Skyrim fanart of Skjor, one of the Companions in Skyrim. Traditional media + Photoshop retouch. Accompanies a fanfiction one-shot.
Drawing werewolves
This is Skjor, one of the members of the Companions, a faction of mercenaries in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim who also happen to be werewolves! They can also turn you into one in case you wish to attend a blood-drinking ritual and run a few errands for them. Neat. I would hang out with the lot whenever possible, and wish to this day that Bethesda had fleshed out more dialogues and story for the Companions.
I started this sketch with mechanical pencils, then brought everything to Photoshop and added colors.
Needless to say being a werewolf is quite fun.
The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
A 2011 action-RPG game developed by Bethesda (same guys behind Fallout 3, Shelter and 4, along with other Elder Scrolls titles.) It has also been widely praised by several gaming sites and publications.
I can’t seem to get enough of it, especially with PC mods for graphics, more consumables and UI improvements.
Bonus Werewolf art: Farkas
Sketched Farkas mid-transformation. In my headcanon he has a sweet tooth and needs constant Sweetrolls as fuel.
The fanfiction — Paradise Lost
Foreword
This first-person one-shot story idea came from my buggy experiences in Skyrim. It’s from 2013-ish.
Skjor and Kodlak are both gone by the end of the Companions questline, but after a few more days of gameplay Skjor decided to hang around the main hall again, calling me a whelp and regularly asking for his shield to be checked — although now I was his harbinger. Well, being undead and having to catch up with all the new rumors and events must be tough.
I noticed that Kodlak was still gone, though, and figured it could be interesting to write about this non-canon experience from my character’s point of view.
Thank you for taking your time to read this! Writing and reading other people’s fiction is how I practice English.
The story is quite old and I haven’t revised it for many years now, but hopefully it is still a fun read.
The story
Skjor greeted me as I stepped into the halls of Jorvaskkr. Farkas and Vilkas seemed as amused as myself, coming to our side. Vilkas and me analyzed every inch oh him, approaching and circling Skjor much like wolves. He stood still, exhaling acrid scents of dirt, blood and death.
He signaled Farkas to bring him cloth to clean his soiled face and whichever bits of armor that could be salvageable.
“Look – Look at me” I babbled, until regaining some control of my voice and getting the man’s attention “the Silver Hands have kil… AELA? COME HERE NOW.”
The wolf man seemed genuinely confused, blinking for a few seconds before criticizing “how helpless all whelps around here are.”
The heavy doors from Jorvaskarr’s main halls opened with a slow creak, and I heard Aela’s whimper fill the halls before she emerged from the yard. Her eyes darted between us and the visitor, as I was stricken by a new thought: If Skjor – or someone, or something, that claims to be Skjor – is back… Then maybe we would be able to see Kodlak again… And perhaps save his soul from Hircine.
Before finishing those thoughts, my legs were already rushing towards the living quarters, as I shouted for the Companions to try to discover what was going on.
I dived towards the doors at the end of the corridors, and crossing them never seemed to take so many steps. Slamming the wood with my shoulder plates to an empty room struck me worse than I struck the doors.
The hopes of granting Kodlak his deserved home in Sovngarde vanished. The old wolf was truly gone.
I contemplated the stupidity of my deductions while silently gathering supplies from the rooms, and the weight over my shoulders pinched and sank at each step taken back to the halls.
The companion’s voices echoed again, as they were trying to put some sense into the new situation. Aela made Skjor sit and talked to his ear as if trying to pacify him. The wolf man didn’t seem to be in his full reasoning capacities, and was asking around to have his shield checked – although his hands were empty. Vilkas was awkwardly balancing a tower of books containing undead lore and curses on his arms, Farkas fetched mead and bread for Skjor, Ria and Torvar started spreading and consulting the books Vilkas piled over the tables.
I glanced at Wuuthard and felt the beast within growl. The Silver Hands would pay for their deaths, and now they would pay double for our recurring grief and confusion. Farkas came over, two sweetrolls stuffed inside his mouth.
“Good newf, it feems like Fjor furvived,” he munched.
“Oh. Is that so, ice-brains?” snapped Aela, proceeding to whisper a few more words to the wolf.
I glanced at them for a while, figuring that she could also be trying to assess whether he remembered her, remembered them. He was calmer, and whatever he replied to Aela left her satisfied.
“I mean he is not a living dead, Aela was checking him for bite marks” interrupted Farkas “but there are no signs of even early disease on him. The confusion is, well, more to our fault. Shapeshifting and all.”
“Does he remember the hideout?” I asked.
“When we couldn’t retrieve his body, the Silver Hands dumped him into a pit. There was some spirit left in the hound though, and he ran off as a werewolf. This is all we could extract from him so far.” explained Vilkas, “and my brother, in his simple wisdom, is right: His mind is exhausted from the shapeshifting. He probably went like that for days and-“
“I’m starving! Fetch me more mead and cheese, whelp!” Skjor roared to me, and after locking eyes with him for a few seconds, I complied. He was at the brink of fatigue, and possibly roamed through Skyrim’s by himself before returning home. It wouldn’t be right to argue now.
“…We are glad to have you back, you filthy beast,” I jested, handling him more food. He caught my eyes for a small moment, a thankful glimpse on his deep expression lines. “Good job everyone. Aela, guys, please take good care of him while we’re off. Farkas, we have vampires to slay.”
“Sounds good to me,” he consented, stuffing an entire cream crème tart inside his mouth. “It is too cold out there now, I’ll need more sugar.”
It hit me how proud I felt about the Companions. Those weren’t the whelps Skjor mentioned anymore. He would be pleased to return to his full senses and see what we became.
And they were my pack now.
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