~Heyyyyy there! *cheesy grin* I KNOW I have another story that I haven't updated in like…a bazillion years, but this is a BETTER one! I done growed up a little!
*Ahem* yes, well… I already have several chapters completed for this story, and yes, there WILL be some lovely smutty goodness later on in the plot! (With whom? I'll never tell! Hahah—oh wait…)
Anymoo, I don't own Skyrim, or the characters (except for my OC,) they're property of Bethesda.
Enjoy! -Cryptik
The moons hung full and silver over Skyrim, casting their celestial glow on the drowsy streets of Whiterun. The pale glow was interrupted occasionally by the amber torchlights of passing guards on night patrol, and then reassumed its illumination of the city. The frosted light of the double moons caught the sleek red hair of a prowling huntress outside of Jorrvaskr, but then lost her to the shadowed doors of the mead hall.
The late time of night had little influence over the activity inside the Companion's respite. Few of the warriors were below in the quarters; the rest were out to meet Aela's gaze as she strode in. Many avoided her pointed stare, recognizing the angry frustration it held and turning back to their ale or spiced meats.
"Farkas!" barked the huntress, her tone sharp with urgency, "Here, now!"
The black-haired Nord stalked up to his caller, annoyance flickering in his storm-grey eyes at the harsh command. "Watch your tone, shield-sister," he growled, "You forget that you're not in charge here."
Aela ran a hand through her flame-red hair as if a sudden bout of exasperation had come over her. "I apologize," she replied lowly. "Another mauling has occurred, and is in progress as we speak. It's the same werewolf. You and Vilkas are to go to Riverwood and stop it." Her hand passed across her face again. "I fear that you will be too late no matter how swiftly you travel. She works fast."
Farkas had barely stayed to hear her last sentence before he was thrusting the doors open, calling a summons to his twin brother before being swallowed up by the night beyond the mead hall.
Farkas urged his horse faster, the animal's huge hooves thundering across the plains of Whiterun and leaving a trail of dust in his wake. He was nearly shaking with frustration and determination as he followed the winding path to Riverwood, his brother's horse not far behind.
This was not the first time he had rushed out in the dead of night with one of his shield-siblings, nearing exhaustion in their haste to reach whatever village or hamlet was under attack. They had been pursuing a single werewolf for several weeks, a rogue who had been raiding towns only with the intent of killing. From the scent, the wolf was a female, and a strong one. It was always small villages, less in guards and lacking bothersome gates or walls, always at night, and always very, very bloody. Rorikstead and Ivarstead had already fallen victim to the werewolf's plague, with several dead and a few turned. Each time, the Companion warriors had arrived too late, the attacker having seemingly vanished with the shadows of the night. When the group had made it to the panic-stricken towns, they'd only found death and destruction behind. It had seemed that any citizen unlucky enough to make it indoors had been brutally mauled and then hastily (and messily) devoured. There had been no selectiveness in the victims, ranging in race and social class, from High elves to Khajiits to Nords. Merchants and beggars alike had fallen prey to the wolf, leaving behind a mess of blood and terror for the Companions to deal with.
This time, Farkas refused to leave empty-handed. The elusive she-wolf, whomever she was, had slipped past his sword one too many times. He would catch her and use her pelt for his bedding.
So he rode on with his brother, intent on his goal and ignoring every distraction the world threw at him, including the distant echo of a dragon's roar.
However, when he and Vilkas thundered into the night-chilled town, it was he who was roaring in rage. Yet again, they were too late. Too late.
Bodies lay in the blood-slicked dirt, around five from what he could see. Mostly guards who were brave enough to challenge the wolf, their armor now shredded to pieces, even through the heavy iron scale-link. It was eerily silent-save for one thing:
The heavy pad of running paws outside the town.
With a snarl, Farkas leapt off his horse with the agility of a wolf long conquered, heading towards the gateway to the dark forest beyond Riverwood. Armor clanking as he ran, Farkas left his brother to attend to the terrified townspeople now emerging from their shelters.
The minute he got past the town gate he had shed the hindrance of the heavy armor, letting the change take him from man to beast, cloaked in the concealing shadow of midnight. Falling onto all fours, he gained speed, catching the now-familiar scent of the she-wolf and following it with the skill of a hunter well-trained. The feminine scent was tinged with the wild tang of blood and the thrill of the hunt. His wolf howled for it, but he restrained it as he had learned, refusing to give rein to the same craze that plagued his quarry.
His paws drummed rhythmically on the earth and stone, going from four to two as the terrain dictated. His prey was close, he could feel it. The beat of her powerful heart, the thrum of her racing paws, and, as he neared, the strong heaving breaths as they left her lungs. He was so close.
