FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I sit in the warm water amidst the snowy plains, and rest awhile, and dream the dream of the Hist.

A stipend of one hundred coins sat in my pouch, with the others left to me by my lady of soft scales. I walked through the morning crowd, my head down and cloak closed to hide my armor. I made a note to visit the clothier to dress in something new, and to have my old armor looked at and repaired, as well as my blade. I needed to blend in, and looking suspicious didn't help the eyes of the guards on me.

I dressed myself up in a no-name tailors outfit ordered and made within a week, and had spent the week out of an inn, which was thankful for a visitor even in these quiet times. The festival was not more than two weeks away, and the rooms would come to be needed by then. I might as well stay and watch, as my coins could stretch that long, and there was always work to be found if one didn't mind humble labor.

I hunted rats for an old nord woman who complained about her dogs being terrorized by rats. It didn't pay exceptionally, but her good will and a nice set of boots were more than enough reward. She also had great tea, and we talked away the hours as she told me of her husband and grand children, and about how this war was a terrible, terrible thing. I agreed with her, and visited her often through the time I was there, while looking, hunting, for the priest.

I found him at the door of the old nord, and he looked at me in surprise, asking who I was to disturb his grandmother so. Such was luck that I quietly pulled him aside, sat him down, and discussed with him the merits of returning what was taken and what betrayal could do to someone. He paled, when I fingered a knife at my hip. We discussed, for a long while, why he would give over the tomes and what he had stolen, and why he would consider giving up the life he lead, to take care of his aging, and lovely grandmother.

He was the only one to survive an encounter with me. From what I last heard, he surrendered his position and took up a quiet life of his grandfathers trade, being a boot maker. They really were very comfortable boots.

It is cold; the hours are mid-summer, for whatever summer counts as amongst these bitter places, and I am at once made to relax in the warm grasping water. It laps at my chest and warms my body, reminding me of pleasant places so far away from this coldy and bitter land. My eyes are closed and head is back, my mouth open to savor the cold air and belly hot with meal, and with the bubbling water of these springs. I enjoy it.

It is seventy miles to the nearest hamlet, and a thousand to civilized lands so far away. My head rolls on my shoulders and I sink down until just my head is above water. I can feel the tingle run my body, from toes to backside to shoulder - and I know the springs are taking away the ache of the road. A road, some half mile away, beaten into the earth and barely more than cracked stonework, laid two ages ago by a fierce, wild king who would rule an empire.

At the moment, I didn't care who had laid the stones or clove an empire from a bitter land - all I cared about, was the way the bubbles tickled my belly and left me feeling almost drunk in the chill. It had been a good winter and sweet spring, but I had to go onto the road again, to meet with those I had claimed oath with, once I was sure my duty had been done. She had been an enchanter, for she had enchanted me quite completely. She had been a lovely lass and our passions bright and her eggs fertile, but she had gone her path, and I mine.

Someday I might go to her, to see her. Someday I might even see my own hatchlings, raised by a brilliant and wise mistress of the herb and root. But I could not go today; not when I had people to meet and things to do. Instead, simply, I lay my head back and stared upon the stars, which had not hidden beneath cloud, or rainstorm. I saw the great Steed and the bright burning Shadow, and was glad for their watchful eye. I wanted to rest, to sleep, and in this water, I could.

I could have gone and said goodbye, but I was not done in this land, and was called to serve destiny. My jaw clenched and tongue flicked out into the air, tasting it. In the distance would be trolls, foraging for night remains they could steal from the great wolves. Possibly a mad sorceror or witch walked in the dread chill, but I could not say for certain. It was dangerous here as it was anywhere, with the disarray caused by the brooding civil war.

What last rumor had been, a great warrior had shouted his king to death, and launched the entire provinence into a bitter war, of clan against clan, blood against blood, and empire against her children. Some say these were terrible times - others shrugged and went on their way. Myself? I was sure there was plenty I could do to with such a situation, if I needed the coin badly enough. I didn't, not yet, but I might.

Margaux. I had to meet her again, for I had given promise, and she was not one to take ones word lightly. A dervish of a Breton, a mageling with some small power, and a rather nasty knack for killing things that pissed her off. She also had inch long fangs that often pierced throats and shoulders when she was hungry, but no one was perfect. She would be at an old ruin fifteen miles north of the springs, and would expect me in the spring, by sixth month. I did not wish to disappoint her. She had been, in a fashion, rather nice.

I soaked further in the water, and sighed, letting it warm my hide and haunches. The water was lovely.

My eyes opened up again to a glow of three eyes, and I swore. A troll. I had just gotten comfortable, too.

Chewing on the last remnants of roasted troll haunch, and leaving the bone with a toss, I continued my journey away from the waters, still damp, but I wouldn't catch a death of cold. My hip and chest both hurt from the mighty wallops, but I'd hewed the thing in twain with a mighty blow, and decided to have hot dinner before continuing my way on. The sky overhead had grown half cloudy, but the moon was bright and warm with the howls of wolves. I paid them no mind, and continued on in my warming cloak.

The ruins were old and sunken, crumbling from the many centuries of being ignored, but easy to find from the road and knowing where one was going. I rounded a hill and took a moment to watch the whisps of light glow about it - and knew it the right place. It was once an old barrow of a forgotten king. Long ago I would have balked at sneaking into the tomb of the great undead, but now? Now I didn't think it would be much hassle, especially when I was invited.

I ascended up the crumbling steps and heard ony the slightest rustle of my armor. My great blade rattled lightly as I continued to climb the fifty steps, and I looked up to the great arch proclaiming the might and deeds of a king I never heard of, and out of respect, I drew my dagger and saluted, then continued past. Of habit, I murmured a prayer for the soul of the dead to forgive intrusion, then entered into the first chamber, half destroyed, but aglow with thin, blue wispy flames that lay along the carved stone walls. Scenes of battle and vallor, fought against the dread Aeylieds, I would imagine, if not the Dwarven Folk. I could not tell, so just walked on, lighting a torch from my pack with a flick of steel and stone.

Descending down, my hand resting at the short blade on my hip, I crept carefully, avoiding a few obvious traps for the unwarry, and snipping a wire that sent flaming death up ahead of me. I grumbled again at the simple-mindedness of the traps, then bolted as a section of the ground crumbled beneath me, and clung to a ledge as my torch tumbled down into spikey death below.

Okay, so they weren't all simple.

I met the red-haired Breton at the bottom of the long staircase down. Dressed in humble greys and oranges, she looked almost as a simple farming girl from the Imperial Holdings, but I knew better. She radiated confidence and control as she embraced me, and kissed me upon both of my scar-touched scaley cheeks. I welcomed her warmly, and joined her at her table, where she had preserved food for myself, and her, though she needed it not. I was sure she had a bandit stashed in the crypts somewhere.

"My dear! You are looking plump and happy! Was it a good spring and winter for you?" She asked, and set her hand on my own. I squeezed, her skin was a touch cooler than that of a normal Breton, but it was still comfortable. Her nails were sharp, and I drew her hand up in a courtly kiss.

"Of course. I met a farmer who needed labor for spring and assistance fixing in the winter. She was an excellent host, and quite a talented enchanter! She taught me some wortcraft and I kept her hearth warm and meals ready." I skipped over the five passionate months out of the conversation, though I caught her squinting suspiciously. "She invited me to Blackmarsh, but, I have duties here, I told her."

"Mmm? A farmer? And was she as lovely as I?" She asked, in mock vanity. Was she jealous?

"I cannot judge a Breton's beauty to an Argonians." I tried, tactfully.

She frowned. Yes, she was jealous. I didn't know why, but, what male knew a females mind, no matter the species?

