Skyrim:
Triumph of Faith
----------------------------------------
Chapter 1:
Hounds of Hircine - Aurielius
----------------------------------------
Formatting guidelines used to indicate more subtle vocal tones aside or in addition to what is stated (for clarity of experience):
Italics: Emphasis and/or subtext/alt meaning like sarcasm or innuendo.
Bold: Typically primal, like a primal yell or implication of primal instinct
Underline: spoken pointedly or the character is emphasizing the importance of something
Combination: a combination of the aforementioned tones/meanings or simply doubling up for extra emphasis without obnoxious caps, such as, in this case, perhaps primal subtext/emphasis... like a werewolf's wolfish side coming out when stating something with extreme wolfish satisfaction. Also could simply be a primal yell of particular strength.
----------------------------------------
(Imperial Legion – Elder Scrolls Online Soundtrack)
I am Alexander Aurielius, Dragonborn, and the Dragonblood Emperor of the Holy Cyrodiilic Empire of Tamriel.
Even now the long awaited great clash comes, men and mer deciding for all who will rule Tamriel until the next Akatosh-granted Era.
The Thalmor of the Aldmeri Dominion ready their spells and their tricks, while the legions of the Empire hone cold steel and make our prayers to great Akatosh, the Imperial Protector, as his sons and new daughters spread their wings over their sibling men.
Battle-lines are drawn and the legions, some even seeking first honors while the venerable ancients who hail even from Alessia and ascended Tiber seek to reclaim theirs. The legions of men stand tall, eager to taste elven blood once more. Meanwhile, we have new friends gnashing hungry jaws in mountain lairs and readying poisoned spears beneath dark waters.
Final triumph at last lies within the Empire's grasp… Akatosh grant our faith to gain us that triumph.
Yet it was not always so…
Once the Empire was a shattered banner, teetering on the brink, reeling from the strong blow of the great axe of the Tiber's winter blood. The kin of Tiber-Talos incited to rage by Thalmor deception and the temporary necessities of the wounded plea of Cyrodiil after the Great War. Then, I was a young man of twenty-one just having hit drinking age, making his first steps into the wider world. The world itself though, unbeknownst to me, was teetering as precariously as the Empire of Akatosh as hatred more ancient than even that of the elves for man broke the chains of time that bound it.
(Awake – TESV Skyrim Soundtrack)
It was a warm early morning in my family's home of Falkreath early in the month of the Last Seed, the 17th as I remember, when the chain of events that would one day change the course of history in the Empire was set in motion… predictably by that damned impulsive lizard.
----------------------------------------
I was roused from my sleep by a sound indescribably horrifying to most people, but one I'd heard so many times that rousing was as far as I got: a distant, echoing creaking, snapping and slithering of tortured bone and flesh. Rousing was as far as my mind got before sensing the chill humidity brought by the waterfall of the cave aptly named "Moss Mother Cavern".
My body shivered and clenched around the empty air as I grimaced, clenched my eyes and shuffled up against the trunk under the low branches of a conveniently placed pine tree, pulling my improvised hide-and-fur comforter tighter over my naked body and my head in denial of the harsh reality of morning. However, my brown eyes snapped open on alert as my heightened senses alerted me to the rapid pounding of feet… then a rasping yell of panic.
"Alexander!" cried the yell.
Normally average arms, supernaturally strengthened as my inner wolf responded to its packmate's call, threw a comforter broader than a dining table up… into the low branches just above my head as I jolted up and pain immediately jolted down my spine.
"Sonnuva-!" I exclaimed as I locked down my panic for a moment and used that supernatural strength to instead make a crawling run out under the branches as if thick hide comforter wasn't even there before jumping up, using the tree as cover as I readied a lightning bolt in my hand and covered my vulnerable body in an oakflesh spell.
(Dragonsreach – TESV Skyrim Soundtrack)
Peering through the fronds of the tree, I glanced over an equally naked black argonian woman with a white chest, stomach, neck and jaw running out of the tunnel opposite our sleeping area leading to the entrance. I barely glanced over the argonian even in her normally appealing state of undress as I was far more concerned with what she was running away from than something I'd seen a thousand times before at this point.
I held my tongue despite the urge to ask if she was alright, better not to give away my existence to anything behind her as she yelled again.
"Alexander!" Strikes yelled as I continued to watch… still nothing… but it wasn't exactly easy to run down a sprinting werewolf, they would probably be a ways behind. That there was a "they" at all was a problem, we were supposed to ensure that we couldn't even see a settlement in our wolf form; never know when someone might happen to look up at the worst time… but then it was a coin toss whether that impulsive lizard listened to me anyway; always pushing the boundaries. Perhaps she pushed too far this time… I didn't want to kill anyone… maybe it was just a bunch of Silver Hand or something, little more than glorified bandits, it might be doing Skyrim a service to kill them… then once there were no witnesses everything would be fine.
