Hello, dear readers! Shroudedpanther here. This one introduces the Harbinger of the Companions. Skyrim and its NPC's are Bethesda's. Enjoy, and don't forget to follow/favorite/review!

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Morndas, 1st of Frostfall, 4E 204

"For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack." - Rudyard Kipling

Stenar Frosthammer

"We'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Count on it." Stenar said to Aela the Huntress.

"What're you going to go do, again?" She asked skeptically.

"Just wandering. We'll look in some of the caves, maybe hunt a bit." Stenar's eyes flashed meaningfully as he spoke.

Aela's face flickered in recognition, but all she said was, "Aye. Get going, you milk-drinker."

He pulled her to him roughly in a hug. She protested, hit his shoulder futilely, but he knew that deep inside, she liked it. His beard tickled her head. Then he released her and turned to where Farkas was standing impatiently by the door.

"C'mon, loverboy. I ain't got all day." He said in his gruff tone.

Stenar opened the door and walked out of Jorrvaskr, with Farkas and a new member named Retlin trailing behind him. They exited the city and trooped west to the distant plains. They walked until they were in sight of a village called Rorikstead, and then made camp for the night.

"Retlin, you can set up our bedrolls and build a fire. Farkas, help him. I'll go kill something for dinner." He said.

"Why are you hunting?" There's enough food here for days!" Retlin complained. The Dark Elf's eyebrows were cocked, and he crossed his arms over his leather armor.

"All that food is salted. In case you haven't noticed, fresher food is better, Retlin."

"You always get the fun chore." Farkas grumbled.

"Aye. It's a perk of being the boss." He smiled and turned away, steel and fur wolf armor rubbing together gently.

Stenar trotted out of the camp to a nearby bluff, where he surveyed the land. In the distance, he spotted a bonfire that some giants had undoubtedly built, and the dark shapes of wolves pursuing a deer. He grinned, and felt the beast within him stir and make his blood quicken as it felt the hunt coming.

He bounded off the rock and towards the wolves, hoping he could scare them off after they caught the deer. He was a hunter, but he knew he could not keep up with something as fleet as a deer in this form, especially with his armor. Besides, he didn't want to change if he didn't have to. The power was great, but Retlin back at camp didn't yet know of the wolf blood, and Stenar didn't want to surprise him like that.

The wolves had stopped the deer and were busy clamping their jaws on its throat and flanks. The doomed animal gave a halfhearted bleat and sagged to the ground, lifeless. Stenar reached the wolves and unsheathed his greatsword. He held it above his head and growled menacingly. The feral dogs scattered and regrouped, facing him down across the carcass. The alpha dog moved forward, snarling.

It was about to spring at him when it stopped and sniffed the air. Its ears perked up, and it cocked its head. It seemed puzzled. Then Stenar understood. He must smell of the wolf too. These predators were understandably wary. Stenar was the leader of his own pack, and his scent must have shown it. The wolf hesitated for another moment, and then sprang at him.

Stenar wasn't expecting the attack and fell back, holding his sword in between himself and the wolf. It snarled savagely and strained for his throat, so close to its jaws. Hot saliva dripped down onto his breastplate.

Stenar gave a mighty heave with his left hand, putting all his strength behind that movement. The alpha male rolled off his chest and scrambled to its feet, already rounding on him. Stenar had no room to swing his sword, so he unsheathed his steel dagger, specially made in the Skyforge. The wolf reared up on its hind legs and pounced. Stenar yelled incoherently and stabbed upwards with his pointed dagger, hitting the beast between its ribs. The wolf collapsed and whined, its breath coming in shallow bursts.

By now, the wolves had encircled Stenar, and he grabbed his sword as he rose. As one, they darted in and bit his legs. He bellowed in rage and swept his sword in an arc, slicing open a wolf's neck and nicking another's paw. The pack backed off, turned tail, and ran off into the night. Stenar exhaled in relief. He turned back to the deer, scrutinizing it. Yes, it'll do, he thought.