"Well, in either case, it is good for you to be here. I will ask you to rest a day or two, but, there are things I would have you do for me." She smiled. It was a dangerous smile, and I was glad I was not her prey, or her enemy. Instead, I gave her hand a gentle stroke, and ate the hot soup. The meat was good, almost like boar, though I couldn't place my finger on it exactly.. I liked it. "I have plans, to strike against those who betrayed me last year."

The wind of the tomb was cold. I tugged my cloak closed against it.

"I would be happy to slay my ladies enemies, but, I would not wish to be rude and discuss compensation over meals." I hesitated. She was my match in a fight, for what she might have lacked in blade experience, she had in strength and in the ability to cook me alive in a heartbeat. Rescuing her from rape and murder only went so far.

"Fret not, my little lizard." She smiled, and it made my testicles freeze and suck into my gut. "I will see that you are rewarded with treasures. I am no miser, and I can offer you so much more than simple golden disks."

I took another bite of my soup, and looked into it for a moment, stirring the vegitables and broth around idly.

"Of course." I said, wisely. And then I listened.

There were seven who had conspired against her. Seven beings had taken her place as the head of a witch circle, and high ranked of a vampiric family. Seven had been those who had crossed her, though I didn't want to ask why. I suspected why wasn't important or scrutable to my simple, mundane senses, either. Each had been a former companion, ally, or member of her family, and the betrayal stung deeply in her breast. A bandit, a priest, a captain, a wizard, a witch, a vampire, and, lastly, a pirate; seven who conspired on her and stripped her of everything she had, exposed her as one of the undead, and sold her into an eighth enemy, whom I had slain and ended his house. Each had taken her fortunes and split from one another, to take her work and tarnish her name. Her own apprentices and childre were dead, killed in the assault.

Oh how she hungered for revenge.

And worse, she knew what I was, what forbidden thing I became, and kenw that I was amongst the few that were remaining of my order. She knew it as surely as she knew the sun burned and the prayers of the priesthood were weak without a good sword behind it. She did not name me nor did she offer me the traditional summoning, but she did know me by my blade and work. I felt sick. Maybe it was the meat.

"I will give you gifts and treasures - bring back to me what they stole from me, and I will share it with you." She said, settling in beside me as I combed through an old tome of lore. She had managed to save some of her research and study, though it was only a part. There had been many books and items that mattered to her, much more than the gold, which she could make in a season or two. "You, my loyal lizard, will do this."

And really, how could I say no, when she needed me so?

"What were you working on, anyway?"

She only smiled.

I am not proud of my past, but my past is a part of who I am. Yet, it was the reason I was suitable and able to go after her enemies. I first went east, to seek the priest, and walked to the place of low wood and fleeting sunlight.

I came to this land, this Skyrim, to walk away from what I was, and arrived by ship to frigid chill and unwelcome lands, yet it was safer than my tropical homeland. The skies were overcast by clouds and threatened snow, most of the time, but I found myself here, first awork at the docks, then doubly so at the bequest of a hard soul of name I do not know.

My work was bone tiring, and the payment little, but always enough that I knew little ginger in the city of, well, I am sure you can guess where. Nonetheless, I am one who ate warm, until I was forced out of the city for, shall we say, defending myself and a fellow worker from the ill urges of a cruel heart. I hear the manor is still empty to this day.

Unimportant, but a story for another day.

I took taking shelter from a heavy rain in the ruins of an abandoned watchtower, letting the rain carry me back home in my dreams. The water was a bit too cold to longer in for long, though all of my kind do love it. I had successfully hunted a large rat for fresh meat, the things are tremendous in this land, and was busily licking my fingers clean of a haunch juice, when a sight drew my eye.

Five bandits, if the weaponry and shoddy state of their appearance said anything. Though my own past was hardly virgin innocent, I had never the testicular fortitude to try such behavior. They carried sacks amongst them, as well as two struggling bundles. I am not brave, but I am not heartless, despite my unwholesome past.

I watched, and doused the embers quickly, and slid quietly into my cloak, my armor already bound into my pack. This I put on, the old garb comforting, like old and well worn boots. Despite the old rumors out of what was once Morrowind, my kind do wear boots on occasion.

I watched the five approach the tower, and enter, the reason thick enough that my smoke would not give me away too quickly. I had time to ascend higher into the ruin, though a very simple structure all said and done. I entered into the roof, a total height of sixty imperial units, and descended down the back, my hands finding purchase e'en with the rain on the stone.

It was not easy, but I had never been one for the eased routes in life. I said a prayer, and made a drop of ten units by the time the last bandit entered,which have me plenty of time. I let go of the rope I had tied off on a large place stone, for ready access back up the tower face. My decision was right, a I saw a flicker of torch upon the roof, and heard questions shouted over the thunder.

Two, by count. Inside would be the test, three. Not easy, but possible, I eased into the woods, while unslinging my bow. Imperial recurve with sabercat gut chord, always trustworthy.

I notched one arrow and whispered a prayer to my once patron for a bit of luck, know I rarely pay the gods much attention. I waited, and crouched in the rain, the shapes moving with the hindrance of a torch. One ducked into the tower once making sure of the roof being clear. The other turned to relieve himself off the side of the tower.

With apologies, I took the shot and my aim was true. A hand lifted from his member to his throat, and he clutched at what jutted from his chest, near his heart. A second arrow took him in the lung. By torchlight, I saw blood bubble his lips. He was dead shortly after, his torch tumbling off the parapet and bouncing off the rocks below. It sputtered and died as noiselessly as the bandit.

One down.

One less criminal to worry the works of honest men. I placed the bow down, and unstrung it, and set the eight remaining arrows with it. There would be less use for it now. I hurried the thirty paces from the sheltered trees and took grip of the hanging rope and climbed up once more.

The others below would not have been alerted to my presence if I had been up there. I hefted myself up onto the roof and checked the body for breath. He was still. I would rifle him for septims later. My attention was set on the rising door as another bandit entered the roof.

It was dark as he called out for his companion, and a laugh left him as he pulled himself up. I gave him no opportunity to investigate, leaping in and catching him off guard. I struck his temple with my first blow and caught his groin with my knee. He had no time to respond to my ambush and fell like a drunken dumner. I kicked him once for measure, and pulled him over beside the body of the first. I found an elven dagger in his possession, possibly thalmor made. Nice find for a bandit.

Three left.

I debated my own blade for a, moment, the fine edged weapon a beautiful two hander from my old life, and beside it my short blade, said to have been many lifetimes old. I debated and then set my great blade down to rest, and opened the hatch below. Thunder crackled, and I stood above, rain wet on my snout, running along old scars that marred my face. I would never be handsome. But, as I looked into the eyes below me, I knew I could be terrifying.

He lasted five heartbeats.

Withdrawing my dagger from the front of his face, I rose from my crouch, and pushed the body away. Two nords started at me, a third, a young girl, gazed in wonder, though bound in cloth and rope. I flashed her a smile, then jumped back from a hastily swung axe. I punched with my blade and received a gurgle from a torn throat.

They were all a bunch of novices.

A sword bit along my back. I grunted in shock and darted forward, as another blow went for my scalp. My back was warm, and I spun around to catch the blade between my own daggers, both elven and argonian. The blow was mighty, but just stopped.

My back hurt. The angry face of a youthful warrior started back at me, his breath hot with mead and anger. I deflected a second hewing strike, and made a flash stroke over his knuckles, making him snarl. His anger was to my advantage as I lashed his hand again - making his grip slippery with blood. We exchanged blades again, my off hand striking up for his jaw - which sent him reeling back. Another blow fell, and a third - and I tripped him back with a shove of my weapons - sending him against the stone wall with a loud, painful crunch. He looked up at me, one eye filled with blood.

"For... S..." He started, trying to stand, fighting to grip his weapon. I gave him that far - before sinking my blade into his chest, and hurling him down the stairs, to tumble and spill into the embers of my dying fire from not too long before. Lightning cracked and lit the tower with a blue flame, which faded in a matter of heartbeats.

