Hello readers! This is a spin-off of my other tale, "Khajiit Guards Your Back", and I'd like to clarify that you DO NOT have to read that story before this, or visa-versa. The two stories are completely separate! If you'd like, the other story is available on my profile. Now without further ado, please enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Contract

The cold hostility of Skyrim's forth era. There were whispers of war, warnings of dragons, and in the Nordic stronghold of Windhelm, these were beginning to get heated. The men were desperate, the women trusted no one, and the need for a clean-cut rogue to clean up the dirty laundry was at its boiling point.

Word traveled quickly in the underground whispers of the Windhelm gossip that an independent thief had set up commissions in town. Only the well-off knew of her location—and only the truly desperate sought her help. Tonight on this late Fredas evening was the one and only opportunity to seek her out, and only one Nord was daring enough to do it. All the rest were either too scared or too proud. The bar was crowded with the usual drunken rabble, the windows were sealed, and a single room remained open in the back with only one occupant inside.

The door opened and quickly as it was shut. Only the silhouettes of both parties were visible under the crack of pale moonlight. The one sitting at the table swished their long black tail back and forth, and most of their body and face was covered by a dark hood that retained their identity.

A sack of jingling coin was slammed on the table. "I hear you're Swiftpaw."

The character sitting at the table leaned back in the chair, "Some call me that."

A sack of jingling coin was thrown on the table by confident Nord. The Khajiit didn't bat an eye.

"…And what is this?" she asked, her face remaining concealed but her tone as sharp as a piercing dagger.

"Your down payment. I seek your services."

Swiftpaw laughed and lounged in the chair, putting her boots up on the table and curiously resting her fingers under her chin. "I offer many services, stranger. What I can offer you rests solely on what you're seeking."

There was no other chair for the client to sit, so he remained standing and leaned in to the other side of the table. "I need you to seek out information for me. And after that, I want you to steal."

"And which comes first?" Swiftpaw replied coyly.

"I need you to gather Intel on somebody, tell me what you know, and then rip anything else valuable from under his sweaty hands."

Swiftpaw sat back upright in her chair and rested her arms on the table, "I can do this. Who is the person in mind?"

The client shook his head, "Wait, I have a few questions first."

"Ha! Of course you do. Make them quick. My time is valuable."

"Everybody says you work alone, but I am no fool. So tell me upfront—who is your boss?"

"You are a fool to insinuate." Swiftpaw said adamantly. "I work for no one. It would be wise for you, Fenrik, to learn not to question those you ask for help. It could save you your head one day."

The man gasped in a surprised panic. His once smart and arrogant voice had now slipped into fear and worry. "How do you know my name?!"

"I do not do business with strangers. I am a thief of honor. Too long had I done contracts for the Thieves Guild for slimy clients who wanted to worsen the lives of the poor. I put that all behind me. I am the best thief in Skyrim—and you will do well to remember that before you question me or my motives ever again. Are we clear?"

Swiftpaw could hear Fenrik's gulp from across the room. She had him hanging by the nails on his toes. She learned a long time ago that she didn't deserve to take disrespect from anybody who was paying her. She knew she was the best; she didn't need to help any of the Windhelm fools. She came out of the generosity of her heart and the loneliness of her empty pocket. Fenrik gave a meager nod and mumbled to Swiftpaw, "We're clear…ma'am."

"Good. Now tell me about the target."

Hesitantly, Fenrik waved his finger once more, "Before that…I have one last question."

Swiftpaw glared her striking yellow eyes. If he didn't get the message, she would kick him out the door. But she was a polite Khajiit, so she decided to give him once more chance. "…Very well."

"There's no beating around the question I suppose." He said calmly. He leaned in closer and whispered very plainly and straight-forward, "…Do you kill?"

Swiftpaw remained calm, "No. If you want murder, go burn some candles."

"Just thought I'd ask."

The idea of murder sickened her to the very core. Taking material possessions was a frivolous job she did to make ends meets—but taking a human's life was against everything she held dear. She may be a thief, but her parents taught her to value the virtues of the Divines above all others. No matter what, she would never fault on those truths.

Fenrik sat up straight in his chair. This is obviously his attempt at making an impression, not that it made an ounce of difference, but it was entertaining to see him squabble. "His name…is Traven Strong-Heart."

