Kyne ' s Challenge : A Hunter ' s Companion / Summerset Isles Content . " The Rugged Coast , Wandering Daedra , and Baleful Ghosts " FLAME ATRONACH . Towering cliffs of white granite , dunes of soft sands rising up to a grassy plain of fertile soil : this was our first venture into the realm of the Altmer . Only Kishra - do had any standing with the High Elves ( as she was apparently a force of strength within the Aldmeri Dominion ) , but we didn ' t care for these haughty mer . Our challenge took us to this land of verdant beauty , but our first encounter cast our minds back to the ash and fire of Morrowind at the commencement of our hunt . Up on a ridge overlooking the Abecean Sea , a burning woman was seen floating . Roggvir then corrected this misjudgment ; this was a Daedra taking the form of fire . It was puzzling , as these Daedra were usually in the company of an elemental conjurer armed with a bag of fire , frost , and void salts . As we gazed at the flame atronach , the spluttering molten earth of a volcano came alive . The creature was constantly in motion ; even when she stopped to hover , the black fused armor pieces that she had formed from her own body ( which also defined the shapely curves of her waist and breasts , as well as created a pair of fiery horns where her face should have been ) seemed to bubble and shift , above and undulating muscle of moving lava . I write “ she , ” as whichever Daedric Prince sculpted this atronach must have studied the Altmer female first . Flames flickered from this thin form , the size of an Altmer , but drifting slightly off the ground , leaving a small trail of fire in its wake . A second , larger pair of back horns , pointed shoulder blades , and stone - taloned , gauntlet - like hands revealed further Daedra influences . Roggvir was seemingly mesmerized by the dainty twirling and the elegant acrobatics the atronach was displaying . Perhaps this alluring nature was part of this Daedra ' s power , but Roggvir didn ' t even notice when his fur cloak was set on fire . He had wandered into what the flame atronach perceived as its own territory , and although it still kept its distance , the creature began to erect some impressive defenses : With a spin it ignited a circle of fire at its feet , which gradually crept forward towards Roggvir , who suddenly realized his predicament . He quickly removed his shawl of stitched animal skins and stamped on it . He decided to let the cloak burn after receiving a bolt of fire to the face . Now his beard was ablaze , and combat was inevitable . Roggvir doused himself in water and stormed angrily up the sandbank , fighting through further fireballs to reach the atronach , which had the advantage of ignoring tricky terrain and was nimble over this unsteady ground , rather than a rampaging , heavy - footed mountain man who was doing more excavating than climbing with his feet . Roggvir was lost for a moment as a huge column of fire engulfed him , before exploding in a huge upward force . I hadn ' t expected Roggvir to be outclassed this quickly , so I allowed Footfalls - in - Snow into the fray . The Argonian ' s claws were already dancing with frost magic , and after further chanting , he threw both arms out towards the fire atronach , and caught it with an impressive turmoil of frost . " By Leki ' s first lunge ! " Namasur murmured , taken aback by the ferocity of the attack and the Argonian ' s manipulation of this element . When the storm of ice finally abated , we saw the flame atronach bent over double , a collection of smoldering embers and light licking fire . A rather singed Roggvir struck it into dust with his axe . After some good - natured ribbing , Roggvir spent the evening complaining about the quality of the darning needle and threads he was using to repair the burn marks across his attire . When the Khajiit mentioned his “ sausage - shaped fingers ” might be the cause of the indelicate mending , Roggvir exploded with rage . But I am happy to write that unlike his brother Fenrig , Roggvir ' s fury manifested itself not as a violent massacre after a beastly transformation , but as a series of insensitive verbal barbs about Khajiiti culture and their cleaning habits . Fortunately , Ingjard ' s mead calmed the situation . WATCHER . Summserset Isles ' coast may be a jagged jewel of basalt cliffs , but the richer soils of the floodplains further inland and the landscape of farmland become evident . The ground had been tilled here for