"If they let bandits into that hallowed place, go well." I murmured, before aproaching the shivering figure of a young girl - her hair suggest imperial blood more than anything else. I wiped blood from my blade on the tunic of the dead bandit beside me, and sheathed one into my belt, the other was used to cut the binds about her wrists, ankles, and mouth. She seemed mildly fearful, perhaps because of how quickly I had dispatched her keepers.

She was in mid-youth, perhaps fifteen summers of age, if my eye was correct. I gave her another look, when she tried to straighten her tattered garments, and judged I was correct. She dared a half smile to me, as though in thanks. I needed none.

"The rain will continue through the night" I said, while moving a body down the stairs with a push. His pockets had a smattering of coins, and a ring I pilfered from his left hand. "There is food in my pack, as well as a water skin. Drink and eat."

I finished my work with a retrieval of my now soaked bow, and returned to the tower, where the girl was eating with a famished hunger.

"In from the coast, one of the fishing villages. My father set to port over the winter." She explained, while I tended to my relit fire. The flames crackled while I toasted a chunk of bread. "He is, well, was, a trader in finery."

She seemed rather calm, though her eyes were on the verge of tears. A disciplined girl, she knew hardships and that crying over them did nothing. I respected that, and said nothing as I ate.

"They were bandits. Raided the town and grabbed me; they knew my father would pay to get me back" I ran a hand up and dabbed a cloth over my cheek, cleaning it of blood. A cut from a week before, it would leave a scar in time. "Except that he is sick and his money is tied into the barrels of salt and clove he is waiting to transfer."

Very rich man.

"Its been almost a week since they took me." She weighed her options as I ate. She liked to talk, possible trying to cope. I couldn't fault that, either. "Did my father hire you?"

She was crestfallen when I denied it.

"Just a traveler from Blackmarsh." I replied. "No one of any importance."

"I am Samoya." She said after a moment of thought. "What is your name?"

"Its best If you don't know that." I said after a moment. My cheek stung from the reopen cut, worse when I used a soaked cloth to clean it asecond time. Old habits, but clean wounds were happy wounds. "Just think of me a a vagabond."

"Are you an outlaw?" She had no tact at times I would come to find.

"I rather you not worry about that. Just think of me as a a traveler who did the right thing." I finished my bread, and pulled up my cloak for warmth. She looked at me, and shivered. It was not just from chill winds alone, but when I opened my cloak to her after a moment, I let her inside against me. She hugged me, and I felt the faint touch of tears. Relief, I suspected, but made no comment. She slept within moments.

It gave me time to wonder why the bandits all carried silver swords on their hips. In either case, one of the targets was dead, and I was that much closer to my duties. I sharpened my blades with a whetstone through the night.

Dawn came early, and the rains ended their deluge to a grey, misty morning. The pines dripped the nights release, and I awoke the girl, and busied getting everything together - including one of the silver blades. We had a spartan meal and hurried onto the road after I gave her one of my tunics to dress in. it was much too large, but was better than the rags she had worn, and also far less blood stained.

It would take some time to get back to her father, but it was a detour I did not mind taking. She kept pace with my strides with little complaint, and we moved in a grim, determined silence. The cold bothered only slightly, for walking kept the blood from getting sluggish.

Once we detoured around a troll out in the middle of the road, which was a trouble I did not want to tangle with. Then there was another encounter as I stared down a hungry snowcat; and then with a shout I chased it off with a swing of my blade. Despite these small setbacks, the travel to the thorp of Trollfell was uneventful.

Of course, cursed words are those; because, when I rounded the last few feet of a swollen hill, and the road gave me a long view down, I saw that it was on fire.

I ran the last distance, putting on what speed I had left in me, and left a trail for the girl who, despite her smaller stature, kept up a pace that I could be proud of. I thundered through, my armor glistening in the rainfall, and covered te distance in little time, but it was too late to help anyone, for the town burned, and dead lay the earth and snow. In the distance, a ship sailed away, having plundered and looted and left even the cattle and dogs dead. I saw no name, no flag, but for a great, red sail that caught wind in the dying embers of the night.

I consoled a weeping girl of a race I did not belong to, and held her in my cloak until she slept. I carried her into the few standing ruins and laid her upon the tatters of a bed, then kept guard over her through the long night.

She had no family left, no kin or kith or cousins, for they had all been at the village. I listened to her talk, stubbornly trying to regain her strength despite the pain burning her heart. I commended such strength, and I was kind enough not to search for anything of value amidst the ruins. I did bid her wear something warmer from one of the chests I found, and she did, for we had a long journey to go, and she had a family to avenge. She found an axe amidst the ruins of ther fathers home, and took it up, and claimed it for herself as her heritage. Who was I to tell her no?

We had a ship to catch.

"They would be heading for the bridged city; the capital. There are massive docks there, and are more than capable of offloading their ill-gotten goods. Or at least, in that area. There are caves for bandits and pirates and dark deeds there." The rains had been lighter than it had been when I had found her, her face gaunt and strong. She had aged almost five years in the two weeks I had known her. The Nords were truly a hard people.

"Then we should go to the city first, and see if we can find word of the ship. We may never know, but for the sail." I picked at a tooth with the splintered bone of a fish I had caught, and spat the blood out onto the ground. It was a broken tooth that would regrow with time. It itched terribly. "Perhaps we may find something for you besides the axe and revenge."

"What else is there?" She asked, walking the shore with me, through the mists that rolled in with regular chill. I stroked the water with my tail tip, feeling the chill run up it, to my spine.

"Love? Life? Cold mead and hot meat and willing lovers?" I knew about mead. I kinda liked it. Sometimes. The riften swill sucked but the Markarth brews were not too bad. "Children?"

"I cannot have children." She said darkly, but continued along with a stomp on the rocky shoreline. It was said with a shocking certainty that I did not ask her further. Instead, I gave her a small smile, which faltered when a soft metallic ring caught my senses. I frowned, and signalled her to stop.

My eyes closed and senses expanded, listening. The rasp of the wind and lap of the whore contrasted with the gentle crackle of Horks out in the distance, as they barked bac and forth in their bestial tongue. My head tilted, and up, I listened to the woods, to the silence of them, and then to the sound again, metal. It rung, barely heard, and I turned my body towards it, and pointed.

"Battle." I said, softly. I licked my lips in dry anticipation. SOme instincts never left a warrior. "Shall we investigate?"

She smiled. So darkly, even my heart felt a shiver.

The battle was found even with the mist - the bright red plumes of the Legion showed brightly in the chill light of morning. Smoke flowed up through the small fires that crackled and burned, and the shouts of the dead and dying countered against the loud 'Haaahs!' of the living warriors. Drums beat a loud 'Thumm! Thumm!' in the din, and I came close, keeping my cloak down, and hand on my blade. We walked near to see.

Blue was those who battled against, great cloaks of bear skin and elk hide against leather bore the screaming horde of Ulfrics Stormcloaks, who charged and attacked with axe and hammer, against the disciplined ranks of spear and blade. It was a terrific sight, on the hill, and arrows were exchanged, a hundred against three hundred, but the Legion had discipline against the wild, manic fury of Nordic forces. It was savage and bloody and smelled of fly alergic in the distance.

Berserkers. Lovely.

"It would appear we are in the middle of a civil war, my dear." I spoke softly. "Perhaps we should withdraw, I wish no fight with the Legion, nor with the Stormcloaks. Neither is my battle. Or yours."

"No." She said, thumbing her axe. "But I don't think we'll have a choice in a moment."

She lifted her axe, and pointed. Company was coming near - six berserkers charging towards us. Their axes and hammers were mighty and large, and I sighed, shaking my head. I took a moment, to steady myself, and took a long, deep breath of the the cold, to center myself. My armor was held in my pack for lightness of step, and my blade was wrapped against the cold. Though I was far better suited for the silent halls and blade dance, I really didn't have a choice here.