"Strong-Heart? You Nords and your surnames…" Swiftpaw commented, though she didn't let on as much as he knew. She recognized the name well. While she herself had never heisted them, she heard stories during her days at the Thieves Guild of the Strong-Heart's reputation in the hold, and the father's heavy financial influence on the rise of the High King. They were well off, but she had no intention of telling Fenrik this information just yet.

"Well, I need this one squashed out." Fenrik responded, "He's a new student at the Ysgramor Academy. He's stirring up controversy, and I need to find out his weakness so I can make him shut up. For good."

"I thought I told you— I won't get a man killed. I'm not in the business of death."

Fenrik shook his head rapidly in haste like a worried little child, "No, I don't need him dead, I need him gone. But that isn't any of your concern—I just need to know something I can use. What happens after that isn't your responsibility."

This proposition Fenrik was presenting before her wasn't he most idea situation—but Swiftpaw chose to go with it. At the end of the day, she had little interest in the petty politics of the Nords; this was a situation where she only wanted the coin.

Fenrik continued, "I need you to get close to Traven. Talk to him, see what his motives are and what goes through his head. Once you're in, you're to investigate his weak spot. Bring all this information to me, and then I'll have you swipe anything he values in order to keep his mouth shut. It'll be a warning."

"I am a thief, Nord, not a con-artist." Swiftpaw hissed. Her patience with this fool was slowly thinning. "Stealing in Phase 2—fine. But what in the world makes you think that me—" Swiftpaw slammed her sharpened claws on the delicate wood, "—a Khajiit with sharp deadly claws and piercing yellow eyes, will be able to get close with a political Nord attending the Ysgramor Academy? It's not possible. So, once again, you've come to the wrong Khajiit."

"You don't understand!" Fenrik demanded, "It's because you are a cat that I—"

Swiftpaw interrupted forcefully, "KHAJIIT. We are not your house cats. We are PEOPLE."

"–FINE, Khajiit!" Fenrik grunted, "You are the perfect infiltrator to get what I need. It has to be you."

"Explain yourselves."

Sweat was pouring down Fenrik's pathetic face and the intensity of the conversation was making his face swell up with blood. "I can't. Not yet. I have the whole plan set up—you're going to pretend to be a beggar. This guy is a goody two-shoes, it won't be hard to earn his sympathy. It won't be difficult—you just have to trust me."

Swiftpaw wasn't happy about having secrets kept from her, but this was the best she was going to get out of this snake and she knew it. She decided to change the subject, "Let's talk about coin."

Fenrik gestured to the coin purse on the table, "That has 1,000. I'll get you another 4,000 when the job is done."

Swiftpaw smirked, "You're asking me to work outside of my usual zone. It'll be double. 2,000 up front, 10 when finished."

"You can't be serious!"

"You want the job done, you pay my price. That is my answer."

Fenrik slammed his fist on the table angrily, "No! You will not haggle with me! I'm the one with the upper hand here cat, so you'll do it my way or—"

Swiftpaw had heard enough. Like a deer leaping from the hunter's arrow, she shed the hood from her face and leaped into the air, doing a spin the air before landing behind Fenrik and kicking his legs so he collapsed on the floor. She grabbed him by his shirt collar and held a dagger straight to his throat. She had him trembling on the wooden floor.

She hissed sharply in his ear, "I thought I told you never to call me that again, Nord."

Fenrik was shaking. Swiftpaw could see his wrinkly eyes practically bulging out of his head. She remained speechless, and Swiftpaw was done with his games. "Now," she whispered, "You're going to put another 1,000 Septims on that table, or I'll strip you of everything you own."

Fenrik did as she said, and slowly reached into his pocket and took out another nicely wrapped coin purse. Swiftpaw snatched the entire thing. She loosened the dagger's grip, "Good. I'd be happy to accept your proposition. Now, GET OUT."

"Swiftpaw, I—"

"—And my name, is Kiara."

The grip on Fenrik was released and he slammed onto the ground, quickly scrambling to his feet and running out the door as fast as he could.

The commotion caused the inn-keeper and several other curious wonderers scramble into the empty room… but nobody was inside.