centuries ; the ridge and furrow marks in the fallow pastures indicate farmers plowed these fields in ancient times , perhaps even before the arrival of the High Elves . A landscape artist could command a hefty fee from painting such striking outlooks . Unfortunately , on the occasion of our expedition , the view was marred by a chaotic scene : Black smoke rising up from a burning tavern ( this enraged Roggvir in particular , who was most keen try the Ewer of Metheglin , an Altmeri honey liqueur ) . Thin , wispy Elves fleeing to their homes . The local guard , their armor light , well made , but provincial , rushing out to greet the attackers . Horses were whinnying and snorting . Another Daedra incursion to test us . " Lor - Malatu … " Kishra - do pointed at the mass of snakes fused to a central flesh ball , a vision I initially couldn ' t understand . " A ' Doom - Truth . ' The eyes of Hermaeus Mora roam here ! " I had never seen the like before : a globe of knurled skin , dozens of tentacles emerging from it , all thick with sticky suction cups , like an underwater menace . These arms whip back and forth , and seem to propel the creature through the air , for it has no feet , and must be hoisted off the ground by dark magic . Three of these warped limbs are much longer , with spines and gnarled grooves , and a vicious , mace - like end , but with a sharpness to pierce as well as the mass to batter . Where the central core of flesh holds no arms , primitive eyes bulge and blink , viewing from all directions . It is impossible to sneak up upon this corruption : In fact , only the great central eye , a slit of black for a pupil glowering and darting constantly in all directions , shows our hunters which way it faces . " Don ' t look directly into the eye ! " Both Kishra - do and Namasur led the charge , rushing towards the many - tentacled thing with swords drawn , and battle cries at a crescendo . The trio of Altmeri guards seemed not to have paid attention to Namasur ' s instructions , as they stood close to the watcher , as if set into stone , petrified and mouths gasping . The watcher span around , catching Kishra - do with a flailing arm , but she landed lightly , unharmed . The huge eye blinked at her , and she slowed , unable to look away . The watcher ’ s gaze locked , and Kishra - do let out a shriek , dropping her sword in horror . Little by little , her soul was being eaten away . It was fortunate , then , that Namasur ' s scimitar sliced cleanly through the watcher ' s weapon arm , and the gaze was broken . Kishra - do sank down on all fours , staring at the ground . It was the first time we ' d seen her weakened in such a way ( and would be the source of much gibing afterwards ) . Ingjard was there in her place , valiantly striking up at the watcher , as the round mass blinked and a bolt of magicka shot forth at Namasur . It struck only his shadow , setting alight another building . While its secondary pupils fixated on the Redguard , the central eye widened , then squinted into a strange scowl . " Beware the Doom - Truth ' s gaze ! " Namasur yelled , sliding under the roaring blast of energy that carved a path of fire where the Redguard had stood only moments earlier . Up thrust Namasur ' s scimitar , out spilled the watcher ’ s eye yolk , and a final plunge ( where Namasur ' s arm disappeared into the flapping body of the beast ) dropped it to the ground , where it was easily set upon . My hackles rise and my prejudices come to the fore when I encounter an entity such as this : A mass of floating tentacles with a grotesque roving eye ? These aren ' t Kyne ' s creatures ; they are unnatural abominations , malignant and deviant , and must be dismissed ! Are these tests from Molag Bal ? Roaming Daedra riddling Mundus with their filth ? I want my adversaries with two or four feet with a man , mer , or animal countenance , not this outlandish creation . Where had this thing come from ? What was its purpose ? Footfalls - in - Snow suggested it sought all knowledge , scrying for the Lord of Secrets , but changed his story as he found and searched the body of an Altmeri conjurer , pocketing trinkets and parchments in the process . We redoubled our thanks to Kyne when the beast was finally dismembered ( its smaller eyeballs pried out and stuffed into the Argonian ' s bag ) , and the Altmeri innkeeper appeared from the remains of his building with some Golden Pear Ale for us to quaff . IMP . Kishra - do had perked up after