AN: Standard disclaimer that Bethesda owns everything and I do not seek to profit off of this or claim ownership over any of the wonderful world they made.
With that out of the way, I wanted to set up a bit of background for this story. It's set in the same world as my other fanfic, Beneath the Shield and I welcome you to read that if you want. Be warned that since they share the same universe it may spoiler some plot points for you. Also, the writing of Beneath the Shield will be a bit worse off towards the start as it was first time I tried to write anything of serious length.
This fic will contain implied sex, violence, gore at times, and language. Please, read at your own risk. It will also contain M/M pairings so if you find any of that that distasteful I suggest you find another fanfiction that's more to your taste.
To all others, I hope you enjoy this new story!
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Miir'Resh opened his eyes slowly as he heard the creak of the dungeon door being unlocked. The burning brazier in the middle of the room cast a ruddy glow over the dank room and provided the only heat that the Khajiit could feel.
He shivered in his rough tunic as he lay on a small, thin pile of hay and waited for the jailor to enter the room. A soft, despairing moan from across the room told him that the Nord mage they'd been torturing for secrets about some sort of rebellion was still alive and also feared the return of the jailor.
With a loud creak the door swung open and two Imperials sauntered in. One of them, the torturer, immediately looked at the mage with a professional eye, while the jailor walked up to Miir's cell. His grin was lecherous as he regarded the prone Khajiit.
Miir glared back hatefully and regretted ever agreeing to travel with those other Khajiit. Travelling in a group was always the safest way to move when bandits were a very real threat, and Miir had planned to use that group to get into Skyrim before lightening them of a few of their wares and slipping away. How was he supposed to have known they were actually moonsugar smugglers that would get caught by the Imperials who had tightened their security?
Now he lay in this dank cell. The others had refused to surrender and had died pointlessly. Miir had been smarter than that and let himself be taken into custody. Had be known that he would have lingered in this cell for a crime he had no idea he was committing where he would occasionally be pawed at by the jailor he might have tried to run while he had the chance.
"Have your fun later," called the torturer in an annoyed voice, "We need to finish determining if this one knows anything about the Stormcloak movements."
Giving Miir one last very pointed look the Jailor grunted his assent and walked over to the mage's cell. His keys jingled as he pulled them out and unlocked the door. The mage whimpered as the torturer entered his cell and began to verbally interrogate him. They both knew if he didn't answer the questions his real pain would begin.
Predictably, the man held out and Miir closed his eyes as the screams started. He wished he could close his ears against the sound of the mage's cries and the shouts of anger that the other imprisoned Stormcloaks let out.
The torturer's low voice formed a counterpoint to the whimpers and shrieks of the Nord who only pleaded his own ignorance as the Imperial's blades cut into him.
Miir opened his eyes as he heard his cell lock clicking open. The jailor grinned at him through the bars and said, "You know they're executing some older prisoners just over our heads. They'll want to execute you soon, too. I can push that back – tell them you know something – if you're will-"
The rest of his proposition was cut off as the ground shook violently. Cracks shot through the ceiling and the ground shook as the jailor stumbled backwards. Swearing violently, the torturer rose to his feet and angrily exclaimed, "He's dead. Damn that tremor!" The room shook again and the torturer stumbled back as it felt like a powerful explosion rocked the tower above them.
Miir seized on his chance and rushed forward through his unlocked door and slammed his shoulder into the jailor. Despite his weakened state, the Khajiit's desperation fueled him and the jailor fell backwards with a grunt as Miir snatched the keys from his hand.
Without hesitation he used his superior agility to keep his footing on the shaking floor as he rushed to the cells of the two Stormcloaks. He fumbled with the locks for a moment before the first door clicked open. The prisoner within shouted angrily and rushed out with his own sudden fury. He struggled with the fallen jailor as he tried to disarm the man.
Unwilling to waste time trying to help the Nord, Miir opened the other cell quickly and watched as that wrathful prisoner also charged into the fray. The Khajiit knew he was weak right now. He had been abused and starved for longer than these two men, so he quickly looked around for a weapon he could use while the two Nords fought the two Imperials.
He snatched up a dagger as another explosion rocked the dungeon and a loud roar was audible through the sound of cracking stone. Uncertain of where to go, Miir looked around for an escape route as the thought of being entombed beneath all of the stone above his head gnawed at him.
