The Keys of Khagemar

Chapter I – Hush, the Lightning Arrow

"Oh great moon gods, Jode and Jone, twins of fate and luck - let your winds be gentle and your skies be heavy, let there be a blanket of leaves to track the Antlered One as did my forefathers, and grant that this one finds him with antlers like a tree, branches wide and mighty. Grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and the flight of my arrow swift." The Khajiit whispered to himself, kneeling on the grassy earth of the Falkreath forest.

It was a prayer, one that marked the beginning of his hunt. A mantra that the Khajiit would recite to appease the gods. After all, they were the ones who decided the outcome of his hunts. No matter how irrefutable his skill was with a bow, Hush knew that luck factored into every arrow he fired. These were decided by the gods themselves, the direction of the wind, the appearance of prey, the evidence of their tracks.

He'd long ago left the safety of the town; it was at least a full day's walk from the comfort of warm beds and frothing mead in Falkreath's tavern. But it was no matter to him. The innkeeper had asked a favour of him, rather than coin, in return for room and board. She had asked Hush for fresh meat, preferably wild venison. Apparently, their usual shipment of meat from a butcher in Markarth hadn't arrived. It was over four days late, and she'd begun to worry.

Jarl Siddgeir had dispatched a group of guards to comb its trade route, look for signs of the missing shipment. The prize cuts were the Jarl's favourite, so it was no surprise that he would want to know what had happened to the steaks and fine cuts.

Hush had obliged. If he could get onto the innkeepers good side, she may offer him a discount of some kind – or at least a free tankard of ale.

In truth, Hush knew that it was the best time of year for a deer hunt. The turning leaves cast a golden orange glow on the ground; the air was crisp and kept him alert. There was a fresh smell in the air that made him think of home. Anyone who hasn't hunted could understand the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline of losing that arrow and hearing it 'thunk' into a beast's body. Hush believed it was to do with the primal instinct that every person had in them, back when civilisation was almost non-existent.

In those days, you had to hunt in order to survive. Of course, there were berries and nuts and grasses which the women gathered. But the real food came from the hunters, who were men. They had to be out hunting every single day, risking their lives to bring back a prize. It made Hush feel like he was reconnecting to his ancestor's primitive origins whenever he went hunting, back to his natural self, away from all the artificial restraints of modern life. He could already feel like his more primal, untamed self was coming out.

It was exhilarating.

As he stood, lifting his bow to feel its reassuring weight, his mind returned to reality. He had to focus, especially if he wanted to bring back a true prize, like an elk or large deer. The bigger, the better. He'd skin it and haul it back to his campsite about a quarter-of-a-mile away. From there, he could return to Falkreath to ask a few guards to help him haul it back into town.

He'd set up snares for rabbits, surrounded by tasty oats to lure it in. He'd placed around a dozen between Falkreath and his temporary campsite like a trail of breadcrumbs to retrieve on his way back to the settlement. They were an unreliable way to catch rabbits, but any they were able to catch would make a nice bonus to the elk Hush hoped to down. In the worst case scenario, he'd have to return to Falkreath without a prize deer, but the rabbit snares would ensure he wouldn't return completely empty-handed.

Hush set off at a brisk pace, weaving between trees, his stance bent and low. He stayed close to the ground, hoping to find fresh tracks or dung on the ground. His ears were pricked. They twitched, searching for any rustling noises in the undergrowth of the woodland. His eyes were wide, darting about for indicators of movement or touches of colour that were out of place. The wilderness was a chaotic place, but it still adhered to unspoken rules. For example, if leaves had been disturbed by the careless footsteps of an elf, their edges would be crumpled or otherwise bent into strange shapes.

His first clue came from his nose. A smell rushed into his sensitive nostrils, like the earthy scent of a young doe or other such animal. Hush followed the scent to a tree trunk a few dozen metres away. The smell was far more intense on the bark. Clearly, the prey had rubbed its flank against the great oak to mark the edges of its territory, or to show dominance.