Then all of a sudden he was brought up short, the trail he had been following like a hard-hammered instinct going completely cold. Disappeared altogether, as if the one who had left it had been swallowed up by the night itself. He stopped abruptly, rising back to two paws, furiously searching for his lost target.
He did not have time to search for long, however, before his prey revealed herself to him all on her own accord.
What had seemed to be shadows lurking among the trees had been his quarry all along. She seemed to melt out of them, two silver eyes flashing at him from the dusk.
What struck him first were those eyes. Even in her beast form, they held worldly intelligence and cleverly wielded strength; eyes that had read a hundred books and seen a hundred battles. They were not the eyes he expected to see on a creature accountable for the slaughter of so many.
Gazing at those silver-ice eyes, half in shock and half in disbelief, he almost forgot that he was standing nearly muzzle-to-muzzle with a powerful rogue she-wolf. She had to indeed be powerful: she had just taken down several trained guards and emerged with all her limbs and very little wounds. Even more, Farkas caught the cold glint of steel from behind her and realized that she had several arrows protruding from her back. She didn't seem fazed by this fact in the slightest.
It is foolish to chase after things when you are not aware of the power they hold.
To anyone else, the words would seem incoherent; meaningless rumbles and growls from the throat of a beast. But to another werewolf-Farkas-it was the distinct tongue of his kind.
You are responsible for the death of honest, innocent people, Farkas snarled, as fearless-and thickheaded- as always in the face of adversity. I don't care who you are or what power you claim to have, only that I best it and end your bloodlust.
A short bark signaled laughter from the female, a cold sound of facetiousness. You intend to kill me? Another cold bark. As I will not deny that I have killed, it has not always been in cold blood. And, the beast must be fed. With her words, her long ebony claws flexed and her silver eyes seemed to glow brighter, as if enforcing her claim.
Farkas snarled back through bared fangs, although now more wary of the rogue female. She was smaller in stature in her beast form than he, less bulky with muscle, but her lithe form would allow for speed and precision in combat. Both werewolves knew that their confrontation was able to erupt into a vicious fight, and both were deftly sizing the other up, picking out strengths and weaknesses, setting up strategies like the experienced warriors they were.
The beast does not have to be fed through the senseless murder of Skyrim's people! Farkas snarled, his already gruff, rumbling voice sounding even fiercer tinged with an animalistic growl. Have you not seen the herds of elk and dens of bears that roam everywhere?
The female analyzed him with an air of superiority, scrutinizing her confronter with those eerie ethereal eyes. What I do with the gift of beast blood is my concern, she said, voice dipping to a dangerous warning tone. If you have come after me looking to stop me, I will show you just where you went wrong.
Farkas's temper caught up with him in an angry whirl of feral rage, intent on putting this female in her place. The wolf in him roared for vengeance, for him to put her on her back beneath him in proper submission with his fangs at her throat. He lunged, claws reaching to tear her flesh, intent on ripping through the waves of silver and black fur until blood ran in rivers.
In a split instant she'd predicted his advance, perhaps even goaded him into it with her predominant retorts. In the heartbeat of time where Farkas lunged to attack, she sidestepped, evading his confrontation effortlessly. He missed her by inches and stumbled past, dazed briefly by the sudden change in his target's position. In the moments of his bewilderment, his would-be prey dug her claws into the thick fur of his ruff and threw him to the ground.
You fight like a naïve whelp, she growled with a lip curled over pearlescent teeth. How do you plan to kill me when your claws can't even brush my fur?
Farkas lurched off the ground, shaking dirt and debris from his black mane, angry stare never leaving the female. His amber-yellow eyes burned molten with malice, his hunger for this strange wolf's throat crushed in his claws fueling the fire in those orbs. He knew he had to be more unpredictable in his attacks or else she'd kill him before he even harmed a single hair on her pelt.
And so began a frenzied dance-or frenzied, at least, on Farkas's part. Their feral tango mainly consisted of his failed attacks and her evasion and then retaliation, buffering his efforts with ease and incredible precision. It was if she knew every move he would make before the decision even entered his own mind, her countering moves in perfect synchronization with his. It appeared as though she was merely testing him-playing with him, as she did not directly attack him herself. She would lure him into challenging her and then block or evade his charge without even seeming to think about it. The thought that she was treating him as if he were the mouse to her cat stabbed into the animalistic part of his mind, festering like a poisonous thorn that spread toxins to his rational thoughts and shriveled them to nothing. As his beast took over, he stumbled more and more, instinct riding over coherency. His rival knocked him on his back time and time again, not winded in the slightest and bearing only four small scratches along her ribs from his continued assaults with his claws.
