Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale

Chapter 337: Chapter LXIII: Seeking



The doors slam in front of my face followed by a threatening shout "And don't come back!"

I sigh and massage my forehead "Well, that went just about as bad as I could have expected. Fucking Morthal..."

Morrigan titters into her hand, badly failing to keep her amusement from showing "Well what did you expect? People won't cower in fear and tell you their life stories if you hide your identity."

"Yeah yeah." I wave her off "Can't tip the fuckers off."

We start walking down the wooden platform that passed for a road, Morrigan humming in thought as we did "Have you tried scrying for them?"Nôv(el)B\\jnn

I give her a blank look "Their tentacular master appears to be shielding them."

Her face twists in an uncomfortable wince "Why even go after them in the first place? It isn't like they are an actual threat."

A silent beat passes, the only noise being our steps on the creaking wood as I considered my answer "I guess I always prefer being proactive instead of reactive." I shrug lightly "I am quite limited with my time and he has already tried to have me shanked during a dragon raid." "I see." She hums "'Tis not wrong to wish to cut them down before they pose another problem."

"Quite." I nod, my lip twitching a moment later "Also this is the only clue I have, fuckers are too secretive for even my agents to root out."

"Well you are trying to go against a Daedra known for their wisdom." The Reachwoman points out.

I just roll my eyes "Not very wise if he tried to force the issue when we first met." I mutter too quietly for her to hear and then speak up a bit louder "Well, we won't be finding out a thing like this. Might as well visit the tavern and see if we can hear anything interesting."

She sighs "There is no way we are going to be that lucky."

'Yes woman, tempt Murphy more!' Scorch cheers immediately.

We were indeed that lucky, much to Morrigan's endless frustration.

"Aye, I've seen what you speak off." The grizzled hunter with a large three-clawed scar over his face leans in over the wooden tavern table and whispers "The Traasons, a small clan livin' in the woods to the south has been acting all manner of odd recently."

"Just how odd?" I raise an eyebrow, my face still concealed behind a hood.

He looks around cautiously before speaking "They are a family of woodworkers, wealthy for Morthal but not Thane worthy. Ole' Idgrod kept calling them all manner of names for the longest time or so the rumors went." He scoffs lightly "No one believed the old coot of course but then suddenly the whole clan up and started acting like a fire had been lit under their arses, started sending out their young to every corner of Skyrim with no explanation whatsoever, all up and armed and armored."

"The province was recently embroiled in civil war." Morrigan states just a tad

condescendingly "They could very well have just decided to earn some wealth by dealing with bandits and the like, you never know when you can get lucky after all."

"Aye, lady wizard they could have." The hunter inclines his head, surprising her somewhat due to her disguise "But the reason why is what matters." He whispers harshly "Apparently some kind of family prophesy came to fruition. I've no idea what it was but the whole clan was acting like it was the end of the world."

He chuckles as Morrigan gives him a deadpan look "Not the one related to the World Eater." "You say that title with reverence." I point out, more out of curiosity than anything.

The hunter shrugs "A god is a god, no matter how evil."

"I can appreciate the simplicity of it at least." I snort before shaking my amusement off and asking "These... Traasons, how do you know them?"

"Been trading furs with them for my whole life." He answers almost sadly.

"And yet you are so quick to sell them out" I narrow my eyes "Why?"

"Because they feel wrong" He sighs and takes a deep gulp of his mead "All of a sudden the lot of them feel like complete strangers, Kormar the clan head was practically my uncle growing up and now he treats me like I am some kind of ant unworthy of speaking to him." His eyes seem almost haunted as he recalls what he had seen "Something is terribly wrong about them."

I was still quite pensive at how eager the man was about helping us considering his history with the family but any information was good at this point. It did not take long for me to connect some dots "Traason..." I cup my chin "Would that not mean children of the woods?" Both of them give me odd looks at that with the hunter blurting "What?"

"In the old Nord dialect." I explain "Would Traason not mean son of the wood?"

He blinks and ever so slowly nods "Aye..."

"That'd do it." I sigh "My thanks for your help." Fucking Woodland Man couldn't keep his ego in check when he made the clan/cult could he? More the fool he!

He gives me a long look but seeing as I wasn't about to elaborate he grumbles "I won't be pretending to understand what that is supposed to mean, I only have one request from you."

"I am listening." I raise an eyebrow, already prepared to toss him a couple hundred septims if his information proved correct.

"If they prove to be ill of mind just..." He frowns "Just make sure the kids are alright, they haven't done anything."

Partly insulted and partly appreciative I nod "Have no fear of that." I pause and tilt my head "Though one thing still bothers me."

He waves his hand as if to say 'Go on'.

"Why are you so forthcoming with this?" I ask, my brow furrowed "I could be looking to join them you know."