Then as Strikes approached the tree she barked, a light growl of irritation under her frantic words.
"Alexander! Wake up you lazy bastard, Helgen's…" Strikes started, furrowing my brows in confusion as she clambered up the rocky natural "steps" to our little patch by the tree before she stopped as she saw me already ready… to a degree anyway as I immediately questioned her.
"What about Helgen?" I asked quickly before Strikes threw her arms in the direction of the cave entrance as she exclaimed, her lush burgundy feather crest and feather frill puffed anxiously.
"Helgen's burning! We need to get over there and help!" Strikes exclaimed as my eyes widened in shock before my brows furrowed pensively as I thought about the distance involved and responded.
"Okay, I want to help too, but…" I started before Strikes cut me off with an outraged bark.
"But?! Those people need help! Why don't we just use our wolf form to run over there? It wouldn't take that long!" Strikes demanded before I fixed her with a flat stare.
"…and have to cross multiple roads in broad daylight to do… what?" I asked rhetorically, preparing to continue before the hot-headed argonian cut in again.
"Something! Anything! Why are we still wasting time here anyway, we need to go! People are dying!" Strikes exclaimed before pivoting towards the entrance tunnel again, only for my hand to reach out as I grabbed her broad shoulder, well-built from her extensive practice with polearms.
Strikes then rounded on me, her blood-red eyes alight with anger as the teeth of her broad snout bared in an aggressive hiss, the two rows of large knife-like horns running from her forehead down the back of her head making her look like some monster out of myth. I was used to it though… mostly. Spending at least some time almost every day of every week since I was a young lad with this volcanic lizard tended to do that. Nonetheless, I couldn't help a reflexive flinch at the vividly primal display of aggression. Even so though, I simply hardened my voice and spoke louder to make sure she really heard me.
"That's why we need to go to Falkreath and get my mother, she'll definitely be able to do something. By the time we get there, most of it will be said and done anyway, those people will need healing." I reasoned as Strikes, glanced down towards her clawed feet in pensive silence, her fury slowly fading as she acknowledged my point before she nodded. Then though, her brows furrowed in thought as it seemed something else occurred to her.
"…but, there was this big… booming sound or roar when it happened, she can't have missed that! Falkreath's even closer than here! What if she's already on her way? We should just go there and save the time!" Strikes suggested only for me to shake my head, ever the cautious one.
"…and what if she isn't, if she didn't hear this roar for whatever reason? We need to stop by to be sure. We can slide past Shriekwind instead of the normal way. Crossing one road in wolf form should be fine, and that will make sure that we save some time." I countered as Strikes shook her head with impatient huff and then nodded.
"Fine, whatever, we just need to get going!" Strikes said impatiently as she waved me off and turned to walk towards the chest that contained all of our stuff against the cave wall to the left side of our sleeping area so we had it on hand after our hunting trips: surplus imperial armor, weapons, and a shield and bow with arrows in my case. All given to us in an originally damaged state by my father in the legion and repaired by the local blacksmith.
As Strikes opened the chest and started to grab our gear, I grabbed two other, single-sheet fur blankets that we generally used to carry our equipment while in wolf form. I didn't want to risk being caught without our equipment and it wasn't rare for us to not return home the same evening we left for whatever reason: sometimes some alchemical ingredients that my mom wanted were harder than expected to find, or other things came up… and didn't want to come down.
We were a young man and a young woman with stronger urges than normal, the beast within being far from a purely violent thing as many thought: more quite literally a creature of almost pure instinct meshed with your own mind and soul. After growing up in Leyawiin, where it seemed like half the population were beast races, I had seen more than one interracial couple. So I didn't much care about anything other than what was under the skin as far as friends went. However, as I turned around with the carry-blankets in hand… I couldn't help a gulp and staring as Strikes, bent over as she gathered the gear from the chest, reminded me vividly why a good body certainly didn't hurt.
Aside from the whole "lizard" thing, Strikes would easily be beautiful even by most measures: she had a considerable bust that easily drew the eyes of men, and well-honed body was a sight to behold both in action and out. If one could appreciate her as an argonian though: her contrasting black body and white chest and stomach along with the match of flushed burgundy feathers and blood-red eyes drew the eyes just as readily upward as anywhere else.
…but as mine did so, hers were considerably less impressed. Her eye-roll telling me the obvious fact before she even spoke: not the time.
I blinked and shook my head as I fought down my inner wolf with the ease only the better part of a decade controlling it could give, even controlled though, I could still practically feel it eagerly licking its chops. Though I knew this wasn't the time… I still couldn't blame it to be honest. Nonetheless, I approached with the carry blankets and apologized… sort-of.
"Sorry… I'm just a guy." I half-joked with a smirk as I laid out the carry-blankets while Strikes rolled her eyes again and responded as she placed her equipment on a carry-blanket.
"Just a guy who's going to be left behind if you don't stop staring and start packing." Strikes shot back as I was already moving to do exactly that and countered to help alleviate the tension with some banter.