gazing into the horror of a watcher ' s eye ( by which I mean she again started up her sarcastic remarks about our hunting abilities instead of sitting on her haunches , looking stupefied ) . As we made for the thick blanket of ancient woodland of the Auridon deep forest , my attention turned to the Argonian , who had produced a scroll , taken from the corpse of an Altmeri magician he had looted previously . " I may babble as a fast - flowing brook , but I seek a friendly conjuration , " he informed me , as he unrolled the slightly singed paper , preparing for an incantation . I mentioned he was gathering familiars quicker than the cat lady of Riverwood , what with Scuttler , his lizard companion , and a newly acquired mudcrab he ' d named Young Salty . My protests fell on deaf ears . Or whatever Argonians call those slits below their head fronds . And babble the Argonian did , speaking in tongues he later described as " Impish , " after which a small ball of lightning flashed outwards above the lizard ' s outstretched hand , through which a small dwarfling stepped . Light on its claw feet thanks to a pair of oversized wings , it looked around at our assembly through glowing red eyes and a thin - lipped mouth that appeared permanently parched of water . Two tiny horns of bone above the brow , a thin gray body , and overly long finger and toenails . The imp smiled kindly at me and flapped over , bowing politely in the air and extending a hand of friendship . My hand had barely left my sword hilt when the imp decided an act of petulance was in order . It scooted forward , landing on my head and tugging my beard with both hands . As I attempted to swat the impudent trickster , it somersaulted over my helmet , and I smelt burning hair . The brazen fiend had set my topknot ablaze ! " Dismiss this cur ! " I yelled at the Argonian , who began to talk sternly at the imp in tongues unknown . Kishra - do , never one to miss out on a verbal jab , shouted from the campfire , " Shadow of Rajhin ! You shaveskins are being bettered by a trickster sprite ! " Her merriment was short lived , as the imp quickly summoned a channel of flame from its small hands , which sped across the ground and struck the Khajiit as she sat on her log , sending her tumbling arse over tail . The smell of singed fur mingled with the odor of burning beard . Ingjard was at the water simmering on the fire , drenching myself and the cat with a cauldron full . Fortunately it was warm , not boiling , although there were many Nord and Khajiit curses directed at Ingjard , due to our newly bedraggled nature . " Enough ! " Roggvir boomed , seeing the Argonian ' s control over his toy was as adept as an Orcish diplomat . The imp cackled at the confusion it was causing , flipping over in the air and making all sorts of rude hand gestures . These stopped abruptly as it dropped to the ground gracelessly , after steel hand axe landed in its back . The Argonian ' s scroll satchel was searched , and magic not written in his mother tongue confiscated . The search of the deep forest would continue without any further frivolous interruption . GIANT BAT . The ancient forests of Auridon have an eeriness all their own . But those that lurk between trees were not our concern this night . Instead , we looked up : A dark shape moved across Secunda . Perhaps it was Kyne ' s hawk watching over us ? No , Ingjard described the shape as more like a scraggly skeleton with leathery wings . " Your inferior hearing caught a whistle , yes ? " Kishra - do asked , her ears perking up . We shook our heads , as the flitting movement blocked out a moon again . This time , I had a full glimpse of the beast , unbuckled my bow from by back , and motioned to elongate our guarding positions out a little . Waiting in a glade , Footfalls - in - Snow rustled some of the low shrubbery , until the curious creature swooped in with supper on its mind . Darker than a Dunmer , with wings spread out to the width of three Imperial corpses laid end to end , this giant bat was coaxed from its slumber in the thick tree canopies above by the rising moons . Black flesh pulled tight over bat skull , a row of fanged teeth and a nose the shape of an oak leaf , ribs protruding through torso skin , and thick fur along the back ridge . A skeever - like tail , hooked toes , and claw hands with thumbs attached to roughly spread wings . It flew at the lizard , biting down and scraping its teeth on his forehead : A few scales lost , but