Hush bent down, and placed a tentative finger onto the ground, there was the clearly defined shape of an elk's hoof-print. The Khajiit smirked and looked up from the print and around him. It was close. The prey was nearby, unaware of its doom.

He heard a twig snap somewhere in the distance, and his eyes snapped to look at where it had come from, but his vision was obstructed by a slope. He'd have to climb it. Hush sniffed the air as he slowly walked; hunched over like a predator, bow at the ready in front of him. He could smell something metallic too, like iron. But he was too far from Falkreath for it to be the forge, not to mention the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. It could only mean one thing.

Blood.

As he approached the top of the slope, and his eyes ventured over the crest of the upward slant, Hush cold make out nothing but the forest. Firs and oaks as far as the eye could see. But he sniffed again, discovering the smell was stronger this time. He was missing something. He looked left, then right. His eyes widened.

"Alkosh have mercy..." He muttered, his combat-stance falling away.

It was the elk, but it wasn't alive. Not anymore, although clearly it had been. Recently too, if the fresh blood dripping from its slashed belly was anything to go by. The animal was impaled on a low branch of a tree, as if struck by a great force or carried and speared onto the limb of the trunk.

"This was no accident." Hush realised. "What hunter would do this?"

They wouldn't, what was the point? No arrow or blade could have slashed the dead creature so gruesomely. Its belly was ripped open, and its guts swung between its legs. A disgusting carcass presented like some kind of trophy, but Hush knew of no game hunter who could even do such a thing after a kill, waste a prime elk like this one.

It hadn't been skinned, or harvested in any way, simply slaughtered. Brutally, too. This wasn't the work of any man or mer, leaving only one answer.

A monster.

"Damn." Hush whispered, nocking an arrow to his bow, pulling his bowstring back slightly. He whipped around; his ears pricked for any noises that would indicate any sign of the killer.

When he found none, and after waiting a long minute in abject silence, Hush let his bowstring go slack and returned the arrow to his quiver. The Khajiit looked back to the corpse of the elk. If he could examine the clues, work out how the elk had died, Hush might be able to figure out exactly what monster had slain it – or narrow down the pool of suspects into a few prime contenders, at the very least.

Placing his bow against the trunk of a nearby tree, he peered more closely at the wounds on the elk's belly. It was a clean slice. The blow had been by something with very sharp claws, and judging by the depth of the laceration, an inordinate amount of strength. Strength and size went together like wine and cheese. So whatever had done this was big. Hush gathered that he shouldn't allow himself to get too close to the monster when he found it, or when it found him. One well-connected strike from the beast would cut clean through even the strongest armour, and he only wore leather to protect his vital organs.

Next, Hush examined the branch the carcass had been impaled onto. There wasn't much he could gather from it, but he knew one thing. Judging from how far the elk had been pushed onto the branch, the monster had done it deliberately. And the elk itself hadn't been consumed at all. The kill wasn't for food, it was for pleasure. The fact that the carcass was strung up too, like some sick trophy, indicated that this was a warning or a show of force. This area of the forest belonged to the monster. The elk was here to emphasise the point.

Clearly, there was some intelligence here. Not sufficient to show that the creature was sentient, but enough to demonstrate that this kill had been for pleasure, not necessity.

And the smell too, mixed in with the blood and rotting meat, there was something else – something even more pungent. Hush glanced at the stump of the tree and found his answer. A tuft of hair, not belonging to the elk. The colour was different.

It was a far lighter shade. Whilst the elk's fur was a darker shade of brown, so dark it was almost black; whereas this fur was lighter, more akin to the colour umber than brown.

Hush had it narrowed down to two possible suspects. Judging from the size and strength demonstrated by the creature, as well as the colour of fur, he believed it could only be an adolescent lycanthrope or an older Forest Troll. Both were dangerous in their own right, but the Khajiit knew that the full moon was still at least eight days away. So it had to be the former.

He was almost certain, but one thing got in the way of his judgement.

