Kavel Book 1 - Bloodmoon Born - Prologue Part 4

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Kavel Book 1 - Bloodmoon Born - Prologue Part 4

Previous Chapter: Prologue Part 3.

From the Annuals of Kavel Bloodmoon as told by WolfGrimDark. For more great stories on Nexus check out the Nexus Writers List.

PDF Version: Trying something new and providing Kavel’s stories in PDF format.

A repeat but it fit too well not to use.

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Bron scratched his nose and sniffed at the air. His senses seemed dull and his mind clouded. Most likely from a lack of sleep he thought. At least that was until he noticed the faint wisps of fog that that was creeping along the ground like a snake sinuously gliding through the grass. His heart began to thump in his chest as he realized he couldn’t reach his bear spirit. It was as if his beast soul had fallen asleep and refused to awaken. He knew this feeling for he had felt it before; when his tribe had been attacked by the Hand.

Fear induced adrenaline coursed through his body as he moved quickly to Kolfinna’s side and roused her. She opened groggy eyes that widened in concern as she saw the fear and anger in Bron’s face.

“They found us Kol! The Hand, they are here. I can’t change!” Bron stuttered out as frustrated tears moistened his eyes. “Why are they doing this Kol? I don’t understand. Why won’t they just leave us alone?! We never harmed anyone, we just want to be left on our own.”

Kol knew she must act but she used a precious moment to lay the back of her hand softly against Bron’s face, the early stubble of a beard brushing against her skin as he tilted his head towards her. “We have become trapped in a war between the Princes, brother. Mora declared war against Hircine because Mora wants Solstheim for himself. That is why our tribe was destroyed. The Knowledge Hoarder wants to remove Hircine’s influence.”

Bron pulled back, his face incensed at this revelation, but there was no time for more questions. “Kol, I can’t summon my bear form! What can we do? Why haven’t they attacked?” The last question he asked nervously as he looked out into the fog filled night. Dawn was not far away but the light was not yet good enough for him to see through the fog and trees.



Kolfinna considered the question while she made sure Kavel was securely strapped to her back. Looking around she surveyed the area. The spell-fog was dampening her ability to connect to the spirit world but she was at least able to make out the soul energy of their enemies in the distance. She motioned to Bron to follow her behind a tree as they crouched down low.

“I suspect they are waiting for their cursed charm to fully activate. They do not want to risk fighting us in our bear forms. I sense them out there. They are moving slowly as if they are trying to avoid detection. They have us surrounded and I suspect if we try to run they would charge us, bear form or not. It means we have only a few precious minutes to act.” Kolfinna explained as she begin pulling out one of her rare herbs, one that would alter her senses and boost her connection to the spirit realm, and began to chew it.

Bron nodded, his hands gripped tight around his twin axes, as he stared out into the night. He was filled with fear but he would fight to the death to protect his family. “Do you have a plan then?” He asked as he noticed her sit down cross legged as if to enter a trance.

She nodded back, her mind already working on her spell as she explained. “Ever since that night I have pondered how this spell of theirs works. It seems to dampen our ability to connect to the beast spirit inside of us. As you know all werebeasts have an animal spirit inside of them The blood is just the physical aspect of Hircine’s blessing. It is the spirit that allows us to transform and connects us to the beast within. That is why those born with the blood have more control, they grow up with their spirit. Those who catch the blood magic later in life often can’t handle the shock and lack the control to manage their own instincts and emotions combined with that of a beast.”

Kolfinna paused for a moment as she took a deep breath and summoned her power. “This fog seems weaker than before. I think I have a way to break through it, at least for a few minutes, but the risk is very high brother.”

“What is it that you need from me Kol? What risk could possibly be more than what we face now?” Bron asked impatiently.

“Your bear spirit is asleep and we must awaken it. To fight this spell it will require strong emotion and the only one I can think of is rage. I will use the same magic that our best warriors use to enter a berserker state. They train for years to control the rage, to use its energy against their enemies. You lack their training Bron. The risk is that you may become lost in your rage and become rogue. The beast inside of you will take over.”

