It took approximately ten seconds for the Khajiti hunters to discern, to their horror, that the speaker was a Thalmor agent, a male to be specific. They could make this deduction based on the physical build, voice, and an air of arrogance that the High Elves carried and cultivated. This self-assurance and pride stemmed from the Altmer's assumption that they were descended directly from the Aedra themselves, causing them to believe they were superior to the other races of Nirn.
He's only one, Qa'Miir though. He may be Thalmor, but we outnumber him thirteen to one. Hard odds to beat, even for a High Elf...
Any hopes that the hunters may have harbored were immediately dispelled by the next statement. "Oh, of course I'm not alone...You do realize I'm not the filthy, lowlife scum that you are; I actually engage in strategic thinking that your kind are incapable of."
Slowly, two dozen Thalmor emerged from their concealed spots in the dense foliage. The Khajiti immediately lost all hopes triumph, and any possibility of flight; the Mer had encircled them from all directions.
"We're here for the Mane — and why we seek him is no concern of yours."
"No concern of ours? Well it's none of yours, then, especially since you murdered him," Darjo hissed, spitting on the ground before the feet of the Altmeri. "Even if he were alive, you've no right to capture him."
"Well in that case, extreme measures might be required here to resolve the situation," the Thalmor party's leader said. Turning to his men, he continued, "Please dispose of these...savages at your leisure."
Qa'Miir's mind raced. He was about to be killed, along with his comrades, but he couldn't find a plausible scenario that involved any of the Khajiit present surviving. He decided that they had to put up a fight, but would also have to accept their fate. For one such as himself, who placed a great deal of dependence on tactics and elaborate plans, he was forced to use his physical prowess and skills to better his chances of survival. Despite this, his chances did not seem to go anywhere greater than zero.
The Thalmor began their onslaught. The High Elves were not at all renowned for bodily strength, or skill with blade or bow. What they did use to dominate were the arts of Magnus; the arts of the mage. The Mer began a deadly combination of Destruction spells, combined with Conjurations to befuddle and confuse the hunters. Unable to reply to these attacks in kind, the Khajiit put valiant efforts into firing their bows or slashing at the High Elves. A valiant effort, yet a failed one; only Qa'Miir managed to climb atop the weak branches of the canopy, darting in all directions to avoid the arsenal of Destruction magic aimed at his very life. He managed to shoot four of them with quick, accurate, and lethal arrows. He then bounded onto another with blade in hand, crushing him under his feet while slitting his throat. Qa'Miir's sole efforts had no effect on the Thalmor, however. They cared little for their comrades and spent no time forging the tight bonds of friendship that had resulted in the cooperation and coordination of the Khajiti hunters. Qa'Miir faded into the shadows of the jungle, shooting down a further three, then running his blade through the hearts of six Altmer. Despite the death of fourteen High Elves, the remaining eleven were more than a match for the lone Qa'Miir, as they were composed of the party leader and his inner circle of expert mages.
Qa'Miir's killing spree was brought to a halt as the leader fired a bolt of spellcraft at him that immobilized his body, but did not touch the mind. Qa'Miir was only able to watch as two Thalmor agents dragged him over to their superior.
"Ah, what do we have here? The one who killed fourteen? A great bit of skill, for a savage," the leader began. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kivamiel, the Master of Alinor. Who in Auri-El's name are you?"
Qa'Miir was not one to be bowed, bent, broken. He was clever enough to realize his limitations and how much of an advantage his adversaries had over his lone figure. "I'm a hunter," he stated blandly.
"Not a very accomplished one, it seems," Kivamiel said in a derogatory tone. "What I meant, and what intelligent races would have understood, was that I am asking your name. It really is no surprise that your wits are not up to the challenge."
Keep on underestimating me, Qa'Miir thought. That way, you'll only realize your mistake with a dagger in your skull. "I am called Qa'Miir," he continued, in the same featureless, plain fashion.
"Well then, savage, you'll have to come with us. With the right types of..." Kivamiel hesitated, then found the word. "Persuasion, you should prove to be a useful asset for our cause."
Qa'Miir flared inside with rage at the suggestion of him serving the Thalmor. "To hell with your cause, murderers! You killed the Mane, and there hasn't been one since. The Stormcloaks and Imperials in Skyrim have set apart their differences, and the odds are they're going for you next!"
"No matter," Kivamiel said nonchalantly, waving his hand in a careless gesture. "They won't be a threat to the children of the gods!"
Kivamiel gestured to one of his men to knock Qa'Miir out. Qa'Miir was still under the effects of the immobilization spell, so he could only helplessly watch as a Thalmor agent walked towards him. From behind him, Kivamiel called, "You're coming with us, cat. And you're going to tell us where the Mane is."