Kyne ' s Challenge : A Hunter ' s Companion / High Rock Content . Rolling Hills and Cursed Crags BANEKIN . There is a gradual drying of the grasslands , as the lush pastoral land meets the arid , warming winds of Bangkorai in the far distance ; this gives Stormhaven its unpredictable weather . The march to hunt dreugh was not without its interruptions , but these were mainly to honor Kyne ' s majesty ; we watched magnificent thunderstorms form and wane , thunder arc over far fortifications , and the grass turn to heather . Darkness was falling when we chanced upon a small hamlet behind a copse of rowan trees that hadn ' t appeared on our maps . The dogs ( and the Argonian ) smelled trouble moments before our eyes and ears confirmed it . The shrieks of Breton villagers , and the screams of cattle burning in their barn . As we stepped out from the trees , it became clear that Molag Bal ' s whim was being served : A barn on fire , flames darting and licking from shattered windows , panicked cows , and straw ablaze . A couple of older farmers defending their livelihood , with murdered offspring lying at their feet . And all around , there were impish , prancing forms : Dark gray , shrunken men , hunched homunculi , and wings without the mass to carry the m . Banekin marauders left to their own cruel devices , their summoner long since departed . " Where are the Lion Guard ? " A villager rushed past , clutching her bloodied face . Fenrig and Ingjard quickly separated and charged at the first of the small atrocities . Footfalls - in - Snow rushed to fling open the barn doors , saving as many cattle as possible . The Orc had counted three banekin , and had already struck one with his sizable ( and armored ) fist . It lay unconscious until I separated the head , and instructed Footfalls - in - Snow to set about tooth extraction after the fight was over . Cornered in the burning barn , these mottled gray - and - black imps with pointed ears twitching , claws still stained with Breton blood , attempted a snarl and widened their vacant , pale blue eyes to dissuade us from combat . Their tails of ridged spines lashed , as they hissed and lunged , their thin arms banging on my shield . Pushing one back , I watched it channel a small , murky ball of magic , which weaved from its finger and into me . I felt nauseous and slightly weakened . But such magic was pitiful : Despite agile leaps and attempts to envelop us with their cursed energies , they felt the bruising impact of Nord axe and Orc mace . With the Daedra now dazed and badly wounded , I instructed Bashnag to close the barn doors . As the straw bales fueled a fierce burn , flames shot up like a Nord ' s signal bonfire , and the structure finally collapsed in on itself with a mighty crack . We heard muffled screams from within , as the servitors of Molag Bal returned to face the wrath of their master . A fittingly cruel end to their mischief . DREUGH . The coastal waterways of Stormhaven seemed the perfect breeding grounds for dreugh : the inland lakes near lush floodplains of grass and low shrubs , set against the backdrop of brooding , stormy skies . Others have written about Karvinasim , or the transformation of the water dreugh to a creature that forms legs to exist on land and lake , and I have not the interest to further my knowledge in such matters . We are here to hunt and harvest : While the Dunmer hunt them for their hides , our benefactor requires Dreugh Wax , scooped from the head cavities and shell of the animal , and used by his apothecaries . Fenrig has spent time in these parts , and refers to these creatures by the local term , / / billies / / . As we waited by the bank of a lake where dreugh eggs had been recently harvested , a frenzy of splashing and shouts soon announced the arrival of our quarry . Twice as tall as a Nord , with a chest plate and the front arms of a man , but crab - like leg limbs with vicious pincers ends , and two more claw protrusions growing with vigor from its back . You could cut exposed skin on the rough shell of this powerful and ancient monster . Clicking mandibles under a flat - crested head , white eyes . A deep red back and a yellowy underside . Ingjard kept the other dreugh at bay with a number of warning arrows designed to dissuade . Fang and Mauler bit down on a spindly leg , refusing to let go as they dragged some of the ferociousness from the dreugh ' s strikes . Bashnag and Fenrig each took turns in cracking open this oversized mudcrab , meeting the dreugh ' s claw swipes and slashes with their own weapons . " Back to the shore ! " Fenrig spotted this dreugh ' s trick early enough to avoid disaster , and both he and Bashnag found firmer footing on the lake ' s bank just as the dreugh