Droplets of water cascaded down on the bustling city of Whiterun, the residents trying to complete their daily chores even amid the lackluster conditions. Adrianna Avenicci was just finishing packing up her tools when the sound of the creaking entrance of the city's door caught her attention. Despite the rain, she decided to see who entered; she loved seeing the many new faces that entered Whiterun. One of the many reasons she was glad her shop was right at the entrance. As the massive wooden door opened even more, she could make out loud voices. She recognized one as being one of the Guards, but the other had to be from the new visitor.
"Your kind isn't allowed in here, cat! Now be off, before I have you arrested!"
"Oh shut up, you mindless human. I am no thief! Doesn't look to be anything of value in this whole damned province anyway, I should move my hide back to the Isles."
The female blacksmith was able to deduce that the stranger was a Khajiit, and a Khajiit who was extremely bold, as he didn't seem intimated by the customs of the local Nords. The Imperial woman couldn't help by grin, she had a feeling she was going to like this newcomer.
The male feline slammed the door, shutting out the verbal rage from the Guard on the other side. Yet, no one else deemed it necessary to challenge him. He was large, black fur with bold white stripes that darted through his darker coloring. A small bit of red paint adorned his nose and piercing fire like eyes narrowed as he surveyed his surroundings. The Khajiit's ears moved as they caught every little noise that could be heard and his tail lashed about in either excitement or anger. The cat suddenly turned his attention to Adrianna, who finally managed to put away all her equipment for the day.
"Ah, you're a blacksmith. Tell me Imperial, where may I join a Guild or acquire money around here?" The woman was taken aback at being addressed so suddenly, but decided it would best not be rude. After all, it appeared the Khajiit was right, he was no thief and he wanted to earn an honest living.
"Well, you could always go to the Bannered Mare. Usually the Jarl's men will drop a bounty of some sort. You know the typical band of criminals that need to be exterminated from the Hold. But, that kind of work can run dry. There are also the Companions. It's something like a Guild. They tend to get better paid work, but getting into the group isn't easy." Adrianna smoothed out her apron, watching to see if the Khajiit man took a liking to her suggestions. He finally smiled at her, "Thank you. That should do quite nicely. And if I am in ever the need of weapons or armor, I'll be sure to look you up. Gods know these tattered clothes of mine aren't something that can aid in battle." He bowed slightly turning to head further into the city.
It took a moment for the Warmaiden to gain her composure from the meeting, but called after the supposed warrior, "Um, what is your name? If I am to do future business with you, I'd like to know."
The beast man turned only a bit, glancing at her, "The name is Alastair Katzen. Trust me, the name shall become very well known around here. I will make sure of that." Without another word, the Khajiit headed off, paying the blacksmith no further mind.
Vilkas stumbled into Jorrvaskr, blood dripping from a deep wound. There was no one else in the Hall and he collapsed into a heap near the fire pit. His latest mission had not gone to plan; he probably should have taken one of the others. However, he didn't even consider an Assassin from the Dark Brotherhood to show up among the Silver Hand. The only logical explanation he could make was that one of the Silver Hand members were marked by the Brotherhood as well as the Companions. By the time Vilkas had gotten into the main chamber of the hideout, all the Silver Hand was dead and the Assassin was just leaving. The murderer clearly didn't want any witnesses and had charged the warrior. Vilkas knowing what he was up against decided to take no chances and had transformed into the Wolf. The two fought for what seemed like hours, both injuring the other. Most of the attacks from the Assassin did little to faze him, until the blade stabbed him deep in the gut. The blow had ended his transformation and the Assassin took the chance to escape. 'At least I managed to severely wound her, one less murderer on the streets…'
'Where..are they?!' His brain was riddled with agony and he tried desperately to crawl, to find one of his Shield Siblings. He began to consider the blade was poisoned by the Assassin, but pushed the thought back as quickly as he considered it. He couldn't think like that, not now. He was a Companion, he would get through this. He would not be made inferior by a coward who hung in the shadows.
The sound of the door opening lifted the man's hopes. One of his brethren would see him and help him. Using every bit of strength he had remaining, he turned his broken body to look up at who entered into the building. Vilka's smile soon faded from his face, realizing it was not one of his Companions. It was a Khajiit, a rather large Khajiit, who bore an almost sinister grin on his muzzle. The feline bent down, balancing itself on padded feet.
"What have we got here? A bruised and battered Nord it seems. Some throw away bandits get the better of you, hm?" Vilkas did not answer a mix between lack of energy and unsure what the Khajiit was planning. For all the Nord knew, this cat was an Assassin as well, sent to finish the job of the other. No witnesses.
