"Erik!" A gruff voice called out from the dirt road.

The blonde Nord looked up to see Alvor as he hammered out the last few flaws in the iron armor he held to the anvil.

"Alvor, you're back!" Erik replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "I want to thank you for letting me use your forge, I didn't want to go all the way down to Whiterun with this much iron," the Nord said, quenching the chest-plate in the oil next to him.

"It's not a problem, my friend," Alvor replied, setting a sack of materials on the workbench behind Erik. "So, what are you going to use that armor for?"

"I was thinking of selling it—I wanted to get enough money to get out of Skyrim. This war—I want nothing to do with it."

"Are you sure?" Alvor asked, his smile fell as he sat next to Erik while he worked. "Erik, you know it isn't exactly safe to travel these days."

"I would rather risk that than risk getting caught in this bloody war," Erik replied, taking the plate out to finish it off. "I won't be travelling without protection; I plan on heading down to Cryodiil with one of the Khajiit caravans."

"You should learn how to defend yourself too. Those Khajiit—they have sticky claws, and you could wake up with nothing in the middle of your journey."

"Not all Khajiit are the same, Alvor," Erik glared.

"No—but you don't know who you can trust these days."

"You aren't wrong there," Erik grunted as he finished off his piece of armor. "How's it look?"

"You could do better—but it'll sell," Alvor replied. "You know, it's going to take a long time for you to get the money you need selling armor like this."

"Yeah—you aren't wrong, but, experience builds quality. In any case, I'll be back tomorrow to finish the armor," Erik said, sighing. "I suppose I'll go help Hod and Gerdur with their mill and get some coin for the day. Again, thank you for your help."

"You don't need to thank me, Erik. It's the least I could do. Hey, when you go back up to Helgen to visit your old man, tell him I said hello!"

"I'll be sure to do that, Alvor." Erik gave a smile as he left the blacksmith's forge and made his way to the mill across the river to work.

As the sun began to set, the Nord took his pay and retreated to his cabin, which sat closer to the gate that led to Whiterun.

Soon, Erik had lain down in his bed and drifted off to sleep.

"Aah!" The pained scream woke Erik with a jolt. Without thinking, the Nord grabbed for an iron sword underneath his bed and unsheathed it as he ran outside to find two men, tying the arms of a young girl.

Besides them, a man and a dog lay dead, both of them armored in leather, a leather shield laying by the man.

"Takes a lot of manpower for one girl, don't you think?" Erik asked as he approached them. At a glance, he noticed the girl's piercing orangish-yellow eyes, the eyes of a cat—the eyes of a Khajiit.

"Back off—this girl is ours." One of the men growled. He was glad in banded iron armor, and wielded a steel great-sword.

The other man, who stood behind the girl, had very little armor, and held a bow with an arrow aimed at the back of the girl's head.

"Yeah? What are you going to do with her?" Erik asked, glaring at the man.

These two look like bandits—I can't just let them take the girl.

"That's none of your business. Back off," The man with the bow warned.

Erik shrugged and started to walk off, flourishing his sword as he bent down to pick up the leather shield that was left behind by the fallen man.

Probably won't hold for more than a couple of hits from that great-sword. It's better than nothing, though.

"Sorry, boys—but you're going to have to make me," Erik said, turning around.

"So be it," The man with the great-sword snarled as he drew his weapon.

The moonlight glinted off the man's blade as he took a wide swing.

Erik had enough time to react to his attack, but it was a strong swing.

The sword impacted the leather shield, and Erik could feel the wood splinter and break. He had to act fast if he was going to end this.

Erik let out a battle cry as he thrusted his iron sword through the unguarded throat of his enemy.

The man before him let out a strained gurgle, his eyes widened as Erik slid the sword out the wound, thick, dark blood spattering over the Nord's face.

As the first man fell to his back and dropped the sword, the second took aim at Erik, but his arrow never left the nock.

The girl used her claws to cut through the thin rope around her arms and lunged at the man, her talons digging deep into his chest as she used her teeth to rip the man's throat out.

"That's one way of killing a man—" Erik said as he wiped the blood from his face and approached the girl, who turned and hissed at him. "Woah, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you," he told her, moonlight exposing the wound on her arm, a deep cut from the great-sword.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance as Erik approached with an outstretched hand.

"It's going to rain soon—I can give you shelter for the night, and I can clean that cut of yours."

"She does not trust you," the girl growled as she circled the man. As she moved into the moonlight, Erik could see that she had a much more human—or elven—face than a Khajiit. Even her voice was much less raspy, and smoother. She still had fur, but it was thin, and it tapered away around her wrists and face. "Why help her?"

"Because it's the right thing," he answered as he sheathed his sword and offered the weapon to her. "If you don't trust me, take my sword. Call me naïve, but it doesn't feel right to leave someone—even a stranger—injured and in the elements."

The strange-looking Khajiit girl creeped towards the man and took the sheathed weapon from him, unsheathing it and inspecting the blade.

"She will come with you—but you will not touch her," she demanded.

"Good enough," Erik replied with a sigh as he knelt down and searched the man he killed. He didn't know what he was looking for, until he found it.

A note written on a piece of parchment that seemed too fine for any bandit to be carrying.

You've been hired to hunt down and retrieve a subject—alive. With this note, there will be an initial payment of 500 septims, should this subject be returned, you will receive 500 more.

The subject you are looking for is a strange-looking female Khajiit. She has an elven face, with brown fur, and hair that almost reaches her shoulders.

Bring her back, and you will get your reward.

-Isael

"Shit—they were mercenaries." Erik groaned as he folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket and grabbed the bag of coin off his side. "Oh well—too late now. Girl, come on," he said, motioning for her to follow him.