The Nords seemed to have gained the upper hand on their captors and the jailor lay dead at their feet, his chest caved in by the second prisoner's bloody mace. A new voice suddenly called out from the stairwell and Imperial rushed down the stairs. He immediately engaged one of the Nords while a haggard looking Altmer in rough clothes followed after. Miir froze as he saw the elf's hands flare with fiery energies. His target didn't, though, and continued to press his attacks on the torturer.
The Nord's triumphant cry as he plunged his blade into the chest of the torturer was cut short as he was engulfed in flames. He struggled to turn and retaliate, but he collapsed under the fiery stream of magicka. Using the roar of the flames and the erratic light it shed as cover, Miir crouched down and darted into the darkest corner of the room he could find. He relied on his charcoal-grey fur to hide him in the gloom. The brazier had been knocked over, and in the new darkness he waited fearfully.
He huddled quietly there and clutched his dagger, which he had hidden behind his arm so the blade wouldn't reflect the light of the knocked over brazier, as he watched the last Nord fall. The Imperial looked over the four bodies quickly and called out, "We have to go. Now! We don't know what that dragon is doing up there."
Dragon? The prospect of a dragon seemed impossible to the Khajiit, but his attention was pulled back to the conversation at hand when he heard the Imperial add, "We should leave this way. There's an underground passage we can take that will get us outside. We need to warn the others."
He waited for them to race down a passage before slowly following after the pair. He maintained his stealthy tactics as he trailed after them. If they were going to make it out alive, so was he. He nearly hissed as he felt a hand weakly grasp his ankle.
Looking down he saw the bloody face of the jailor looking up at him imploringly. "Help me. Please. Potion," he gasped out as he looked to the small red bottle that sat on the counter in the dungeon. Miir walked over, picked up the corked bottle and carried it back to the jailor who looked up at him with hopeful eyes.
The Khajiit knelt down and let his blue eyes lock with the Imperial's brown ones. He slowly and deliberately tied the potion to the crude belt he wore and smiled a mouthful of fangs at the dying man. "Please," wheezed the Imperial as he understood the implications of the Khajiit's actions.
Miir shook his head and knew he couldn't leave a witness behind. This man, who had tortured and taunted him for weeks, could point his fellow Imperials in the right direction if he was given the chance. The sound of elf's feet and the Imperial's boots was fading quickly in the distance. He quickly and efficiently sank his claws into the Imperial's neck before he tore the man's throat out in a shower of gore that he carefully aimed away from himself.
As he headed after his unwitting guides, he saw several lockpicks sitting just to the side on a small table and he nearly gasped in relief as he scooped up the treasures.
Hurrying to catch up to the others, the Khajiit raced down the halls in pursuit of the Altmer and his ally. Miir was on edge as he swiftly trailed after them. He constantly was on the lookout for any others who might attack him while still trying to stealthily follow the other two in front of him. More explosions rocked the fort above him, and dust showered down on him. He grinned widely as he beheld the doorway that was set into the rough stone of a natural wall.
Relief swept through the Khajiit in a powerful surge as he entered the cool, moist confines of a natural cave system that lay beneath the fort where he had been taken. The sound of running water helped to hide his faint footfalls but it also reminded him of his painful thirst. He had barely been given enough water to stay alive. A particularly violent explosion collapsed the entrance of the cave system behind them, and the Imperial expressed his dismay. Privately, Miir was relieved by the falling rocks for it meant there were no others who would follow him.
He waited for his two unwitting guides to move farther down the natural tunnel before he darted towards the small river that ran through the cave. He quickly cupped his hands and brought a few handfuls of cold, metallic water to his mouth. Water had never tasted better to him.
Rising quickly he followed after the faint sound of footsteps that drifted off into the murky cave before him. Miir's steps were soft and nearly soundless, and what sound he did make was swallowed by the water.
Miir didn't know how the Altmer and the Imperial would react to his presence, so he sat back and watched as they fought a killed an old bear that blocked his exit. He nearly laughed with relief when he saw them engage the old creature because its sense of smell gave it the ability to detect him despite being unable to hear or see him.
The urge to rush forward into the bright sunlight tugged at the Khajiit's senses and he looked for a way he could move forward without being seen. Seeing nothing, he gritted his teeth and became determined to wait while the elf and the Imperial fumbled their way out of the cave. He sidled up to the exit and waited for them to travel a ways down the trail before he stepped out into the light.