He began dragging the animal back to the camp, pausing to breathe and scan his surroundings with a wary gaze. When he was almost back, a flurry of movement caught his eye. It came from near the great bonfire he spotted earlier. Stenar squinted and made out one of the giants scuffling with about a dozen warriors in fur armor. One had steel plate armor on, and was leading the charge with her mace held high.

Bandits, he thought in disgust. But then again… I could use some more action. He smiled and started away from camp. Distant sounds of battle reached him as he loped along. He was careful to watch his footing; many small ledges and outcroppings dotted Whiterun Hold's plains, and small streams in it were often laced with mudcrabs laying in ambush. He reached the circle of firelight and knelt, observing the situation.

Three of the bandits were already lying in crumpled, bloodstained heaps, tossed around by the giants like ragdolls. In return, the bandits had brought down one of the two giants and wounded the other. Giants aren't the most fancy fighters, Stenar thought wryly. They don't need to fence with you when they can just pound you into a pulp or toss you over a mountain range.

The giants had scraggly brown beards, were roughly eleven feet tall, and wore nothing other than furry loincloths. Their grayish skin was pockmarked by cuts and slashes.

Stenar decided to attack the giant; after all, the bandits were still men and mer, and he didn't know for certain that they actually were outlaws. Giants, on the other hand, he knew to be dumb and vicious. Not unlike Farkas, he thought with affection as he drew out his sword. He ran at the giant and slashed at the back of its knee. The giant collapsed onto his good knee, and glanced back in anger and confusion. It started to turn, but suddenly a wooden shaft of an arrow sprouted out of its chest. The leader in steel plate brought her mace crashing down on the brute's head. It swayed unsteadily and fell backwards.

The steel-clad leader turned towards Stenar and said, "My thanks, stranger. What's your name?"

Stenar wouldn't have known it was a woman behind the helmet except that the armor was so small. He said, "Stenar Frosthammer is my name. Why'd you take on a giant camp?"

The woman didn't reply. He noticed her and the other rough looking men and women staring at him and his armor with hostility. He frowned.

"What's the matter? Is there a skeever behind me or something?" He joked.

"You… You are with the Companions, aren't you?" She asked flatly.

"Aye, that I am. Harbinger, in fact. Why? You lot hoping to join?"

The woman brought her wooden shield up slightly. The mace twitched at her side. "You abomination! Your pack of cursed werewolves destroyed the Silver hand, and killed Krev the Skinner! I'll have your head for that!"

Stenar's sword was instantly in front of him. The Silver Hand was a clan dedicated to the destruction of werewolves. Since the Circle, a small group of Companions that led the guild, were werewolves, this led to a small war.

A war that Stenar, with the help of his shield- siblings, won. He had wiped out most of the Silver Hand. They were little more than bandits, totally without honor.

Why are they here? They should be holed up somewhere if they haven't cast off the name of Silver Hand and gone back to being bandits! A crunch sounded behind him, and Stenar glanced behind him to see Farkas and Retlin stalking forward, weapons ready.

"Get lost, filth, before this gets ugly." Farkas growled.

"You're the one who's making this ugly. Get them! Kill the monsters!" The leader screamed back to her friends.

Companions and Silver Hand charged each other, leaping over the bloody forms of the giants. Stenar felt an arrow skim his cuirass, and he swung at the leader, who absorbed the hit with her shield. She retaliated with a side swing at his ribs. He caught the mace with the sword's small crossguard and stabbed the weapon at her center. Her shield splintered on impact, and the greatsword cut past her armored arm into the flesh underneath.

Stenar pulled it out and saw Farkas shove one of the Silver Hand into the bonfire, which collapsed under the man's weight and trapped him in a red hot embrace. He started screaming, and Farkas turned to face another two advancing on him.

He glanced over at Retlin, who was cornered against a stone pillar by three more Silver Hand. The chief screamed and brought the mace down on his unarmored head, like she had with the giant. Stenar barely got out of the way in time, ducking and lurching back as the mace scratched the front of his armor.

