Hello everyone!, Cherokee here, and I welcome you to my very first fanfiction about the very first game I ever truly enjoyed, Skyrim. But to start you off, here's a little foretaste of what this is all about. A 23 year old Khajiit caravan guard, Jo'Hazaar, has found himself in the province of Skyrim once more, and he never even though he'd be back again. For you see...he was born in Markarth, only until the age of 13 when the Dark Brotherhood targeted his parents for unknowingly ruining a client's reputation, and just like that, Jo was whisked away to the homeland of the Khajiit, Elsweyr. After relying on his skills in combat and thievery to cheat, steal, and sell his sword-arm to any willing to pay-up, he found himself a job as a caravan guard. For many years he refused to go back to Skyrim, but with the civil war raging and both sides needing supplies...he had no other choice...
Rain...it just had to be rain
Today was the first day the caravan would be delivering supplies to a Stormcloak camp in Falkreath, and the Divines just decided to let the storms loose. Naturally Khajiit don't like rain, I mean, they're cats after all, but with Jo'Hazaar it was another story altogether. The caravan stomped onward on the path, mud squishing beneath their feet and fur soaked, it was even worse for the guards considering the 90 pounds of steel armor...food...and weaponry they were hauling. Finally, the trail split in the opposite direction, a little deeper into the thick forest. A small opening appeared at the end of the dirt path, revealing the little Stormcloak camp alight with activity, soldiers sharpening weapons and blacksmiths forging the very weapons they were sharpening. "Hazaar!" A scratchy voice bellowed from the entrance to the camp, making the Khajiit's ears perk up in curiosity. Standing in-front of the caravan was Commander Thorygg Sun-Killer, a close, yet distant friend of Jo.
The pair came together, patting each-other's backs and laughing like they always did. "Thorygg!...it is this one's pleasure to greet you once again." Thorygg chuckled deeply, waving off Jo's greeting. "The pleasure is mine friend, without you these medical supplies wouldn't have made it here, it's going to save a lot of lives." Thorygg kept a careful eye on the rest of the crew as they unloaded chests of potions and salves to treat the wounded, crates of bandages and weaponry. The amount of things they need makes it look like they're losing the war... Jo thought to himself, also catching a quick glance at the surplus of supplies being unloaded. "You owe me Thorygg...bandits camped outside of Haemar's Shame almost put a dagger through my heart, the Helgen town guard had to intervene before things got ugly." The commander only crossed his arms, giving a amused glare before reaching into his satchel and pulling out a small purse of septims. "Consider this a personal 'gift' for your troubles." He tossed him to the Khajiit, who snatched it out of the air with his naturally quick reflexes. "So, Hazaar has heard much of the civil war, tell me, how goes it?" Thorygg frowned, pointing to the far end of the camp where a tent was packed with wounded Stormcloaks. "Imperials managed to push us out of the Reach, lost our foothold in the area, along with a strategic advantage that granted us access to Solitude's supply route."
Jo looked over Thorygg's shoulder, examining the swarm of wounded and their fellow soldiers tending to them as best as possible. "War is a cruel thing, many fight until their last man, Tullius is a coward...in time he will surrender." He gave his friend one last pat on the back before assisting the rest of the caravan with unloading the cargo, what was left mostly contained salts and meats...some mead here and there, just enough to ration out until reinforcements came from Windhelm. A foolish...yet honorable war this is, what, I wonder, is stopping them from coming to an agreement? It wasn't until the carriages were empty and the rest were ready to leave for Elsweyr once again, that something strange caught the attention of both the caravan and most of the Stormcloaks in the camp. It had gotten eerily silent...not a single bird chirped and the whipping wind of the storm died down.
And a black figure soared overhead, wing-beats like an earthquake, and sent a shadow over the camp...