no need for Argonian healing ointments . The second pummeling was more concerning : the bat dropped down from behind , managed to clamp onto Footfalls - in - Snow , and stabbed down with four or five bites , until one of Namasur ' s arrows knocked it away . The Argonian seemed withered by the punctures , falling to his knees as the Redguard ' s second shot found its mark . This third arrow struck a tree . This was surprising , given Namasur ' s aim . " Craven cur ! " He shook his head , startled at the giant bat ' s screeching ringing in his ears . His befuddlement did not last ; a taut string and an ebony arrow embedded into the bat ' s head . It fell quickly , striking tree branches on the way down to the soft forest floor , where it landed , already shrouded in its own wings . GHOST . The third night , deeper within the forests , now more dense and primordial than before , and we chanced upon a hidden glade , and the remains of a delicately proportioned arch erected by ancient Altmeri hands , entwined with strangle vines . As we gathered wood and lit the fire , I sat down , weary from the march . A dram of something to warm my bones , and a quill in hand to make notes from the day ' s wandering . A slight , cold draft across my shoulder . Then it intensified : a shock of unnatural briskness , a touch that made me jump , then chilled me to the bone . I felt fingers digging in , an icy grasp burning my flesh through my furs . Puzzled , I span around . " Trolls take you ! Show yourself ! " There was nothing but a startled Argonian staring back at me over the flames of the campfire . " You shed your leaves in First Seed , Master Grundvik , " he remarked . " Are you rattled ? " I rotated my shoulder stiffly , which was still riddled with cold . I felt ill , my stomach knotted . I beckoned over Roggvir and Namasur . I recalled the frosty reception in these old ruins . " Supernatural evil , " Roggvir muttered . I snapped everyone from their tasks with a bellow . I explained the predicament , and weapons were drawn . But there was nothing but tangled briars and a faint creak of the trees softly swaying in the breeze , shafts of pale moonlight piercing the camp , the shadows flickering and looming in the golden glow of the fire ' s embers . Not even Ingjard could be heard , away from us on her nighttime stalking of animals for our cooking pot . " Save my soul from Molag Bal ! " A plaintive cry was heard . Wisps of glowing smoke began to form above an odd little light , which widened out from between the arch . It curdled into a more distinct form , shackled hands , ice blue after death , sagging shoulders and tattered trousers dissolving into the ether . Behind the ghost , a terrifying land of nightmares , purple , brooding skies , and cracked peaks ascending from cracked earth . The phantom congealed still further : A ghastly face , a thin , sunken - eyed Imperial with a thin moustache and a bottom - lip hair tuft where a fine and proud beard should have begun , high jawed and brow furrowed as if in perpetual pain . He was dressed in the tattered fineries of a Bravil ian noble of lower standing , including the cloth cap of an artisan . He looked like he ' d been dragged through a briar patch backwards . This was a pitiful congregation of vapors . " Proud Nord warrior , I beseech you ! Rally your forces and free me from this wretchedness ! " Roggvir leaned in : " Well , he talks like an Imperial . " I nodded and turned , produced my blade , and pointed it at the pathetic specter . " Don ' t step any closer , milk drinker ! Tell us your name , and what you want ! " " You can hear me ? Stendarr be praised ! My name is Flaccus Terentius ! I am … was . . . " he corrected himself . " I was envoy scholar to the empress regent . I wrote a book . With paintings . Sketched until my hands ached . Did you see it ? " " Yes , " Roggvir replied sarcastically . " I have a copy bedside , that I keep under my first - edition printing of The Lusty Argonian Maid . " " My fame reaches the unwashed of Skyrim ? My work , at least , is something for Honoria Lucasta to cherish … " " I spoke in jest , Cyrodiil ! " Roggvir interrupted with a laugh . " But congratulations on your predicament . How can we help ? Shall we summon Molag Bal and sternly reprimand his wicked ways ? On your horse , Imperial ! " With that , Roggvir waved a dismissive hand at the ghost and sat down to eat . " I hope you end your days eating endless piles of dung in the company of Sheogorath ! " The ghost seemed increasingly agitated . " Flaccus … ? " Ingjard returned from her forage , and dropped her rabbits in surprise , instead of handing them to the Argonian . " Ingjard ! The stern - faced one with the mangled hand ? By Mara ' s light ! You remember me ! " " Yes … " Ingjard replied with half a smile , quickly explaining to me about the time she spent shepherding this fellow on a hunt with Holgunn One - Eye . " We thought you ' d drowned in a sulfur pond , " she added , then thought for a moment . " But you seem to have suffered a worse fate . " " But you can save me , yes ? Save poor Flaccus ! I have gold … and riches ! " A great churning from the ethereal window behind him caused us to step back a few paces . The view of Coldharbour grew darker . Indistinct . " I am sorry , friend . " Ingjard spoke with sadness in her voice . " Useless , uncouth sweat from a giant ' s posing pouch ! " Flaccus flew into a temper , swinging at Ingjard with two pale hands , which then hung by his side as she simply retreated two paces . Undeterred , the ghost ' s tantrum continued : " Let my twin feast on your soul ! " A second apparition formed in front of the first , the face contorted , sallow cheeks in a permanent scream . Alarmed , Ingjard watched as the ghost ' s duplicate floating forwards , thrashing the air , continuing on a straight path that missed our group entirely , and ended up clawing at a tree before dispersing with a shriek . " No . No ! Not the chains ! " Ingjard hadn ' t the time to comment on the ghost ' s ineffectual hysterics before a great force from beyond snapped the ghost ' s manacles back , and the wretched soul was dragged , wailing , into the oval window . Strange runes appeared and swirled . Then the view was gone . " Curse you , Uwafa … ! " The ghost ' s voice trailed off into another existence . " Rabbit stew ? ” I inquired . “ I ' m so hungry I ' ll even eat the Argonian ' s cooking this evening . " OGRIM AND SCAMP . Our footing became looser as we descended through the deep forest , using trails Ingjard and Namasur could only see periodically . But a black mark on the horizon was easily spotted : a jagged flaw in otherwise serene wilderness . Footfalls - in - Snow was seething ; although this wasn ' t his natural habitat , he had witnessed the “ murder of our haj , or hidden woods , by rampageous marauders of Blackwood . ” But these weren ' t Cyrodilics ; as we drew closer we realized this was an encroachment of Daedra . I had previously encountered ogrims green of hue , and close to Orsinium shrines to Mauloch . But this brute as a strange blue , with larger , hook - like spines protruding from its hefty arms and shoulders . A wide stance and almost a waddle , with a paunch bigger than a pig ' s . An ample mouth , with a Breton ' s graveyard of jagged and rotting teeth jumbling out in all directions . Huge leather gauntlets and skin of hard leather and scales . Two ruined horns poked out from a wheezing , spluttering head . Ice - blue eyes marked it as a minion of Molag Bal . It seemed preoccupied with fire , merrily helping in the burning of Auridon ' s forests , crackling trees and blackened smoke rising from the deep scar it was creating . The immediate area looked more like the Ashlands of Morrowind . Perched on the ogrim ' s broad shoulders was a scamp , a cowardly servant of an unknown Daedra lord , with its rotund steed providing protection as it set the woodlands ablaze . Cursed with a weak physical form , the scamp was strong in magic , particularly of a destructive nature . It sat , cackling through pursed lips , forehead sloped and mottled , nostril slits for a nose , black eyed and beady , ears as wide as a butterfly ' s wings — a thin , wiry thing with a rat ' s tail and pantaloons of thick - growing hair : Imagine a Goblin cursed by Molag Bal himself . It spotted Roggvir advancing with his swords , and let out a high - pitched cry , causing its fellow Daedra to twist around towards us . Bringing the momentum of its spinning turn into a forceful slap , the scamp caught Roggvir in the face with an enormous glove , big enough to grip his entire head . A stinging slap sent the Nord reeling back , his helmet strap snapping with the force , and his headgear flew off into the woods . Kishra - do let out an uncharacteristic yelp , but soon realized Roggvir ' s head was still attached . Our arrows marked the ogrim ' s back as it crashed forward , through the smoking dust , then leapt at