All materials from the Elder Scrolls Series belong respectfully to Bethesda Studios.

Prologue: The Blizzard

18th of Morning Star, 4E 213

*CREEK*

The metal hinges creaked with age as the entrance to the Winking Skeever opened, blowing wind and snow into the musty tavern. The chilly breeze reached out and extinguished nearby candles. On its doorstep stood a cloaked figure, her appearance shrouded beneath a heavy brown coat and overshadowed behind by the gloomy cold light. An immense stench of mead and sweat swept upon her face with a heavy blow. Reeling back, she reached out and clutched her nose in disgust. Another burst of cold wind blew past her side, rearing the foul odor back into the musty air.

"Shut the damn door you idiot!" Someone bellowed.

As commanded, the figure turned and closed the wooden door. The freezing current simply ceased to be. Without the breeze blowing against her ears, she was bombarded with sounds of laughter, guttural cheers, and the distinct sound of clanking tankards. None inside took notice of her, as if she were but a mere ghost. Snowflakes drifted away from her clothing and melted on the stone floor.

The figure made her way towards the bar; her fur boots leaving water footprints on the ground. She maneuvered her way through the busy crowd. Nords and Imperials around her yelled and laughed. Some decided to dance while others demanded more mead. Solitude guards were stationed around the tavern, keeping the peace in their own tankards.

"I think you have enough for one night, friend," the owner of the tavern said nonchalantly.

"What do you mean I can't have more mead?" One Nord yelled sternly, "I'm perfectly fine! See?"

He then decided to jump over his stool, only to end up slamming head first on the counter edge with a sickening thump. His body landed on the cold stone floor, snoring loudly around his pool of blood. The crowd around him howled with laughter.

"That's going to hurt till morning."

"It's a beautiful dance! A man mating with a dead spriggan!"

"Troll's blood! He's going to have a lump larger than the Throat of the World!"

The guards dragged the unconscious Nord to the corner of the tavern, where he slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

After the commotion had died down, the figure scanned around the area. She perched her head up high above the heads of others. Swinging it left and right, the figure struggled to find an open seat. The bar counter was completely filled, twenty people hugging it with reckless abandon. At the corner of her eye, she saw an Imperial paying gold to the bartender and left the tavern in a huff. No opportunity wasted, she hurried towards the vacant stool, bumping her shoulders against the shoulders of others. She was only an arm's length away, only to be forcefully pushed aside by another drunken Nord. The figure fell on the floor with a heavy thump and groaned in pain. A hearty laugh came out of his reeking mouth, sprinkling her coat and face with mead and spit. Wiping the vile liquid with her sleeve, she reached out and pulled her hood down. The gloomy candlelight illuminated the head of a young female khajiit. An enchanted silver sapphire circlet sat on her head. She had brown fur like the color of polished brass. Her face, along the side and neck, housed streaks of black lines. By far the most noticeable feature on her face was the splotch of black fur along the bridge of her nose. She walked behind the drunken Nord and tapped his shoulder lightly.

"What do you want, cat?" he grunted. He took another swig of mead.

"Excuse me kind sir, would this one be so kind to give Tsahari her seat?" she asked with a smile. The pool of blood still remained on the ground, the causing Tsahari to slip and fall. She slammed her hand over his shoulder at a poor attempt to gain her balance. Presumed to be an act of aggression, he shot up and glared daggers into her eyes.

"Get your dirty hands away away from me, you dirty fleabag!" Grabbing her hand, he yelled louder, "No one lays hand on Ulgruf the Mighty!" He lowered his tankard to her face, "Can't you see I'm trying to drink my mead? Find your own damn seat." He pushed Tsahari back into the crowd.

The Khajiit could fight him with a fire spell, but the guards will no sooner toss her in the cell than to ask questions how the tavern caught on fire in the midst of a snow storm. She sulked back into the crowd in defeat. Without her hood on, one of the nearby guards instantly recognized her cat-like appearance.

"Hey, you there with the fuzzy ears!" He shouted, pointing at her head, "How did you get in the city? Your kind has no pl-"

Tsahari withdrew a purse containing two hundred gold coins and dangled it in front of his face. Without hesitation, the guard snatched it right off her fingers.

"It seems everything is in order. I'll return to my post." He walked back where he was before and continued to drink his mead.

She sighed. She was now four hundred gold pieces less in this city. Bribery is all well and good until your pockets run dry of shiny coin.

The tavern was a total hive of activity. She needed a drink and she need it now. She has been traveling on that damned road to Solitude for hours, without anything to quench her growing thirst. For long stretches of time, Tsahari stood there in the crowd of fowl stench. Unwilling to give up, she waited patiently for an empty seat. And there she stood waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

And waiting.

Time seemed to slow down as drowsiness slowly overtook her mind. She rubbed her eyes constantly in an attempt to stay awake. The people around her became blurred and disfigured. The chatter around her slowly echoed and garbled. Her eyelids began to droop down, but Tsahari fought against such temptation.

"This round's on me!" Someone yelled.

