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A few nights ago… I return to my tale, relating what betided over the next few nights of my hunger. Having ridden up the 7,000 steps in somewhat more than one turn of the ’glass, I spent two agonising nights with the Greybeards, learning what they were willing to teach me. Though japanese the descent took a little less time than the climb, it was already well dark, and so we took separate rooms in Ivarstead at the Vilemyr Inn, myself in one, Vilja and Lydia in another. While Lydia is my housecarl – my being Thane of Whiterun – I had assigned her to watch over Vilja, to which she reluctantly agreed some days ago. Thus, it was relatively easy for me to slip out into the night. I was so restless I felt ill; my head twice its size, so that it surely must burst my helmet – which made it doubly a relief when I was able to shed all my armour other gear and stash it some distance away, including my smallclothes, lest they be shredded upon my transformation anyway. I further suffered from starvation, as I could not eat real food, and I am orgasm certain that the Greybeards had known something was amiss, if not precisely what. Lydia and Vilja were doubtless aware of my… distress, so much so that they avoided me; we had spoken hardly a word on the way back down the mountain. Even so, throughout my forced confinement, due to my extreme discomfort I had yet been unable to think of anything beyond my hunger – when I was not in lessons with the Greybeards, at least. Happily, bandits – not to mention necromancers, witches, cultists, and myriad other miscreants – are liberally strewn about Skyrim. I had also forgotten that there was a civil war seething athwart the land; thus, fresh corpses were almost literally at every crossroads. Even so, I realised that I was once again fortunate to come across a recent battlefield of the war between the Imperial Legion and the rebel Stormcloaks. I had ample bodies to feed upon, and yet this night I was to come to the realisation that scavenging would not suffice. By instinct, I made my way back through the benighted forest toward Ivarstead, having consumed enow to make up for the last few days of deprivation. Despite the surfeit – or perhaps because babe of it – I still felt sick and unfulfilled. Nonetheless, one animal hunger being mostly assuaged and removed from that part of my mind, I was seriously contemplating taking Elda, the Vilemyr whore, up on her unsubtle offer upon my return – “I’ll tire you out for only five septims!” – when my thoughts were interrupted by cries of “Die, monster!” It would seem I had loped easily into a bandit camp. Suddenly assailed on all sides, instinct took over once again. Nearly all of them fled in panic when I tested my new ability to terrorise with a ferocious roar, and soon more corpses surrounded me, most of which I had to chase down. The last I grabbed from behind with both paws around his neck, dragged him off his feet to face my slavering jaws. His odd plea of “Mercy!” cut off as I popped his head from his shoulders; fountains of blood showered me, most of which I tried to catch and swallow. I ripped one arm off, then the other, followed by each leg, as though I plucked a chicken; further gets gouts of blood sprayed, each somewhat lessened. I lifted the torso above my head, opened my jaws as wide as I could; bit through insubstantial hide armour, skin, bone, tore at the heart, chewing it from the corpse. The remainder I tossed aside, went looking for the rest. Thus presented with yet another feast, this time I found the bliss that I sought. As I ripped heart after heart from still-warm flesh and gnawed at them, the fresh blood pouring down my throat, my wounds – some serious – healed much quicker than they had ere now, in either form. I could have swallowed the tidbits whole with no trouble, of course, but I wanted to savour every morsel, to enjoy this. I howled my ecstasy at Masser, the larger of the two moons, out and full red this night. Answered by several of my cousins, I turned toward Ivarstead. I would now see to my other need. Perforce, I was reminded of the necessity to pay even more than usual attention to my ablutions, despite my having bathed in the river before donning my stashed clothing (this time carefully wrapped against my ‘marking’ of the spot). As I entered the inn’s common room and strode up to Elda, wresting her from some fool’s lap and snapping, “Time to back up your boast, wench!” she attempted to shake me off. “You smell like a wet dog!” she retorted. You know, belittling them. away I decided to drive orgasm there, I was pretty tired when I got to their house. 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