Bron hesitated for a moment, he knew what she meant. But what choice did he have? He was a passable fighter at best and he lacked the strength of a full grown man. Only in his bear form did he truly stand a chance. Even if his only goal was to break through the attackers so they could escape the trap.

“It is a risk I must take Kol. What other choice do we have?”

Kol nodded sadly; he was right. They had no other options.



It only took a moment. She reached out and placed both hands on her brothers head. Entering her trance she dove deep into his mind. She saw his soul and that of his bear, so intertwined they might as well have been a single entity. Many thought werebeasts violent and uncontrolled, blaming it on the beast blood. Yet the animal spirit that existed inside each werecreature had the same emotions and instincts as its namesake, no more violent or aggressive than its living version. It was the mix of animal and human instincts that often caused a lack of control. A control she now meant to threaten in her own brother.

Steeling herself she used her own anger and thirst for vengeance to power her spell as she stirred the wrath of both Bron’s soul and that of his spirit animal. She did her best to provoke the anger from a desire to protect; like that of a she-bear protecting its cub. It was her hope this might enable him to keep enough control of his own mind.

She knew it was done when she felt Bron pull away from her hands and let out a tremendous shot of such ferocity that it sent shivers down her own spine. She heard cries from the woods and then a loud refined voice of their leader ordering the attack.

…

Nelthas waited with his two best men in the middle of the pass that led over the mountain and to the grotto. Most likely his prey would try to flee this way, for it was the closest path to their sanctuary, and he wanted to take them on himself. The remaining Silver Hand he had sent sneaking through the woods to surround the brother and sister. They had debated peppering the area with arrows but the darkness and trees meant a hit was unlikely. Plus Nelthas knew the magic of the shamans and even an apprentice could cast a simple wind charm that make arrows largely ineffective. No, it had to be melee. He had activated the hagraven fetish but the head seemed slow and sluggish, something his employer had warned him might happen. The more older the blood the less powerful the spell. Everything was ready now, the men wore were just waiting for his signal to attack. Light had begun to creep over the horizon, making it possible to see some of the details below the pass.



“This one thinks your spell has failed Nelthas. The male one … it has changed.” The Khajiit said calmly, no trace of fear in his voice for he was a seasoned warrior of the Silver Hand.

A second later the werebears howl echoed through the mountain side but the fetish dampened the effects of its fear inducing terror. Only a few of the Hand dropped to their knees, cowering while the rest gritted their teeth and focused on fighting off the effect.

The only apparent reaction by Nelthas was a narrowing of his eyes as he strengthened his mental defenses. It was time to order the attack. “ATTACK! Anyone who lets them break through the line shall die by my own hand!”

…

The first wave of men that charged set off the shamanesses frost traps. Too weak to kill they still managed to immobilize three of the men and the fourth had his throat ripped out by Bron’s six inch ebony hard claws. With another guttural roar he charged into battle, his eyes red with rage as spittle flew from his cavernous jaws. To Bron it was like riding a log flowing down river during a spring thaw. All he wanted to do was kill, shred, and maim everything in his path. He didn’t bother wasting useless effort trying to control his himself as he knew it was a lost battle. Instead he used what little mental clarity he had left to constantly reinforce his prime directive - to protect Kolfinna and little Kavel. Beyond that nothing mattered anymore.



Kolfinna, standing behind and a little off to the side of Bron, summoned the cold chilling wind spirits of the mountains and bid them to divert any arrows that may come their way. Bron was bleeding from a dozen wounds but fortunately none of these mercenaries had the poisoned weapons used before. Still the silver blades prevented his regenerative abilities from working and all those little wounds were sapping his strength; they had to flee before he collapsed.

When the next ebb in the battle occurred Kolfinna looked around. Blood, flesh and bone were splattered around the once pristine white snow. Light was appearing on the horizon basking the battle field in an eerie pale glow that mingled with the fog, creating a nightmarish dreamscape. Bron let out another bone chilling howl as he looked for his next victim. Behind them she saw the attackers had regrouped and they were getting ready to charge. Ahead of her lay the mountain pass and freedom. If only they could get past the dark soul she sensed guarding it.

