Wicked_Fiction
patreon
Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #17
🕑 Added 2025-10-30 01:20:42 +0000 UTCThe morning sun dappled through the ancient branches of the Gildergreen as Aela made her way toward Jorrvaskr, her stride purposeful.
Her thoughts were already on the contract—a simple beast hunt near the White River, a welcome bit of straightforward work. But as her boots hit the first stone step leading up to the mead hall, she froze.
Perched on the steps like a smug cat was Torin, a grin plastered on his face that promised nothing but trouble. A deep, instinctual part of her screamed that her day had just become infinitely more complicated.
Suppressing a groan, she resolved to ignore him and march straight past.
She managed exactly three more steps before he fluidly rose to his feet, blocking her path with an air of having been waiting for this very moment.
"Hey there, Red."
Aela felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. Red. He only used that infuriating nickname because he knew precisely how much she despised it.
She let out a sharp sigh, her patience already thinning. "What is it, Torin?"
He rolled his eyes with theatrical flair. "No need to be so cold. You've seen me in diapers, after all. That's got to count for some kind of familiarity."
The twitch near her eye intensified. "Shouldn't it be the other way around? The one in diapers is usually the one who's embarrassed." She crossed her arms over her leather armor, her tone flat. "Speak up already. I'm here because Vilkas sent word about a contract."
"That's exactly why I'm here," Torin said, his grin widening. "Vilkas said I should go with you."
Her eyes widened a fraction, a flicker of surprise breaking through her annoyance. "So, you're finally ready to earn your keep around here?"
Torin offered a casual shrug. "Vilkas sure seems to think so."
Aela let out a short, derisive breath. "And I get to be the one to babysit you. Wonderful."
She paused, her hunter's mind weighing the pros and cons of outright refusal against the sheer inconvenience he would inevitably cause.
"I'd really like to say no," she finally conceded, the words tasting bitter. "But against my better judgment, I'll agree. So, you'd best do as I tell you, when I tell you. No arguments, no 'clever' ideas. Understood?"
Torin placed a hand over his heart, his expression one of exaggerated solemnity. "I'll be as thoughtful as a boulder. No ideas whatsoever. You won't even know I'm there."
Despite her best efforts, a corner of Aela’s mouth twitched upward into a grudging grin. "I'll hold you to that, then." Her demeanor shifted back to business. "Now, I assume you know where this beast was last seen?"
Torin shook his head. "It wasn't exactly seen. The workers at the Battle-Born farm woke up to find a dead cow. Its gut was torn open and most of the innards were gone."
Aela hummed thoughtfully, her hunter's instincts engaging. "If it happened at night, it could be a wolf pack. The fact that only the soft innards were taken means the beast, or beasts, were likely spooked and in a hurry." She paused, then shook her head, her fiery braid swaying. "Speculation is useless. We'll find the truth in the tracks. Come on."
As they headed down from the Wind District, they passed the Gildergreen, where the priestess Danica Pure-Spring was carefully tending to the great tree's roots.
She spotted them and offered a warm, knowing smile.
"Torin," she called out gently. "Tell me you've been practicing the Healing Hands technique I showed you."
Torin returned her smile. "What do you think? I live in a mead hall full of muscle-headed glory-hounds who beat on each other for fun. I get more practice than the Temple's novices."
Danica chuckled, the sound like rustling leaves. "See that you practice diligently. The Divines' gifts are not to be squandered."
With a wave, they continued on, descending into the bustling Market District. They had barely taken a dozen steps before another voice hailed them.
"Torin!"
It was Carlotta Valentina, standing by her market stall, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Her expression was a mixture of warmth and weary frustration.
"When I see Companions, I know there's trouble or there's about to be less of it," she said. "How are you, boy?"
"Doing well, Carlotta," Torin replied. "And you?"
"I'll be fine," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. "But I'll be a great deal better once someone deals with whatever's lurking around the farms. It's hard enough getting my goods from the caravans on time without worrying about some beast dragging off my suppliers on the road."
Torin gave her a confident nod. "Then it's your lucky day. That's exactly where we're headed."
"Good," Carlotta said, her expression softening with relief. "Divines guide you."
Aela’s initial patience for the interruptions had worn thin by the second stop. By the third, a familiar, low-grade annoyance was simmering in her veins. It seemed every other person in the Market District had some mundane bit of business with Torin.
The hunter Anoriath flagged them down, enthusiastically detailing the success he'd had preserving his venison using a "dry-aging method" Torin had apparently suggested.
Then, Torin veered off course to Fralia Gray-Mane's jewelry stall, relaying a made-up message from Eorlund with a perfectly straight face: "He told me to tell you that you're the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on, and that your smile outshines the Skyforge."
The old woman laughed it off before shooing Torin away, saying that her old man could learn a thing or two from him.
Each stop was a small pebble of delay, and Aela felt like she was being stoned to death by trivialities. By the time they finally neared the city's main gate, she was seriously considering just scaling the wall and leaving him behind to his social calls.
She came to a sudden halt, turning a glare on him that could have frozen a Flame Atronach. "Tell me you're not going to stop and ask the guards how their pet hounds are doing. I swear, if you delay us one more time..."
Torin slowly blinked, his expression utterly guileless. "I already did that this morning during my run. Bane's got a bit of a limp, but he's on the mend."
