The Burly Man

A sharp hacking noise erupted within the thicket of the forest. A tall, burly, man lay into chunks of wood, splitting them. Food for the hearth of his home. He carried on with this monotonous labor, until dawn broke, and the sun rose into the sky. It was time to hunt. He trudged silently to his cabin and disappeared behind its wooden door, creaking on its metal hinges. He searched for it, it’s slender wooden body and tightly strung rope. His bogmaðr. He grabbed a bundle of arrows and set out back into the woods. He walked along a beaten path, his large feet thumping against the dirt. There. He smelled it. Deer droppings, fresh. The man took a sharp right turn and delved into the birch wood. A couple dozen paces along was a light brown figure, standing meekly on four legs. A doe. The man swiftly notched an arrow into his bow and strung it back. Taking a deep and slow breath, chest rising and falling, he let it fly. The arrow whistled past the trees and connected. An animal shriek sliced through the cold air and met the man’s ears. He grunted and trudged towards the deer. 

Something snapped in the murky dark far off into the distance. The man shifted his gaze and pierced into the dark. The sun had set and it wasn’t safe, he walked hastily to his cabin and set the doe outside and retreated to the safety of his wooden fortress. He lay his bogmaðr in the corner of the room and searched for his sverð. Something was coming. A black blur whizzed past the cabin’s window and rustled up the leaves. He gripped the hilt of his blade tightly, ready to strike. Almost an hour past, nothing. He eased his shoulders down, and set down his sharpened silver blade. His gruff beard was rearranged as he began to strip off pieces of wooden runes from his neck. He tossed firewood into the hearth and harbored a small blaze until it grew. Warmth swept over his frost tipped beard and wafted over his chilled skin. The burly man let out a deep breath and he laid into the comfort of his bed. The man lay still, whilst his mind dove deeper into the depths of his mind and began to dream. 

He awoke in the middle of a dark and spacious cave, only to be met with beady red eyes. The cave, lit by two solitary torches upholstered on the wall. The man stumbled to his feet and put his fists up. 

“Relax, I’m not here to hurt you,” A deep, cheshire voice cut out from the dark. 

“Show yourself,” The man’s deep voice rumbled throughout the cave. He squinted and stepped closer . The voice revealed itself, the voice was a slender, pale man with a sharp goatee. A devilish smile appeared on his face. From the neck down his body was concealed behind a silky, jet black cloak. His smile bared to pearl white fangs. An undead, like a draugr but smarter. More evil. The stranger simply hovered towards the burly man, ignoring his queries. 

“Please, no need for fisticuffs, have a seat,” The stranger motioned to the floor and the man felt his legs give out from under him and he collapsed. He sat on a slab of stone that had risen from the ground. Fwip the strangers cloak whipped back as he lunged towards the burly man. The skin on his face stretched and all his teeth were bared, their faces were less than an inch away. Both breathing on the other. He bloodcurdling hissing noise leaked from the stranger’s thin lips. The burly man jolted, threw off his woolen blanket and scrambled to his feet. Cold sweat traversed the wrinkled skin of his furrowed brow. A nightmare. The sun was just about to come up, and a hacking noise erupted within the thicket of the forest. 

Once more it was time for a hunt, the winter had ended and the telltale signs of spring began to peek out from beneath the silent snowbed. He strolled calmly through the barren woodlands  once again he followed tracks, this time it the hooves were of a bigger animal. Trees along the path had broken branches, the tellings of antlers. A couple paces along stood a large moose, it looked like a wooden monolith, gentle and slow. Once more the burly man notched an arrow into his bogmaðr and let the arrow fly. The arrow connected and another animal groan could be heard thundering throughout the forest. Although this time, the moose didn’t fall, it ran. The man sprinted after his kill as it was rightfully his, his from the moment the arrowhead entered the animal. He tackled the animal to the ground and looped his arm around its neck, he grunted as the animal struggled. It lay limp. He laid the animal outside his cabin just like the doe the previous day and noticed a trail of red leading up to the doe’s body. Something had ravaged it and devoured every sliver left of the carcass. 

Then he saw a slender figure draped against a tree just out of reach. The air shifted, the wind stopped. A chill shot through the burly man’s spine, he retreated behind the wooden door, once more the silver hinges croaked and moaned. Two solid knocks emanated from the door, the burly man threw the door open, ready to swing wildly. He froze. He was met with those same red eyes. 

“May I come in?” one eyebrow rose and his fangs hung low. His voice, like a million ants crawling all over you. Under your skin and piercing your soul. The burly man wanted to reply, he urged everything in his body to get something out, but he couldn’t. The stranger let out a maniacal cackle and slammed the door frame. “I’ll ask again, Ulfric, can I come in?” Ulfric’s blood turned to ice and his hair stood on end. No one had called him that name in eons. Who was he? 

Ulfric took a deep breath, gripped his sverð and was ready to fight, “Come in,” 

The stranger growled, “Great,” his voice sounded like evil itself. He lunged and the world went black.