The impalement of the elk onto the branch. It just didn't make sense. It was as if someone or something had hung it there as a perverted trophy of some kind. Trolls were renowned for their hunting ability, but also for their stupidity. Everything else added up, except for that. Hush shook his head. Even if it defied logic, he had learned to go with his gut instinct. Perhaps this Troll was simply an anomaly, more intelligent due its advanced age.

The Khajiit growled at his loss for ideas, but he would have to settle for it. A Troll was his best lead until he could tell otherwise. Hush scanned the ground around the tree for any sign of the monster's tracks. It didn't take long, as Hush quickly discovered there were several large footprints leading away from the elk carcass. The Khajiit followed the trail for a few minutes before he heard a distant shouting from the east, directly where the tracks had been going. The shouting was distinctly human, and Hush raced after it. The sounds were ones of panic and agony. It seemed the troll had discovered a more appealing prey to hunt. The Khajiit grimaced as he sprinted through the woodland, as silently but as swiftly as he could manage.

A roar drowned out the screaming. It was animalistic. Deep and savage, Hush couldn't be certain if it was a roar of victory or anger. But it confirmed his suspicions; this monster was a Troll.

As he drew closer, he thought on the tomes he had read about the creatures. He knew from multiple books and from previous experience with the savage beasts that they were susceptible to fire, but Hush didn't know any spells, despite telling himself repeatedly to learn some one day as a last-resort defence if he was ever bested in close quarters. Hush damned his tardiness and procrastination, but there was no time to dwell on such things - lives were in danger.

He wracked his brain for anything else he could recall about the monsters. Regeneration abilities helped them survive even the greatest of wounds inflicted on them. They could only by killed by an overwhelming amount of force before their healing factor could aid them, or by precise strikes - either to the heart, brain or other similarly vital organ.

His train of thought was left behind as he set his eyes on the creature for the first time. Indeed a Troll, the first thing he noticed about it was its size. The monster was easily twice the bulk of others of its kind. It was covered in scars and old wounds, and even had a couple of old, snapped arrow shafts buried into its back. It wore its wounds well, a clear testimony to the years it had lived and the fights it had won, against both man and beast.

A man continued to scream as the troll drew nearer to him. It seemed he was bound to a similar fate as the elk Hush had been tracking beforehand.

Without hesitating or stopping his sprint, Hush nocked an arrow to his bow and pulled back the bowstring until it was touching his cheek. He released his grip and the arrow soared through the air, embedding itself into the flank of the troll with a satisfying 'thump'.

The Troll roared in frustration rather than pain, and diverted its attention from the injured Falkreath guard to face him. The Troll began a charge towards Hush, but the Khajiit had another arrow at the ready by the time the creature's three beady eyes focused on the mercenary.

The second arrow soared through the air, closing the distance between the archer and the monster in no time at all. It flew straight into the Troll's third eye in the middle of its forehead. This time it did roar in pain and fury, all directed at Hush. And something must have made the creature realise that the archer wouldn't be able to win this fight, for it ran off deeper into the forest, presumably to return to its dwelling and lick its wounds.

Hush let it go. Partially due to the injured man needing his aid, and because he didn't have enough arrows to take on such a beast. He only had eight arrows left in his quiver for the time being. He'd come here to hunt rabbits and deer, not a damn Troll.

He also wanted to know if there was a bounty on the monster. The Khajiit felt confident that he would be able to best it, given that he had the correct supplies for the job. First, though, this man needed medical attention, or at least someone to comfort him as he passed on to the next world.

As soon as Hush was certain the monster was far away enough to breathe easy, the Khajiit focused his attention on the wounded guard. The usual grey-blue colour palette of his armour now stained with his own crimson blood. As Hush approached, he tried eyeing up how bad the man's wounds were, but was interrupted when the Guard suddenly drew a knife and pointed it straight at him, freezing the Khajiit in his tracks.

"Get back!" He screamed. "I'll kill you, I swear!"