"Maybe I should take my time then? I certainly wouldn't complain about being the one with the show for a change." I joked, smiling as a I finally got a smirk out of her while she demonstrated her capabilities in word-play; dropping her voice huskily in what I never knew was a trap or seriously meant until she was finished speaking.
"…can't say I'd mind…" Strikes started huskily as she leaned in close to me while hiking her carry-blanket over her shoulder, before pointedly glancing between my arms. "…stick-arms." Strikes finished sharply before pivoting dismissively and beginning to walk towards the entrance tunnel as I huffed in mixed amusement and mild-offence before verbally brushing the jab off.
"Well-endowed sticks mind you!" I half-joked in defense, my arms were merely average compared to Strikes' significantly above average tree-branches… significantly above-average by female standards anyway. However, my arms were enough to hike my carry-blanket over my shoulder just the same as she did, especially with our lycanthropic boon. This time my little joke got a short barking "hah!" of amusement as Strikes turned, walking backwards for a moment as she shot back once more.
"The only thing 'well-endowed' about you is that giant pair of lumps you call an ass! You eat too many sweetrolls!" Strikes bit back with a broad smirk before turning back around as mine faded slightly and I self-consciously passed my hand over the mentioned area as I looked down over my flat, but not exactly amazingly toned stomach and responding.
"Ouch. That hurt a little bit." I said as she turned her head back and responded herself with a slightly abashed shrug and apologetic smile as she continued walking.
"Sorry. Though… For someone who 'doesn't fight battles you can't win' you sure like jousting me." Strikes commented, her apologetic smile twisting into an amused smirk as I smiled fondly while catching up beside her on the way to the entrance.
"If there's one thing you've taught me over the past eight years, it's that, sometimes, even failing is worth it." I said, causing Strikes to glance down, her anxiously puffed head and neck feathers flattening against her scales in embarrassment for a moment before she glanced up again with a daring stare and shot back again.
"Maybe you should listen to me more then." Strikes challenged, only for me to blow a raspberry at her and jab at her this time.
"You don't have that many good ideas you impulsive lizard…" I jabbed before rasping my voice in a mimic of her own. "I just wanted to find treasure!" I mocked, referencing a time a few months after we'd met when I was thirteen and she twelve. Strikes had jumped down the main well of Leyawiin searching for "treasure", only to end up stuck when she couldn't climb the walls or smooth rope back up. Half the town guard and the town had spent the better part of an hour of the late evening scared shitless that she'd been abducted by some insane skooma addict or something when someone finally decided to check the town square just in case… and found the young argonian safely, yet fearfully swimming circles at the bottom of the well thanks to her people's neck-gills. It was a moment too hilarious, and stupid, not to rib her about every other chance I got, only every other though, don't want it go from just annoying to infuriating after all.
Strikes predictably hissed in annoyance and quite literally snapped back at me as I flinched back, sniggering all the while.
"Yeah?! Well I at least I wasn't scared of jumping in! You're scared of ladders, mirrors, and Hircine-forsaken numbers!" Strikes listed off, counting just a few of the things on her fingers as confidently retorted.
"Well everyone seems to have a story about how something bad happened because the walked under a ladder, broke a mirror, or did something with thirteen or three at a bad time; and everything was fine before they did it. Mother and Father always say you shouldn't take chances, and with all the stories I'm inclined to agree." I said confidently, this wasn't the first time we'd had this argument. However, Strikes rolled her eyes in exasperation and responded.
"You know that's not what they were talking about. Numbers can't hurt you, it's not possible. Your magic teacher said that's all pseudo-arcane coincidence." Strikes argued, the same as always as I stubbornly shot back.
"He didn't convince me, and you won't either. I'm not taking any chances, my luck's bad enough as it is and I think it's because I broke those mirrors way back…" I said, intending that to be the end of it. However, suddenly strikes blurted out: "Thirteen." She blurted out as my eyes snapped up to her face and narrowed warily as I responded.
"What?" I asked incredulously as Strike's lips lifted in a smirk and she blurted out again.
"Thirteen." Strikes said again as my eyes widened in horror and tried to stop her with a groan as I pinched my forehead.
"Stop. For the sake of the gods…" That was as far as I got as Strikes sniggered before saying the number again.
"Thirteen!" Strikes barked as I winced powerfully and glared at her. The only thing worse than anything bad was said to be amplifying it in a triad.
"If we find out Helgen was burned down by a dragon or something it's going to be your fault!" I snapped as Strikes sniggered again and responded as we hiked out of the entrance into the rich Falkreath air.
"Come on… dragons don't exist anymore. The chances of seeing one are as good as those stupid numbers…" The rest of what Strikes was going to say died on her mouth as a roar of dominion like no other echoed from the sky over the trees and Lake Ilinalta towards the city of Whiterun.