"Oh by Hircines balls." I swore. I flipped my blade free and stood before my ward to guard her, and met the charge with a hard jerk - weaving through a heavy axe blow - and slashing up and striking sharply into the throat of the first to come near me. He yelled out and blood spilled his lips. I shoved through and severed his spine, and ducked down through another blow, spinning to slide the blade up along a forearm. I danced backwards again and wove through a heavy double-handed hammer blow, making me sngrunt by the breeze blowing by. I stabbed twice, three times, and ducked backwards and into a mighty bear hug. Teeth grabbed my neck and tore, making me cry out in pain.

That head was torn from my neck by a mighty hand, which tore free. I felt hot blood pulse down my neck, but the pain wouldn't kill me, and my hide had been thick there. He might have chewed through if he had better grip. The arms thrashed and tried to break my ribs, but even they slackened. Turning my head despite the haze of pain, I could clearly see the axe of my ward buried into a berserkers skull. The body jerked, then fell limp.

Two down.

A blow caught my shoulder and bent me down, and I stabbed down and into the knee of my newest opponent. He bellowed and brought his hammer up, but I rolled, onto my grinding shoulder, and watched the earth crack from his mighty blow. I stabbed up again, through the forearm and found my blade torn from my grip by a flex of his arm. He swung again, and I dodged backwards, and ducked, kicking at him. It was like kicking a wall, and my leg shook from the blow. With a snarl, I pulled at my dagger, my refuge. I snapped it up and flung it high. It struck his eye, and sent him screaming at me in a rage, his hammer forgotten.

Damn.

Samoya moved with a graceful flourish, bringing her axe down upon the back of a knee, and swinging it up and lopping through an arm. She spun in the spray of blood, her long hair whipping around her with the look of blood-madness painting her as surely as the arterial spray, and she showed nothing but delight as she brought the weapon high, and slashed. She felled another - leaving us at even odds, if one counted four to two even. She smiled at me, a gleam of madness and feral longing through her. She held it back. She might have made a mistake, but I wasn't going to call her on it.

No, I was knocked off my feet and thrust backwards, sent to spasm in pain as I pulled myself up, and wrenched my shoulder back into place with a twist of my arm. It hurt, but the pain could be ignored. I was facing a second charge, and I brought my hands up and deflected a hard blow with my forearm, which throbbed. He was fast, quick, and dangerous.

I had talons. I demonstrated this when I drove my claws through his good eye and ripped down, taking most of his face with it. He thrashed and screamed until I ripped my dagger out and let him run into the distance, and die. I would reclaim my short-blade later.

Three, no, two to two. More bodies lay.

Wisely, the berserkers ran. Even madness has its limits, it was said.

I retrieved my blade and wisely chose to withdraw a distance away, and to take a moment to center myself and return to calm. THe blessing of the Hist was with me and my injuries ached, painfully and powerfully. Bones would need time to recover, but flesh was quick to heal. I said a thanks and sat down with a huff, catching my wind. My beautiful dervish settled with me, and cleaned her axe with a careful wipe down of a grabbed cloak. Good for her.

The battle lasted only a single part of the day, and the berserking dogs broke to the discipline of the legion. A mighty deed, at a terrible cost. So many lay dead and broken in the battle, to the best abilities of all who fought. Sovngarde would know many brave warriors this day. And, as I sat, panting for rest and cold air, I found myself approached by armed soldiers, whom would not be as simple to slaughter as a screaming horde of mad berserkers. I tried to smile, but my face hurt.

We were brought before a high tent, and into the camp of the Legate and his men. In high garb and baring a medallion of honor, the officer studied me through dark ringed eyes. He invited me to sit, and I did, my ward busy back behind with the quartermaster, getting her axe sharpened, in payment for two dead berserkers. I was poured wine, and took it thankfully, after the Legate took his drink in turn.

"My men tell me you slew six rebels. For that, I thank you. I ask that you stay for the night to rest, on my hospitality."

His eyes suggested that it was not a simple request out of the kindness of his heart. For that, I understood in a dim part of my mind. I would want to know who the strange lizard that slaughtered my enemies were, too.

"I am delighted to accept. My ward could use the rest. We are attempting to track a pirate with a red sail, and hope that we may avenge her families murder." To that, the Legate frowned, but bid me continue. I found my tongue relax when I took another swallow of wine. "I have been traveling towards Solitude for these past three weeks with her. I hope we may avenge her dead kin."

The Legate looked down to the map we talked over - a small one, but basic enough to point out where the main fortresses lay. I gave it another look, frowning - we were some distance from the city of Solitude. I looked back up.

"You did not fight like any mercenary I have seen, nor did you have the movements of a legionaire. So tell me, where did you learn to fight with a dagger and short-blade?" It was not just his eyes that stared upon me now, but others, curious about the answer. So I shrugged, and placed my hands on the table, and stroked a claw along a small tear on the map edge.

"I was trained by the Dark Brotherhood, have been killing since I was eight years out of the egg, and dedicated my soul to the Night-Mother, in hopes of pleasing her. I am on contract to kill seven people who avenged my vampiric patron, and found that helping this girl would assist me in my goal, as well as seeing that someone who is innocent of the whole mess won't be hurt inadvertently. My being here is just a happy coincidence, but if you want me to kill the leader of these cloaks, we'll have to make a deal in blood."

The legate's cheek pulled, twitched, and he strained to keep his face straight. The others exchanged looks with each other then him, before one stepped out and chuckled softly, trying to keep it no louder than that. The legate took a swallow of his wine, to stop his own chuckle, and shook his head slowly. His hair was short cropped, black, and tinged with a hint of silver.

"You are a clever one. Be sure to watch him, 'lest his silver tongue convince you that you are the Emperor himself!" His face had lost its hardness, amused by honesty. Of course, how could I be a part of a myth? Surely I was just some lucky, street-scrapping bard! "Ah. I needed that."

He had not laughed. I wasn't sure he could.

"Keep your secrets. But seeing how clever you fought, I would offer you place here if you would like it. We could use someone of your talents, oh Brotherhood." He had a half grin at that, the other half twitching. "But, I doubt you would take it."

I gave a single, shallow nod.

"Still. You did me and mine a favor, and I thank you." He tipped his head gently to me, "But, I would ask a boon of you, in either case. I saw your skills, and my captains say you move like you would hide in the moonlight. I would ask that you do one favor for me, and help me save my men, for more Cloaks come on the morrow and my men are weary."

I lifted my head and drew my cloak open, letting the cool air touch the dark garments I wore. I let him see me, as I was, a lean figure ready for whatever was thrown his way. He looked to my lean body, my wiry frame, saw my scars and my feathers that had been lost. Wounds of fire and ice would be covered by the dark clothing, so would the scars of my scaled form - but it would not hide that I was still in the peak of fitness even with my age.

"Kill their commanding officer, and bring me their plans, and I will give you anything I can to help you and yours." He said. For a moment, he sounded worried, worried I would say no. Surely I had right to do so, and I did have obligations to those who came before him. But his eyes were asking, not pleading, not begging. Asking.

"Though I am not a citizen of your empire, or one of your people, I would be honored to assist the legion, and the Empire." I murmured, and offered my hand. "Have your quartermaster find my ward some armor, and see that your alchemist give us something to restore ourselves when we are weak and wounded, then we have a deal, Legate. Nothing more would I ask, of honorable men."

I slept for four hours, and dreamed of the great marshland of my home, and my bones heard the whispers of its call. I could not return home, but how I longed to feel home beneath my feet and the waters licking my scales.