After the dimness of the cave the light of the outdoors was blinding to Miir's sensitive eyes and he held up a hand to shield himself from its radiance.
The scent of wildflowers blew past him and though it was faint it seemed nearly overwhelming after his time in the fort's dungeons. With great caution Miir stepped out into the light and took a deep breath. He watched the Imperial and the Altmer clasp arms before separating. Faintly, the wind carried the Imperial's parting words to the Khajiit's ears but fragmented them. He could make out "Riverwood," "north," and "dragon" but not much else.
He followed the two men as they wended their way north. Soon enough small trails of smoke peeked up over the large trees and the cat man figured that they were approaching Riverwood. Letting the two men vanish into the town, the Khajiit away towards the river and a small, private spot where the bushes obscured him from view.
The sun was warm on his fur and a cool breeze blew over him. The two competing sensations made him smile as he stripped off the filthy clothes that he had worn for far too long. He scrubbed the worst of the dirt out of the clothes and carefully checked them over for rips and tears. Miir knew he could be quite charming when he wanted to be but no one would listen to a silver tongue if it was under a beggar's rags. He wasn't that good.
He lay the clothes out on a rock to dry in the warm sunlight as he began to wash himself. Fear twisted his gut as he looked towards the place where Riverwood lay and a little voice in the back of his head told him he was completely out of his depth here in Skyrim. His original plan had been to learn from the travelling traders before helping himself to some of their gold and leaving.
He mentally scrambled as he sought to run through the list of stories he had heard of Nords back home in the Imperial City. Surely not every Nord was a burly, mead swilling warrior but those were the only stories he had heard.
Miir scrubbed vigorously at his fur to make sure that he got rid of as much blood and dirt as possible before he stepped out of the water and sat down next to his clothes. The warm sunlight beat down on him and he smiled as he felt his tense muscles relax. He'd find a way to survive in this strange land. Going back wasn't an option by any stretch of his vivid imagination. Throwing on his mostly-dry clothes he decided to stop wasting time and headed boldly down the road towards the village.
A rustic palisade greeted him as he entered the sheltering embrace of the mountains that curled around Riverwood. He cautiously looked for guards but found none as he entered the small town.
He immediately spotted the elf talking to a burly Nord who sat by a forge and the Khajiit had to quash his instant urge to skulk away or avoid the elf. The Altmer hadn't seen him and didn't know who he was. He had no reason to suspect another survivor of the dragon attack. Miir firmly began to walk past them when he noticed that the blacksmith was slowly and carefully showing the elf something about the forge.
Miir took a moment to bite his lip as he weighed his options. He had no coin and no real clothes. He could try to find odd jobs to do around the town, but who would hire a Khajiit? The alternative wasn't ideal but it seemed to be his only option if he wanted to be able to survive this cold land. Very quietly and very calmly he strode up to the lock on the blacksmith's door. He looked around and saw no one else watching him. In a flash he had squatted down and was fiddling with the lock. His gaze continued to flick around until he heard the soft click that told him he was in.
The door swung open and he quietly stepped inside and shut it behind him. He looked around and saw no one else in the house. A soft, relieved sigh escaped him and he quickly cased the place. He had to move quickly and get out before the blacksmith found a thief skulking around his house. Miir's face twisted into a grimace as he imagined the Altmer spraying him with fire.
The armoire in the corner of the house held nothing but clothes that wouldn't fit him and cupboards held simple foodstuffs that made his stomach rumble as his hunger came back to him in a flash. He couldn't afford to waste time eating, though, and he regretfully turned away from them to continue rooting through the house.
Throwing open a chest Miir found a pile of clothes that he carefully shifted aside. Smirking, the Khajiit found the small bag of gold and the steel dagger that were hidden underneath the clothes. He took them and neatly replaced the clothes – no sense in announcing his burglary.
With great care he slowly opened the door out as he felt the reassuring-but-incriminating weight of the coin purse at his waist. Peeking out the door he saw no one watching it so he quickly slipped out and closed it behind him. There was no way to relock the door so he could only hope the blacksmith would think he forgot to lock it on his way out.
Miir straightened his posture and walked away like he belonged in the town. Only bad thieves constantly looked shifty and furtive. His rumbling stomach demanded immediate attention and he headed towards the inn in the small town.