She used the last of her magic to summon a powerful frost blast that the wind sent blowing into the charging fighters. Then, praying there was enough of Bron left to understand he needed to follow, she ran for the pass. Her brother sniffed at her and then got down on all fours and charged ahead of her, knowing deep inside it was his duty to protect this frail two-legged creature.



When they reached the narrowest part of the pass she finally met the architect of their misfortune, a strikingly handsome looking Dunmer male. He had an arrogant smirk on his face, his stance ready for battle. In one hand he held a menacing looking blade etched in runes that dripped with green poison. In his other was an ebony black dagger that glowed with a deep red light. At his left and right hand side stood two men. One a slim but deadly looking Khajiit with a large sword at the ready. On his other side stood a massive Orsimer wielding a two-handed ax.

For a second she and the Dunmer locked eyes, his mocking as he gave her a slight bow of the head, hers filled with loathing at the one who helped orchestrate the downfall of her tribe. Then the moment was broken as Bron lost all vestige of control and charged them. His enormous mass barreled into them and only the Dunmer was agile enough of too dodge out of the way. The Khajiit almost made it but Bron’s shoulder careened into his side and sent him flying. The Orsimer was not so lucky. Before he could block with his ax, Bron’s claws and teeth wore ripping his chest and throat to shreds.



Fear in her eyes Kol saw the Khajiit coming around to thrust his sword into the distracted Bron, his berserker fury making him blind to danger. While her magic was drained she had other resources. She grabbed a potion vial from her pouch and threw it at the warrior. It shattered upon hitting his armor and fiery liquid splashed everywhere burning fur and leather. It was not enough to seriously hurt him, thanks to his armor, but it distracted him long enough for Bron to notice him.

Then she let out a startled cry as she realized the Dunmer had snuck around and was almost on her; too late she realized he had used his own men as a distraction. As he brought his sword thrusting in for a killing blow something leapt from the ledge above. Just as the sword tip bit into her gut their wolfish guide crashed into the assassin, sending them both to the ground. While wolf and Dunmer struggled to gain an advantage she turned to help Bron, only it was too late.



His many wounds had caught up with him. His great form lay toppled across the dead body of the Khajiit, the warriors sword sticking out of Bron’s back where he had fallen on it in his rage to rip the man’s heart out. Time seemed to stop as she ran over but her shaman senses had already told her his body was too far gone. His form shimmered before her and as she knelt at his side she saw her brothers sweet face one last time. His eyes opened for a moment and he coughed up blood as he tried to speak.

“Kol … forgive me. I failed you.”

Eyes wet with tears, Kol kissed his bloody forehead and whispered, “Never brother. You could never fail me.” And then he died.

Her heart breaking she took a shuddering breath. She wanted nothing more than to die with him. Her stomach burned from the wound the Dunmer had given her. It was only a nick but the poison was already burning away at her skin. She had suffered so much and she just wanted the pain to end. Yet she felt the life of her child on her back and knew there was still one who depended on her, one who needed her strength now more than ever. So she turned her back on her dead brother and ran for safety.

Tears streaming from her face she raced with all the strength of a mother protecting her only child. She stumbled, and almost fell, when a dark shape sped past her. Covered in blood her wolf guide dashed ahead; one ear torn off and missing its tail. It turned to look back at her, as if to say follow, and then scurried down the trail. Kolfinna followed as quickly as she could, her feet skidding on loose rocks and dirt as she half-ran, half-slid down the path. Her side ached as if on fire but she dared not stop to treat it. She could sense the grotto now, it was very close. It gave her new strength and she managed to sprint the last few yards to the entrance.