(Sovngarde - TESV Soundtrack)
I didn't need the eyes of a wolf to see the mighty black wings against the cloudy sky… my jaw dropped as I craned my head up to stare as it flew over the mountains of Shriekwind and Bleak Falls… and my right eye twitched.
I caught Strikes turning out of the corner of my eye, but didn't pay any more attention, too focused on the living legend now flying off towards the arch-borne city of Solitude to the far North-west coast as it roared again; summoning verses from a song I enjoyed that was sung by the bard in the Dead Man's Drink back in Falkreath a few times:
'Alduin's wings… they did darken the sky.'
Wings as dark as a lightless cave did darken the sky… a small portion of it anyway…
'His roar fury's fire… and his scales sharpened scythes.'
The scales on its back looked like curved Akaviri katanas, or scythes…
'Men ran and they cowered… and they fought and they died.'
My eyes turned towards burning Helgen in the cliffs and mountains of the distant east under the shadow of the Throat of the World, smoke towering like pillar of despair into the sky.
'They burned and they bled… as they issued their cries.'
One more verse crossed my mind as what, if the song was true, what seemed to be the destroyer of worlds shrunk slowly into the distance; another distant roar of announcement crossing our ears.
'If Alduin wins… man is gone from this world… lost… in the shadow of the black wings unfurled.'
I started to feel a raw existential dread clouding my mind as I stared after the retreating monster, and bit out the first words that came to my mouth.
"You have got to be kidding me…"I bit out as shuddering, icy dread chilling my veins before I suddenly heard an odd sound from next to me, a weird "ack" or… chitter? Stammer? I turned to Strikes and saw her still staring after what for all intents and purposes was a real, fire-breathing, gods-forsaken dragon.
…and suddenly felt a colossal urge to hurl all manner of variations of "I bloodytold you so!" her way, that I barely contained; knowing that I had odd yet existent bouts of guilt for speaking cursed numbers or doing similar things before bad things happened. Destroying a city and bringing the world-eater to life is a heck of a guilt trip, however unwarranted considering everything happened before she said the words; she didn't believe anything would actually happen anyway. However, if her stammering was any indication, she wasn't going to be doubting luck anymore anyway; or at least taking any risk with it.
"what… but… I didn't… No. It's not possible…" Strikes muttered before her eyes suddenly hardened for a fraction of a second before she shook her head viciously and turned fearful wide eyes to me.
"Alexander… is that…" Strikes asked as she stared at me, a faint hope in her red eyes that she wasn't seeing what we both probably thought we were seeing.
Strikes was with me most everywhere and all the time these days, she left her family in Leyawiin and travelled with mine all the way to Skyrim. It was a little early for her at only fifteen, but "a pack sticks together" she'd said. So Strikes was with me when I'd heard that song and I stuck around to listen to it, and as I requested it multiple times later; The Tale of the Tongues it was called. A bardic rendition of the first battle against the dragons in mythic times.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
(Beneath the Ice – TESV Skyrim OST)
However, as she stared at me, my normally hot-headed and "can-do" friend and sometimes-lover, was staring pleadingly at me with the same icy dread I felt. I couldn't bear to tell her my true thoughts: I was all but certain that was Alduin… but to be honest, I was no scholar, just a guy who was fascinated by mythic creatures and monsters; dragons in particular albeit. I hoped against hope that we hadn't seen what I thought we'd seen; that this was just some other black dragon not recorded in the bards' tales and couple books my father scraped together for me from the Imperial City Library in Cyrodiil. Such was as I told her as I laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and relayed my more doubtful thoughts, sort-of telling the truth as I'd gotten unfortunately well-used to doing to avoid our parents finding out about our "furry problem"; because I was a terrible at outright lying.
"I… can't be completely certain, some dragons were red, and I think there were other colors too. Some survived into Tiber Septim's time even, it might just be some other black dragon. It doesn't take a "world-eater" to burn a city after all. It might be big, but that also doesn't look like a "world-eater" to you does it? Wouldn't it have started eating the world by now if it was?" I reasoned at length, putting my other thoughts aside as I did something I often liked to do: entertained and followed a thought, however weird or remote. Thankfully, it seemed to work.
Initially Strikes' brows furrowed in anger at what started out sounding like obvious bullshitting, but then as I went on, hope started to win out as Strikes turned her head downward in though; her eyes still wide with dread but my strong friend didn't look like she was about to break anymore… especially as she shook her head, a fond and most importantly: relieved smile on her face as she spoke again.
"Fucking dragon nerd… maybe you're right… Gods and the Hist, I hope you're right." Strikes said before her face grew fearful again. "What would we do against a dragon?! We've only just started thinking about actually trying to adventure in some Nordic ruin!" Strikes thought aloud as I furrowed my brows and thought out of habit.
