Silent. The hunter bared her teeth as she moved through the tall grass like a ghost, her specially striped leather armor helping to give the illusion of waving grass. Her arm shook, but she could not relax the tension on her bow for fear of being seen. Her prey turned, exposing it's flank to her. With a deadly thwock her bowstring snapped, the arrow flying over the grasslands, straight and true into the heart of her prey. Without a sound, they collapsed to ground. She eased from her crouch and walked forward. Down, but not dead, her prey twitched on the ground, trying to remove the arrow from his side. Thalia Greenleaf drew her dagger and slit his throat, stepping away as the remaining blood in his body pumped out on the ground. Bjorngar Hammerstrike. 300 gold Reward, Whiterun Hold. As always, she had retrieved her prey. Now she began the grizzly work of removing his head from the body so she could collect the money she was owed. The steward wouldn't like it, he always wanted bandits brought back alive. Hmmph. Don't see him dragging his ass down from Dragonsreach to try to bring back outlaws alive. He just sits up there and talks. Does nothing else.
The sun was beginning to set as she started the long walk back to Whiterun and her purse. She had to chase this one all the way to Rorikstead, and then he had ran, and she had to chase him even more. She didn't much care for walking through the hold at night. She could take care of herself sure, but there was a difference between being brave and being smart. She had good ears, and knew how to ghost through the woods, but all it took was one bandit with a strong bow on top of a ridge to spot her, and there she would be. She felt the gnawing in the back of her mind. She could always change. Always run through the grass on all fours, howling at the moon. She would make it to Whiterun in a couple of hours like that. She didn't want to free the beast though. It wasn't time, it wasn't safe. She would stop at Rorikstead for the night, stay there. Set out in the morning. She needed to check on Erik anyways. She had helped him get his armor, but his father had most likely bought him some horrible iron armor. She had told him to go to Warmaidens, but he had probably went to Belethor. She shook her head and started running. Quicker she got there, quicker she could pay her ten gold, get some sleep, and leave for Whiterun.
Something was wrong. She could see great fires in Rorikstead, like someone had drug as much wood to the center of town as possible and lit it on fire. She could hear screams, hear the clash of blades, the screams of the wounded and dying. She drew her bow and cursed the fact it was night. She needed the light of the fires to see by, but it blinded her almost to seeing what was around the fires. She could see them, barely. Black robed and drawing red magic, and people dressed like any warrior fighting with them against the citizens of Rorikstead and the guards that had been in the area. She could hear Erik, his voice booming over the sound of battle as he fought. His great two handed sword cut through a man, and he engaged another. Thalia began to rain arrows down on those black robed attackers, and the assault started to break. Those in black robes ran, but their warriors continued to fight fanatically. She fired a few arrows into the fleeing men and women, and turned back to the village square. Only to watch Erik take a battleaxe to the side and drop his sword. As fast as she could, she fired arrow after arrow into the man attacking her friend, and he fell at last. Someone rushed to Eriks side, and she kept her eyes looking to the perimeter for another attack. When none was forthcoming, she ran to the village square.
Erik already didn't have much armor. She was right, his father had purchased cheap iron armor, and the steel battleaxe had carved through it like a knife through hot butter. She could see his insides, and held his hand and weeped as he traveled to the other side. There were so many dead. Erik, his father, even Rorik himself. They searched the bodies of the dead, and found nothing but the usual things you would find on bandits. Until they discovered the bite wounds on the necks of those not in black robes. Vampires and there thralls. But to attack this large of a village? They were either desperate or had been very sure of the chance of winning. They had fought them off, but at such a cost. Thalia was bone tired, ready to eat half a mammoth and sleep for a month. But she couldn't. She waited until the morning, after they had started the funeral pyres for her friends and then took off for Whiterun and the Jarl. The bounty could wait, she had news for Balgruuf. Hopefully he wasn't meeting with the Dragonborn or someone else important. Vampires were too much of a menace to not be taken care of. He could hire out the Companions, she could talk them into doing it. Kodlak was still hale and hearty, and may relish the fight. Vilkas and Skjor would as well. Aela wouldn't care, as long as she could hunt.
It did not matter in the end, if they refused to help, any of them. She would track down the Vampires responsible for her friends death, and she would kill them. With her bow, her steel, her stealth. She would kill those who had taken someone from her.