He quickly made sure his fur still looked clean and respectable. With a Khajiit's reputation he knew that first impressions were incredibly important. Once branded as a thief he would never be able to do anything in the town. Miir knew that he was considered handsome among his own people and he also knew that his exotic nature combined with his angular features to make him appear quite striking to the other humans he had encountered back hom in the Imperial City. He would need that edge and every other advantage to survive.
As he entered the inn he immediately looked over the people who were sitting or standing around the common room. A bard sang some song that was filled with violence and a tired old drunk sat in the shadows at one of the side tables.
He made sure he looked exhausted as he walked over to stern faced woman behind the bar who looked at him with suspicion. "Please," he began in a voice filled with relief, "Could I have some of whatever is making this place smell delicious?" He placed several of the coins on the bar in front of him. Some of the distrust faded from her eyes and the barkeep quickly fetched him his food after sweeping his coins off the bar.
A steaming platter quickly made its way in front of him and the starved Khajiit quickly dug into the meal with relish. "So what's a Khajiit like you doing here?" asked the woman with thinly veiled suspicion.
"I was a cook in the kitchens in Helgen," lied Miir. He didn't want to be the one to break the fort's destruction to the people of the town in case they hadn't heard because he didn't quite know what had happened. He didn't want to use the word "dragon" and seem like a madman.
He was relieved when the woman's face crumpled in a sympathetic expression and she said, "You're another survivor from the dragon attack on Helgen? You should thank the Divines you were lucky enough to survive."
Miir nodded vigorously as he continued to eat the shepherd's pie he had bought. He grunted out between bites, "The attack was so sudden. I was lucky to escape. The stone looked like it was on fire." That last embellishment he added for effect but from the explosions he had felt he could tell the fire had been intense.
More sympathy showed up on the barkeep's features as she looked at him. "We've only seen a few soldiers and that elf come through town and they all spoke of a dark dragon that burned or crushed anyone it encountered. How did you escape?"
The Khajiit took another big bite of his pie to give his imagination time to concoct something that would sound plausible.
"I was in the kitchens just cutting up potatoes for the midday meal when a loud roar suddenly sounded. I was in the heart of the fort so I thought nothing of it until the walls began to shake! We – all of the kitchen workers – fled outside when we saw cracks appearing in the mortar. I was at the back of the rush and I was lucky."
He could tell the woman was wrapped up in his story. She leaned forward intently on the bar and listened carefully as he continued. "A savage burst of flames incinerated those who were the first ones out of the doors," he said with a realistic shudder, "They were burned to a crisp. The rest of us hesitated but we saw the dragon circling around to blast the Imperials who were using bows to take some shots at it. I... I just ran."
The barkeep nodded sadly and comfortingly said, "I doubt there was anything you could've done to stop the beast. You made the smart choice. What happened to your friends, though?"
Miir sadly shook his head and said, "Picked off one by one. We scattered when we saw it approaching again. I was simply a faster runner than the others and made it under the trees. The others were... not so fortunate. I only made it out with these rough work clothes, my coins, and a pair of daggers I snatched up at the last moment."
Privately, the Khajiit hoped that every last servant had died in the fire. There was nothing worse than an actual kitchen cook coming in to denounce him as a liar.
The barkeep was called away by another patron and left Miir to eat in peace, which the Khajiit was grateful for. He didn't want to have to answer any questions about what a lowly cook was doing with two weapons like that. They were clearly daggers and not kitchen knives.
Exhaustion from his imprisonment swept over him as he filled his belly and he quickly rented a room for the night. There was nothing else he wanted to do right now besides rest in a proper bed.
In his room, Miir released a satisfied groan as he felt the day's tensions melt away. It still seemed like some sort of strange dream that he had actually escaped that dark hell and his execution. The small fire that burned in his room was little more than warm embers and he quickly stirred it to life to feel the warmth seep into his bones. He was used to the heat and lush lands of Cyrodiil, which contrasted strongly with the cold and ice of Skyrim.
He closed his eyes and concentrated hard as he sought to cast a cantrip he had learned a long time ago. He smiled as a small, golden glimmer surrounded his hands and he pressed them against the places where the chains had chafed his wrists. In moments the little light guttered and failed but the spell had restored the skin that had been rubbed raw.
