Disclaimer! All characters, lore, spells, geography and beasts are owned by Bethesda apart from those I created myself.

Chapter 1

The Khajiit dodged Liric's blade by nimbly darting to the side. Expecting a retaliation, Liric quickly brought his sword back into ready position and held it there. He quickly brushed his black hair from his green eyes, their piercing gaze never leaving the stalking cat. They circled each other, Liric's slim yet strong build against the Khajiit's agile body. His Breton blade pulsed softly with magic, slightly distracting his opponent. Seeing the gap he needed, Liric swiftly struck again. The Khajiit knocked the blade aside with its steel mace and swung at his head. Liric dropped to the ground and rolled away, coming to his feet in a smooth motion. The Khajiits mouth twisted into a grotesque grin.

"You're almost as fast as me, Nord," it growled to him.

"That's not too hard, pussycat."

His retort enraged the Khajiit into a frenzied attack. Its mace came from all directions as it rushed at Liric. Laughing, he easily parried and deflected its wild swings with his enchanted sword. The Khajiits face was twisted into a mask of hatred, its eyes glaring at him.

Oh no, thought Liric, his eyes.

Liric felt his muscles seize as the Khajiits Eye of Feartook hold of him. In their depths, he saw his own savage death; being torn to pieces while he was still screaming. All he wanted to do was flee, to put as much distance between him and this horror as he could.

Suddenly a wealth of images flooded his mind. He saw his upbringing, the harsh life of the hardy nords. He saw his father and mother's faces. He saw their faces as the daedric blades plunged into their chests. In the depths of his mind he screamed, screamed for revenge.

At his side, his sword exploded into light. The fear left him and he let loose with a savage attack. Unlike the Khajiits rage, his sword strokes fell more accurately, the rage being replaced by a cold determination. In a desperate defense, the cat raised its mace to ward off Liric's next attack. Blood matted its tawny fur, originating from dozens on wounds and its eyes took on a wild, cornered look. Without hesitation, Liric slashed its mace hand off.

The Khajiit screamed and yowled as more blood gushed. It stuck the stump of its arm into its fur. Liric watched coldly as his opponent dropped to its knees before him. After a while, its screams softened into whimpers and it managed to rasp, "W-Who are you to defeat-t me? Who are you… to match the speed of a Khajiit? Who are you to o-overcome my Eye of Fear? Who are you?"

"Liric Dragonblade."

The Khajiits eyes widened in recognition. Its eyes darted to Liric's sword, the light that had filled it dimming before its keen eyes.

"A worthy opponent, then," it sighed before it slumped to the ground, dead. Killed by loss of blood.

Liric studied the assassin's corpse for a few moments before turning away, deep in thought. This was a highly skilled assassin. There were few people who had the money to hire such skills and of that select group, only a couple wanted Liric dead. That left two people. The first was a skooma dealer by the name of Weebam-Tal, an Argonian. The second was a noble in Chorrol. Liric had never discovered his name. He had been attacked by an assassin such as this one a few years ago. The only thing the assassin carried had been a note and 200 septims. The note had the assassins orders neatly written on it and at some point it had been named. Where the name had once been, had been charred by fire. All Liric had been able to make out were the words, 'Chorrol.'

Clearing his head of thoughts, Liric rolled the corpse over and grimly shifted through the pockets of its leather jerkin. It was a grisly business but it was necessary. He found a handful of septims, a bottle of skooma and a half-chewed hunk of bread.

"So he was a skooma addict?" mused Liric out loud, pocketing the septims, "That would suggest Weebam-Tal. But Khajiits and Argonians hate each other. I can't imagine one working for the other, even if it was professional. And he doesn't look like Dark Brotherhood material. If he were, I would probably be dead."

His looting done, Liric pulled the body off the road and into the bushes. No point in worrying the guard, he thought. He took a deep breath and checked his surroundings. They seemed unfamiliar after the fight. Rolling hills spread out in all directions covered in lush grass and dotted with tall evergreens. In the far distance, the mountains of the Colovian Highlands could be seen, blue from the shadow. Large boulders and shrubs lined the road.

I should be somewhere between the Gold Coast and the West Weald, he thought to himself, Couldn't hurt to check though.

He pulled his map of Cyrodiil from his pack and laid it out on the road. From his surroundings and the details on his map, he placed himself nearly at Skingrad, heading along the Gold Road from Kvatch.

Kvatch.

The very name brought back a flood of memories. Due to the recent Oblivion crisis, Kvatch had been utterly destroyed. The survivors had been rebuilding for the past four years and were only halfway through the arduous task. He had briefly visited and stayed at the newly built inn, The Savage Minotaur.

Shaking his head, he stood, squared his shoulders and continued on along the Gold Road.

The West Weald Inn had a clean and healthy atmosphere. Boisterous groups of people chattered with tankards of ale and mead held in their hands, roaring with laughter and mirth. A group of minstrels played well-known songs of the time and had half the customers singing along with them. Serving girls moved back and forth handing grog out by the bucketload.

Liric sat alone at a table in the corner humming along to each tune, nursing a tankard of mead, paid for by the coins he had found on the assassin's body. His foot tapped in time to the beat, sometimes jingling coins in his purse. He had always like Skingrad, despite the narrow streets. It had an air to it that somehow managed to cheer him greatly. He no longer thought of his encounter earlier, he simply allowed himself to enjoy the night.

The patrons paid him no mind as they mingled with each other, their voices getting louder as they downed more and more grog. The atmosphere started to become strained and awkward and numerous shouting matches broke out.

Ah, that time already? thought Liric as he watched the minstrels hastily retire to their homes, Best get up to my room before the fights break out.

He pushed himself to his feet and started off towards the stairs. The sound of heavy blows sounded behind him and numerous crashes could be heard. A large press of people started in the centre, all shouting and cheering as two men laid into each other with their fists. The door banged open to admit three guards just as Liric slipped upstairs. The guards proceeded to break up the fight and turned the patrons out into the street. In all the mayhem, no one noticed a lone figure silently follow Liric upstairs.