“I’ve just returned from Solstheim, I am not about to sail there any time soon,” the captain of a barge in Windhelm shook his head at Geralt. “I’ve had enough of plagued bears and naked Nords, thanks,” he spit into the water, emphasizing his sentiment. “I plan to enjoy naked Nords back here for a while, preferably in my bed. See ya, witcher!” He grinned and disappeared into the Cloudfog Inn.

Geralt looked up and down the quay in Windhelm, not seeing any ships or barges that looked like they could be bound for Solstheim.

“Hey, white one,” someone spoke softly behind him. “I can take you to Solstheim, if you’ve got the coin…”

…

“I said Solstheim, I didn’t say Fort Frostmoth,” the owner of a small cog gave Geralt a big smile approaching the Northern shore of Solstheim. “I’ve got folks living furhter up, but I’ll let you get off here,” he said encouragingly. “There’s no one around, you’ll be safe. Fort Frostmoth is not too far away, it ain’t that big of an island. I have no clue why you had to bring your horse as well,” he shook his head watching Roach gingerly getting off his boat. “Horses hate snow.” Roach seemed to understand that and gave an approving snort.

“See you,” Geralt cut short the conversation as the seaman raised the sail and vanished from view.

Everything around them was white. If Skyrim was wintry, Solstheim was icy. Geralt raised his collar and smiled – it felt like home. Winters at Kaer Morhen could get pretty cold too.

“Come on, Roach, let’s get going before we get snowed under,” he patted his horse, mounted and steered South East.

…

Fort Frostmoth towered on the Southern shore of Solstheim, its grey walls stood out against the icy blue water. At least this part of the island wasn’t all frozen, and Roach was soon engrossed in sampling local vegetation. Geralt walked into the courtyard and found himself waist high in thick grass.

“Doesn’t anyone cut the grass here?” He wondered aloud, trying to figure out which of the heavy wooden doors led to an inn. “Surely, there must be a public area in this fort,” he mused. “It’s the only building for miles around, and with two ships moored by the shore, where are those people supposed to sleep?” Then it dawned on him: “Perhaps I should go ask them.” Travellers were bound to know the way to an inn.

…

“Would you like to go back?” An Argonian hissed through his clattering teeth. “I would gladly take you back to Vvardenfell right away! It’s so cold here!”

“I just got here, so I don’t want to go back…” Geralt looked him over but couldn’t spare any of his own clothes for the poor fellow.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then go see Captain Falx Carius at th-the f-fort,” the Argonian looked in serious danger of frostbite. “I wish there was an inn, but no…”

Geralt was going to ask why he would need to see the commander of the local regiment if all he wanted was just a mug of ale, but thought he’d probably find out later anyway. Perhaps they had a job for a witcher.

“Would you like to come with me?” An attractive Dunmer woman was all smiles as she touched Geralt’s arm.

“Well, I…”

“I can take you to a place of splendour and wonder!” She continued cheerfully. “Just step on board of this ship and we’ll be off!” She took a step towards the ship moored behind her.

“Erm… I’d love to, Miss…” Geralt gave her a broad grin but stood his ground. “But I just arrived here, and I would like to see what’s going on first… and find an inn…”

“Are you our escort?” Someone came up behind him interrupting the conversation. “We are waiting for our escort! We’ve been promised escort!”

“Do I look like escort to you?” Geralt spun around to face three nervous strangers.

“You do! You’ve got two swords!” They answered almost in unison. “Carnius Magius promised us escort!”

“Sorry, fellows,” Geralt shook his head. “I’m just looking for an inn.”

Everyone looked at him as if he was crazy.

“There are no inns on Solstheim, outlander,” a Dunmer woman looked him over with a sigh. “This isn’t Vvardenfell, you know. Civilisation is over there. Here there are just Nords and plague bears.” She wrinkled her nose and walked off.

Geralt looked around him, shook his head and went to the fort.

…

“Can I help you, citizen?” An Imperial soldier enquired politely but not cordially. “This is Fort Frostmoth.”