attempted more cunning aggression . Faint electrical sparks began to form around the creature ' s vestigial front legs , which coursed through to its shoulder pincers , as the entire beast sprang at Bashnag , lighting him up in a tourbillion of crackling light . As the current writhed through the Orc , he remained free of the water , parrying the claws hammering at him , and both hunters launched masterful strikes after the electricity dissipated . The Orc ' s mace broke the dreugh ' s spine , and Fenrig ’ s axe finished its spurt , clipping the head and half severing it from the neck . The beast dropped forward and fell onto Bashnag . As the Orc lifted the dreugh corpse off himself , it coughed up a ball of foul - smelling meat , which splattered across Bashnag ' s face . " Grom ! " Footfalls - in - Snow remarked excitedly . " This specimen must only recently undergone Karvinasim ; there ' s an unwanted gill ! " The Orc was not even mildly interested to know exactly what was in the collection of skin and organs he ’ d half swallowed . The Argonian gathered the scrapings and added it to our heap : A good day ' s hunt , and a wealth of ingredients . GIANT SPIDER . " Kynareth ' s shrine is within the crags by the stunted pine , " Fenrig assured us , as we completed our ascension up to the barren plateau . The gloom of Doomcrag stayed with us , as we stepped through small clumps of blasted heather , nearing the edge of the moors . Then the shrine , shrouded not in light from a dozen ceremonial candles , but the darkened webs of a thousand spiders . Furious at the lack of upkeep , I uttered a curse that startled even Bashnag . We advanced towards the forlorn ruin , until I spotted a strange shape in the dark . The Argonian ' s lantern illuminated the shriveled remains of a Breton , dangling in a cocoon of white thread . He wore the fineries of a priest of Kynareth . It was not a thousand spiders … An arachnid the size of a horse reared up from behind the shrine , eight hairy legs twitching , casting huge and looming shadows in the flickering light . Faintly blue supports holding up a bulging brown back , two rows of beady eyes , and mandibles trembling : This horror had been waiting for prey for a while ( the fact that no Breton had ventured here for prayer since the priest ' s desiccation added further insult ) . The spider scuttled forward , around its cunningly spun web of traps . Bashnag raised a torch to the sticky entrails , but no Orc would be desecrating this sanctuary . Instead , Nord arrows found their mark as the spider clattered its mouth parts , lurching in for a bite , fangs exposed . It received a bolt to the gob for its troubles . It retaliated with a spray : a disgusting crescent of foul - smelling , poisonous bile , which began to eat through Ingjard ' s shield . Pockmarked and seeping with arrow ends , the giant spider leaped up at Bashnag , but was brought down swiftly with a crushing blow that sprayed the immediate area with innards . The Argonian siphoned venom from the remains . Bashnag mended Ingjard ' s shield . The Nords returned the shrine to Kyne , and were bathed in her glory and good fortune . FLESH ATRONACH . Breton merchants trekking the path from Daggerfall had warned us not to stray on the moors . This barren plateau of stunted bush and windswept grass was the domain of bandits … and worse . Thick fog could descend and steal our sense of direction . Craggy fissures could appear underfoot , twisting ankles and lengthening our travels . But none of this hindered our weathered crowd . Our only bewilderment occurred as a huge , hunched shape appeared across the heather : Roaming on the Rivenspire moors , a giant , sewn together from the skin and pelts of man and mer . Jaundiced hues of yellows and grays over a rough bones structure , taller than an ogre , and almost the height of a giant , were its shoulder not so hunched and misshapen . Strange runes carved into the hide , perhaps to help seal the rather rudimentary stitchwork . The head was almost an afterthought , a chinless tapestry of skin draped over an old skull , eyes fastened shut , tongue lolling out of a jawless mouth . Thick spines covered the back , and shackled ankles told the story of servitude . Strange , glowing spots of red , pulsing behind the taut skin ( glands of some sort ? ) , added further blemishes to an already disfigured body . But the most startling mutilation was the atrocity ’ s arms , sculpted into primitive tools of bloodshed — one armed fused into a huge , four - pronged claw , the other into an elongated and bulging club of spikes and skin . A revolting carbuncle of dead flesh , an affront to the natural order , and to Kyne . Bashnag ' s bravery was not in question