Hush put up a placating palm as he padded closer. The man was losing a lot of blood, it was likely he'd be delirious.

His helmet was off, knocked away a swipe of the Troll, if the claw marks on his face were anything to go by. His eyes darted around frantically, as if expecting the monster to return at any moment. Hush was worried about his leg most of all though. Just below the knee of his right leg, there was nothing. It was gone. Only the bloody stump remained - the muscles and femur on full display.

"Stay back!" He screamed again, snapping the Khajiit out of his analysis. "I'm warning you, cat!"

Hush ignored the slur. He was all but too used to such racially motivated curses by now. The Nord was also probably in shock too, if his wounds were anything to go by. So the Khajiit would give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

"Calm down, friend, or your shouting will bring the beast back. And neither of us would want that, yes?"

As if realising his mistake for the first time, in response, the guard dropped the dagger to the ground and clamped his shaking hands over his mouth. His entire body trembled in terror and the rush of adrenaline, trying to suppress the pain of numerous wounds.

Hush kept a wary eye out as he bent down, removing his hooded cloak and wrapping it just above the severed appendage as a makeshift tourniquet. It wouldn't do well for very long, but if the Nord could survive long enough for the Khajiit to make it back to Falkreath with him, he just might stand a chance of surviving.

As he wrapped the cloak, Hush questioned the man for information about the Troll. Any and all knowledge could help him in this hunt. "What is your name, friend?" Hush asked, without looking at the man.

"Thaler." He whimpered through his clenched bloody fingers.

"Thaler, can you tell this one what you were doing out here?" Thaler winced as Hush finished applying the rudimentary tourniquet, tying a knot in the fabric to keep it from falling off as they made their way back to Falkreath.

"We were... looking for a shipment..." He replied, pain clear in his voice. Clearly, the adrenaline of being faced with certain death was wearing off.

"A shipment, hmm? In Troll territory? It must be an important delivery." The Khajiit chuckled, trying to distract the man with humour.

"Oh, Gods. They're... they're all dead, aren't they?" He seemed to be on the verge of tears, whether from despair or just the pain though, Hush couldn't know for certain.

"Yes, Thaler. It is likely. No one walks away from a Troll attack. Not even armed guards like your men." Hush responded.

But the Nord had barely heard him, instead looking around at the bloody cobblestones that were littered with body parts and gory fabric, broken weapons and tattered limbs.

"We thought that it was just a myth." He whispered. "A bedtime story to scare children into obeying their parents, or else the Great Forest Troll would snatch them from their beds at night and eat them."

"This one is familiar with such fairy tales." Hush nodded. "But there is always some truth to stories, no?"

"But it's real, don't you understand?!" He shouted at the Khajiit. "And it ripped them apart, that... thing." Thaler whispered, the events that he had witnessed unfolding again as if he was reliving them as he spoke. "It was just me, Thukmar and Ysgrit."

Then his eyes widened.

"He has a child on the way." His eyes snapped to stare at Hush, and the fear became all too apparent to the archer. "Thukmar – he was going to be a father... Gods, what am I going to say to Vorith?"

Hush's face softened. This was the part of his work that he hated. As a monster-slayer, there was always this unspoken rule that his guild followed.

It doesn't matter who posted the notice - the coin has to be right, that's all. His kind didn't debate about consequences. Their conscience plays no part in it; they just got on with it. They just pick up the coin pouch tossed at their feet and set off on their way. This wasn't what he saw often – the loss, the heartache and the anguish that the presence of a monster creates in people.

"This one..." Hush spoke softly. "He is sorry..."

The Nord grabbed Hush by the scruff of his shirt, pulling the Khajiit close to him. His clenched fist trembled, but not in fear now, just anger. Pure rage.

"Kill it." He growled. "Whatever it takes, I don't care. Just... avenge him, please..."

Thaler's grip went slack, his hand falling to the ground as his head lolled to the side. Hush looked at the man, already knowing he was dead. The Khajiit sighed, nodding. He would keep that promise, for Thaler. For a father that would never be, and for all those that the Troll had killed in its long life.

