Helm Of Winterhold Novels & Stories

“She needs—” “Shanika,” Jeremy’s voice was sharp. “Get behind me.” I turned back toward him—and saw it. The monster stood there, staring. The glow from its molten veins pulsed, casting eerie shadows across its grotesque form. Its lips curled into something resembling a grin, though it was anything but human. “The Helm of the Gifted is ours,” it repeated. Jeremy growled, his wolf pushing to the surface, his hands curling into fists. “Leave us alone!” he roared. “What do you want?”

I hid them in a wooden chest and snapped a lock on it before I finally felt at ease. That chest cost me a fortune back then. It was solid enough to weigh over 50 kilograms. Then, I quickly headed to the city hall and had all of Jonah's identification records registered as dead. Since he was planning on taking his brother's place, as his wife, how could I not help him? I couldn't wait to see how Jonah was going to handle it when people from the army came looking for him. After doing all these, I rushed back to the wake. Upon seeing me, Adele Lakewood, my sister-in-law, rolled her eyes at me and said curtly, "Oh, look, the widow returns. Take your crying, burdensome daughter away. She makes my

Their bodies continued to tremble, shivering from the cold until they had to hug their own bodies to dispel the cold that hit their bodies, losing all of their hope. As they closed their eyes, surrendering to whatever fate awaited them, the door to the room suddenly opened, revealing the figure of Askarovich Winterwood––a half-dragon and human man from the Winterwood clan who became one of William's confidants and he did not how the man managed to get that position––opened the door, while opened the hood of the white robe the man was wearing, then crouched down in front of them after entering the room. "Have you learned from your mistakes, Southampton?" asked the man, with blue hair and a li

Each person controls a world leader, running the underworld and carefully maintaining the balance needed in such a world filled with human greed, death and destruction— willingly ready to be seen as the devils. Zayn Hellfire was not a Devil. He was Hell itself. “Tea, Don?” Giana places the cup in front of me, her milky gray eyes staring at me even though many cannot do the same. For she is blind. I don’t bother to give a response but she doesn’t wait for one as she places the cup and saucer down on the table. It’s Darjeeling tea, one of Eve’s favorites, but now I am no longer sure if she ever liked it.

I was grateful for his silent capability. As we scrambled up increasingly sheer slopes, Valorhold revealed itself at last - a lone sentinel carved into the hostile face of the King's Seat itself. Winding lines of pale stone glowed in the sunlight, clinging impossibly to the sheer rock. A standard bearing the Valor crest fluttered ominously from atop the main keep. We had reached the stronghold at last. Now to somehow gain entry and secure an audience with Hunter...

Winter couldn't relax as he keeps on high-kicking his front hoofs. Then, another arrow comes from the right side of Genesis's position. Winter makes a panic sound as it is about to hit Genesis. In a quick reaction, she flips her body to dodge the sharp silver weapon. Then, she catches sight of the person shooting her. That person is wearing a black cloak with a stitch of gold lace on its hood. As soon as the person perceives Genesis's eyes, that person immediately hides back behind the braches he climbs. "Hey, wait!" Genesis tries to call for that person.

He was tall, built like a runner, and had a strong soul this one, didn’t mean Jor trusted him. “Hel, thank you.” He meant it too, and she looked him over and to the woman in his arms. Hel had to say she probably would have bet her immortal life that Jormungand would never feel for another. That even for her and Fenrir it wasn’t as deep as it should be. Yet looking at him right then holding the woman who was pale and looked unconscious, it was not the brother she remembered. His eyes were not as cold, still hard but not cold.

I stared at Dallas, not able to talk, move, think. "The necklace looks good on you." Dallas slightly nodded his head towards my neck where laid a chain with a small snowflake pendant on it. Then, he gave me a weak and sad smile that torn my heart even more. He then turned, opened the door, and walked out of the room. - Christmas Day

The city lay cradled between stone cliffs and frozen pines, cloaked in mist and moonlight a neutral ground carved from old treaties and older blood. Even here, I could feel the tension in the air. Wolf-shifters moved through the streets in wary silence. Some bore the white tattoos of the Highland Clans, others the storm-gray brands of the South. They nodded as I passed, respectful, but wary. I was Frostfang, northern royalty and a healer in a world that only valued warriors. My wolf stirred beneath my skin. Something is wrong, Nemphis whispered. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t afford to listen to instincts, not here, not now. I looked up and admired the Hall.

The King gave it to me at the Hollow with a speech about the old blood riding free under the crown and not hidden beneath it, and I have never once had it up. "Put it at the front," I say. "And put the crowned one beside it, at the same height, and do not let anybody tell you which order they go in." The wolfsbane rides with us the whole way, sixty stone of it on the Pale's own sledges under Bryn's eye, and every night one of Halvard's officers asks whether the crown will be taking charge of it, and every night I say no, and by the third week he has stopped asking and started saying good evening instead.