"Get out of my way, cat, before I make you."

The city of Falkreath was Hawk's least favorite place. He couldn't get a drink without some drunk Nord slurring at him. The Khajiit wrinkled his nose, getting to his feet. "I'd like to see you make me. It would make my day."

"You think talking like a Nord will make you fit in? You'll make a great carpet." Before the Nord could move, Hawk threw the offender's ale to the ground. It smashed, glass spraying in all directions. Hawk grabbed the Nord by the neck and lifted him up, slamming him against the bar.

"Hah. you furless ones think you are so great. Measly Nord does not compare to years of Imperial training." Hawk sat down and took a drink of his ale, and the conversation resumed as if nothing had happened. Valga leaned across the bar to converse with the scarred Khajiit.

"What's with the name, Hawk's Storm? It doesn't sound like any Khajiit name I've ever heard. You don't talk like the folk from Elsweyr, either. Don't refer to yourself in third person," Valga questioned. Hawk sighed and wiped liquor off his whiskers.

"You people in Falkreath ask a lot of questions. I was saved from the Dunmer slave trade by two Nords when I was just a cub. You people in Skyrim do not know how to name Khajiit, so they called me Hawk's Storm. It is strange name, I admit. I grew up in Helgen," Hawk admitted.

"You're the most interesting character to come through Falkreath in a while, Hawk's Storm. Though that Argonian lady a few months back stirred up some trouble with a talking dog," Valga mused. Hawk's whiskers twitched in amusement.

Suddenly, Hawk's ears perked up at the sound of something being taken out of its sheath. The Khajiit turned suddenly towards his blind side. The Nord he had beaten just a minute ago was standing up, a dagger in his hand. Lurching forward, Hawk raked his claws down the side of the Nord's face. The Nord shrieked, stumbling back and holding his eye. His dagger clattered to the ground, silencing the bar.

"I may be half-blind, Nord, but my hearing is still intact," Hawk growled, turning to Valga. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I'll be taking my leave now. I should be able to make it to Riverwood before it is too late."

As Hawk exited, he heard one final remark from the Nord. "Thank the Nine, Khajiits aren't allowed in cities. That's the way it is. Don't see why he's an exception."

Hawk took the trip down the road, fighting off a skeleton or two before he arrived in Riverwood. He collapsed in the Sleeping Giant Inn, his legs sore and his brain even more so.

The next morning the Khajiit was greeted by a worried Gerdur. "You said you just came from Falkreath, right? My brother said his Orc friend was supposed to be heading here, but he might've wandered off to Falkreath on accident."

Hawk flicked his ears in annoyance. Ralof was a Stormcloak, so Hawk couldn't care less about any friend of his. "I might have seen an Orc on the road. I am not sure." Hawk rolled his shoulders and left Gerdur in the dust before she could say anything else.

Hawk had always been a Nomad, it was in the Khajiit blood, it seemed. He travelled from town to town, looking for small jobs. He had been talking to Alvor about helping out with the smithing for some coin when a crowd began to gather at the gates. Naturally, Hawk left mid-conversation with Alvor to see what it was.

A group of Thalmor had entered Riverwood. The High Elf in the front rode a white horse, observing the crowd of Nords with disapproving eyes. Hawk's breath snagged when they made eye contact with him, nodding approvingly.

The Thalmor dismounted, taking down their hood. Loose, braided blonde hair fell from her head. She scowled at the citizens of Riverwood before dismissing the rest of the Thalmor. She raised a hand, quelling the influx of questions.

"I am...Legate, as you would say, Graykaender. I've come to visit Whiterun, but I'm stopping in this town. I was sent to investigate the rebellion in Skyrim, and see if it is anything the Thalmor need to investigate," Legate Graykaender scanned the crowd, locking eyes with Hawk, "Khajiit, come here."

Hawk stood still, his eyes blazing defiantly. Graykaender strolled forward until she was nose-to-nose with the Khajiit. "When I give an order, you listen. Got it, cat?" she sneered.

Hawk's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't dare attack the Thalmor when her escorts were so close by. Hawk raised his lip in a snarl, walking by Legate Graykaender and using his shoulder to throw her off balance. She stumbled backwards, and Hawk could feel her eyes boring into the back of his neck.

Hawk grinned at some Imperial Soldier, who had just entered. The Imperial soldier rushed up to the Khajiit. "Soldier, what are the Thalmor doing here?" the Nord questioned in a hushed voice.

"Legate Graykaender here is the new Jarl, apparently," Hawk responded dryly. He looked back at the High Elf, who was holding her soldier. He gave her a toothy grin before looking back at the soldier.

"By the Eight…" the legionnaire grumbled, marching up to Legate Graykaender. They had a very heated, hushed conversation that even Hawk's Khajiit ears could not hear.

Graykaender's occupation had become normal to the citizens of Riverwood after a couple of days. Hawk had stayed in the small town, only to watch the chaos unfold. The angry High Elf had fallen in the river multiple times, and Hawk never failed to get a good chuckle out of it. Graykaender hated Hawk with a passion.

One day, Graykaender approached Hawk in the inn. "What is it you need, Jarl Graykaender?" Hawk teased, bowing lavishly.

Graykaender just scowled. "I'm heading to Helgen. I need a bodyguard on the road," The High Elf produced a fat purse of gold from beneath her robes. "Five hundred septims, standard fare for a mercenary." Hawk looked up, surprised to see that Graykaender was completely serious.

The Khajiit took the gold from her hands, sniffing. "Give me a few moments to get my armor, then we'll be off," Hawk agreed. Graykaender looked surprised that it had worked. Hawk just shrugged; he had been looking for work, after all.

A full set of steel armor and an iron warhammer later they were off. Graykaender rode her horse slowly, so that Hawk could keep up. "What is your name, Khajiit?"

"Hawk's Storm," Hawk purred, "but you have my express permission to refer to me as Hawk. I do not want your High Elven tongue squandering the sound." Graykaender chuckled. Hawk found that most folk were amused by his sharp tongue, especially since he often came off as a goody-two-paws. "I have told you mine. What is your true name, Jarl Graykaender?"

Graykaender paused, thinking for a moment. "I considered lying, but that wouldn't do much good. Loria. My name is Loria." The High Elf smiled down at Hawk, and for the first time Hawk realized that her nose and cheeks were covered in freckles, mirroring the night sky above them. Hawk, horrifyingly enough, found himself not hating this particular Thalmor.

"Loria," Hawk echoed, testing the name on his tongue. "That is a very Elvish name. Not solid, like a Nord, not as airy as a Khajiit. Like liquid, Elvish names are." The two continued in silence for a few minutes before Hawk broke it. "So, how did a Thalmor agent end up in Skyrim, anyway?"

Loria sighed through her nose. "Like I said, I've come to investigate the Stormcloaks. If you don't believe that's the truth, then that is too bad. That is my story and I'm sticking with it."

The journey to Helgen was a short one, although there were a few bandits and some wolves that Hawk needed to fight off. The guards at the gate first refused to let Hawk enter, but Loria convinced them that he was her official bodyguard. Helgen was a relatively large town, and seeing the Imperial banners, Hawk quickly relaxed. The keep loomed in the middle of the town like a stony giant.

Hawk quickly struck up conversation with Torolf, one of his childhood friends. His heart ached when he learned of all that had happened while he was away. "It sounds like you have had your hands full, old friend."

Before Torolf could respond, thundering hooves came through the door. Hawk turned quickly, surprised to see a courier coming through on a horse, running it full gallop. The courier stopped in the middle of Helgen, standing in his stirrups.

"Rejoice, citizens of Helgen! For Ulfric Stormcloak has been captured!"