There was no time to return to Falkreath. There was no telling where the monster could strike next, but seeing as Hush had managed to shoot it in an eye, it was likely the Troll had returned to its lair. To lick its wounds and come back to full strength before returning to the forest to wreak havoc on whatever it saw.

No more lives would be lost today because of this creature.

Hush had to end this. Now.

He spared another look around him to survey the carnage this one monster had unfolded - the body parts and fresh blood soaking into the soil and the flies already buzzing over the still-warm bodies. Hush sighed, then strode off into the forest where the Troll had run, hoping that he'd find a fresh trail to follow.

VIIIIIV

It hadn't taken long.

The fleeing creature had left a trail of chaos in its wake as it had run from Hush after their confrontation. Branches were bent in an obvious trail, and the ground was scuffed by wide tracks, clearly marking where the monster had run.

The Khajiit bent down every so often to coat his fingers in the intermittent blood splatters that the Troll had left behind

He smelled the monster before he heard it, and then heard it before he laid on eyes on it. It's stench was a mix of the earthy ground as well as the blood it's mouth and fingers were covered by. It growled and grunted to itself from within its lair. The lair in question was a small cave hidden amidst some rocks and trees.

As Hush approached, he could easily make out the deep claw marks gouged into the bark of the tree-trunks. He put a gentle hand up to one of them, trying to get an idea of the monsters handspan, but grimaced when he realised how long this Troll's claws truly were - all fifteen inches, at least.

The light of the day quickly disappeared as the Khajiit ventured into the cave system, but his race's natural ability to see in low light granted him a crucial edge, and he barely noticed a difference between the two states. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, Hush slowly loaded it on his bow, but did not allow himself to draw the string back yet. He moved carefully. With purpose. To alert the Troll to his presence before he had a good shot on the creature would be a fatal error.

The hunter looked around the cave quickly, his eyes darting around as quickly as he could manage. As he searched for any sign of movement, his foot knocked quietly against something on the floor of the cave.

Hush glanced down, seeing a long thin object no longer than a short sword. He bent down to inspect it, believing it to be a branch or other such thing. He squinted, then realised his mistake. It was a femur, but too small to be a part of any of the guards who had been ambushed on the road. The white of the bone was clear against the cave floor, but the surface was caked in mud and blood, with bits and pieces of rotting flesh scattered nearby.

It was smaller than Hush had first thought too. The entire thing was only as long as his forearm, but this one was distinctly human. The Khajiit briefly concluded that the Troll must've ambushed and eaten a young woman on her way to or from Falkreath. But then he saw something else that changed his judgement again.

A child's doll, ragged and threadbare, lying a few feet away from the bone.

A child. The Troll had stolen and eaten a child.

The Khajiit suddenly became angry, his hand clenching into a fist. He growled in a primal way, turning to go deeper into the cave when a shape began shuffling forward from the shadows in front of him. The Troll. An enormous brute, its three beady black eyes focused on him, except for the centre one that Hush had already blinded. The shaft had been snapped off, but the tip clearly remained in the socket, and it moved as the eyeball swivelled around in the beast's head, wedging itself deeper in the beast's eye.

Hush smiled. Good, that meant it was in pain. And the more pain he could cause to the thing before he killed it, the better. A shame he only had seven arrows to use. Far from ideal, but enough to get it done.

The monster roared a challenge at the Khajiit, and Hush roared in turn.

"Come on, you son of a bitch!" He bellowed, drawing back the arrow mounted on his string, letting it fly, wedging itself into the flesh on the chest of the creature.

The Troll recoiled slightly, but soon charged at Hush, fangs bared in fury. The hunter rolled clear of the creature's deadly strike at the last possible moment, firing another arrow in the monsters back as he righted his posture and came out of the roll.