as he felt the brunt of the flesh atronach . He managed a couple of strong connections to the beast ’ s knee , hobbling it slightly as the atronach finished its lumbering turn to face him . A dodge more deft than the Orc ' s usual dexterity allowed meant the atronach ' s twisting , stabbing claw was caught in Bashnag ' s mace and thrust back at the horror . It was the atronach ' s second attack that did the damage ; Bashnag was cut , and quickly set alight as a throbbing in the beast ’ s claw hand manifested into a blast of magical fire . The Orc staggered back , clutching his face . This gave the flesh atronach an opening , raising its unyielding mace above its head , tendons flexing as the skin grew tight around the arm weapon ; before it was brought down with such savagery , we believed the Orc was split apart . Bashnag ' s breast plate was torn off , and a deep ditch gashed into his chest . Perhaps it was the first time the Orc had felt a strike so similar to his own destructive methods . But he didn ' t like it . Blood frothing from the mouth and wounds , Bashnag brought his own mace into the fray with a retaliatory strike for the ages . It caught the atronach squarely in the face , pushing the skull so far into the beast ’ s body , Fenrig swore he saw it bulge out of its back . Although menial , the head still controlled the mechanism of this foe , and it had been crushed into a pulpy mash ( with such ferocity that it caused astonishment among the others ) . The atronach lurched and dropped into the heather , its Daedric spirit banished . Perhaps only Molag Bal ’ s own mace was capable of bettering Bashnag ’ s . BLOODFIEND VAMPIRE . An icy wind whipped up as we descended from the moors , as the road meandered down to a small collection of wattle - and - daub structures . The stench of decay filled our nostrils . It was just as Kishra - do ' s contact in Wayrest had described : parts of this realm given up entirely by the Bretons and left to rot , taken over by their feral kin . A decaying village scene of pestilence and hopelessness . A settlement of bloodfiends , pitiful savages with not a semblance of higher thought , cursed to see out their days roaming Rivenspire , searching for the living to feed off . A pallid gray face peered out from behind leaded windows , as we slowly edged forward into the empty market square . The air thick with an unpleasant odor of decomposing flesh . Skeletal remains of animals , torn apart in their pens , and long since devoured . The corpses of villagers , now little more than husks of bone and sagging cloth . You could catch a bout of the collywobbles on the air , it seemed . No one had ventured here for weeks , and it soon became clear that the three cursed citizens here were ravenous . A gaunt man rose from gnawing his bone , and flashed an infected , putrid smile — faint recognition from the time before his mind had degraded beyond salvation . Thin , matted hair caked with dirt and sweat stuck to his face . Two sunken eyes of yellow and black , half hidden in skin bags of gray and red , the obvious signs of this vampiric disease . Tattered remains of fine Breton clothing , now soiled and torn . Once a nobleman and now a shambling atrocity . Although these fellows exhibited a staggering gait , the befuddlement afflicting them didn ' t impede their agility , as Ingjard ( who led the reconnoiter ) found out . Three bloodfiends sprinted across the cobblestone square , all swarming on her from different directions . One fell to our arrows before he reached the algae - filled fountain . The other two leapt for Ingjard , who was ready with her axe and planted it swiftly into the side of a bloodfiend ' s head . Wrenching the weapon out , the foe spluttered and fell to a twitching death . The other struck her shield , snarled with the ferocity of a snared wolf , and bared a row of uneven fangs . Ingjard stepped forward , her axe swinging , and the bloodfiend retaliated with a slash of infected talons , cutting her deep in the arm . She winced , allowing her foe another chance to swipe . It leapt high and slammed down hard , catching Ingjard off balance . As the blood from her wounds began to pool , I quickly stepped into the fray and delivered a precise blow , removing the bloodfiend ' s head from its neck . There was to be no feasting on Nord blood this day . HARPY . Our trail to capture the pelt and feathers of a " bird - woman of Rivenspire " led us to the barren plateaus and rocky cliffs along the rim of this realm . The rocky slit of a large aerie was easily spotted . Fenrig returned from a successful forage , but the rabbits weren ' t for us . We were hunting for harpy . A red - tinged miscellany of woman and bird , almost comely in