail, her shoulders and most of her upper torso bared to the sun and air; her features were delicate and, at that moment, wearing an open expression. He was certain, though, that “lovely” in no way implied weak, or soft, or naive.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Rakel,” he said. “This is all very new to me. And confusing. I had hoped to get some guidance, maybe. Basic information.” He took stock of the area and noted two men, one working at a tanning rack and the other sitting quietly by the fire. There was also another woman near the firepit, her back to him. “So, do you all live out here?” he asked in what he hoped was not a condescending or overly stupid way.
Brilliant. Of course they live out here. But I have to open the conversation up somehow, don’t I?
“I’ve lived here since I was born. My parents were members of the pack back when Majni’s father was alpha. After they died, Majni and Akar took care of me. Taught me to hunt. I’m not as good as they are, but I do my best.”
“You’re not as old as they are, either,” Chip said, grinning at her. “I find I don’t do most things as well as my da and my uncles, as well.” He looked around again. “Do you ever think about moving to a city?”
Rakel laughed. “Why? Have you seen how they live? They cower behind their walls, afraid of every ash hopper. Every netch. No. I’d rather be here, free to hunt. Free to live my life as I choose.”
He nodded. “I grew up in Riften, in Skyrim. I know what you mean. I’ve always felt a bit… trapped. Restless. I ended up building my own home in the wilderness, away from the city. I still have walls,” he added, laughing. “And a fence. But I understand.”
She nodded at him and gave him another smile, and he found himself curiously drawn to her. She was very pretty. She smelled good. His gaze shifted to the two men working in the campsite and he laughed at himself.
And I’ll bet they would rip me to shreds if I so much as suggested anything more than a friendly conversation.
He nodded at her again and began to move past her, intending to speak to the others near the fire.
“Hircine go with you,” Rakel said as he passed.
“Thank you. He seems to. I hope it will continue.” That reminded Chip that he hadn’t thanked Hircine for getting him through the battles with the Rieklings and the lone hunter. He stepped aside a bit and dropped to his knees to pay his respects.
Once his silent prayer was finished, he moved back into the campsite and approached the rather forbidding-looking man seated on a stone behind the campfire. On the rocks around him Chip noticed two sets of human bones, and couldn’t help wondering whose they were. Were they kills? Were they perhaps the bones of Rakel’s parents, arranged in a place of honor? He didn’t know enough about how these people lived to have any idea.
The man looked up at him, growled, and said “What?”
I see this one is more wolf than man. Fair enough.
“Who are you?”
“Akar,” the man said, his voice low and rough, just above a growl. “Majni’s brother. I hunt, he talks. Go talk to him.”
“I hunt too,” Chip said. “All the time. What kinds of things do you hunt?”
Akar grunted. “Deer. Sabers. Rieks. Boar. Bear. I hunt soon. Go bother Majni.”
Chip nodded, and turned toward the two remaining people in the camp. Behind him he heard Akar once more: “Hrmph.” He couldn’t help but smile. If not for his exceptionally sociable family, he might have ended up simply grunting at people, as well. But his Da, Brynjolf, was a man of cleverly-woven words; and his uncle Roggi was a man of many, many words.
The nearer of the two remaining people in the camp was an angry-looking, sharp-featured woman who rose to move away as he approached. Unlike the others here, who had auburn hair a few shades lighter than his own, this woman was blonde and looked slightly out of place.
“I don’t trust you, whelp,” she snarled, her voice barely escaping from between tightly-clenched teeth. “Keep that in mind.”
“Hang on just a second,” Chip said, a bit annoyed. “Nobody said you had to trust me, or like me, but I’m trying to be friendly. I’m just looking for information. Are you part of this pack too?”
“For now,” she said, stopping to turn toward him. “I’m Hjordis. My pack lived in the mountains northeast of here, until they were wiped out. Damn werebears.”
“Hmm. That’s the second time I’ve heard about werebears near here. Go on.”
“Majni offered to help me reclaim my territory. I hunt with him until then. After that? We’ll see.”
Chip looked at her for a few moments. He could sense not only the obvious anger, but also a deep sorrow in her eyes, a sadness that would likely only be relieved through bloody revenge on the werebears. He felt something bubbling up inside him, some emotion he wasn’t familiar with. Before he could identify it, though, she turned away.
“Goodbye, whelp.” It was sarcastic, dismissive, and unfriendly; and Chip watched in dismay as she went to where Akar still rested on his boulder and sat down next to him.
Maybe she’s his mate. It would be a good match. The two of them seem very suited to each other. It’s no wonder she’s angry, though. Werebears, to the northeast.
He heaved a sigh. There was something important about that, something he would need to investigate later. In the meantime, he made his way to the tanning racks, where a man wearing a fur helmet worked hides. He was an oddly nondescript Nord, not particularly large in build; and yet as Chip approached him he could sense the great power of the alpha wolf that lay beneath his outer skin.