"Well… we have our wolf form. If we really needed to, we might just need to get the jump on it…The wings can't be that tough, and without wings a dragon can't fly. They have to be easier to deal with on the ground, more clumsy at least… maybe we just need to use the right strategy; just like any prey. Theoretically." I reasoned and tried to warn. A dragon most certainly wouldn't be normal prey. However, as always, any plea for caution fell on deaf ears with my impulsive lizard as Strikes' wary fear slowly transformed into the eager bloodlust her blood-father so enjoyed out of her as she looked towards the flying beast fading into the distance, and grinned eagerly.
(Ulfhednar - Dervhengrym / 0:00 – 2:05)
Suddenly… my blood rushed, and my inner wolf howled with glee as I felt a presence… and heard a voice I hadn't heard in a long time.
"Prey indeed…" A fierce, growling voice said from behind us; echoing through both land and mind as my eyes widened in surprise.
I immediately turned and knelt in respect to what was the entrance of our cave: it now bled a dense fog as the wraithlike shadow of a giant, bloody-eyed wolf… the Alpha of Alphas, the lord of the Hunt, and the sire of our blood cocked his deer skull helmed head appraisingly at us as Strikes eagerly replicated my own deferential motion next to me with an elated shout of utter thrill at our lord's arrival.
"My lord!" Strikes exclaimed as she too fell to her knees; always by far the most devout of the two of us despite not having it by blood.
Strikes was always the most devout of the two of us despite not originally having the wolf-blood. I was the first, having it passed down through blood from the grandfather on my Mother's side that my Mother still didn't even know of. Hircine could always have turned Mother if she had but let him in to herself for even the slightest moment, but Hircine never actually tried with her. For good reason, as most of his was.
My mother was a very compassionate woman, an alchemist and illusion mage of the newborn art of mind-healing for a reason: she wanted nothing more than to help people, and even animals. My mother couldn't hardly hurt a fly despite the present fierceness and stubbornness her father's nord blood gave her, much less hunt in our lord's name. Hircine, and even I, a mere mortal, couldn't conceive of my Mother viewing his blood as anything more than a curse. Besides, despite his reputation among the close-minded, Hircine cared about his children, and was disappointed if their heart wasn't in the hunt.
I was always interested in mythic creatures when I was younger, particularly predators, probably because of some dormant desire for the thrill of the hunt. Hircine appeared to me when I was but a lad of twelve just getting into the warrior arts; further awakening that so-far dormant desire. Our lord first appeared to me in dreams, and eventually as a voice in my waking mind, then finally in reality when he offered to merely unlock a power that he said I already had: his blood. To become one with the very beasts I so admired, it was an easy choice for a young boy. However, also one that involved a choice a young boy was crucially lacking in care or the requisite knowledge for: namely about what would happen to my soul if I allowed his spirit entry to mine to unlock the power of my blood; that my soul would be his and that I would hunt with him for eternity in his Hunting Grounds in oblivion.
When I saw mention of this fact in a book on the daedra and their princes, and what happens to worshippers, I frantically called out to my blood-father the next time the two moons of Masser and Secunda were full; the height of his and our power. Our lord is nothing if not fair, and upon my question, confirmed to my now more able and sufficiently caring mind what the book had implied. Our lord sensed my doubts and was disappointed, and hadn't spoken to me since; something which I was actually glad for at the time: it allowed me to gather myself and my thoughts. I wished to see my parents in Arkay's or Stendarr's realm, but also enjoyed taking on that primal form gifted by our lord and hunting, especially in my nascent pack of Strikes and myself.
Insofar, I'm in flux, uncertain of what I wish to do: researching potential "cures" for lycanthropy on and off, while still consistently hunting and enjoying the hunt.
Strikes however, had no such doubts, save seeing me wherever I go in the afterlife; though I think she privately has doubts of that doubt: If she felt she had the choice, she would be thrilled to hunt with her lord for the rest of eternity.
(Wolf Blood – Adrian von Ziegler)
Strikes had originally found out of my wolf-blood when she'd secretly followed me outside the city walls one evening sometime shortly after the well incident, curious as to what I did after all the other kids had gone to bed. I had chased her down out of panic over what my mom and dad would think if they found out, for every child was taught that daedra were evil and which daedra did what and why they were "bad"… at least why the "grown-ups" thought they were bad.
Thankfully, my inner wolf, being meshed with a child's soul and mind, was just as clumsy as any child or puppy and my first panicked strike/attempt to catch my friend safely, cut her deeply but not lethally. Her cry of pain woke my true self and I reeled back so harshly that I so completely shut my inner wolf inside that I transformed back… only to desperately try to comfort and reassure my friend that I meant her no harm, and inform her that grown-ups might kill me if they knew what happened.
Strikes had been horrified of what happened to me, and fearful after what I did, but she was even more terrified of me being killed. She hid the wound as best as she could, and Strikes, much like myself, was cunning for a kid; well able to hide a couple of short claw marks if she got the chance. However, the problem was that both my and Strikes' parents were still awake. Mine made a point to not go to bed until I had come back from my evening "walks", and Strikes' parents were of a similar mind at their own house since Strikes had joined me this time.