Despair hit her as she saw the closed entrance to the grotto. Then to her amazement the crack widened to allow the wolf entrance. Kol ran up and saw there was now room for her to squeeze through the opening. Without a thought she followed the wolf into the grotto and, when she looked back over her shoulder, noticed the entrance had closed behind her. She had done it, she had reached safety for her and her son. But the cost! Oh my poor brave Bron she thought as she whispered sadly, “You didn’t fail me brother, we made it.”

…

Nelthas cursed in his native tongue as he snapped his dislocated shoulder back into place. That damnable wolf had done a number on him. Only his armor and quick reflexes had saved him from any serious wounds, even though his shoulder wished to argue that assessment. Of the twelve Silver Hand who had started the mission only four of them remained and none of them were happy.

“Your fetish failed Nelthas and most of us our dead. We want out of this mission.” One of the braver ones said as he spat in his direction.

Nelthas ignored him as he shrugged his shoulder making sure he had set it correctly. Then he turned his gaze on the man and it was not a pleasant one.

“The only way out of this mission is victory or death. We still have a chance of victory, which means you all might live. But know this. If you desert now I will hunt you all down one by one and I can promise you that your death at my hands will make you wish you had stayed a thousand times over.”

The were-hunters glared at him but he noticed none of them turned around to leave. The brave one spat again, his face filled with anger. “And just how likely is our chance of success when that girl turns into a monster to protect her son? About as likely as a skeever caught in a mammoth stampeded, that’s what.”



Nelthas snorted dismissively, “Only a fool would give up now that we are so close. The fetish was weak because the blood was weak; it was old and stale.” He pointed at Bron, “But now? Now we have fresh strong blood for the fetish. I also wounded the girl and the corrosive poison of my blade will be sapping her strength and eating away at her life. She will be trapped with her child and no place to run, like a bear caught in a tree.”

They grumbled but in the end the agreed to follow him. He reminded them that the reward would now be split between four instead of twelve and that seemed to spur them on more than anything else.

He had the strongest of the men carry the hagraven fetish and its stone base. Then he set off at a run to the grotto, thinking with some amusement over the irony of the situation. The girls brother had given his life’s blood to protect her and now he would use that same blood to help kill her.

…



Kolfinna cautiously made her way along a short winding rock tunnel until she broke out into a large clearing. She saw open sky above and wondered if this was some sort of hidden valley in the mountains or something more … otherworldly.



The wolf was busy licking its wounds next to small campfire with three bedrolls laid out. Presumably for her, Bron, and Kavel she thought sadly. She sat down next to the wolf with a grunt, the pain in her side making her dizzy. She recalled how hard it been to cure Bron’s wounds and wondered if she even had the strength to heal herself. But first she checked on the wolf that had saved her life and Kavel’s. It took only a little power to seal the wounds on his ear and tail. He would be badly scarred but she thought he would live.

She then took Kavel from her back and made sure he was okay. He was hungry but that would have to wait; she was worried her milk might be tainted. “Patience little Van,” she whispered. She set him down next to the wolf, her instinct telling her the animal would keep an eye on him.



Pushing aside her grief and weariness she tried to work a healing spell on herself. She was able to halt the spreading of the poison, and numb the pain, but was unable to remove it. She did her best to clean the puss oozing from the gash and then applied a poultice. As she was wrapping a bandage around her waist to hold it tight she sensed eyes upon her. She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. This time the voice spoke out loud instead of in her mind.



“Your brother was a brave and courageous hunter, especially for one so young. Should he find his way to my hunting grounds his spirit shall have a place of honor among my pack.”

Kolfinna finally looked up. The Lord of the Hunt had taken the form of a magnificent white stag. Kol was not quite sure what to make of this since the stag was a symbol of prey and surely they were that no longer.

“Should he find his way Milord? It is true he had some doubts, as did I, but we all know the ways of the wild. My brother loved his tribe and lived in awe of you. I am sure his spirit will seek out your hunting grounds.” Kolfinna said but there was still a question in her voice.

“His spirit has not yet passed over. Something is holding it back but whether it is his will or someone else’s I do not yet know.”