The Troll grunted in annoyance and rounded on Hush once more. It swung an arm in a back-handed motion, the force of the swipe knocking Hush into the air and crashing into the cave wall of the far side of the dwelling.

Hush grimaced in pain as he stood, the wind knocked from his lungs. He breathed carefully as he kept his eyes on the Troll, who beat its chest in triumph. The Khajiit was lucky it had hit him with the back of its massive paw, as its sharp claws would've made quick work of his leather cuirass had they been used instead.

The archer had lost his bow as he had been flung, his grip loosening on the weapon with the force of the impact. Growling, he snatched his dagger from its sheathe on the small of his back. The blade was more to be used for skinning game than self-defence, but the Khajiit didn't have many other options at this point.

He span it between his fingers for a few moments, getting a feel for its weight, wondering how much force he'd have to use to split the beasts belly open from throat to groin. He smiled at the thought of the monsters innards splayed out on the ground as it lay dying.

All he had to do was make the thought a reality. Easier said than done.

"This is for Thaler, you bastard." Hush said to it.

The Troll charged once more, but this time Hush was more than ready. He dove between its massive legs, catching it off-guard. Just as he'd hoped, the monster spun around to look for its prey but let its guard down in the process.

As it turned, Hush brought his dagger as high up as he could manage. He slashed the blade once in a horizontal fashion, putting as much effort into the slice as he could. Just as he hoped, the knife connected with the Troll's throat, tearing the flesh in two. A wide laceration formed in its neck, and the monster tried to screech in pain.

The only sound that emerged was a wet, sloppy gurgling as the brute flailed its arms around in a last ditch effort to injure its killer. But it had no such luck, quickly tiring from the blood loss and the floundering. Within a minute, the beast lay motionless on the cave floor. Hush sniffed then exhaled harshly. He scanned the room quickly for any signs of his lost bow.

Hush quickly located the Dwemer weapon, and he walked over to pick it up, wiping some dirt off of its limbs. Slinging the reclaimed weapon over his shoulder, Hush turned back to the corpse of the beast. The Troll that had murdered good men for a few slabs of meat. A creature that had stolen children from their families, only to be eaten and the remains left to be pecked at by rats and pests.

"Good riddance." He muttered, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small cave.

Hush weighed the skinning dagger in his hand, then gripped the handle. He drove the blade into the neck of the Troll and began sawing the flesh and muscle until he reached the spine. He broke the bone and continued to slice the flesh until the head rolled away from its body. He hefted it up by a clump of bloody fur to meet his gaze. Its lifeless eyes stared back at him; and a tongue flopped out the side of its disgusting mouth.

Hush's lips instinctively curled in disgust, and he let the head hang by his side. He stared at the decapitated body for a long moment. Then he kicked it in the stomach and left the way he'd come with every intention of going back to Falkreath.

VIIIIIV

The decapitated head of the Troll slammed onto the polished wooden floors of the Jarl's Hall with a wet thump. Hush stood motionless, his features hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, staring at the contorted face of the Jarl, a mixture of pleasure and disgust on his thin visage. The Khajiit could hear the guards around the room muttering to one another, but he paid them no mind.

"Congratulations, hunter." Siddgeir began, regaining the kind of composure fitting of a Jarl. "I'd like to extend my personal gratitude for bringing me such a trophy."

"This one would prefer a hefty coin pouch." Hush replied, his tone cold and detached.

The Jarl waved the statement away with a lazy movement of his wrist and a slight nod.

"Naturally." He agreed. "Though you must tell me how you managed to kill the beast. Many claimed it to be immortal, you see. Unkillable."

Hush remained quiet for a moment, standing completely still. After a few seconds had passed, he answered.

"There is no such thing as 'unkillable'. Only an idiot would claim such a thing." His tone remained impassive, but the words were clearly offensive to the Nord.

The Jarl sneered, his words turning venomous. Hush thought the look was rather unflattering on the young man's features, eliciting a small smirk of humour on his otherwise stony face.