I couldn't help but give a rare thanks to Nocturnal, mistress of darkness and luck, when they actually believed our tale of a wolf attack. In hindsight, and perhaps my mother didn't quite believe it, which is why she made a point of giving Strikes a full-blown, and expensive potion of cure disease. If she suspected a werewolf, she thankfully didn't suspect me specifically, or couldn't countenance the thought if she did and denied it.
Strikes had been cured of both the wounds and any disease of lycanthropy that night, but knowing of my wolf-blood at that point, she was curious and asked what it was like. Excited as my young self was to finally have someone to share what was essentially a secret half of my life with, I had explained to her in as much vivid and thorough detail as a newly-minted thirteen-year-old could.
As my explanation went on, Strikes was enamored with the idea, moreso than even I had been at the start, but was still hesitant. I offered to show her the next night, or what ended up being a week later when our parents finally let us go out again.
Strikes had been building up anticipation through the week, eager to see what the wolf-blood was really like. The moment our parents allowed us outside the walls unsupervised again, she practically demanded to be shown the wolf-form again. That time, far from being terrified as she'd been the first time, she was thrilled to see the transformation. Not only was Strikes thrilled by the sight of my wolf-form that time, she actually kept up with me as she followed me through my hunt, such was her excitement and eagerness not to miss a solitary moment of my demonstration.
Strikes was so enamored by my wolf that before we even returned home, she actually asked for my wolf to bite her, for even children knew of the supposed "legend" that lycanthropy could be spread by claws and teeth of werewolves. Hircine though, had a different idea: the next night I would cut myself and have Strikes to drink my blood. It was so, and after guiding her through her first transformation and hunt to keep her from populated areas, we were a pack ever since.
(Ulfhednar - Dervhengrym / 0:00 – 2:05)
Back to the present though, while Strikes and my inner wolf were positively gleeful at the appearance of their blood-father, I knew there had to be a reason why he'd appeared now. Considering his words and my own… I started to get a terrible sinking feeling of dread. I was neither a creature born of the very idea of the hunt or an impulsive lizard, so I actually had a sense of self-preservation, and fear for my friend's life.
Our lord's next words only confirmed my fears.
"You are cunning as always Little Alpha, the size and skill of the prey should never make a difference to a good hunter; it only makes for more worthy prey." Hircine said as I couldn't help looking up to the great shadow-wolf in disbelief before glancing to Strikes to gauge her reaction.
She was staring at me with admiration and even a certain level of longing or envy for the praise and attention. Then Hircine drew my attention back to him as the shadow-wolf spoke again.
"Yet… you disappoint me as well Little Alpha, you doubt yourself, you doubt your pack." Hircine accused as I glanced down in shame for but a moment before staring back up at him defiantly, a myriad of reasons on my mind as he spoke further. "Your mate trusts you, you will succeed if only you try." Hircine said, shattering my composure and even causing Strikes to flinch as I responded, or tried.
"We're not…" As far as I got before the shadow-wolf scoffed and shook my denial off its ethereal coat.
"Mortals… So obsessed with love." Hircine scoffed before taking an assertive step forward as Strikes immediately bowed her head in submission, I did not, quite certain in this particular conviction. "Your souls are bound by blood, your actions bind you as a pack, you have even rutted, what is there left?" Hircine reasoned as I felt a multitude of long thought-out reasons of my own coming to mind:
Compatibility: Could I really stand Strikes' temper and attitude for the rest of my days? Admittedly one of the weaker ones since I'd tolerated it and even grown to like it to a degree after this long.
Children, a stronger argument: Apparently as the Hist made Strikes' kind, it was possible(1), but every one of them would be argonian, would I be okay with that? I still didn't know, but I might not necessarily care.
Motherhood itself, the strongest: Strikes had never shown any interest in it, and had even shown some annoyance at the idea when it came up at other times, something fundamentally necessary for a family; something which I would not go without.
Nonetheless, the lord of the Hunt continued with another coat-shaking scoff.
"Whatever you must tell yourselves, I shall refer to you as it is right. You are mates." Hircine asserted as I still glared defiantly, but didn't actually fight him further; this was far from the hill I wished to die on. What Hircine said was true in the most primal sense anyway, which makes sense as far as the patron of the hunt, beasts, and primality would be concerned.
However, Hircine, as always, sensed and noted my continued defiance.
"So eager to defy me, your lord and the sire of your blood, yet you hesitate to take up the most glorious hunt you shall ever have the opportunity to take!" Hircine accused once more before his glowing red eyes turned to Strikes, who shuddered at his mere attention, her reptilian tail starting to wag eagerly. "I sense your mate is of stronger will… are you not, Strikes-The-Moon?" Hircine demanded as Strikes rose her head to him and eagerly obliged.