nature , a frill of erect feathers around her neck , piercing black dots within crimson - pooled eyes staring down with malcontent . A crest of raised , hair - like feathers running down her back ridge . Arms enveloped by giant wings , big enough to carry her weight , agile enough to be tucked down behind her huge talons . Knife - sharp claws for hands and feet , stained hooks adding another shade of red to this figure of fear for merchants and other travelers throughout Rivenspire . A wanton wench cursed by Mara ? Not a beast of myth , but a scavenger of carrion , blending magic , their own language ( of screeching and crowing ) , and a primitive survival instinct in a matriarchal nest . We were mindful not to summon an entire flock . We edged carefully into the edge of harpy territory , far from the erratic bluffs where the main aerie was nestled . Ingjard ' s well - accepted ruse would be employed : Fenrig ' s fresh kill placed downwind , between the rocks of the winding goat trail . Bashnag and the Argonian would create a ruckus closer to the aerie , but without resorting to combat ( a fact Bashnag needed reminding of almost to the point of conniptions on the part of Ingjard ) . The rabbit corpse prompted a curious onlooker , first a speck against the sun - washed rocks and pale blue sky , then a screeching , crowing monster . The harpy landed by the bloodied rabbits , claws ready to tear . In the distance , squawking ( in the languages of both the harpy and the Orc ) was heard . Ingjard charged forward , and the harpy reared up , attempting flight . She was struck by Ingjard ' s shield and flummoxed for a moment , before realizing her predicament and launching back , delivering a powerful kick . It struck the shield with a crack , but Ingjard held firm , narrowly missing with a retaliatory sword lunge . Now a scream from the harpy , from which came forth a bolt of shocking light , dissipating across the shield . Soaring up and around , red eyes glaring and finger barbs at the ready , the harpy beat her wings furiously , building a focused gale of wind to finally floor Ingjard . But the gale became a breeze as our arrows struck feathered flesh , and the harpy shrieked and fell to Ingjard ' s feet . A swift and final thrust ended it . Poets and artists would pay handsomely for quills fashioned from this plumage . LURCHER . First evening ' s camp in the gnarled and mist - laden Glenumbra forest was not the serene rest we craved . Through mouthfuls of venison , Bashnag complained the woods were haunted , and a strange , greenish glow confirmed this ; a light of unnatural countenance was stalking us . A wisp ? The light from a hag ’ s lantern ? We ventured towards the source , but it vanished . Twice it appeared , and twice we lost it in the failing light . Ah , for the eyes of a Khajiit ! Fang ' s growling alerted us , as did the rustling of dark undergrowth . Suddenly , the glow was upon us . A spriggan ' s accursed brother crashed into our camp : However , unlike the lithe forms created by Kyne , this was a lumbering binding of an evil spirit : a crudely made construct of vines , twisted branches , and knurled bark , some parts still with mushrooms and moss growing on them . A writhing ball of luminous energy churned within the outer casing , visible through exposed ribs and a hole where the head should be . " Lurcher ! " Fenrig shouted — an apt title , as the unsteady golem staggered out of the trees with the grace and agility of an intoxicated giant . It appeared to be fashioned by a Reachman , with primitive movements to match . This was a creature built to cleave . It shook the ground as it walked . It did not hesitate in charging our party ' s largest member . It swung a huge claw arm vertically down , as a bear playing with food is wont to do . The sheer strength almost buckled Bashnag ' s legs , and with gritted teeth he gleefully counterattacked with a wild swing of his mace . Plodding back , the lurcher seemed to click into an almost mechanical maneuver , raising both arms high above its head hole , and bringing both down with a colossal , crushing slam . Bashnag staggered , dropping to his knees , and Footfalls - in - Snow let out a gasp . This was the first occasion where our Orc had been bettered . The lurcher shuddered in place as we paced around with our axes . The Argonian produced a scroll , murmuring incantations , and a ball of licking flame writhed in his claw . A moment later , a cloud of choking pollen flew from the lurcher ' s core , first with force before gently wafting down , coating Fang in a poisonous haze . Fenrig flew into a rage , chopping into the lurcher with both axes as the creature began to turn and focus on the Nord . An Argonian fireball