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Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #18
🕑 Added 2025-10-30 23:45:06 +0000 UTCCrouched behind a large, moss-covered boulder, Aela and Torin observed their quarry. The massive brown bear lay in a sun-drenched clearing, its sides rising and falling in a deep, contented slumber. Its failure to find proper shelter only solidified Aela's theory; this was a displaced creature, driven from its territory.
"Alright," Torin whispered, his voice tight with anticipation. "How do you want to do this?"
Aela hummed low in her throat, her hunter's eyes assessing the situation. "Normally, I'd find a high vantage point and put an arrow through its eye from a hundred paces. Clean. Efficient." She glanced at him, a glint of challenge in her gaze. "But since this is your first contract, we'll do it the old-fashioned way. Head on."
"Fine by me. What's the plan?"
"I'll wake it up," she said, nocking an arrow. "An arrow to its hind leg. That should slow it down and enrage it. You engage it head-on, keep its attention. I'll keep my distance and only step in if absolutely necessary."
Torin raised an eyebrow, a wry smile touching his lips. "So, you wound the prey and let the young one move in for the kill. Isn't that how sabre cats train their cubs?"
Aela snorted, not taking her eyes off the bear. "I did see you in diapers. Consider this advanced training."
"Fine, fine," Torin conceded, rolling his shoulders. "Let's get this over with."
"Ready?" Aela asked, her bowstring taut.
"Do it," Torin said, hefting his shield and hammer. He stepped out from behind the boulder, his boots crunching softly on the gravel.
Aela's fingers released. The arrow flew with a sharp thwip, slicing through the air and embedding itself deep in the bear's haunch.
The beast jerked awake with a startled, furious roar that echoed through the hills. It scrambled to its feet, its small, angry eyes scanning the clearing.
They quickly locked onto the only immediate threat: Torin, who was now advancing steadily, beating his hammer against the face of his shield in a loud, rhythmic clang that was an undeniable challenge.
The bear lowered its head, a guttural growl rumbling in its chest, and charged.
The bear covered the ground between them with shocking speed, rising onto its hind legs with a pained roar. The arrow in its haunch made it flinch, but did nothing to halt the raw power of its attack. It brought a massive paw down in a sweeping arc, putting the full, crushing weight of its body behind the blow.
Torin bent his knees, bracing himself, and raised his shield high. The air around him shimmered faintly as his Oakflesh spell hardened his skin. The impact was colossal.
The reinforced wood of the shield splintered, sending shards flying. A jolt of numbing pain shot up Torin's arm, and his boots sank an inch into the soft earth. But he held, gritting his teeth against the strain. Seizing the opening, he swung his warhammer in a short, brutal arc into the bear's extended foreleg.
A sickening, wet crunch echoed in the clearing. The bear bellowed in agony, the sound raw and deafening. It staggered back a step, its weight now uneven.
Torin didn't hesitate. Pushing through the numbness in his arm, he invoked a minor Haste spell. The world sharpened. He lunged forward, shield-first, and delivered a powerful, driving bash into the bear's chest. Off-balance and wounded, the great beast toppled over, landing on its back with a ground-shaking thud.
It roared again, a sound of pure fury and pain, scrambling to get its feet under it. It managed to stand, but only on three legs. Its front paw, mangled by Torin's hammer, hung limp and useless, swinging grotesquely with its movements.
Still, it refused to yield. It let out another challenging roar and lurched forward, trying to close the distance and snap at him with its powerful jaws.
Torin simply took a measured step back. The bear tried again, and again he retreated, easily staying out of range of its clumsy, three-legged lunge. Each time the beast exposed itself, Torin's grip tightened on his hammer, his muscles coiling to strike... but each time, he let the moment pass, his expression conflicted.
Watching from her vantage point, Aela's frown deepened into a scowl. This wasn't a duel; it was a mercy killing that had lost its nerve.
"Torin!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the bear's pained grunts. "Stop playing with it! It's suffering. End it. Now!"
Torin turned his head toward Aela’s voice, his mouth opening as if to offer an explanation or a protest. But no words came out. What could he say? That it felt too much like butchery now? That the fire of the fight had died, leaving only the grim reality of a wounded, suffering animal?
This was more than he'd bargained for.
He turned back to face the bear. It was still inching toward him, driven by a base instinct to fight or flee, its useless paw dragging in the dirt. A low, pained whine escaped its muzzle between ragged breaths.
The sight of it, this powerful creature reduced to a limping, desperate shadow, made his expression shift from conflict to a hard, resigned sorrow.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. The apology was thick in the air, though whether it was for the act of killing itself or for the prolonged suffering he had allowed, Aela could not tell.
As the bear made one final, clumsy lunge, jaws gaping, Torin did not retreat. He stepped into the movement, his body a coiled spring. He raised the warhammer high, its weight a sudden, grim certainty in his hands. There was no triumphant shout, no battle cry.
There was only the swift, terrible arc of the weapon as he brought it crashing down upon the bear’s skull.
The sound was final. A dull, definitive thud that silenced the ragged breathing and stilled the struggling form. The great beast slumped to the ground, finally at peace.
The clearing fell silent, save for Torin’s own heavy breathing. He stood over his first kill, the weight of the hammer feeling infinitely heavier than it had moments before.