"No! I mean… yes! Umm… I would bring its skull to you myself but…" Strikes stammered and declared before trailing off as she lowered her head doubt and some shame as the shadow-wolf cocked its head in askance.
"…but?" Hircine prompted as Strikes tentatively rose her head and continued.
"…but… my… I don't think my mate is completely wrong in his doubts… I wish to bring the dragon's skull to you, to hunt it in your name! It would be our prey if we could just get our claws in its hide!... but it wouldn't give us a chance. It would turn us to ash if it just glanced at us!" Strikes reasoned rightly the source of my fears, even if her own reasoning was also grounded in utter zealotry to "her lord", another problem in my opinion anyway with the idea of her as my true mate as Hircine phrased it.
Hircine only stared at us for a long moment before turning back to me and suddenly speaking, his voice unusually sage-like for the ferocious lord of the Hunt.
"Do you know why I chose you Little Alpha? Truly know?" Hircine asked as I furrowed my brows in thought and confusion at the seemingly random question, but nonetheless answered with what I assumed was the reason.
"My mother was too compassionate, she wouldn't give any glory to you or her blood. She would be ungrateful and view it as nothing more than a curse. I give you and my blood glory, and am grateful… if uncertain as always." I reasoned and said honestly, seeing no point in hiding what was already known, as Hircine nodded before speaking.
"You speak truth, in more ways than one. For your heart is certainly an uncertain one." Hircine jabbed as I could not but look down and nod shamefully this time, not because I regretted my indecision, but because I was genuinely grateful for the opportunity and regretful that I disappointed the one who gave it.
Hircine then continued further after a moment.
"…but you can't have known the other reason as I hadn't yet told you. I was uncertain that it could come to anything, until now." Hircine said mysteriously as I looked back up and glanced as Strikes, just as perplexed as I was as Hircine continued.
"When you were born… I smelled a peculiar scent on the winds of oblivion. I followed it to you Aurielius, one of my own blood. You are special Aurielius, mine is not the only blood that runs through your veins…" Hircine revealed as my eyes widened and I glanced down at myself in disbelief as Hircine continued; turning to Strikes now. "…and when your mate gave you his and my blood, I knew it was true of you as well Strikes-The-Moon. There is even one other of the same scent, one not of my blood." Hircine explained further as Strikes, ever the impatient lizard, was unable to resist any longer and blurted out the obvious question.
"What is it? Please tell us lord!" Strikes pleaded, still deferential as ever to the only being she would probably ever consider groveling to as the great shadow-wolf merely gave us a predatory smile.
"I think that is its own reward… or perhaps some might consider it a curse." Hircine said with a pointed glance at me… only worrying me further as he continued. "One way or the other… you shall only find out if the hunter becomes the hunted, and dragons become your prey."
Such was the will of the lord of the Hunt, and he declared it with a bone chilling yet invigorating howl that seemed to carve through flesh and soul and echo through the land; to which my inner wolf eagerly responded in kind. Then, like a herald of things to come, I heard the familiar snapping and slithering of bone and flesh as Strikes let loose her inner wolf and then howled her lord's glory… the deep, monstrous howl of a werewolf; the sound that struck fear into the hearts of men everywhere… The ethereal Wolf Lord grinned… wolfishly.
Suddenly, as if summoned by the howl of the hunt, the fog and the great shadow-wolf whirled in an ethereal maelstrom, and then as if a great wind blew it all in one direction, the fog and the great shadow-wolf were once more consumed by the darkness of the cave.
…and as I looked towards Strikes' now werewolf form, her furred head staring towards a now-distant black speck now out by the distant northern coast with her teeth bared in an eager predatory grin, and then as I looked towards still-burning Helgen under the looming morning shadow of the Throat of the World, I knew that whether I liked it or not… by the will of Hircine, and for the people of Skyrim…
The hunt had begun.
(End track)
----------------------------------------
(1) argonian interbreeding: So there's some very long winded, but in-depth reasoning behind this IMO: The start of it is the question of why argonian reptilian females have mammalian breasts… because it bugs me lol. There's a popular theory for why, in lore, argonian females have breasts; despite being reptilian.
One popular theory, based off of an interview from a developer (which according to official Bethesda instruction, is to be taken with a grain of salt as established by the following order of priority for official canon: 1-gameplay, 2-books in games, 3-official books outside the games, 4-other including dev commentary) states that the breasts of argonian females serve a similar purpose to mammalian breasts; except that they carry hist-sap instead of milk.
The theory of argonian hist-sap breasts has some merit, however there are severe problems with this theory in my opinion when you attempt to mesh it with argonian birth and development along with existing lore examples.
Firstly, it is well-documented that argonian eggs should be laid by a hist tree and that argonian children should somehow receive hist-sap in order for the children to develop properly (by argonian standards, a lack of hist-sap doesn't prevent the ability of an argonian to function and develop similarly to the other races as you'll see in an upcoming example). While the necessity of hist-sap for argonian development may seem to be proof for the theory, it's actually almost the opposite.