With a happy smile he collapsed back onto the soft, straw stuffed mattress and collapsed into a deep sleep as exhaustion claimed him.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Miir woke up the next morning with a wide grin as he rolled limberly out of bed and stretched luxuriously. He hadn't felt this good in a long time and he felt like the new day offered a thousand possibilities. A quick glance at his ragged clothes told him the first thing he would need would be new gear. His fingers ached to feel the smooth shaft of a bow in his hands as he drew an arrow back and sighted down its length.
He flopped back on the simple bed with a contented grunt as he tried to think of how he could get his hands on the things he needed. The simplest way would be to work hard at the simple jobs around the villagers and buy what he needed from the shopkeepers. Miir chuckled to himself as he imagined himself chopping logs of wood for a few coins a day. No, he was much too clever to get sucked into that idiot trap. The Khajiit knew that he would employ the skills he had honed since he was a child to procure what he needed.
Rising from his rented bed, Miir took a moment to ensure his pitiable servant routine was well in place before he left his room. He returned to the barkeep and smiled at her with his most innocent grin and made sure that he didn't show too many teeth. Men and elves found a mouth full of fangs to be entirely unsettling and it spoiled any effort Miir made to appear harmless.
"Please, good lady, a bowl of porridge if you wouldn't mind," he said with just enough deference to help remind her of his supposed position as a cook. With long practiced motions he took a while to fish the coins out of his thin purse while looking like he was trying to hide how scant his supply of gold really was.
A look of sympathy crossed the blonde barkeep's face as she looked at the poor Khajiit. "There's a bit of work around town to do if you're looking for a way to earn some extra coin," she added helpfully. She still accepted his payment without hesitation, noted the Khajiit ruefully.
"Oh, thank you for the suggestion," politely replied the grey-furred Khajiit as he spooned some of the tasteless gruel into his mouth, "But I want to return to cooking. I was thinking of heading to Whiterun to see if I could offer my services at one of the kitchens in their inns. I doubt I'd find much work here as I can tell you already have a fine cook."
The woman laughed lightly at his words but nodded. She remained silent for a moment before asking, "The few Khajiit I've met sounded... different than you. Why is that?"
Her question was asked with perfect innocence and bland curiosity but Miir sensed there was something more there. Despite nothing in her mannerisms giving him a reason to suspect her, Miir's gut told him that something was off. Regardless of his feelings he cheerfully answered, "I lived and worked all my life in the Imperial City and you could say I picked up many Imperial's mannerisms." He didn't add that he had worked as a thief and occasional assassin for those with money and illicit desires. The man who had trained him as a thief had cultured the slight Khajiit accent out of his voice with the warning that it raised far more suspicions in others than if he sounded like the people he was trying to rob. While he had never spoken like many of Elswyr's native Khajiit, his parents had given him just a trace of their vernacular.
The barkeep twisted her face into a sympathetic grimace as she exclaimed, "The Imperial City! I've heard of how badly off that place was after the war. I can see why you took a job farther to the north as anywhere must be better than the City."
Miir nodded sadly but didn't really feel too badly about it. He had been born in the city after it had been sacked, so he had never known it when it was a cultural and economic center. To him it had always been filled with dirty and desperate people. Those same people that the barkeep had pitied were the first ones to give a scrawny, desperate Khajiit youth a few coins to stick a knife in a rival's back. They were also the ones he had robbed blind after he got better at skulking through the shadows.
He also didn't explain that he left because several gangs were out for his blood and the streets were becoming too dangerous even for him. Miir had fled north because it got him away from his problems in the Imperial City and he had no plans for going to Elswyr where there was nothing but sand and steppes.
"I'll be leaving for one of the other larger cities soon – no offence to the beauty of Riverwood," he said with a small smile. Telling her now would hopefully make it less suspicious when he disappeared after acquiring the supplies he needed.
She laughed again and said, "None taken! Town life isn't for everyone, Khajiit." The demands of another patron once again pulled her away. Miir used the chance to wolf down the rest of the glop he had in front of him and very visibly leave the inn.
He walked north towards Whiterun and past numerous villagers as he headed out of the village. Once he was well and truly out of the village he slipped into the greenery around him. Miir preferred cities to wilds, but he was well versed in stepping quietly through both. He circled around the village from the cover of the woods that remained despite the presence of Riverwood's sawmill. He carefully watched the people going about their business as they went through the town. He repeatedly caught glimpses of the Altmer from Helgen still walking around the village.
The elf didn't seem to be much better off than he was but had managed to find a new set of clothes, which made the rough material that covered the Khajiit itch all the more.