...
Ten minutes later, the clearing was steeped in a heavy silence. Aela knelt beside the massive carcass, her hands already busy with a skinning knife. Torin stood a dozen paces away, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the distant hills, refusing to look at the dead bear.
Aela paused her work with an exasperated sigh, the sound sharp in the quiet. "If you're going to stand there and sob, then get it over with," she said, her voice flat and practical. "Do it, and then come help me when you're finished. Just make it quick."
Torin's head snapped around, his expression one of pure affront. "Wow," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You are a truly terrible human being."
Aela didn't even look up, her knife making a precise incision. "Maybe. Or maybe you're acting like a milk-drinker. That beast wouldn't have thought twice about smashing your skull open and feasting on your guts. It's the way of the wild."
Torin felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. "Well, that's what separates us from the fucking animals, isn't it? You know, compassion? Maybe you should try having some."
Finally, she glanced up, her eyes as hard as flint. "Maybe when you're safe inside Whiterun's walls, warming your feet by the fire. But out here?"
She gestured with her bloodied knife to the vast, untamed wilderness around them. "Compassion will just get you killed. It's a luxury we can't afford."
She turned back to the carcass. "Now, we need to skin it and examine its stomach before the stench of blood draws every predator from here to the Throat of the World. Stop wasting daylight."
Torin opened his mouth, a hot retort ready on his tongue, but he bit it back. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. The practical reality of their situation was a cold splash of water on his moral discomfort.
With a resigned sigh, he walked over and knelt beside her, the scent of blood and earth filling his nostrils.
"Fine," he muttered. "What do you need me to do?"
Aela deftly twirled her skinning knife, the steel glinting. "Your eyes seem sharp enough. Make yourself useful. Go over its back and flanks, look for any scars or wounds that aren't from us."
She didn't wait for a reply, turning her attention to the bear's abdomen and beginning the methodical, gruesome work of separating the thick hide from the underlying flesh.
"Anything that might tell us what really chased it from its territory."
Torin winced at the wet, tearing sounds but forced himself to comply. He moved to the beast's back, his hands parting the dense, coarse fur, searching for any hidden stories written on its skin.
"Mostly just old scars and claw marks," he reported after a moment, his voice tight. "Similar to the ones on the cow. They look months old, though."
He continued his examination, his fingers moving carefully through the blood-matted fur. Then he paused. His fingertips brushed against something wet and sticky.
Parting the fur more deliberately, he revealed a narrow, clean slash on the bear's flank, so fresh it was still slowly weeping blood. His frown deepened. He searched the surrounding area and found several more—a cluster of similar wounds, some already inflamed with infection, others just beginning to scab over.
"Aela," he called out, his tone now serious. "I found something."
She immediately stopped her work, wiping her hands on her greaves as she moved around the massive carcass. She knelt beside him, her hunter's eyes narrowing as she inspected the wounds.
She prodded one with the tip of her knife, her expression turning grim. "Hmph. These don't look like the work of any beast I know," she murmured. "Too clean for claws, and no crushing around the edges..."
Torin nodded, a cold certainty settling in his gut. "Vilkas came back from a contract a few months ago with a gash on his arm that looked just like this. He said it was from a bandit's sword."
Aela let out a long, weary sigh, the sound carrying the weight of a now-complicated situation. "Aye," she conceded, her voice low. "It certainly looks like sword cuts. Sloppy and amateurish, no finesse to them... but unmistakable."
She looked from the dead bear toward the rugged hills, her gaze now sharp with a new kind of alertness. "This wasn't just a displaced animal. It was driven out. By men."
Torin raised a skeptical eyebrow. "But who would go out of their way to chase a bear out of its home? It seems like an unnecessary risk."
Aela shrugged, her focus returning to the task of skinning. "What else? Shelter. Could be bandits on the run from the Whiterun guards, or maybe refugees who got lost and desperate after the war."
She shook her head, a few strands of red hair escaping her braid. "Either way, as long as it's not a beast preying on livestock, it's none of our business. Our contract was for the beast."
"But if it's bandits, wouldn't that be worse?" Torin pressed. "A beast acts on instinct. Men with swords act on greed."
"Bandits with a shred of sense wouldn't be stupid enough to set up a permanent camp this close to the city and start raiding Battle-Born farms," Aela countered, her voice laced with the certainty of experience.
"They'd have the entire guard contingent on them in a day. My guess is they're just passing through. They probably took over a cave near the mountain where this bear lived because they couldn't find anywhere better to hole up for a night or two. They'll be gone by now, or they'll be moving on soon."
Torin considered this, turning the logic over in his mind. It was cold, but it made a certain brutal sense. "Makes sense, I suppose," he conceded with a reluctant nod.
Aela gave a short, satisfied smile and reached out, patting his shoulder with her blood-smeared hand. "Good. Now stop worrying about two-legged problems and come help me skin your new friend here." She gave him a pointed look. "Unless you've still got a few more tears to shed for it first."
Torin looked down at the bloody handprint now staining his tunic, then back at Aela's challenging grin. He let out a long, defeated sigh.
"You," he muttered, shaking his head as he knelt to resume the grim work, "are definitely a horrible human being."
Comments
Potato
I liked the compassion