Aela stared at him, her jaw tight. The sheer social connectivity of the boy was a force of nature she had no weapon against. Exasperated, she shook her head and strode forward, her voice a low growl as she shouldered the great gate open.
"By Ysgramor's beard... just come on. Hurry up."
...
The Battle-Born farm sprawled across the fertile land just beyond Whiterun's walls, a testament to practical Nord industry. Neat, well-tended rows of leeks, gourds, and potatoes stretched toward the White River, dominated by a large, creaking water mill.
A simple, sturdy longhouse stood nearby, and beside it, a fenced-in animal pen where the heart of the problem lay.
A small group of field hands was clustered around the carcass of a cow, their voices a low, anxious murmur. The air was thick with the smell of blood and disturbed earth.
"I'm telling you, it's a werewolf," one man insisted, gesturing wildly at the mangled corpse. "Nothing else could tear through hide and bone like that!"
"Don't be daft, Lars," another scoffed, shaking his head. "A werewolf would've made a mess of the whole beast, not just the guts. Sounds more like a vampire to me."
"And since when do vampires eat intestines, you milk-drinker? They drink blood!"
Their debate was cut short as Torin and Aela approached. The workers fell silent, their gazes shifting from the dead animal to the new arrivals. Aela didn't bother with pleasantries.
"We're from the Companions," she announced, her voice cutting through the tension. "We're here to deal with your beast. Clear out and let us work."
The field hands exchanged sullen looks, one of them muttering something under his breath about "arrogant city brats" before they reluctantly shuffled away, casting nervous glances back at the carcass.
Aela paid them no further mind. She knelt beside the dead cow, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She ignored the gore, focusing on the details. The edges of the wound were ragged, but the rest of the animal was largely untouched.
"Hmph. As I thought," she murmured, more to herself than to Torin. "The cuts are messy, not clean. This wasn't a predator savoring a kill. It was desperate, in a hurry. And it was clever enough to know it wasn't welcome here for long."
Torin nodded along, his own gaze analytical. "I've read that wolves learn to avoid human settlements once enough of their pack are killed. It becomes ingrained behavior." He then gestured toward a set of parallel gashes on the cow's haunch. "But these claw marks look a little too large and deep for any wolf I've ever seen."
Aela raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself by his observation. She moved around the carcass to get a better look. There were five distinct, brutal slashes. Without a hint of squeamishness, she used her thumb and forefinger to carefully pry each gash open, examining the depth and tearing of the flesh beneath.
"You're right," she confirmed, wiping her hand on the grass. "Look at the pattern. The one in the center is the deepest. The claw marks further out get progressively more shallow. That's the signature of a heavy paw swipe." She stood, her expression grimly satisfied. "We're not dealing with wolves. We've got a bear on our hands."
Torin scratched his head, a frown creasing his brow. "That doesn't make much sense. What's a bear doing attacking a farm animal? Don't they usually stick to smaller game, berries, and fishing in the river this close to winter?"
"Usually, yes," Aela agreed, her eyes already scanning the tree line as if she could see the beast's path. "Which means something forced it out of its preferred hunting grounds."
"What could drive a bear away from its own territory?" Torin asked, the implications beginning to dawn on him.
Aela shrugged, though the gesture was tense. "Another, larger bear. A persistent sabre cat. A big enough wolf pack could harass it until it left. Anything is possible." Her frown deepened. "But it is strange. Predatory beasts usually have their territories settled by now, with winter so close. They avoid unnecessary conflict to conserve energy."
"So what's the plan?" Torin asked, hefting his hammer.
"We track the bear and put it down," Aela stated, her tone leaving no room for debate. "It's a threat to the livestock now, and a hungry bear is an unpredictable one."
She paused, her gaze turning toward the foot of Mount Hrothgar beyond the river. "But after that, we need to see what chased it from its home. It's not technically part of the job, but if we don't, we have to make sure whatever settled in the bear's home isn't an even bigger threat."
"Should we start looking for tracks now?" Torin asked, his voice low and respectful of the hunter's process.
Aela gave a curt nod, her gaze already sweeping the churned-up earth around the animal pen. "The ground will tell us everything we need to know. Something as heavy as a bear can't move without leaving deep tracks."
They began their search, fanning out from the carcass. But the task proved more difficult than anticipated. The field hands, in their panic and morning chores, had trampled the area thoroughly. The tracks Aela sought were being overwritten by a mess of hobnailed boot prints and deep cart ruts.
Aela moved with a silent, predatory patience, her eyes missing nothing. Torin mirrored her, his own gaze sharp, learning from her methodical scrutiny. Just as frustration was beginning to set in, Aela stopped.
She knelt by the edge of the pen, where the mud met the taller grass. There, partially obscured by a heavy boot print, was the unmistakable, deep impression of a massive paw, the claw marks gouged sharply into the earth.
"Here," she said, her voice a whisper of triumph. She pointed toward the rocky hills that rose beyond the White River. "It's heading for the high ground. Come on. And step where I step."
Without another word, she rose and began to follow the fragmented trail, her form blending into the landscape as she led the way out of the farm and toward the untamed wilds.
Comments
A Bellator
And thus does the young Torin find himself venturing out into the untamed bush following a huntress.