"Watch your words, cat." He growled. "Do not forget you stand in my hall with my permission – which can be revoked, at any moment, I'll remind you. Call me an idiot again and you'll not leave here alive."

As if to illustrate his point, one of the guards drew a sword, but made no move towards Hush, despite his stance. The Khajiit sighed as if tending to a child throwing a tantrum as his attention returned to the Jarl.

"This one believes you misunderstand, my lord. Khajiit did not call you anything of the sort; he was merely speaking in a general sense. This one would be all too happy to explain, if you would only give him a moment."

"Then speak. And quickly. I grow tired of your prattle."

"The Troll attacked and killed three of your men." Hush's mind briefly cast back to the bloody face of Thaler, lying against the trunk of a tree, his leg torn off and his dead comrades in pieces around him.

"This one arrived moments after the confrontation. Trolls are dangerous monsters – fiercely territorial. Khajiit believes that this particular beast was attracted by the scents of a wagon hauling prize meats from Markarth. Killed the driver and helped itself to the contents. When your men found it, they didn't stand a chance." Hush explained.

"Do you claim that my men are no better than peasants swinging pitchforks?" The Jarl asked, his words sharp but not nearly as offense as he may have believed.

"Not at all. This one is sure that they are more than a match for common Bandits, but Khajiit believes you would agree there are certain differences between angry outlaws and an angry Troll, no?" Hush asked, an eyebrow raised.

The Jarl did not respond, except for grinding his teeth together in annoyance.

"Regardless, after this one discovered what remained of your men and followed the Troll back to its lair. A difficult fight, but as you can tell, not one that Khajiit was unable to win."

His story concluded, Hush waited for the Jarl to reply. His next words were not directed at the monster-slayer, though. Instead, they were targeted to Siddgeir's housecarl.

"Helvard, have some men round up the remains of our fallen. Make sure they are given a proper burial." He commanded.

"Of course, Jarl." The bulky warrior beside Siddgeir grunted before setting off towards the door, not before pointing to a couple of men within the longhouse. "You two, with me. Make sure one of you brings the necessary tools too, understood?"

Hush stopped listening and returned his attention to Siddgeir, who hadn't broken eye-contact with the Khajiit since their conversation had begun. The Jarl clicked his fingers, and his steward stepped forward. A thin Altmer woman stepped closer, a small chest in her grasp.

The Jarl opened the lid and produced a small pouch. He weighed it in his palm for a moment before tossing it to Hush, who caught it effortlessly in one hand. The tell-tale clink of Septims revealed the contents of the pouch, which was unfortunately lighter than the Khajiit was content with, but he wouldn't push his luck. He could tell the Jarl was in no mood to barter.

"You've done us a great service, cat. Feel free to rest for the night in the inn, hunter." Siddgeir began. "But if you ever step back into my Hold without my express permission, I will ensure that you pay dearly for it."

Hush almost laughed in his face.

"Your tone may change when you have a Werewolf you need taking care of, or a Hagraven casting a curse on the town. Until then." Hush smiled, turning and leaving the longhouse without waiting for the outburst the Jarl would inevitably release.

VIIIIIV

Later that night, Hush sat alone at the bar of the Dead Man's Drink. Clutching a half-drained mug of Black-Briar Mead in one hand, and spinning a Septim between his fingers in his other, he started to feel ready to call it a night.

He'd gotten into the tavern before the crowd would arrive. The barmaid had been kind enough to give him a drink on the house, but he'd insisted on paying anyway, seeing as he hadn't been able to bring back the elk like she'd asked him. It wasn't that he felt guilty, but Hush had always believed that once a promise was made or orders untaken, it was vital to keep them. That's what made him such a good monster-slayer. He never abandoned his contracts, never broke his promises to the people who'd pleaded for his help.

The Khajiit finished his drink in a few large gulps, then wiped the foam from his top lip as he placed the mug back down on the counter. He twisted in his seat to fetch his coin-pouch from his hip when he heard the quiet footsteps of someone walking over to him. His gaze flicked up, expecting to see a patron coming in from a hard day's work, ready for a cold drink and warm food before going home.