It was the marsh, and the lemon scent of the swamp filled me. I stood within a great clearing of trees, and the water was up to my hip, mud solid beneath my feet. I bore nothing upon me, but my dagger, and I approached the tree and knstood in wonder before the mighty Hist, so large that it blotted out the sun. I stood in silence and awe, and found its thoughts filling my head, warming me with its presence, with its abject attention. I lifted a hand up and touched the bark, which was hot enough to burn my hand, but I could not withdraw it, as my scales burned away and the flesh beneath curled. It hurt, and I hissed in pain, before brekaing free to gaze at a mark left onto my palm. Stars burned before my fingers, set into my palm, stars which made mark of the Hist.

"What was will be, what will be will be what was, as the land changes, so it returns, as the soul passes, so it returns to the egg." The voice whispered to me, as silent as a butterfly, as loud as thunder spoken from the mouth of of the heavens. I shook at the tome, as alien as anything had right to be, and yet, so comforting and wise I wept for my own lack of understanding. "The wheel turns again, nothing changes, everything changes."

I closed my eyes and the stars burned the mark of the Hist blazed before me in the dark. The water rose and submerged me, growing warm, cleansing me, filling me up and the awater was making me giddy to breath. I was twisted and turned, my tail touched my snout and I found myself once again in the egg, nurtured by the Hist, awaiting life once again to rebirth me into the world. For we Argonians did not go to sovngarde, to Oblivion, to any plane; we Argonians returned to the Hist, and were reborn once again.

And I was born to daylight, to the cold and chill, and awoke to a gentle hand, alerting me the sun was setting. I was groggy and my hand ached at the palm, and I knew I need not look to feel the mark of the Hist. Were I of lesser faith, I might have asked for guidance - but the dream was no mere dream, I knew. I dismissed it for now, and quietly dressed, and prepared myself for my journey.

Samoya did not wish me to go, and clung tightly to me for a while, but I spoke gently to her, and soothed her hair (which she had chopped short), and bid her to wait for me, for I would return. Her eyes were weakest then, weaker than when she had seen her kin and kith slain, but I stroked her hair and told her that I would return. I left her with a kiss upon her brow, and stood, and drew my cloak about me as a great mantle of shadow and dark. My armor was silent as I moved, walking away from camp and into the darkening mists that surrounded the slow, rolling hills. The camp would be near, five miles to the north. It would take me an hour to find it, but the mists made going slow.

It was an old ruined tower, surrounded by a crubling wall from an earlier age. Sentries walked, I counted five who patrolled, and another five who held the main high tower, watching with vigilance. Of course, the mist would make it hard to see those who approached, and I held low, waiting for the dark to fall proper. Moonlight lit the sky, and a three-quarters moon gave ample vision, making me smile. I could not have asked for better conditions to know my foes, and crept low to the ground, as I approached the walls. I was quiet, and no challenge was called as I came near, and felt along it as I crept, avoiding the stakes planted at the base.

A downed wall was the easiest way to creep in, but for two who held watch, and looked bored, but ready to pounce upon any who would come near. Their spears gleamed with steel tips, and their armor was heavy, neither a slouch from what I could see. I weighed my options as I crouched and rested against a large stone that had fallen from the thirty foot wall above - easily the size of a bosmer and thrice as heavy. I drew my dagger, and lifted up a stone from the ground, and tossed it over their heads, to clatter twenty feet off. As one they jerked, spears down.

One issued a challenge and stepped to the rim of the firelight, the other holding his position, taking a wary glance, and focusing towards where the sound had been. Him I crept behind, and he gave a single muffled cough, as my blade slid up between two ribs, parting his armor, and silenced his heart beat. His body jerked once and I held him, before dragging him back and laying him gently behind the stone. The other issued another challenge, unaware.

In my darkened armor, I stepped forward and lifted the spear of the dead Stormcloak, and waited a moment, then thrust when he turned, catching him beneath the chin, and driving the tip into his brain. I held there and shoved back, pushing him into the darkness, where he twitched, then lay still. Both would be undiscovered until shift change. I ducked the fire and slid into shadow, crouched and listened for any noise of surprise to awaken the dark-hour fortress. With none coming after a span of thirty heart beats, I crept through the dark, dodging the small cooking fires, and keeping low, lest my shape give me away.

It familiar, these moves, the burn of the thighs and the slow say of my tail. I held a slow pace, creeping with ease and careful control through the concealing dark. The grand tower was fifty feet before me, and a dug main hall was close by, open of door and the soft laughter of the drunk inside. Beside it was a prison, I made note to go there if I had trouble escaping.

The ego of the commander would place him in the great tower, and I approached it, and watched the two who held guard of it, a gleam of a key visible off one belt. I was no pick-pocket and didn't want to risk a confrontation with them, not on the inside of the camp. So I crept around, observing and listening, the talk was grim, but excited for the battle that would come in the morrow. It would be a close thing, but replacements had arived just recent, and the captains were at speech in the tower above.

I might be able to kill the entire command chain in a single blow. Excellent.

Assuming I could get there. I frowned again and made up my mind, for these old forts were connected together, despite many entrances and exits. I crept to and pushed into the prison, and settled into the dark and gloom that smelled of pain, fear, and rancid bodies. Strangely, it reminded me of home.

The prison was quiet, but for the wheezes of the hurt, and the scratching of rats. I crept on through the bitter dark, my boots scuffing on the stones. Torches flickered lightly along distant walls, held strong to flame by simple magics, that even an apprentice could ken. There would be a jailor and a storehouse for the good of prisoners here, as well as a torturer and his apprentices, if one was correct. I brushed the moss off of a stone and smelled the damp air again, and leaned into a wall, to listen beyond it. A soft shuffling sound of boots caused me to draw my dagger. Heavy boots, a touch of metal, and the rattle of chain - it was someone coming near.

I held my dagger ready, and sprung, crashing into and knocking flat a surprised, if heavy, jailer. He grunted, and I shoved my hand up to close his mouth, and thrust my dagger under his chin several times, before he could resist me. He lay dead and gurgled soon enough - and I drug him out of sight, behind a collection of rotted barrels. THey really needed to clean the dungeons.

I pulled his key from his belt and stood, then walked my way down, listening further for shouts of surprise. Instead, I heard an elegant, cold voice address me from behind iron bars.

"So rescue has come? Odd, they would send one of your kind." Dismissive, a cold voice, I looked up to a battered Thalmor, his face bruised and one arm hanging limp beside him. He tried to stand tall, but pain was visible on his face. They'd done a number on him. "None the less, quickly, open the door, I must be gone from here."

"An agent of the Thalmor." I replied, while giving the keys a mild jostle. "Excellent. How many others are here?"

I saw heads peek between bars - or try to. A khajiit peered at me with glittering eyes, and a green hand was thrust out, orcish. I smiled faintly, and looked back at the Thalmor, who tried to act impatient, but his eyes had shown he had nearly given up hope.

"Well. I suppose I could offer rescue, but I am here to complete a task by my commander." Why start now with the truth? "I am here to take the life of the camp commander and any of his seconds, as well as captured the maps and plans. I need assistance to do so - but cannot risk being captured or failing, many lives depend on my achievements."

He grunted, but said nothing. I held the keys up, then sorted through to find the proper cell key.

"So. If I let you go, I need your help, then we can get out of here. If not, I'll come back for you." I turned the lock with a satisfying click, then stepped past, to do the same for the other two. Three people had been captured, and I could hear a grunt deeper down, and pain. A fourth. I stepped past, my dagger close, and let them sort for themselves what they wanted to do.

I pushed open a door, and witnessed a Khajiit hanging from manacles, a flog having torn open her back, and hot irons nearby with deadly oath to burn answers out of her. She hung, bleeding from her mouth and ears, and her soft fur ragged. Two held tight the chains that suspended her, and a third lifted a feral and barbed flog, preparing to strike again.