Argonian children are documented in in-game books, and shown in "Elder Scrolls Online: Murkmire"(hereafter ESO:M), to receive all the hist-sap they need from the hist tree itself, with no sap coming from the mother. Why would argonian female breasts even be necessary then?
A counterargument is that argonian breast hist-sap is designed to allow proper development of argonians away from the Black Marsh and the hist. However, there is an in-game case of an argonian slave known as Ja-Reet being born into slavery outside of Black Marsh and travelling to his (note that his gender was chosen already, contrary to the lore statement that hist-sap is necessary for an argonian to develop a distinguishable gender) homeland, finding it difficult to understand native-born argonians because he either didn't receive, or received insufficient hist-sap. If his mother or egg would've carried hist-sap, why did he have to develop without sufficient quantities of it?
Finally, even if argonian breasts were hist-sap reserves, why are they shaped like mammalian breasts? Why aren't they a membrane inside the abdomen similar to fat for the developing hatchling to use while still inside the mother, or simply down lower like many non-primate mammals? Furthermore, the hist-sap theory has not been correlated or displayed in any gameplay or in-game books, or even outside game books; it is purely developer opinion.
A possible explanation given via an interview that technically took place in-universe, and is I think a reliable source, is that the hist molded argonians after the forms of men and mer: "You know the story I mean: the allegory of the Hist perceiving humans and Elves, admiring "their walking legs and clever hands," and then molding and re-molding the swamp's Useful Lizards until they found they had made Argonians."
The aforementioned quote is a compelling explanation with one problem: nothing is mentioned about breasts, and the description of a certain rod in ESO:M states: "Orichalic dowsing rod used for finding the underground teeming-holes of licorice worms, which Keepers feed to hatchlings."
No other lore speaks of how argonian hatchlings are fed, though it is said that they are born with the ability to walk: "These infants (the dryskin word for their hatchlings) are completely vulnerable and weak. They cannot even walk. My eyes narrow in confusion. How can such creatures survive into adulthood?"
Human toddlers no longer need breast milk, so why would argonian hatchlings born in the stage need some similar supplement when the description of the rod seems to indicate they are fed normal (if soft) food much the same as a human toddler?
The conclusion I've been working towards, and what seems to be the most plausible, or even only logical one, is that argonian female's breasts are purely for sex appeal. There is a problem with even this however that my conclusion about argonian interbreeding seeks to explain: Why would creatures evolved from reptiles (even if rapidly, according to the quote regarding that creation story) care about breasts? They're not a sign of fertility as with humans, and furthermore, going back to the Hist's reasoning for giving argonians a humanoid form: they gave argonians a humanoid form because it was useful.
If breasts are useless save sex appeal, why would the argonians even have them? They already seem to have more reptilian display structures that better indicate health and appeal for reptiles and birds: elaborate horns, and feathers in particular (a modern bird's general health can be told to a useful degree of accuracy by the condition of their feathers: bright or not, patchy or not, etc.), not to mention visible musculature and obvious body structure as with other humanoids.
So if the breasts are not to attract argonian males, then who are they for?
I was stumped for a bit until my mind turned towards the Asari of the Mass Effect series: a race capable of interbreeding with other races, but only producing offspring of their kind, but with limited transfer of certain very limited traits that don't significantly impact Asari physiology (at least enough to notice upon external inspection).
This seems a very valuable survival strategy: a race that doesn't even need its own kind to reproduce, one individual and another of compatible organs, or perhaps through a special technique or other "magic" (such weird genetic shenanigans that the hist seem fully capable of considering how they evolved argonians from lizards in at most a geologic eye-blink; and gave them gills like fish basically "because useful".).
----------------------------------------
TL:DR/conclusion: Other theories for why argonian female breasts exist can or even must be ruled out based on existing lore and Bethesda instruction on how to prioritize canon sources, leaving sex appeal. There's no reason for breasts to appeal argonian males because the species already has multiple other features the serve the purpose of mate selection far better, leaving the reason for argonian breasts to exist to be specifically to attract males of other races. I consider it evolutionarily disadvantageous for argonian/other-race children to not be argonian, so I theorize that any children of argonian interspecies breeding would be argonian with perhaps small differences; a la Asari from Mass Effect.
Final note: Only argonian females can interbreed because other humanoid females cannot go through the complex and very alien birthing process required for toddler sized eggs. I had to think up a totally new piece of lore just for this because apparently the people in charge of lore at Bethesda somehow failed to consider this tiny little detail when writing that bit of lore and depicting ESO:M's argonian eggs. I'll get into that at a more appropriate point though, this explanation is already almost two pages long by itself lol.
P.S I shamelessly admit I adore argonians so at least part of this is likely influenced by wanting to have an argonian/human romance plot despite the fact that I tried to make it make sense. Sue me (don't pls XD).