The Altar of Thrond

Currently, our fearless heroine is mucking about on Solstheim. A few mornings ago, she was meandering aimlessly around the barren island when she spotted a splash of red against the endless white. The sight of blood in the distance always excites Amalthea, because it means that there is possibly a nice corpse to be looted (and/or eaten), so of course she jogged over to investigate.
“Empty.”

The ever-present voices in Amalthea’s psychotic head told her that this was the Altar of Thrond. The voice did not, however, explain who Thrond was, or what Thrond wanted with the hearts and femoral arteries of shapely young women. (Whoever Thrond is, he/she/it has not figured out that there are far more fun parts of shapely young women.)

Being an Adventurer, and therefore cursed with both high levels of curiosity and a low sense of self-preservation, Amalthea set off into the nearby cave. Maybe someone in there would know who Thrond was.

Eola attempted to be helpful by using her Super Cannibal Senses.
Sweetheart, a microsmatic dolphin could smell this much blood. You’re not exactly a scenthound.

While there was no book called Thrond: Who the Fuck Is He? within the cave, there were three of Amalthea’s favorite enemies – Hagravens! Unusually enough, these fair ladies had names. Amalthea made sure to write them down in her Little Black Book of Death and Dismemberment.
Just don’t ask her to try to tell them apart. All hideous bird-woman hybrids look the same to her.

Amalthea left the cave with some sweet loot, but she lacked her usual sense of accomplishment after a bloody battle. If only she could have found out who Thrond was. Because that guy has a lot to learn about chicks.