Miir gritted his teeth and waited for dusk to fall. He carefully noted the habits and any patterns of the town's residents between berry foraging trips.
With night finally upon Riverwood, Miir slipped back down towards the small town. Almost everyone was asleep or drinking at the inn, which suited him.
His footsteps were swift, light, and soundless as he approached the general store where he knew he would find some armour. He crouched in the shadows by the front door for only a moment before he gently inserted his lockpicks into the keyhole. With a few brisk motions he heard the soft click of the door opening and he carefully eased it open, listening for any creaks. He grinned to himself when he slipped inside – the shopkeeper kept his hinges well oiled to look more professional.
The darkness of the shop didn't bother the Khajiit, who could see well in any light. He prowled forward and listened carefully for any signs of movement. He could faintly hear a deep, sonorous snore coming from the floor above him but there was no movement. Hesitation could only cost him at this point and Miir wasted no more time. He hurried behind the counter where he found a sturdy iron lockbox sitting. This one took him a little more time to open, but he was relieved when he saw its lid loosen as he lifted it up.
A large bag of gold was nestled in there and Miir's eyes widened with surprise and greed as he left it for the moment. There was too much chance that it might jingle when he was sneaking around, so he would collect it later. He turned quickly to the chests behind them and was relieved to find them unlocked. He opened them slowly, listening for any squeaking hinges.
A soft, relieved sigh slipped past his lips as he beheld the highly adjustable set of leather armour in the third chest he opened. Moving quickly he took the armour and the bag of gold before closing the chests and the lockbox. He slipped towards the door and out into the night.
Once outside he went around to the side of the building and slipped into the leathers he had stolen. He quickly adjusted it until it hugged his form but didn't constrain his mobility. He grinned in the darkness, relieved to finally be getting back some of what the Imperials had taken from him when he had been arrested.
He looked around for any night time witnesses who might spot his movements but found none. This town appeared to wake and sleep with the sun, which was a sharp change from the Imperial City which always had people moving around regardless of what time of day or night it was.
He darted across the way back towards the blacksmith's shop. Regretfully he left the heavy bag of coins outside to avoid it weighing him down and jingling while he worked on his other target.
Miir's movements were slower as he got use to the feel of the boots on his feet. Unlike his bare feet, they were more likely to clunk as he walked but they provided invaluable protection against many of the more subtle floor traps that sometimes caught thieves. Back in the Imperial City he knew a woman who had robbed houses barefoot since she was soundless without boots. Her career – and life – had ended quickly when she stepped on the poisoned razor blades that a merchant had put out to catch someone who used her style.
A soft, barely audible click drew Miir's attention back to the door as he once more opened the blacksmith's simple lock. He slipped inside and looked around. His breath caught in his throat as he saw both of the house's occupants peacefully asleep. The Khajiit knew that if he was caught he would have to face the wrath of the angry blacksmith. A wave of doubt washed over him as he eyed the big Nord's thick arms. Even if he managed to overcome the mountain of a man, he knew that the noise would wake the neighbours and he'd have to escape the entire town.
The sight of all the weapons hung on the wall steeled his resolve and the thief very carefully moved forward. Unlike the two floor general store, this single floor dwelling offered no distance between the Khajiit and his victims. He slipped towards where the blacksmith kept his inventory and grinned as he saw all the weapons arrayed before him. He immediately picked up a steel bow and slung it over his back and grabbed another steel dagger. Very carefully, Miir lifted a quiver of arrows as well. It clattered ever so softly as the arrows resettled in their quiver and Miir froze in fear.
A soft grunt from the blacksmith made Miir whip his gaze over to the man as he rolled over in his bed. The Khajiit estimated that if the Nord rose he could rush over and have his dagger in the man's throat before the sleep-addled smith could put up much of a defence. His wife would die shortly thereafter. If the fight was loud then he would sprint out of the house and into the woods. If it went quietly he would slip out.
The fight became unnecessary as the man settled back into a deep, rhythmic breathing pattern. With the utmost care, Miir slipped back out into the star-studded night with a wide grin splitting his face.
Armed and armoured, the Khajiit melted back into the forest before moving far away from the small town. Once he was safely away he straightened out and headed north towards Whiterun, determined to find a way to get rich in this frigid land.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
AN: I'm going to keep making mental comparisons to my other fanfiction protagonists, aren't I?