Kolfinna looked very troubled at this. She wanted to ask more but she hesitated as she watched the great beast before her nibble nervously at the grass. A Prince, nervous? Her heart beat a little faster; this did not bode well. As if sensing her thoughts the stag turned to look at her and then to her surprise bent on one leg and bowed its great antlered head.

“I promised you and your family sanctuary should you make it to my grotto and so it is too my regret that circumstances may prevent me from keeping that promise.”

Kolfinna let out a gasp of anger that she quickly suppressed.The Daedra, especially the Princes, were known to be a selfish lot who cared little for mortals. Hircine was one of the rare exceptions. While harsh, almost cruel at times, he was very protective of all his children. For him to almost apologize was … well it was unheard of.

Looking up at the powerful Huntsman she couldn’t imagine what might be stronger than the patron of the Berhamask. “Surely Kavel and I are safe here in your sacred grotto? How could the Hand reach us here?”

Hircine turned his head to look at the entrance before replying. “My brother, Prince Hermaeus Mora, has managed to out maneuver me at almost every turn. He was very clever. Only my followers may enter this grotto without my explicit permission. The hagravens, they are also my followers. They represent my darker side. That side of the hunt that is cruel, malicious, and dark. Life is a balance and it is only through adversity and challenge that it grows strong enough to survive. Mora used dark magic to preserve the life of one of the hags and bind it to his fetish. The head sleeps until it is fed fresh blood. It then awakens and can work its magic against the living.”



Kolfinna nodded in understanding, her eyes growing wide with renewed fear. Hircine was telling her that the fetish could be used to open the way into his grotto. She looked up at him, holding Kavel close to her heart, as she asked, “But surely you can prevent even a follower from entering?”

The great beast shook its head, anger in its eyes as it snorted hotly. “You must understand shaman, we are limited in our power on your world. That is the purpose of the barriers erected between Oblivion and Mundus. That is why we act through our followers, shrines, and artifacts. This grotto is ancient and its power old and faded. If you were properly trained as a High Shaman together we might be able to defeat the fetish but alas you are not. I shall only be able to hold them off for a short time. They are almost here. In a moment they will set up the fetish and fuel its power with the fresh blood of your brother. It will desecrate my grotto and then the Dunmer, known as Nelthas, shall lead his hunters in to kill you and Kavel.”

Kolfinna looked down at her baby, her only remaining reason for living. She would do anything to protect him. She looked at the Lord of the Hunt and asked, “Is there no hope then?”

“There is little hope for you but there may be for Kavel. If you are willing to pay the price.”

“There is always a price.” Kolfinna muttered darkly, “Haven’t we paid enough already?”

“Existence is neither fair nor just. For me to act on Kavel’s behalf there must be a price paid to balance the offset of power used. ”

Suddenly the Stag jerked its head up and its lips pulled back barring its teeth. “They have started. You must decide now. I can protect Kavel but only if you relinquish all claim to him as your son and give him into my custody.”

Kolfinna looked down at her Van. Only a few days old and already a pawn. He looked so innocent she thought. His bright green eyes so much like his father. And his dark midnight hair matched her own. It was a small price to pay she decided. What use was such a claim if they wore both dead? But claim or not, until she took her last breath, he would always be her Van in her heart.

She held Kavel up close to the white stag and whispered, “I forfeit all claim to my son in exchange for your vow to protect him.”

Hircine bowed his head, his soft muzzle touched Kavel’s forehead. Kolfinna thought she felt something, just for a moment, but then it passed. From the entrance she began to hear a faint noise, as if something was screaming, and the grotto seemed to vibrate with its cries.

Hircine cursed his brother and then turned to Kolfinna. “There is no more time. This is what you must do.”

…



Nelthas and the rest of his mercenaries stood a respectable distance back from the fetish. The instructions Lord Arom had left him explained what to do but the reaction of the fetish was still unsettling. Under his direction the blood of Bron had been poured into the bowl and as it filled up the head came to life. It cackled madly as it drank in the fresh blood. Nelthas tossed in the heart of a deer and intoned the words written on the note.



