19th of Frostfall, 4E 202

A loud splash sounded from the White River as the young adult Argonian dove in. Ice floes shimmered far above him as he swam deep into the cold waters running through Windhelm. In his sights a salmon jerked away from his grasps. The Argonian narrowed his beady eyes in aggravation, and with a quick swipe of his tail, he lunged deeper into the inky liquid. The midday sunlight barely lit the glittering scales, and Scouts-Many-Marshes quickly threw his arm out to snatch the fish. He swam up to the surface triumphantly, to see Shahvee and Stands-In-Shallows watching him bemused from the docks. He shook his ram curled horns and navy plume of feathers, the water quickly starting to numb his scales. Hoisting himself onto the nearest Nord ship, he tossed the fish onto a pile that had grown to five salmon. Panting lightly, he turned to see Neetrenaza eying him scornfully; a common trait among his bitter comments.

"Scouts-Many-Marshes, you expect to feed all of us on those meager salmon?" Neetrenaza growled.

"At least I attempt to get some good done! All you do is complain about the Nords!" he spat out angrily, "Besides complaining, why don't you talk to Torbjorn?" Neetrenaza curled his lip in disgust at the rhetorical solution; if Argonians were allowed in the city, he would have.

"Whatever...I'll tell Shahvee and Stands-In-Shallows that we have something to eat tonight." Neetrenaza twirled around and left the soaking Argonian alone by the salmon. Scouts-Many-Marshes shook his head and looked out over the rushing currents of the White River. On the far bank he could see Hollyfrost Farm and as the land sloped up, the Windhelm Stables. Running a scaly dark green hand over his plume of feathers, he could faintly see a large dark horse galloping up towards the small establishment. A small rider bobbed in the saddle, but the lizard couldn't see much detail from his spot on the wooden vessel. Probably just another noble, he thought coldly before returning to his work.

Krii wiped the frost from her whiskers as she rode Night-Mare up to the stables, the long ride from Whiterun finally over. Plumes of hot breath rose from the draft horse's nose as she clambered out of the saddle shakily, and walked around to it's back legs. A long glistening scar graced the horse's flank, evidence of the sabre cat that had ambushed them halfway through the journey. Grabbing the horse's bridle and summoning a Grand Healing spell, she watched the wound scab over quickly, earning her an appreciate snort. Krii approached the stables with the mare, sauntering up to the Altmer stable-hand, known as Ulundil. Though she disliked high elves, and he would be sarcastic with her, he was nicer than most Altmer, and held pleasant company.

"Ulundil," she nodded her head in greeting, "Would you take care of her please? It has been a long journey for both of us."

"Ah, yes I would my Khajiit friend. Have you traveled all night again?" Ulundil led the horse into a spare stall and closed the door to face her.

She nodded tiredly, "Yes, we left Whiterun about nine. We would've been here by twelve, but we ran into a sabre cat. Is Candlehearth Hall open this late?"

The elf nodded, working in the torch light to give the large horse food and drink, "Yes, I believe Elda is still awake, if not than Susana will be. Those sabre cats ambush most people on the way from here to Whiterun, if you didn't travel at night you'd probably avoid them. If you weren't as handy with that sword, you'd be in a bad way." a faint humor was in his voice and she rummaged through her satchel for Septims.

"I like the darkness, and besides, for each time my horse gets hurt you earn a hundred Septims." she smiled faintly, "Thank you Ulundil, I'll be leaving in a few days. Take this for now."

Krii turned away and then walked towards the huge stone arches of Windhelm's entrance. The guards watched her eerily, and as Krii neared the doors into the city, one drew his sword, "By order of Jarl Ulfric, stop right there Khajiit! Merchants aren't allowed in the city."

Krii pulled her shrouded hood back, "I don't think Ulfric would say such a thing about the Dragonborn. I believe this had been established? If not, I'd be more than happy to show you a shout. Maybe my favorite one, krii lun aus?*" she hissed darkly. Krii's Dark Brotherhood armor was reveling in her deadly aura; and her daedric sword was still glistening from the sabre cat's blood.

The guard's companion scoffed at him, and looked at the cat, "Sorry Dragonborn, he's a new recruit. He's just following orders." she explained embarrassed before nudging his side.

The Stormcloak guard lowered his sword and stared at the Khajiit incredulously, "The Dragonborn?My apologies, please pass right on through."

Krii strutted past them icily, her pale blue eyes fixed on the sleepy city. A few beggars warmed themselves by the braziers in front of the famous Inn and snow drifts swirled around her. They stung her deep facial scars as she scanned her surroundings rigidly. Making her way to Candlehearth Hall, the soot furred Khajiit quietly stepped inside. The smell of cold mead, lit wax candles, and fresh food hit her nose and she breathed in appreciatively. Susana the Wicked brushed a pile of dirt near the stairway, and a few residents were perched in the stools. Krii walked up to the counter and ordered some mead, sipping on the warming liquid, tail flicking contentedly.

Two men sitting next to her were chatting idly and she honed her ears on the conversation, "If they weren't so handy I'd have them on the next boat to Black Marsh, but I'm stuck with either them or the those Dark Elves." His friend nodded knowingly and Krii focused her attention at the remaining amber liquid in her tankard.

The two glanced at her quickly and continued hushed. Krii listened lazily, her senses becoming drowned and foggy. She briefly heard about the docks, and after ordering another mead, the two men left. She downed the second mug before the alcohol's sting could make her gag, and then paid Elda Early-Dawn a fistful of gold coins. In her room she quickly closed the door and plopped down on the straw sack. Soft sounds from a lute upstairs drifted through the floorboard cracks to her ears, and she listened happily, Luaffyn, yes that's her name, right? She wondered meekly. The Khajiit feel asleep as The Dragonborn Comes played, and chuckled lightly in her half-consciousness.

~~~~This was re-uploaded because they were some minor chinks that needed buffing out. Like Torsten being changed to Torbjorn (but hey, Skyrim had A LOT of names), plus I smoothed out some areas. Please R&R.

*krii lun aus is the shout Marked for Death, and the origin of the Dovahkiin's name which will later be explained. It means, kill leech suffer in English.

-19th of Frostfall, 4E 202 is equivalent to November 19th, (roughly)