Roggvir , more nimbly than he was expecting , in an attempt to bombard and fell him . Despite his grogginess , Roggvir stepped deftly away , his two swords poked deep into the ogrim ' s exposed belly . Now prone , the ogrim ’ s other areas of skin were marked with arrows , driven deep and dipped in poison . The ogrim fell onto its back , tongue draped over its spittle - soaked mouth , eyes darkened now , staring out into Oblivion . The scamp shrieked in a babble none of us wished to understand . To and from the burning line of trees it dashed , scampering on all fours , before leaping out through the flames , both arms raised above its head , bringing them both down in a punch that took the wind out of Roggvir ' s sails . His demeanor more angered at enduring a constant assault , Roggvir leapt to his feet again , and received a wave of conjured fire to the face from the scamp , setting his beard alight ( Namasur later jested with Roggvir , asking if he was made of straw , as only training mannequins usually receive the pummeling he took ) . Realizing it lacked physical stature , but was proficient in primitive magic , we decided to sever the scamp ’ s upper hand in this fight , and Footfalls - in - Snow beckoned forth a stiff breeze to stifle the flames . This turned quickly into a maelstrom of ice , thrusting out in all directions and dampening the blaze in the forest scar . Kishra - do helped Roggvir to stand ( now for the fourth time since combat began , and the first with assistance ) , but the Nord pushed her away . Kishra - do snarled , but as a giant fist crashed down where she had stood , she forgave Roggvir ' s manhandling . The fist belonged to the ogrim , now partly resurrected from wounds we thought were grave , with a scamp clinging to its neck fat . A battle charge was sounded , and Namasur struck the hairy homunculus off its perch with a finely aimed arrow , and followed up with a whirling dismemberment . The unsteady ogrim had arrows from every part of Tamriel protruding from its hide , but Ingjard ' s axe into the low - set skull , lopping off an ear on the way , felled the terror . It too was separated into smaller pieces , for fear of this fight continuing until dawn . The Argonian acted out his own name , burying the flames of the forest in a thick blanket of conjured snow he wandered through , sealing the scar . Our Daedra foes had their important innards removed , but we took care to feed only the lizard ' s familiars with this tainted meat . WRAITH . We followed an odd trail that Namasur had picked up in the lower forest , heading up into the high hills of ancient Auridon . The Redguard seemed puzzled , certain that the tracks were made from a fellow child of Yokuda ( the footprints matched sandals his brethren sometimes wore ) . The way was thick with maple and larches , until a rough glade was spotted . Half - hidden among the tangle of trees and bushes , we uncovered a shrine to Peryite . The High Elves had abandoned this overgrown monument long ago ; the ivy and vines had weathered the remains of intricate carvings with their gradual rubbing , and saplings had sprouted from the stone itself . The shrine was choked by the forest ' s tendrils . Namasur seemed fascinated by the structure , pointing at some of the representations of the Altmer , and the story of a battle with strange , slug - like monsters he explained were probably Sload . This stonework was reminiscent of the Halls of Stories told by Nord masons along timeworn barrow walls . " Tu ' whacca ' s mercy . . . " Namasur whispered to the Argonian . " See how the arch seems aligned to that mountain peak ? I ' d wager my sword that Masser grows brightest above this place on the summer solstice . " Footfalls - in - Snow nodded with interest , and began to cut through a patch of brambles to uncover more of the fallen rubble , catching a glimpse of something odd : the edge of a circle in the ground , which seemed to pulse slightly with a faded light . Namasur was too slow in realizing the danger . The circle span with strange runes . As the Argonian stepped over its boundary , he quickly understood his blunder : This ruined waypoint was abandoned because it was cursed . Up from the middle of the circle rose an indistinct form : an uncanny and polluted vapor . A yawn from the ether , snapping shut in a flapping mass of anger and hate . As the hooded congealed into a thicker mass , more distinct to our eyes , we made out its malevolence . A tattered