He starts to chuckle, shaking his head as if he had just heard the funniest shit "I am old." He states as he begins his explanation "I've been hunting and fighting since I was a wee lad and my father tossed me into the woods to survive on my own, those days taught me to trust my instincts." He leans in "And my instincts tell me you alone could level this entire city."

I blink "So fear then?" I ask knowing I was wrong.

He snorts "There is only one red eyed elf in these parts who can do that, and he ain't no Daedra botherer."

'Well not that you know.' I suppress a smirk "Interesting." Is what I say "Impressive even, what is your name hunter?"

"Hilder Eagle-Eyes." He introduces himself with a puff of his chest "Good hunting to ye

Flame-Tongue."

My irritation at how easily I was found out was well and truly overshadowed by just how much

I suddenly appreciated this man's skillset "Say Hilder." I smirk "Have you considered seeking... more lucrative employment?"

His face twists into a smirk as well, as if this was his goal to begin with. He leans over the table once again and speaks "I am listening."

(General POV)

A deformed hand twitched and flipped a page, the quill of an unknown and unidentifiable animal twisting dexterously as it began scribbling the pages with a facsimile of ink one would balk at seeing the source of.

And so it was that upon the summer of the two hundredth year since Tiber Septim ascended did the

Great Guide direct his leal servant to strike forth from his ethereal domain and descend upon the mortal world. The direction as simple as it was instrumental in its most ambiguous of phrasing: Oversee the cult in my name, the Great Master said, and oversee they would. Another page flipped and a tentacle from the writer's beard moved to ink their quill once

more.

Lo did the servants of the great guide gather within their honored halls, paltry in their construct yet immense in their purpose. From elder to youth, excluding but those incapable of understanding the wisdom that guides them did they emerge onto the wooded hall, their hearth simmering but lightly enough to grant them light so that their eyes may see and their minds may be granted wisdom.

A light tearing noise heralded yet another page.

And thus spoke the leader of the Guide's devoted "Hear me, my great fellows for I bring forth a revelation most elating!" And so did they quieten and listen to wisdom "Blessed was our family for generations by the gifts of He of the Woods." Great was the reverence voiced upon the name's invocation for to fail to praise the Guide was to be found wanting.

The writer held back a gurgle as they kept to their work.

"One of our own had fallen in his grand quest." The head of the clan spoke and great lamentation was known "He has fallen to the blade of the blasphemer, who would deny our lord's might and wisdom!" Greater still was the fury at such vile an act.

"We must prepare now." Spake the head and called upon his warriors "To strike back against the

defiant and teach them the error of their ways... But" A pause most striking passed and a weight descended upon the devout "But we are too weak, for we are those who seek wisdom before might." The clan voiced their agreement in their pride "And thus... a sacrifice must be made so that we may be

granted aid."

A pained hiss came from the writer's deformed mouth, and yet the work ceased not. And so it came to be that the warriors brought a trio of youths, yet unformed in their wisdom and not

blessed with the guide's hand. A woman's cry of defiance cut through the exaltations of the devout but she was brought low without hesitation, to doubt was to falter and to falter was to fail. Those guided did. not. fail.

The head led forth a mighty prayer then, and brought up a knife hewn from the limbs of the Guide itself, so that he may draw the great one's gaze with his act of supplication. Without hesitation he brought down the blade, ready to reap his own blood and show his devotion but it was not to be.

Words of power carried forth the song of time and so did a figure of stark ebony appear before the blade, deflecting it away from those who were to be blessed eternally, their mighty blade cutting down all who tried to punish them for their most vile of blasphemies.

It danced and danced, evading and striking back, not once erring and not once being struck as it cut

down the clan of the blessed with the ease of a cat playing with powerless mice. More figures did then emerge behind he clad in ebony, a witch and a hunter, entourage of legend most revered, aided the figure in bringing unjust death upon the devout, the gaze of the guide drawn with each drop of blood but... But it was unable to act as a shroud of grey flame did cover its domain and did cease its attempts, where the flame failed webs were formed and so did the force of the guide get repulsed.

A pained yet satisfied hiss left the writer's tormented throat as he began writing the

culmination of his work.

A CURSE UPON YOU MORA THE TRECHEROUS, YOU TOLD ME TO OVERSEE YOUR PEONS AND THUS

DID I OVERSEE THEIR DOOM!

The blade of blasphemy did flash them and thus came freedom so long sought.

(Reyvin's POV)

I stared at the Seeker I had just impaled with some confusion and an immense amount of

disgust. I had no idea why he did it but I could quite easily deduce that the crazy fucker literally skinned himself and wrote a perfectly bound book in his own blood.

Hold on.

The book held a soul... a soul not bound to Mora.

I decided to give it a quick read, after making sure there was no fuckery there of course.

I closed the grimoire with a thump and stared into the slowly deforming corpse of the tentacle monster. Finally I shook my head and let out a snort "Cheeky fucker."

The book hummed with glee.

Hippity hoppity hop

the mining will never stop

my words shall forever ring true

and no one will be there to save you~

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