Instead, he was rather surprised to see a rather well dressed Nord walk steadily towards the counter. He silently pulled out a stool, which he sat on slowly, with purpose. It almost reminded Hush of his earlier hunt from the way this man moved.

"What are you having?" The barmaid asked, eager to see to her newest bar patron hand over some Septims.

"Cyrodilic Brandy, if you please." The stranger asked. Hush raised his eyebrow as he watched the last dribbles of liquid collect at the bottom of his tankard.

"Oh, got high-born taste, sir?" She asked, reaching for a bottle underneath the counter.

The man chuckled. "I'd much prefer something else, but I swore it off years ago. It was more of a vice, you see. Alcohol is the lesser of two evils, I believe."

"I think I understand, sir." The barmaid nodded, pouring out his beverage into tankard like Hush's.

"And one for him, as well." The Nord added, gesturing slightly to the Khajiit.

Hush was about to comment about how he was going to his room for the night, but he caught a glimpse of the way the stranger stared at him out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps it would be better to remain seated for now.

A fresh mug was placed in front of the archer within a minute, and the barmaid went back to her business in the tavern, collecting dirty dishes from tables and stoking the fire-pit in the centre of the room.

"This one would not take you for a skooma addict, stranger." Hush began, knowing the stranger wanted to initiate conversation with him.

The man actually laughed at that.

"Oh, no. I wasn't referring to that blight, my friend." He nodded, sighing. "My addiction harmed far more people than any skooma dealer ever could."

"Khajiit supposes he should thank you for the Brandy. This one usually only has coin for Mead." The archer replied, lifting the mug slightly before taking a swig from it.

"I doubt that. After all, you're hardly a farm-hand." The stranger responded stoically.

"You would be wise to not presume to know me, stranger." He hissed.

"Oh, but I do." The man replied, a curt smile on his lips. "I'm afraid I know you all too well, Hush."

The Khajiit's hand gently started to go to the hilt of his dagger. This man was an unknown quantity. That meant he was a danger to Hush and everyone else in this tavern.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"My name is Luther. I'm not here to hurt you - or anyone else here, for that matter."

Hush didn't waver from the hilt of his dagger. The blade remained in its sheath, but his grip slowly tightened on the hilt. Instead, he peered more closely at the stranger. His face was gaunt; the skin seemed strained and tight on his sharp features. Luther's skin was pale, a ghostly pale pigment that only made his bright blue eyes shine in his sockets. His lips were thin, and his face was almost impassive. Whenever Luther spoke, it was with a high-class but flat accent.

It all started to add up in Hush's head. The Khajiit's voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

"You're a vampire, no? A Cold One."

Luther smiled. It was the kind of smile made by someone who has never felt the inclination to grin before. Someone who has long forgotten the muscle movements involved in smiling, if indeed they ever knew at all, and is having to figure them out from first principles without being granted the chance to practice. Not only did it not reach Luther's eyes, it didn't reach any other part of his face, as if it were disembodied and being operated by an outside agent. It was more wicked and malicious rather than warm or approaching, more resembling the expression worn by a predator far more used to baring their teeth in threat than expressing any form of pleasure or mirth.

"You're rather perceptive for a mortal, I congratulate you."

Hush's hand was almost working on its own. He only managed to keep his dagger in its sheath through sheer willpower alone.

"What now?" Hush asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

"I only wish to speak with the acclaimed monster-slayer. I should warn you though; draw that blade, not only will you die, but so will everyone in this town." Luther threatened.

A long moment went by, but eventually Hush let go of the hilt. He returned to his drink, waiting for whatever Luther would say next.

"I'm here on business." The vampire explained. "In fact, I want to offer you a contract."

Author's Notes:

Reviews:

Good read, love anything involving a Khajiit protag. Looking forward to your next chapters

Thank you very much for the feedback. I hope you enjoy the rest of this story.