The shriveled head came fully to life and began chanting in an eldritch tongue that sent shivers through the group of men watching. The chanting went on for some time and as it did the blood began to slowly steam and bubble as if boiling … or perhaps overheating Nelthas thought to himself nervously. Something was resisting the fetish and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who. Nelthas was sure now who his employer was. Only a Prince would have the nerve, and power, to desecrate another Princes shrine. The grotto belonged to Prince Hircine, that was obvious. As for the other? It could only be Prince Hermaeus Mora. He had thought the necromancers name was mere conceit, certainly it was too obvious otherwise. Apparently he had been wrong.

Gritting his teeth in anger he waited for the fetish to finish its job. The hag’s head began screaming at an alarming rate and Nelthas began to wonder if the fetish was going to fail. Then it let out a piercing wail of such volume Nelthas and his men had to cover their ears. An explosion rocked the grotto and they all fell flat to the ground as bits of rock and dust flew through the air. When it was over Nelthas cautiously got up and looked around. The cave entrance had been blasted open and was now wide enough for he and his men to enter. As for Mora’s artifact little remained. The bowl had exploded at the same time and nothing of it remained but dust. Of the hagraven’s head only a burnt skull remained and much of that was ash. Nelthas kicked it aside with his boot. He was sure his employer would want to take it out of his hide. Fuck’em he swore.

He motioned to his remaining troops, “It’s do or die time, let’s get this Daedra cursed mission over with.”

…

Kavel gave out a small whimper behind her, crying softly. Under normal circumstances it would have completely freaked her out but she had already resigned herself to what was to come. She had entered an almost peaceful sense of calm as she waited for the mercenaries. The baby seemed so real it was spooky.



A changeling, that is what Hircine had called it. Deep in the grotto a lone Spriggan had claimed the area as its own. Hircine had bargained with it. It would not fight for them but it had agreed to help in another way. It had created the changeling. It had broken off one of its own limbs and molded it into an exact replica of Kavel, only made of wood. Then came the bargain. Sometimes the Spriggans needed the help of human allies; it is why they sometimes created changelings and then raised the exchanged child as a druid or a ranger. Hircine had promised to let the Spriggan adopt the grotto for its care. Should it need help defending the grotto then it could call upon Kavel once he had come of age. Kavel would be compelled to answer the call but it would be his own choice on whether or not he honored his mother’s debt.

A bond was made. The Spriggan fed a small amount of its sap to Kavel. After he had swallowed a few drops his eyes had glowed a soft green and then returned to normal. What effects the sap might have on him later Kolfinna could only wonder. Then some of Kavel’s blood was drawn and rubbed into the wood by the Spriggan. In less than a minute the replica had come to life. In almost all ways the baby looked like the real thing. The only thing missing was a soul. It was hollow, empty of true life. All it did was mimic a few basic human actions. In a day or two it would die and become nothing more than an inert piece of wood.



Kolfinna had had only a few precious seconds to hold her child and say goodbye. She had kissed his forehead and then each check. She had cried when Van had reached up and grabbed her lip with one chubby little hand and had tugged on it. Before she handed him over to the Spriggan she took her journal and tucked it into his blanket. It was her only means to teach him about his tribe, his brave uncle Bron, and herself. Then the Spriggan, carrying the true Kavel, Hircine, and the wolf vanished into the heart of the grotto. She had taken the changeling and had wrapped it up as if it wore her own and hid it in the woods near the camp.



Lastly she had taken on her werebear form. While it was formidable she had little practice fighting in this shape. As a shaman her human form was more useful. Yet she had one advantage over her foes. She had no reason to live anymore. Her only purpose now was for revenge. When she died she wanted to take as many of them with her as she could.



When she heard the explosion she moved a bit away from the changeling. She needed to make them think she was misleading them away from her child yet at the same time provide some hint where the changeling was. She raised her shaggy muzzle and let out a loud mournful wail anger and desolation that echoed across the grotto. A moment later the fight was joined. The end came as no surprise but as she died she was pleased to note she had taken three of them down with her. It was more than she had expected. Hircine would be proud.