Torture had its place, I always felt. But this was not torture, it was cold blooded sadism. My heart grew dark as I stepped in, to a surprised look of the two, young apprentices. My smile was terrible, terrible, terrible.

Her name was Vera, and her companion was Malik. The Ork, now armed with the dead jailors armor, was a mighty warrior called Grognak, and though he would long have prefered an axe, made do with the hand and a half sword left to him. Vera was bound in a robe, once she was taken from the manacles, and she thanked me with a slurred word, then collapsed in pain. The Thalmor needed little prodding, once his own manacles were off, to tend her injuries with a word and blessing. He tended the others and himself and rested a short while, before I found and opened the storehouse down below, and bid them take what had been theirs.

Vera and Malik had been two of a caravan, that had been cut down by the Cloaks. Theirs were wares best spoken for by those who used the caravans - nothing entirely legal, but who was keeping score? The Thalmor was one of the agents sent to keep watch on the Imperial holdings, and he had been ambushed and stolen away. The golden skinned gent looked imperious once in his robes and hood, but the bruises were still evident even as they healed. And Grognak?

Grognak was an Orc. Need he explain his capture?

I lead the way, trusting them to follow and keep quiet, which they did. Gorgnak was muffled by the Thalmor and the Khajiits were naturals at the concept of skulking, moving as they did. Flames licked her fingertips and he walked unarmed, though his claws were fierce and fur was dark and grey. He was a brawler, if I knew my stances. I gave it no further thought, as I pushed into the main hall, and observed the eating hall. This great hall was wrought of old stone and high arches, while sleeping warriors were at rest in their cups and meals. My stomach grew tight, and I was hungry for a taste of the burning boar, but said nothing, as I slid low, and crept through - none were awake enough, or attentive enough, to see me. Regardless, I signalled the others to move low and fast, and we passed the hall, into the side chamber, where officers slept.

Not all, these were the juniors. Most were asleep in their beds, others were talkinga mongst themselves, and I heard two in noisy copulation upon a straw-matress bed. More power to them, I moved down the hall, creeping and listening, but none seemed inclined to step out of their warmed chambers. Better for me and mine.

So slack at their posts. A shame. I let them sleep and breath, and stepped into the command tower, and its hall, left curiously unguarded.

The tower was a winding spiral stairway, leading up to the great command court of the Stormcloaks. Four of us against however many that we had to kill, I looked aside at the lady Khajiit, who merely cocked her brow, and flicked flame to her fingertips. Of course she'd be a pyromage. It was terribly khajiit like.

"Grognak smash?" The great ork asked. He was terribly slow in the head, but he was damn ready to slaughter my foes, and I was glad to have him. His teeth were yellowed and his green body rippled with strength, as he pulled out the great blade of the Jailor, and stalked up towards the stairs. I would have stopped him, but he would make a great distraction, and so let him go with a nod.

"And for the rest of us. Our goal is the command and leadership. They are busy in session, and tired from the ride and battle yesterday. It will be grim and difficult, and guards will be alert and ready. I do not have an easy escape for us, but do know we can survive if we are careful. I, for starters, have a Ward to protect. Beyond that, we need to make our escape with care. Perhaps at the roof, if Lord Thalmor has any spells that might help?"

"Perhaps one, I know of." He said. He approached the door from the main hall and touched the lock, uttering a word of power that bolted it closed. There, he lowered the bar down to provide extra strength to the door, and repeated it with the other entryway, that lead to the main encampment. It would buy us some time. "Enough for a few of us."

"Well, that will have to be enough, won't it?" I smiled. The Thalmor gave me a thin reply with a quirk of his cheek, but his power was pulling in, and he was ready for battle. Above, a commotion had started, as well as a deep, guttural Orcish laugh. With a nod, we went up the stairs, and into battle.

The ork had broken a table with his blade, and split a sub-commander in twain with a mighty blow of his blade. Others were reaching for arms, but they were mightily unprepared for an assassination attempt. Flame licked up a wall as gouts of flame drew from one hand of Vera, her golden eyes glowing maliciously in the sudden horror of her foes. Her mate leapt into battle beside her, and his strikes were firm, solid, and bone crackingly painful.

And I let them have their fun, as I swung my great blade from my back, and joined the fray. Bodies fell and screams rose up - and I saw them die and blood paint the walls and simple furniture. Twelve to five, the berserkers fell without their weapons, the commanders died without their blades. I felt no pity, no remorse, no satisfaction at this slaughter. And of their commander, his chest exploded in a mighty bloom of ice crystal, which pinned him and let him hang, the circlet of authority falling from his head. I took it and slipped it into the small pack I wore at my lower back, and

grabbed at maps and whatever looked valuable. I then swung my way up and into the highest reaches of the tower, to the private bedchambers of the Commander. I ransacked it and let them squabble over the coin and jewels and treasures, for I was up the ladder and onto the roof, and took a look at the chaos below and the sound of the main doors being rocked. Oh, they were but quite angry.

Escape would prove difficult, with five hundred angry and energetic warriors howling their outrage with the screams of the dying above calling to them. I was joined by the rest, the Thalmor last.

"I can take four of us somewhere safer, to Markarth." He said, the wind whipping at his hood. The wind was a mighty thing, blowing bitter and cold. "But I can only take four of us. I cannot take five, it would be too much even for me."

I frowned. Not good at all. I looked to them, and pulled my short blade free as I returned my greater to my back, and held it at ready, my heart racing. Four of us five. Four.

"Then go." I said. "Vera, my dear, can you help me float for a few feet? Or fly? No?"

"No. Khajiit not capable." Her head shook softly. The beads in her hair rattled. Real bone.

"Well. It was a pleasure serving with you." I said. I looked down. It was twenty feet to the walkway and top of the wall, and perhaps another thirty from there. I clenched my legs and tested myself. I wouldn't make that jump without injury. "Thalmor, send them, and yourself, home."

He nodded, and clasped my forearm.

"Azura watch over you." He said, and touched his lips to my brow. It was a benediction, a companionship to one who had saved his life. I did not feel offended.

And then they vanished with a burst of stars, leaving me alone upon the top of a tower, with many hundreds screaming for my blood.

Swell.

My palm itched, and I closed it upon the hilt of my blade, and closed my eyes. My heartbeat slowed, and my breathing drew in deeply, to calm the fire that burned in my veins. I stood still and waited in patience, letting the moment pass. I centered myself and my thoughts, and murmured a prayer to the Hist, and let go of my fear. I had done my best, and I had tried to live a life worth remembering. I was not happy that it would end soon, but I was glad I had at least tried. With that in mind, I ran forward, and leapt into the night sky, my cloak billowing as I took the distance, and leapt nearly thirty feet distance, and fifty feet down. In those moments, I flew, and my heart soured.

And something in my left leg went snap, and I was down, writhing in agony as my knee bent the wrong way. I writhed and fought a scream, even as the Hist answered, and pain distanced itself from me. I twisted on the ground and brought the hilt of my blade down on the side of my knee, and then threw up as agony waved through my leg while I shoved my knee back into place. I had torn ligaments and I had injured my back, and rolling, I had injured my ribs. But I was alive for the moment, despite one leg being well beyond care. So I crawled, into the dark, and prayed fervently that they would not have noticed my jump or heard my knee break. But for the soft of the earth, I would have died. It was good enough.

I crawled, for how long I did not know, until I heard the baying of warriors on my trail. I could not fight, so I hid, and I drug myself into the babbling of water, and dove into it, and let it carry me away, on agonized dreams. And I let the water drift away, carrying me in pain and hurt, until I tasted the salt of the sea, and dared dive down, and deep, until the moon was gone and only the night waters held me. My sword was thrust into the sand and I clung to it with hand and tail, and then, only then, I let myself go, into darkness and the dream of the Hist.