He kicked the woman in the chest and ran over to help Retlin. Retlin was fending off strikes from each of the enemies, but fell with a cry when an arrow pierced his shoulder. Stenar lowered his shoulder and crashed into one of the Silver Hand, making the man go flying. Stenar had always been burly, and he used this now to cut and stab at his opponents with such force that he cracked their shields, made them drop their weapons, and knock them back away from Retlin.

Blood now lay in small puddles on the ground and spurts of it covered the grass and stone. Stenar fiercely cut off the last Silver Hand's head and watched it roll away into the night before turning back to the battle. Only two remained; an archer that Retlin was sprinting towards and an unlucky Argonian whom Farkas was battering. Since Farkas was closer, Stenar stepped in and swept the lizard- man off his feet with the flat of his blade. His breath was knocked out and could only stare in terror up at Farkas, who brought his iron greatsword down with a final snikt.

The archer drew back an arrow, but Retlin crashed into him, sending him sprawling across the grass. The archer rushed off away from the bonfire, casting horrified glances over his shoulder as he went. Retlin let him go. He turned back to the firelight and came over to Farkas and Stenar. Farkas nodded approvingly, and Stenar said,

"You fought well, shield- brother. You defended yourself against odds that weren't in your favor. But most of all, you showed honor in letting that cowardly dog go. The choice you made was right. He was not a threat, and a warrior must know when to spill blood and when to stay his hand."

The Dunmer dipped his head, a proud smile splitting his face. Stenar saw a flurry of movement behind him. He frowned and started to edge past Retlin, hands tightening around his sword.

Retlin stiffened and seemed to stand on tiptoe, his features twisted in a horrible grimace. A silver sword forced its way out of his chest and through his leather armor. The Silver Hand leader let him and the sword fall to the ground, going for a simple iron dagger strapped to her hip.

Farkas froze, but Stenar tackled the bitch and pummeled her helmet with both gauntlets. She heaved him off and he grabbed her armor, rolling them over into the bonfire. Stenar wrenched her helm off, raised his boot high, and brought it down with a sickening crunch. He stepped away her wearily, and Farkas ran to Retlin's prone form.

It was no use. The Dark Elf's crimson eyes had already closed forever.

"Dammit! Curse the Silver Hand to Oblivion!" Farkas roared out a long lament. It was a challenge, but also the sound of grief, of terrible loss. Stenar bowed his head and dropped to one knee, mourning the loss of a promising young shield- brother.

He stood up, sheathed his sword, and laid a hand on Farkas' shoulder.

"Let's not leave him here, brother. We'll honor him back at Jorrvaskr."

Farkas just nodded his head. Stenar dragged the chief's body away from the fire and went through her pockets. It was gruesome, he knew, but he had gotten over the revulsion long ago. There could be important or valuable things on her, such as documents or jewelry. Doing what we can to survive… Stenar thought grimly.

He brought out a note written on parchment. It wasn't sealed. In fact, it was wrinkled as if the Silver Hand looked at it often. He opened it up to read:

L,

Excellent work in rounding up the remnants of the Silver Hand. With my blessings, your mighty clan will rise again and strike fear into the hearts of the Companions. I shall be elsewhere for the next month, in the Reach with Namira's Coven. The scourged shall tear down the mighty! The wrongs shall be righted! And you, dear warrior? You will serve as one of my faithful lieutenants. Farewell for now.

~Ω

Stenar tucked the note away in his bag. It disturbed him immensely, that the Silver Hand was gathering in force, and that this other entity seemed to be behind them. He contemplated taking some shield- siblings and investigating this… Coven in the Reach. The Daedric prince Namira was nasty, and launching the first strike could give his Companions the edge.

He turned back to Farkas. "I'm sorry, brother, but we cannot camp here. A note that the whelp was carrying mentioned a threat to the Companions. We will go back to Whiterun to warn them."

They packed their tent, extinguished the fire, and loaded their gear in preparation for the hike back to Whiterun.