…



Nelthas slid his sword free of the remaining Silver Hand’s body and wiped it clean on the man’s clothing. He hadn’t killed him out of greed, he had enough gold. He just didn’t want anyone spreading tales about this mission. It had not gone smoothly and he was still outraged at being played a fool by Prince Mora.

The shaman Kolfinna was dead, her werebear body laid out in the grass. Strange, he mused, normally they reverted back to their human form on death. Probably a side effect of his trapping her soul in his Dwemer amulet. He had hesitated only a moment before he had beheaded the infant with his blade and tossed the remains into the campfire. Not out of any moral scruples but because he had briefly debated letting the child live so he could sell it to slavers.



The child had had everything he hadn’t. A mother who had fought to the last breath to protect him. A family that would have loved him. He had taken all of that from the child just as the gods had taken it all from him. He wanted the child to suffer, to live with the same pain he had had to endure. But if he was correct about who Lord Arom truly was then that meant he was mostly likely being watched. So he had killed the infant and completed his contract to the letter.



He briefly wondered why he had not seen the owner of this grotto but assumed the Prince had abandoned his followers at the first sign of trouble. It would be so typical of them of he knew. He stepped over the body he had just killed and left the grotto. He still had one more errand to take care of. It was time to head to Bruma and get his payment … with interest.

…



Deep in the grotto the Spirit of the Hunt patiently waited. The Spriggan had retreated to the trees while it waited to see what happened. Hircine wasn’t particularly fond of them but they had their uses. Watching over the child was a pair of wolves. One missing its tail and right ear. The other was its mate. They would protect the child until help arrived.



Hircine looked through another pair of eyes for a moment. He had sent his mortal form out into the world, seeking the right one to answer his call. It had taken longer than he had planned but finally one had responded. He was chasing the stag even now and should be here by nightfall.

…

The werebear spirit tried to focus its awareness, still dazed from the explosion. It struggled to remember who it had once been. It remembered a great battle. It had been protecting something of tremendous value. Then everything had faded and for a time unknown it had floated in the spaces between reality and existence. It looked around, its ears twitching. It heard familiar voices calling to it but it couldn’t reach them; something was holding it back. Then its memories returned and HE knew who he was.



There had been a roaring and the next thing he knew he was in a fight for his soul against a hagraven. It was feeding on his blood and now wanted his soul as well. While the hag worked its evil magic in the physical realm it fought him in the spiritual realm. In the end its greed and hunger got the better of it. Bron’s spirit was far stronger than it had anticipated. The hagraven had tried to bind his soul to the artifact in much the same way its own soul had been. But the strain had been too much. When the barrier to the grotto had fallen the backlash had been more than it could channel. Bron had used the distraction to break the bind between the hag and its artifact. The result had caused the explosion that had rocked both the physical and spiritual realm. When his sense of awareness had finally returned he had found himself lost between worlds. The voices of his ancestors continued to call to him but he ignored them. He had made a vow to protect someone and he meant to keep it. He didn’t know how but he was determined to find a way.



--------------------------------------------

ENB:

Notes: This ends the prologue for Bloodmoon Born. The next story will be an epilogue to the prologue with Nelthas and Mora. Then, barring any problems, the first chapter in Kavel’s life. It will pick up right where this one left off. One of Hircine’s hunters will find Kavel and bring him back to Falkreath … and thus begins the story of Kavel Bloodmoon.

I went with general images like I have in the past. Even though Kavel is alive this is really memories of the past and records that Kolfinna left in her journal for Kavel.

Some may be wondering what was that little bit about Kolfinna being soul trapped? More on that later. This got long enough as it is and I had to cut about three pages worth of detail as I didn’t want to break things into yet another chapter.

Changeling: It is typically described as being the offspring of a fairy, troll, elf or other legendary creature that has been secretly left in the place of a human child. Sometimes the term is also used to refer to the child who was taken. The apparent changeling could also be a stock or fetch, an enchanted piece of wood that would soon appear to grow sick and die.