Alastair caught the suspicion in the eyes of the Nord; at least the human was cautious. "I'm not going to kill you, but you need attention. Unless you rather wait for one of your own to help you, I'm all you got. Normally, I wouldn't assist the likes of you. But, I wish to get into your little establishment here. I help you, you help me. Sound simple?"
Vilkas nodded through clenched teeth, not too pleased with how the cat worded his offer of help. There was an underlining of malice there, that much was obvious, but what other choice to he have? He closed his eyes as he felt the Khajiit grab hold of him, slinging one of his arms around the board furry shoulders. Vilkas weakly pointed to the staircase leading to the quarters of the Companions, hoping his helper didn't need any further instruction.
When his tired body felt the soft comfort of a bed, he sighed a bit from relief. Opening his eyes only he bit, he looked about the room. The Khajiit had placed him in his brother's room, but that was alright. It didn't matter what bed he was in at this point. He turned his head to the sound of rustling, catching sight of Tilma pouring hot water into a bowl. Dipping a cloth into the warm liquid she turned to Vilkas.
"Ah, I see you managed to wake up a bit, I didn't even know you were lying about upstairs injured! Good thing that nice Khajiit found you. All your brethren are out at one of the farms, taking care of a Giant problem."
"Tilma, did you catch my rescuer's name?"
"Of course I did, dear, his name is Alastair. Quite charming really and very polite for a Beast. He's speaking with Kodlak right now. He wishes to join the Companions."
Vilkas laid his head back down onto the bed and as he closed his eyes he could still see the sneer the Khajiit had upon his face. There was something very dark about this man, but right now Vilkas could do little to voice this. The Khajiit had helped him and the others would see it as a kind gesture and welcome him into the fold of the Companions. Their group held honor and fellowship above all else, but this cat had none of that. The Nord could tell, this Alastair was all in it for personal gain. Whatever gain that maybe, conquest, money, fame, Vilkas had no idea.
Tilma finished cleaning the wound and headed out of the dimly lit room. The man laid upon his bed, staring up at the ceiling. What was this Khajiit after? Surely he didn't know the dark secret that plagued the Companions. Not even the long term residents of Whiterun knew and it was best that they didn't. If the citizens knew what the inner workings of the Companions really were, they would be banished or killed.
Vilkas was just about to doze off into slumber when he felt another presence in his room. He knew it was this Alastair but didn't bother to open his eyes. "What do you want? You got what you wanted. You are in the Companions. Of course I'll find out why you wanted to join us so badly. I sense no honor within you."
The Khajiit pretended to be hurt by the Nord's words, but smirked all the same, "Is your entire race so untrusting of mine? Would you prefer I join up with one of the Caravans? I assure you, I have more potential than that." Alastair stroked the fur on his chin, leaning on the door frame. The awkward silence was incredibly loud and it made Vilkas quite nervous. Taking a deep breath, be broke the quiet, "And what are you good at Khajiit? Your kind is usually gifted with thievery and smuggling."
"I advise you to call me Alastair, after all, I'm in your merry little band now. No need to be so disrespectful, Vilkas. And while yes, I am Khajiit, I was raised by Altmer. Oh, you appear shocked. However, I'm not surprised. Recent times have made many weary of the High Elves as well. But, I will tell you now not to speak ill of my parents. Good folk. Thanks to them I received the best possible education. But, my real talent was in combat. "Alastair suddenly became quiet, his ears folding a bit back and slight sorrow was etched on his face. "Not like it did a lot of good though."
The human caught the saddened tone finally opening his eyes at the Khajiit. "Why? What happened?" Despite asking these questions, Vilkas had a feeling he already knew the answer. Maybe this man wasn't as bad as he first thought. But, Alastair didn't go into a further detail, just merely left the room and Vilkas. The Nord supposed he couldn't blame the other, they had just met, and some things were best not discussed on first meetings. In time, perhaps, the Khajiit would tell more of the story.
A figure collapsed at the eerie black door, her blood drenched hand making a handprint upon it. Mustering all the strength she had, she managed to push it open. All over her body there were scratches and they were deep. In hindsight, she should have been proud of herself. Going up against one of the Companion Werewolves and managing to make it this far, yet the thought did little to ease the immense agony she was in. She just hoped her sharpened Ebony dagger ended the canine's life. She never liked those 'hero' types. Her vision began to blur as she made it to the parlor room of the Sanctuary, her sensitive ears picking up talking further in. Hopefully one of her Family would come this way and find her, she lacked the strength to call out for them.
Her eyelids gave in and closed shut, blackness taking over her. Surely this was it; surely she had entered the Void to meet the Dread Father. Killed by a damn dog.