I dreamt of warm waters and the tree, who studied me, and curled its branches around me, like a mother held a new hatchling. What it said, I do not recall, but my hand itched, and the rune left to my palm grew deeper, until I felt it in my bones. The tree called to me, and let me know my task was not finished, and I let myself rest, held in the wood, leaf, and vine.

How long I dreamt, I didn't know, but I awoke in the dark waters, and slowly swam for the surface, my entire left leg stiff, and my tail numb. I climbed to the surface and spat the water from my gill-lungs, and sucked in a mouthful of air from above. It had been at least a day since I had dove, and I saw the sun bright above, through the gloom and mist. I was terribly cold and my head throbbed, but the elation of life gave strength to sapped limbs, and I slowly kicked, swimming towards the shore, even as my jaws chattered together like a novelty dwarf toy. Swallowing, I pulled myself to land and lay upon it, my entire left leg swollen, but numb, with thanks to the Hist. I pulled myself up to the rocky shore and looked igh, laughing and shouting with the glee of a troll, and found myself awed with life, once more my own.

I pulled myself up and crawled, dragging my left leg through the jabs of sharp stone pain. I crawled from the shore and tried to gain my bearings, and knew I was close to camp. I used my great blade, may its spirit forgive me, as a crutch, and hobbled the miles to the Imperial Camp, and came into sight of its pennants waving high. A shout rose and a young girl ran from the palisade, to find me, and embrace me, and knock me flat as she hugged me. It was quite un-nordic to show such affection, but she was a child. She welcomed me back with hugs and kisses and sobs of relief, and I let her have it, for I lived, even if my leg was in severe pain. Behind came soldiers, and one carried a stretcher, to take me to the healer to repair my leg. I let them, and rested in the healers tent.

"The task is done?" Was all the Legate asked. With my nod, he left me, and let me sleep when they brought deep vials of sleeping drink, and I drank deep, until I had no dreams, no pain, and nothing but the warm fire to keep me comfortable.

It was a week before I was bid to walk again, and I did, though with a limp that would take some time to recover from. My back had stopped aching quite so bad after another healer took a moment to tend injuries there, and both laid a blessing upon me to inspire health. I stood and walked with thanks to limber the limb, and my dear Ward did not leave my side for a minute.

It was at rest that the Legate pulled me aside and had me join him for a meal, and I told him of my deeds, and the swift beheading of the entire command structure of the local effort. Of this, I had perhaps saved Solitude, though some remnants would remain in spite of best efforts. The Legate gave me thanks, and then handed me a scroll with the thanks of the camp, and a commendation for services to the empire. I took them with thanks, and handed him the symbol of the Stormcloaks authority in the area, the very crown plucked from the head of the Commander.

I wanted little to do with the stormcloaks, and I had a task to do. And so it was, with their thanks and my reward of healers potions and her in armor, we walked from camp, and towards the strange city of Solitude.

We walked away from the camp, and into the mists, to walk towards the city of Solitude, and her docks. And the moon was all but full, when I spotted the great bridge, and the blue palace so bright and cold. I gave it a long look, then lead Samoya down the docks, and we looked high upon the red sail of the great ship that had the pleasure of harming the ladies home. She gazed at me with a feral gleam, and her eyes grew bright as the moon. The moons ascended high into the heavens, and one was bright and silver and glowing, and set her eyes to luminous brilliance. Her body moved with a comfortable swagger, her confidence burning bright and strong in her chest. She held her axe at the ready and I bid her go with my blessing, as I sat, and took up a

"Same ship, same sail, and it doesn't look reputable." I murmured, as I sat upon a barrel watching the ship, and gave my Ward a stroked on her scalp, combing through her hair with my nails. It did wonders to help her relax, as the moons always made her tense. I stroked her hair and found it had gotten long enough to touch her ears. I plucked at it, stroking fondly. Her ears were slightly pointed, but she was nordic through and through. "But, it'd be best to ask and make sure, wouldn't it?"

"Mmm. I know. I can smell it." She murmured, giving me a long stare, then trailed a hand over her shoulder, down onto her wrists, and held her there for a moment. "They killed my clan. I will avenge myself on them."

"Alright." I whispered to her. "We can..."

"We?" She asked? "No, my dear Argonian. There is no we."

I held tightly, and found her pulling away from me. She turned, her eyes growing luminous and her body shifting, as shadow gathered around her. Her smile grew, brightly.

"No, Touch-of-Shadow, I do this for my clan."

And then she changed, and my blood became as ice. My mouth grew dry as her body twisted and warped under the moon, and her red hair spilled down her body, even as she pulled up on her tunic, and tossed it, her bare skin rippling with a burst of red hair, and it spilled down, her muscle growing strong and firm. Her snout twitched, her jaw widened, her mouth opened as fangs slid from her mouth, and yet she did not howl or complain, as she towered over me, one of the Lycanthropes, a werewolf, a loup-garou. I started, my mouth hanging open, and she touched my face with a powerful hand. She touched and stroked my face and over my crest, and bent her head to kiss my brow, before she raised her head and howled her fury to the heavens, and turned, loping towards the ship.

The docks would wash with blood, as I sat, and did nothing but watch my ward work. My fingers drifted to a pouch I had liberated from the Fortress not so long ago, and I raised up a pipe and lit it, packed with the strange root and leaf from different lands, and I took in a long breath, inhaling deeply of the rich, green and grey smoke. I needed it, because I was shaking, having not known how dangerous, how powerful, my ward, my sweet Samoya. I smoked, as the ship rocked with screams, and held up a hand to stall an approaching argonian of wild dress, who asked me without words. I just shook my head and smiled to him, his dark scales cast with a color of mud and ash.

"Let justice work, marsh-brother." I shared with him my pipe, and we watched the ship destroy itself.

I found her asleep in the captains quarters, her body bare, and stained with blood. I lifted and wrapped her in a sheet and carried her free of the docks, after taking a moment to take for her the jewels and gems and coins stashed in a small chest - what was her weregild and her due. I carried her free of the ship after washing her down, and walk towards the city, but to catch the eye of a small caravan of Khajiit, who looked up at me with curious eyes.

"Bride drink too much, eh?" A tall khajiit asked, his eyes wandering over the two of us curiously. I simply smiled, and laid her down, wrapped as she was, dreaming without fit.

"I need you to watch my friend. She forgot her clothes after a wild night." I said, lifting and holding up a long, silver necklace held together with small pearls. I swung it back and forth for the caravan master to see. "But she cannot go in without proper clothing. Too many questions would be asked. Now if I had some friends who would watch her..."

I let my words drag off into nothing, and tossed the necklace to the caravan master, whom accepted it with a pleased purr. I walked past him, and towards the city, hood down. The guards at the gate gave me a cursory look over, then waved me in.

Solitude. City of the Blue Palace, home of the traditional high jarl and his, or her, consort - the place was beautiful and old, like a breath of a soldier just given his release from service. Signs, freshly painted and pleasantly gilded, named taverns and tailors, smiths and shops for alchemists, places that anyone could go in to, and welcomed anyone with the coin. Mine felt suddenly heavy and I delighted in the thought of spending it, but clamped down quickly on the urge - not while business was urgent. I ran my tongue over my teeth, and approached the tavern, to listen, and then to plan. My ward needed clothing of the first, and I needed to find a place for her. My money would not last so long, nor did she have a trade, beyond the ever-present fisher-coves.

Solitude. I stepped through the door of a tavern not worth a name, and entered into a place dark, but for a single fire and candle lighting the place. It was a dark place, and the owner spendthrift, perhaps down to the last of his coin. I took a table and ordered an ale, then settled back, to relax in the quietness and whispered converse. It was silly to be so dark, but the hours were early yet, so I knew. Best not to waste good candle on we few who showed so early, not even the hour of noon. I tugged my cloak closed and traced the Elven-wood table with a claw, feeling the smoothness that left no grain to be felt by a finger.