“I figured as much,” Geralt nodded. “I was actually looking for an inn…”

“There are no inns on Solstheim,” the soldier sighed with regret. “The nearest public house is Thirsk Meadhall on the other side of the island. That’s too far to walk on an empty stomach,” he added firmly. “Your best bet is to talk to the priest at the Imperial Cult shrine in the other building and hope that he can spare you some shein and a kwama egg and let you curl up behind the crates for the night.” The soldier smiled and Geralt got a distinct impression that his speech had been prepared and rehearsed.

“Lay off him, Zeno,” a familiar voice sounded from a side corridor with surefooted steps of Legion boots following. “He’s not your average smuggler,” an Imperial officer in full regalia entered the hall. “He’s with me.”

“Of course, Optio,” the soldier named Zeno straightened up and took two steps back in the same movement, almost colliding with a table laden with helmets, gauntlets and broad daggers.

Geralt turned around, noticing a highly polished beastplate and supple pteruges of a high grade suit of armour, well worn but also well cared for. Presentation went a long way in the Legion.

“Hauk!” Geralt grinned. “I’ve heard you were in Morrowind… but this is unexpected!”

“May be, and may be not,” Hauk grinned back and winked. “Come, we have lodgings upstairs.”

As strange as it appeared, Geralt decided not to argue. Zeno didn’t need to hear any more than what he’d heard already, and a good bed was infinitely preferable to curling up behind some crates with an insect egg in your belly.

…

“What is going on?” Geralt finally asked after a good meal in the guest room upstairs. “This is one of the strangest places I’ve been to. It feels like everyone is mistaking me for someone else!”

“Nah, they’re not,” Hauk smirked, finishing his own plate of mutton and moving untouched kwama eggs to the top of a chest of drawers. “This place doesn’t exist yet. Well, the Legion fort obviously exists, but it isn’t a regular Legion outpost – it’s a penal colony. These soldiers are not regular Legion material,” he shook his head. “Which doesn’t matter normally because there’s nothing here apart from wolves and bears. Not yet, anyway.” He stood up to refill his mug with mead and Geralt noticed again the gleam of his polished steel and the rich sheen of the leather of his pteruges. This was more than just dressing his rank – Hauk was on a mission. “The East Empire Company decided to open an ebony mine nearby,” he returned to the table. “Under the protection of the Legion. THIS Legion.” He emphasized the word and paused to let it sink in. “As of now this is no longer a penal colony but a regular Legion outpost.”

“Did they tell the soldiers?” Geralt looked bewildered.

“Better ask whether they told the East Empire Company what sort of an outpost this is,” Hauk smirked. “But Carnius Magius has connections, and Falx Carius does not deserve to be stripped of his rank because some stupid bureaucrate in the Imperial City could not be bothered to check the designation of this fort. Falx is a good commander, the Legion values people like him. And I am here to see that nothing goes wrong. Which of course it will.” He took another swig of his mead. “Plus, you are here.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” Geralt looked up.

“The Blood Moon is rising.”

For a few minutes they sat staring at each other.

“What do you know of it?” Geralt finally asked.

“The same what everyone knows,” Hauk shrrugged. “Hircine calls a Great Hunt once or twice every era, there are signs long in advance and there are plenty of witches around to read them. The Great Hunt has been called once again, and this time it’s here on Solstheim. And that’s why you’ve come, is it not? You heard the call of Hircine.”

“Yes,” Geralt nodded. “I read the books too. I hear his call, and so I am here. But what now? I suppose events will unfold and we’ll see.”

“Something will occur…” Hauk mused. “The witches of the Glenmoril Wyrd have already arrived as well. They will know more, I expect, sense more. You could go to them, or you could hang around here, get involved with the goings on and watch and wait… The choice is yours.”

“I’ll stay here,” Geralt answered without hesitation. “I need to get a feel for this land. The Dunmer, the Nords, the plague bears… the Nords, in particular. They are different from the Nords of Skyrim. We got ambushed by a pair of them in the wilderness, Roach and me, but before I could even dismount, there was a bear, two wolves, three wargs and gods know what else joining the fight! And the weirdest thing was that the Nords were totally naked, apart from a bear helm…”

“Naked Nords, eh?” Hauk laughed heartily. “Welcome to Morowind, my friend! They’ve got a thing with naked Nords here… can’t see why, myself…” He laughed and winked, kicking off his boots and unbuckling his armour. Masser the colour of blood was rising. It was 3 a.m. and high time to finally go to bed.