shawl , roughly stitched and wafting from sharp - nailed claws , glowing a wondrous azure , which lit the glade in an unnatural and frightening glow . The fabric trailed from the phantom ' s cowled countenance , the tips of the cloth growing bleary . But the creature ' s face was sharp , a jawless skull masking the bright blue light pouring from the beast ' s core . A wraith had been disturbed . This specter of the ether was a guardian of necromantic origins , silent and thoughtless until our paths crossed . Now it stirred into our realm , ignoring Footfalls - in - Snow ( who sank to his knees , weakened by the desecrated ground he had entered ) but staring at Namasur with a piercing gaze . It formed a swirling sphere of frost in its hands . The bolt shot forth and narrowly missed the Redguard ' s head . A second magical strike was on its way , this one a gash of ice , furrowing to Namasur ' s feet . He leapt quickly to avoid its touch , and produced a long spear . It was the same implement he had used to bind and dismiss the soul of the ghost we had encountered previously . " Upon my honor . . . " Namasur ' s tone was ritualistic . " Lord Frandar ' s spirit now consumes you ! " The Redguard ' s staff glowed green and red with numerous enchantments . It formed a circular rainbow of light as Namasur span it above his head , before he somersaulted forwards , his spear following the dance as if propelled on its own . But the Redguard ' s hands stayed on the rod , nimble fingers increasing the velocity and ferocity of the movement . Ingjard jumped slightly as the spear left Namasur ' s grasp with a jolt , bowing in the air as it flew , and entered the wraith ' s hooded cowl as if it had been summoned to appear there . The wraith let out a silent shout , shafts of light ripping through in all directions like a sunburst as the specter ' s skull broke apart . The dark form jerked about , filling with light , frayed cloth burning up in a magical fire . Then a flash we all averted our gaze from . Tattered cloth gently fluttered down to the ground . The circle of runes had vanished , leaving only a small pile of ghostly remains , and the ritual dagger of a Daedric priest . GOLDEN SAINT AND SPIDER DAEDRA . I rarely boast , but all our hunters ( whether clad in fur , scales , or leathery Nord skin ) have exhibited a remarkable quality to their tracking . In the seemingly impenetrable forests of Auridon , the faintest of trails are found , and always without magic . We feast on venison and peacock nightly . When our water skins are empty , we find blessed spring water and pure streams , and catch silvertrout . When we occasionally encounter a High Elf , Kishra - do explains our activities without exacerbation . So it came as a surprise when Roggvir failed to return by sunset from an afternoon ' s tracking . By dawn , our bird calls hadn ' t been returned , so we followed the trail across the moss , under thickly draped canopies of larch and laurel , and crept forward when the sun broke through , casting light into a clearing . Two Elven archers and moss - lined steps down into a glade glistening with dew . Then an alarming crack , sounding like the breaking of bones . I crawled to the top of the stairs , and peered down . Two shapes in the shadows , unclear in the morning haze . I looked with firmer focus , and felt both gladness and alarm . We had found Roggvir , but he was looking distinctly unready ; he was on his hands and knees coughing up blood and teeth . Standing over him was a powerfully built woman , wiping Nord blood from her fist . I first mistook her for an Elf , but on closer inspection this was a strange and ominous variety of Daedra . Clad in armor of dazzling quality , the figure was resplendent in dark bronzes and silvers , but mainly golds , fashioned into filigree - encrusted shoulder arches , stomach plates , and thigh greaves , bare skin under boots and bracers . A belt of unknown leather , and a cape of silk - like cloth . Only the cruel scowl etched across the brow of the being ( and the dazed Nord at her feet ) hinted at her despicable disposition . Namasur recognized this foe immediately : " A Golden Saint . I read they serve Sheogorath in the Shivering Isles . I ' ve found them reticent , arrogant , and delighting in violence . " The Redguard noticed Roggvir . " Especially the violence . They are no friend of men . Perhaps Ingjard or Keshra - do might have conference with her ? " Ingjard tapped her sword on Namasur ' s shoulder . " My blade talks today . " This conversation was imminent , as the Golden Saint took sword and shield , raising her blade skyward — an ascension before cutting into Roggvir ' s neck . Just before Roggvir ' s neck was to be cut , a jumble of occurrences took place . Forgive me for describing them in steps , as much of this collided into a single battle of confusion . Ingjard let out a yell to wake the forest creatures of Valenwood , and quickened her gait , to reach and prevent her companion from losing a head , cutting a deep wound into the back of the Golden Saint . The Daedra let out a shriek to scare every forest bird from its perch , kicked Roggvir in the head as consolation , and caught Ingjard ' s next wild swing not with her shield , but her golden gauntlet . As the Saint ' s fingers clasped the blade , Ingjard ' s sword cracked and warped , gradually changing from polished steel to tarnished rust . Then the weapon shattered , Ingjard stumbling back to protect herself from being pierced by her own sword fragments . Namasur had disappeared , and now the Golden Saint had her glare locked on mine , so I only glanced at the disturbance in the undergrowth , half heard the shouts from the Argonian … but caught more than a glimpse of the Spider Daedra as it lurched out of the woodland darkness . Bound in service to the Golden Saint , this bastardizing of Kyne ' s spider was as revolting as you would expect such a hybrid to look : an arachnid ' s hindquarters fused with a female ' s stomach , arms , and head . Foaming , pursed lips ready to spit paralytic poison . A headdress of thick - spined protrusions sat like an oversized crown . Rearing up with front legs ready to stab and skewer , this quick and sinewy horror had the same fibrous muscle behind the sharp - pronged leg plates as the arms that burned with conjured and crackling energy . The monstrosity took charge of battering Roggvir , pinning him up against a rock and covering him in a thick web spittle . She ( for the Spider Daedra had breasts , for some reason ) was interrupted in her cocooning by a Khajiit with a long spear . I never heard an Argonian scream before , but Footfalls - in - Snow was suddenly leaping from his tree , dropping his bow in the process , and frantically scraping a trio of spiderlings , miniatures of their mother swarmed his scales . Covered in poison marks , the Argonian disappeared from view with a lit torch and burning vengeance on his mind . Roggvir , now a bloodied and trussed - up shell , seemed desperate to prove his worth , and had begun cutting through the hardening web with a small dagger . The Spider Daedra was focusing her wrath on the Khajiit , coughing out a stream of lightning at the cat , which she avoided with her swiftness . As the discharge faded , her filthy mouth still had bile to gob out at Kishra - do . As one of these unpleasant projectiles splattered across her boot , the Khajiit stopped playing with her toys , and thrust the weapon up through the underbelly , driving the Spider Daedra onto its back , where further spittle and blood flew . I retreated back from the Golden Saint , green mist whirling in my palm , ignoring the Daedra ' s insults regarding my manhood and the potency of my family ' s seed . Namasur finally appeared , readying a flying pounce with a dagger in each hand . I forced a congregation of vapors from my hand , which span about the face of my foe . She slowed to shake her head and rid herself of my mischief . This was the opportunity Namasur needed : The Golden Saint was striding forth , goading me into combat . Then she staggered , gasping for breath ; her windpipe now had a dagger - sized opening in it . Finally she crumpled , Namasur deciding on a quick death and a stab through a blackened heart . The Argonian was telling us how well spiderlings burned as ingredients were being harvested from our cull , when Roggvir wiped the last of the web from his beard and dashed to our aid . Though relieved , he received a ribbing that lasted well into the night , finally admitting to letting his guard down for a moment when he first spied the Golden Saint . Ingjard ( and the mead that directed her tongue ) waved her good hand in Roggvir ' s face , and ended his protests once and for all : " But you call yourself Roggvir the Ready ! Ha ! I haven ' t heard a name this unsuitable since Torygg Bog - Trotter ! " " Why ? What happened to him ? " Kishra - do asked . " He drowned in the Eastmarch fens . "