"Word carries that the Legion routed a large group of Stormcloaks." I heard, my eyes closed to attune my ears to the dark. It was a younger voice, a Redguard of dark skin and brilliant mind. He had a curved sword at his hip, strange as the concept was. "Outnumbered ten to one, they slew to a man, and captured a fortress! Almost no losses!"

Excellent.

"Rumor has it that trouble is brewing over at Dragonsbridge. People and animals disappearing." Another spoke in a corner. There were not many. I believed him to be an Imperial. His accent was of the imperial city, and his voice was strong, as though he were used to speaking to many at a time. "I'd avoid there if I could. Got me some trains to take there, gather grain, you know?"

Hm.

"Last night, a ship was attacked." This voice was near, addressed to me. I lifted my head to see a rather strikingly dressed legionnaire standing near me, his helmet off but armor strong, a short gladius at his hip, gleaming of steel and lethal dances. "Something big got inside, slaughtered the crew and captain. Ransacked the jewels, but left big, nasty rents in the wood. Wouldn't know about that, would you?"

"Mmm?" I asked. I shook my head softly, and lifted my drink up in greetings. "No, no. Just came in last night, ah, and am weary on the road. Big claws, you say?"

"Yes. Long as a mans finger each." I pushed a seat out for the soldier, who sat and joined me. I gave him a warm smile, though I had prefered to drink alone. "They say an argonian sat on the docks and watched."

"Where else would an Argonian be? Too dry up here, makes my scales itch."

He laughed and shook his head, watching me.

"Well, I would suggest that if he, or she, did see anything, they best report it. But anyway, you are new to town?"

"Indeed. My throat is dry and legs are sore. I had a bad run in with some Stormcloaks on the road, and my knee still hurts for it." I made a show of rubbing my still tender leg. I had not lost my limp yet, but I would, given a few days, a week at most. I intended to let it heal if I could.

"Stormcloaks? Indeed? Amazed they let you live." He ordered spiced rum, a rare but excellent taste it was. I paid, best to not insult my new 'friend'. He stroked at the stubble on his chin, and a finger traced a scar running jaw to shoulder. Nasty.

"I had to convince them." I said, rasping a thumb along my short blade at my hip. "But they agreed to not press matters."

"You can handle yourself well, Argonian. You move differently than a mercenary." I had to figure out what they meant. "But you are evidently very skilled. Perhaps you should join the legion?"

I laughed, softly, and gave a shake of my head. "My lord, I am over forty years of age, and have a limp. I could give, perhaps, ten more years of service, but I am no young warrior who fights well in lines. At best, I could cook and clean and fish. At worst, I would make someone a pair of boots!"

"It's worth a shot. Do your part for the Empire, and all." He raised his drink to me. "But mmm, no matter. I pegged you for someone who can solve problems."

Inwardly, I groaned.

The Tailor was a young woman with a long face, a Nord of long hair the color of spun gold, and with a temperament that matched a mules. Stubborn, unpleasant, and uncaring, the hag of a woman sat on a stool, working a needle through some thread with precision and anger. She had a good stitch, at least. I thumbed a cloth and held it up, a young ladies blouse of green and blue hues. It would be a little short on her, but would fit. I added it with another I had bought, and sorted through for pants. She liked pants, she had told me. Better than skirts. I rather her wear pants, 'lest a breeze show me a crooked smile.

"Prefer young girls clothing?" Came a sneer. I ignored it for the moment, the garments were good, if a little on the pricier side of things. But, quality was quality, and it would be remiss to ignore it. Nothing frilly, nothing of high courts - the garments were all practical and lovely.

"You've nothing to accommodate a tail. I might have to tailor it myself." I murmured in reply. We had traded barbs for half my time here, and she seemed to reply doubly sharp each time. It was good practice. She had a shockingly quick wit.

"Your hands are too clumsy, lizard." She replied. I threaded through and lifted a fine shirt of brown, the arms orange and neck low. It would be a fine shirt to work in, and would blend me with the crowd. I put it aside for myself, and a pair of breeches to join with it. I could use some boots too, something new and comfortable. Well worn, my old ones needed repair. "You'd sew yourself into it!"

"Actually you are right. I would have you fit these to me, and tailor it appropriate. I am in town for the week, and wish to fit in with current styles." I said, approaching the counter and settling the garments down. After a moment, I started to peer through broaches and rings - things which would be fit for what I had picked. I paused, my eyes lingering on an old necklace, long and bearing a wolf skull upon it. I put that with the rest, as well as a ring for my ward, I needed nothing else myself.

"More work. Damn lizard." She sighed, melodramatic in her hand to her brow, then whistled and jerked her head to a back room. I entered, and she pulled out a measuring tape of soft leather.

"You are rather tall tall for an argonian." She said after a moment, gesturing for me to strip down. I lowered cloak and armor, undershirt and left myself in only my breeches and belt, but a snap of her fingers and she pointed, those went down as well, leaving me bare with her. Her brow rose, and her cheek tugged a bit.

"Rather big too." She said beneath her breath. She unwound the tape, and began measuring.

It would be ready in four days. My wards clothing was pre-fit, and would need some minor tailoring for comfort, but with an exchange of seventy Septims, I stepped out with the garments neatly tucked into my pack, and exited the city, after a stop for dinner at an outdoor cafe. The soup was good, and the broiled lamb was divine.

Samoya was glad to see me, though she was wrapped in the sheet still, now made into a toga in the style of an Imperial Noble. She had a tired look to her face, but one of relief, and beside her was a Khajiit trickster, who was showing small tricks with a blade. I knelt and waited patiently for the lesson to end, and then found myself embraced firmly, and kissed on the mouth. I shook it off after a moment, and gave a shy laugh, surprising myself. Samoya was quite a firey girl.

"Zha-Kizz was teaching me how to use a knife. She's rather good with it." I could see that, and sized up the grey-eared cat, who looked up at me with a half-feral smile. She had notched ears. Good ears.

"I can see that. I have brought you clothing from the city, that you might walk better amongst them." I handed her the comfortable garments, and then slid the necklace around her neck, her eyes alight with mischief as she looked over the wolf head. It was done in pearl, the necklace itself was dreugh-leather and fine-tempered gold. "I will find us a room..."

"I would like to stay with the Caravan." She said, her voice soft. She did not expect a positive result, but would not back down from it either. I looked to the Khajiit beside, her eyes unreadable, expression neutral.

"Alright." I said, after a moment. "If that is what you wish, I will not argue."

"Will you come with us?" She asked, after a moment of silence.

I looked to the lady Khajiit, who regarded me in silence, an intense gaze on her face, as though looking to my soul. I closed my mouth, then shook my head softly.

"No. It would be best if I did not. There is a bounty on my head, and I would be remiss to put you, or anyone else, to danger because of me." Truth and a lie. Let the gods judge which was which.

"I understand." She said, then hugged me again, closely. Her eyes closed as she held me, her touch strong, her arms like steel. I let her hug, and kissed her upon the brow. In the corner of the tent, the Khajiit gave a slow nod, and smile. "I love you, Argonian."

"And I love you, daughter." I spoke, and closed my eyes.

With her gold and treasure, she invested herself into the caravans and walked with them, taking a portion of the profits according to her status and her own investment. She also took lessons in blade and herbology and the ways of the stalking cat, and I extracted an oath of guardianship from the Caravan master, who gave it three times and on the name of the moons that he would be fair with her at all times. The inflow of gilder was much needed, as was someone who could go into towns. And last I saw, as the caravan continued its walk, was her looking back to me, her eyes sad, but understanding that lives must part from one another. I watched her walk away, and sighed, feeling lonely for the first time in a long time. But she would be safe. And she would be protected. And, most importantly, she would have her fortunes. She was safe.

And I had things to do, and more lives to end.