Everyone in the tavern cheered and clanked their tankards. The guttural roar of Nords alone knocked Tsahari back into here senses. She jumped in fright from the loud cheers of the crowd, swiveling her head around like a broken Dwemer machine. Growing increasingly desperate for a drink, she scanned profusely for any open seats she can find. By luck, she saw a Redguard sitting on the far left retrieving his coins from his pocket to pay the bartender. Tsahari's mind ran into overdrive as she desperately rushed towards the Redguard. She was ready to pounce if given the opportunity. The Redguard stood and gave the bartender a quick farewell. He squeezed his way out the tavern and gawked at the blizzard that slowly consumed the city of Solitude. Like a great wind, she quickly rushed over to the warm but empty stool. She waved to the only bartender in the tavern. Never missing out on a new customer, the bartender quickly rushed out to greet her.

"Welcome to the Winking Skeever. What can I get for you?" the bartender asked.

Stretching, she clasped her hands together and rested her elbows on the bar. "Tsahari will have the regular mead." She was very, very exhausted.

He nodded, "Sure. I'll have it in a moment."

A verbal fight broke out in the background, followed by a choir of shattered glass. Its ear piercing noise echoed throughout the tavern, along with the chanting of,

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Sighing, the bartender bent down and plucked a bottle of Nord mead from the bottom shelf, muttering something beneath his breath.

As he was filling a tankard with cheap mead, she twisted her head around to observe the cramped tavern around her. Sounds of all kinds completely filled her ears like an inferno. The tavern radiated with the smell of sweaty hands and feet. Behind the middle pillar was a woman bard playing a lute. People nearby clapped and smiled as they enjoy the sound of melody seeping into their ears. Leaning to her left, she noticed a dark green Argonian sitting in a chair alone, munching on a piece of bread. He had an admirable long scar on his left side of his face. Sensing someone watching, the Argonian lifted his head and noticed the Khajiit eyeing his appearance.

"What are you looking at, Stranger?" he scowled. His eyes glared at the cat, fully expecting her fur to spontaneously burst into flames.

A tankard full of mead plopped down on the counter, startling the young Khajiit.

"Here you go missy." The barkeeper smiled, cleaning the bar with a rag, "If you need anything else just let me know."

The Argonian shook his head and smirked at her reaction. He pulled out a second slice of bread from his pocket. Thirsty, she looked away from the lizardman and looked back at her mead. Foam rose from the tankard, dripping down towards the bar table. She took the handle and took a heavy swig before setting the tankard down, spilling a bit of mead onto the bar counter.

The bartender extended his hand to wipe off the liquid with his rag. Glancing back to the khajiit's clothing, he noticed a name stitched on the side of the cloak.

Tsahari

"So, what's a young cat like you doing out here in the middle of a blizzard?" He questioned.

She glanced up and pulled the stitched name underneath her cloak.

"Tsahari is just stopping by for a drink." She yawned. Tsahari rubbed her eyes to keep herself awake, "And to get away from the dreaded blizzard." She then looked to his eyes. "Tsahari is surprised how this one does not shun the Khajiit with loathing."

"Ah well, so long you don't steal anything, I'll treat you like any other Nord." He scratched his mustache, "I even had a pet skeever once. He'd wink to me from time to time, hence why I name my tavern such." The bartender put the rag back under the shelf.

Tsahari yawned, revealing her bright and razor sharp teeth.

"I got a free bed upstairs if you're willing to pay ten gold pieces." The barkeeper pointed towards the balcony above.

Yawning again, Tsahari opened her satchel beneath her cloak. She placed ten gold on the bar, clattering on impact. The barkeeper took the coins and counted them silently, before shoving them into his pocket.

"Excellent. I'll show you to your room. Right this way." He beckoned her to follow.

Trailing behind the barkeeper, Tsahari cranked her head to the right. Yet another drunken Nord was dancing upon one of the tables, surrounded by the cheers of his fellow drunks.

"Get off the table you drunken bastard!" the barkeeper angrily yelled, pointing at his face.

"Oblivion take you, old man!" the man yelled, "You're not the boss of-" The table beneath him gave away and broke clean in half, slamming the drunkard's back to the ground. Plates and utensils clattered on the floor. Mead splattered on the tiles, causing some bystanders to slip and fall. Amid the chaos, none bothered to help him, instead pointed fingers and laughed. The barkeeper facepalmed, muttering something Tsahari couldn't quite catch.

"Sorry about that. The guards will deal with him soon. Come on. Your room is right this way." He signaled the Khajiit to follow him. She nodded.

On the second floor, there was a ledge looking out the entire room. There was the shattered wooden table on the far left. The drunkard was escorted, or kicked, out of the tavern by two Solitude guards.

"Just tell me if you need anything. I'll be downstairs, where I'm always at." The bartender walked out of the room, leaving the room door open. Tsahari looked around the dark bedroom, with the aid of her night vision. The room was moderately furnished, the bed and the shelf being the largest objects. Yawning, Tsahari turned and closed the door shut. She took off her cloak and tossed it on the bed. She wore the College of Winterhold apprentice robe, accompanied by a pair of leather boots and gloves. Tired and exhausted, she pulled her leather boots to the side of the bed. She tugged her gloves off and set them on the nearest end table. Satisfied, Tsahari jumped on the bed with glee, slipping her bare feet under the heavy sheet. Poor fatigue took over her mind, as she quickly fell into a deep slumber.


A bright light appeared in the abandoned Wolfskull Cave, scaring the local fauna away. For the entire night, the light stayed as bright as the morning sun. When the dawn came did the light slowly die away, but the eerie sounds of dwarven-like machinery did not.