I don't know where you learned to fight, the female growled lowly as Farkas once again rolled off the ground snarling in rage, but it needs to be revised. You rely too much on your instincts and not enough on your mind. Her lip curled in cold mocking. I can see intelligence is something you lack. Her eyes seemed to glow like silver stars, fueled by the excitement of battle.
Farkas, however, had been pushed to the limit and was not in the least bit excited. His rage once again swept through him like a crimson river and he lunged for her, a primal roar tearing from his throat with the strength to shake the trees to their roots.
This time, however, his target reciprocated his attack. She had seen him coming, as usual, but did not sidestep or evade him as had become routine for her. This time, she merely put out a clawed paw…and caught his throat.
The force of his collision shoved her back, her huge hind paws furrowing the dirt below her as she was forced backwards. She did not fall, however, and simply tightened her grip on his neck until her claws pricked the flesh beneath the fur. Her never-wavering eyes, steadily glowing ghostly silver-white, burned into his, watching the fire of his feral rage fade from those amber orbs as the instincts of a wolf faced with death took him over.
He did not fight her-he had enough sense not to do that-but the tension remained in his burly body, his muscles rigid as Skyforge steel. The hair raised on his shoulders quivered, as if the effort of holding himself back made his entire body tremble.
She continued to scrutinize her capture with those abysmal eyes, or perhaps she was simply waiting for him to make a move. When she did not speak, Farkas broke the silence himself.
Why don't you just kill me? he growled as well as he could with his throat constricted in her grip, Isn't that what you intended to do? Obviously you have no problems with taking lives.
Her head tilted to the side, long tapered ears swiveling back and forth as if she was deciding on what to listen to: the male she held captive with a single paw, or the sounds of the night world carried by the breeze.
I did not set out to kill you, she said simply, You, in your ignorance, intended to kill me. I simply did what I had promised to do: show you your mistake.
Farkas growled again, low in his chest, his wolf raging in frustration at the position of submission he was being held in-by a female, no less. Consider me mistaken, he rumbled. But I still intend to stop you from murdering Skyrim's good people.
The female werewolf rattled him slightly, shaking him by the neck to stop his slight fidgeting. Farkas growled again, in annoyance and anger at being treated like a misbehaving pup.
Did I not tell you before that I do not take pure lives? Even her tone sounded as if she thought he were a disrespectful whelp. Have you ever seen children or an innocent elder among my victims?
Farkas was silent.
I thought not. My targets are precise; they die because they were meant to. With the Nine as my witnesses, I state this: I do not kill innocents. Her eyes, dark stormy coals in the darkness, seared into him like branding irons. Her words were harsh and cold, drilling the truth into her captive.
However, the sense of justice had been bred into his Nordic mind, and he was tired of being spoken to like a wayward underling. So he did the only thing he could think of to escape the female's hold:
He shifted.
The female didn't have the chance to tighten her hold on his neck before the change took him, allowing him to slip from her grasp as he once again became a mere human-and a naked one at that.
Her eyes did not stray from his face, though; ignoring what might call most females' attentions. She watched as he stumbled out of range of her deadly grasp, holding an air of cold indifference.
Have you no sense? She asked, still as coherent to Farkas as she had been when he had been in beast form. You stand before a werewolf, as naked as a newborn, with no weapons?
Farkas rolled his shoulders, rumbling with the relief of freeing his neck from the grip of cold ebony claws. "You have already beaten me in combat."
You claimed to still intend to stop me.
"I do." Farkas dusted off his bare arms, unabashed at his nudity. He had lived for many seasons as a werewolf, learned to fight and accept the closeness of a pack, and he and his shield-siblings had also come to accept the inconvenience the change brought with it. "I'm offering you a place with the Companions."
The ebony and silver-furred werewolf drew back in surprise and suspicion, regarding the man with narrowed eyes. First you pursue and attack me with hatred in your eyes, and now you ask me to join your guild? Her voice held doubt. This sounds… untrustworthy.
"It's the only way I can think of to stop you," Farkas reasoned gruffly. "My opinion of you has not changed. I'm hoping you will learn respect, responsibility, and submission."
A short, hoarse bark came from the female, a cold and sarcastic sound of laughter. I submit to no one, she rumbled dangerously, but I will join your pack. I would like to see where those despicable fighting skills of yours originated.
Farkas growled at the ridicule, but went on nonetheless. "I have a horse waiting with my brother in the village. You will have to walk."
The she-wolf shook her head. I won't be accompanying you. I will meet you when the moons have faded from the sky.
Farkas scowled. "Fine. Do you know where to find us?"
I do.
She turned to the black cloak of the forest shadows behind her, her fighting stance dissolving into one of a lithe night predator.
"What is your name?" Farkas asked when she'd disappeared into the darkness.
A flash of silver in the dark, glowing with ethereal starlight, accompanied the drifting voice:
Azkari'a.