“You must be Majni,” he said quietly. “My name is Chip. Well, actually it’s Brynjolf, after my father; but I’ve been called Chip all my life.”
“Welcome, brother,” Majni responded; and indeed, he had a welcoming voice, warm and open. “It’s been too long since we met another who shares our blood. I am indeed Majni. Alpha of the Frostmoon pack. You are welcome here, so long as you respect our law.”
“Of course,” Chip said quietly. “I’ve come because, well, as you no doubt can tell I am very young. And have only known that I have the blood for a short time. I’m very confused.”
“We will talk, then,” Majni said, rising and stepping back from the tanning rack. He didn’t have a chance to continue, though, as a Riekling spear suddenly landed between the two of them.
Before he had more than a chance to blink, Chip found himself trailing the full Frostmoon Pack in an attack on the Riekling that had thrown the spear. It had come down through the same opening in the ice Chip had taken to get here, possibly looking for revenge for the deaths of its fellows. There was no way to know. Regardless, the hunt that followed was brief and deadly. Majni and Akar attacked with blades; the two women with bows. Chip sprinted up the path drawing his own blades and managed to land the killing blow, a lucky backhanded swipe with his dagger on the strange creature when both of the other men stepped back after their own strikes.
“Good hunting, brother,” Majni said as the others wandered back toward the fire. “Now, we will talk.”
Chip nodded. “I’m not even sure what I need to know. You’re all werewolves?”
“Aye. The blood still runs true among some on Solstheim, as it has for centuries.”
Chip’s brain raced. “Wait.” He opened his mouth, trying to formulate the question and not knowing how. “What do you mean by ‘the blood runs true?’ I thought you could only become a werewolf through something like a bite. Or a scratch.” He shook his head. “This is one of the things I’m confused about, Majni. How did I get this way? I’ve never been close to a werewolf before and now…” He raised his hands and then dropped them in a gesture that felt as futile as his attempts to make sense of what was happening to him.
Majni nodded, and smiled. “We have chosen to embrace Lord Hircine’s blessing.” He stopped to examine Chip for a moment and nodded. “You know it well. The speed and strength of the beast. The thrill of the hunt. The triumph of the kill.”
“It runs… in your family? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Aye. This is our purpose, our way of life. It is passed on in some families, so long as the bloodline is not extinguished. So it was for my father, and his father before him, and I welcome any who walk that path.”
By all the gods. Maybe that’s why Hjordis is so angry. Her line was nearly wiped out. And now the only way to continue it is to join with another pack.
“Are you the only werewolves on Solstheim?”
“You might find a few others. Strays. Lone hunters. But ours is the last true pack that remains.” He turned back toward the camp. “Come. We will talk for a time.”
They found places near the fire and Majni, as promised and as Akar had suggested, talked. He reminded Chip of his uncle Roggi, weaving long tales of adventure and glory that had Chip’s eyes sparkling and his heart beating faster. Majni gave him some tips for hunting, for how to manage his being a werewolf, and Chip committed them to memory eagerly. At last it seemed that Majni was winding down.
“I should go. But I thank you more than I could say. I feel more certain now.”
“There is one more thing before you leave,” Majni said. “Since the days of the Great Hunt our pack has kept a set of rings blessed by Lord Hircine himself. I sense his favor on you.” He looked pointedly down at Chip’s hand, where the ring he’d had from Sinding rested comfortably. “For you, I would part with them. If you can pay my price. Even we need gold from time to time.”
“I understand,” Chip said. “What are these rings?”
Majni pulled a small pouch from his fur armor and opened it, shaking four rings into his palm. Chip’s attention was drawn instantly to a silver ruby ring.
His father wore a ruby on one hand – a gold and ruby ring that he never removed and never allowed anyone else but his mother to touch. There was something that had always fascinated him about the ruby. He couldn’t take his eyes off the one in Majni’s palm, either. He pointed to it.
“What does that one do?”
Majni smiled. “This is the Ring of the Hunt. You’ve chosen well, young whelp. The one who wears this ring is given the ability to heal, during a hunt in his true form, without stopping to consume the kill. You will have noticed that is not usually the case.”
Chip nodded, thinking about his very close call with the bear, his first night. “Yes indeed. I want this ring, Majni. How much?”
Majni wanted four thousand septims for the ring, a figure which at first nearly froze the blood in Chip’s veins. It was nearly all the money he had with him, and close to all the money he had in the world aside from a few pouches in the safe in his home. He hesitated; but something about the ring called to him in a way few things ever had.
Perhaps it is Hircine, helping me to become closer to him. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to do it.
He reached into his pack, and pulled out all the coin he had with him, handing most of it to the imposing but kind alpha werewolf before him. Taking the ring, he slipped it onto his hand and smiled.
“Yes. This was a good choice. Thank you for everything, Majni.”
He rose from the fireside and turned back toward the crevice in the ice. Northeast. That was where he needed to go. There were werebears there who needed to be driven away. He could do that for these people who had helped him.