flew past , striking the lurcher in the midriff . By now the Orc had regained his footing , but his composure was further angered . Borrowing Ingjard ' s axe , he leapt upon the smoldering contraption of wood and evil . By the time Bashnag was finished , we had a pile of kindling large enough for a dozen campfires . HAG AND HAGRAVEN . We sipped our nettle tea , and all but the Argonian politely refused the dead beetles offered as a meal . A hag coven , deep within Glenumbra Woods . A tense truce negotiated by Ingjard , who wished to gain further insights into these powerful witches and their dance with Hircine . We were welcomed to a moss - draped den : a hollow - out tree . Bashnag with a glum expression on his face , chin on fist , slightly put out at this befriending . " This one runs with the wolves , " remarked an older crone , manhandling Fenrig ' s arm as she prodded his muscles with a filthy finger . A ripped and sagging shawl hung from her emaciated arms ; it was sometimes hard to tell which was flesh and which was cloth . Dying hair hung limply either side of a wizened face . She was hanging skin , curved bone , and a hunched back with strange grasses and shelf mushrooms growing out from her shoulders and down her green - tinged body . Oddly fleshy sacks hung from her waist , as did a bloodied hatchet . Her staff was adorned with a cluster of small skulls ( too small to be adult ) at the crown . What was in this tea again ? " Does not the Song of Hrormir … describe Nocturnal as one of your kin … ? " Ingjard asked , her voice trailing off to a slur . Her tea was finished ( as was her trust , it soon transpired ) . She fell forward , now in a stupor . The tea had been dosed , as had the food on offer , and our Argonian friend was flat on his back , sleeping like the dead . We weren ' t about to join him . The hag untied her hatchet , her eyes strangely smoking with an unnatural purple vapor , and approached Ingjard ' s body . " The first sacrifice to Mother Murk ! " The forfeit of reason and higher functions in the pursuit of dark power always results in such devious repugnance . Only Bashnag , Fenrig , and myself had our wits about us . We shouldn ' t be explaining to our ancestors in Sovngarde how we ' d been outmatched by a crone . Bashnag dragged our unconscious fellows out of the den , while we faced a trio of these corrupted shrews . Hatchets were wielded wildly , but for one gnarled crone , not wildly enough , as Fenrig tore through her gizzard with a sharper and deeper - wounding axe . I vaguely remember a compression of black shadows , filling my vision and pulling me towards one of the hags . A dark grasp choked the vigor , and I almost dropped to my knees . But these were mere illusions . My mind stayed as sharp as my sword , which ran through the last hag , skewering her in mid incantation . Too late she covered herself with shadows , and attempted to reflect the fatal wounding I had caused . Our jubilation lasted moments . We were blanketed by a whirling storm of white - eyed , inky - black ravens . This glen had been further polluted by a Hagraven , a fiend forsaking Kyne herself and a creature I ’ d been hoping to face since the Reachmen captured one of the monsters that rampaged through Skyrim during the Wild Hunt back in 1E 369 . As the raven parted , but span around her seemingly frail form , the hagraven approached . More grotesque than the witches we had already encountered , this contradiction of nature wore the sagging skin , drooping nose , and shriveled breast of an old woman , but bore fearsome claws and talons , hook claws instead of heels , bone ornaments as trinkets , and bedraggled plumes of black feathers woven into gray skin . A bony finger pointed at me . The storm of ravens changed their flight , and then their form , turning from black to a burning orange as they spontaneously caught fire . I was engulfed . I felt the grim flames lap at my boots and cloak . Such depraved magnificence ! " As the blessings of nature protect me , Kyne grant me fortitude ! " The burning blackness was instantly dismissed . In my hands I held a spectral bow , bound to my form . I notched an arrow from the air , as worry encroached across the hagraven ' s expression . Fenrig wasted no time slicing down with a heavy axe swing , lopping off three clawed fingers . The worry turned to shrieking anger , and a bolt of fire was summoned from her remaining hand . It struck Fenrig on the shoulder , allowing the hagraven the moments she needed to conjure a small pool of fire below Fenrig . Such sorcery would have been impressive to study . But we required Fenrig . A single , spectral arrow struck the hagraven in her left eye . Her death screams finally woke the Argonian .