Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Chapter 1: Let the Hunt Begin

I'm on the hunt. The damn thief deserves to die. The challenge has been issued, and I eagerly accept.

I hiked my way out of the snow covered Jerall Mountain Pass and was now in Skyrim, the homeland of my ancestors. A fetching Breton ransacked my camp in the mountains while I was out butchering an elk carcass a mile away. Luckily I caught whiff of his foul odor as I made my way back to camp.

The male sure made a mess of things. He hastily scavenged through every burlap sack and satchel. Too bad for him I keep all my prized valuables on me: my Talos amulet and a Daedric dagger. He did swipe a quiver full of bone arrows that took me days to carve. The Breton will pay for that, with his blood.

I learned everything from my mother. How to hunt. How to create potions and poultices from the land's flora and fauna. How to move as though invisible. How to survive. I had to learn young. When you live in a world of kill or be killed, you do everything in your power to ensure you live.

My mother was the legendary Skadi Fireguard from the once thriving Eir Clan of Skyrim. Stories are still told about her across the land in taverns, around campfires and as bedtime stories. Tales about killing the great ice wraith north of Solitude with nothing but a pickax or slaying the Giant of Bleakwind Basin. Bards sing about her enchanting beauty, elegant grace and her deadly aim with a bow.

The infamous story about her being the lone survivor of the Eir Clan slayings in 3E 418 is only secretly whispered amongst the citizens of Skyrim. No one likes to openly discuss her abduction by the Huntsman or how she found her beloved clan, torn apart and scattered throughout the snow. Or how she sacrificed her own life to save her only living offspring. Her daughter. Me.

Those who were close to Skadi claimed I'm just like her. However, I inherited my ruthlessness, competitive nature and a certain level of a dark side from my father, the Daedric Prince, Hircine. I loath what he did to my mother and my people. Because of that bastard, I am the only living member of the Eir Clan, an orphan, nowhere to call home and no one to belong to.

Unlike Hircine, I don't like to kill for the sake of killing. And I don't kill innocents. That's one of my Golden Rules. There has to be a reason to kill. A challenge. A fight between hunter and prey. The more prey the better. Hircine's blood runs through me making me stronger, faster and in a way, a freak of nature. I'm not ashamed to say that I like it.

Hircine seduced, kidnapped and raped my mother then so blithely tossed her aside. To top things off he had his Lycanthropes feast on the flesh of the Eir. He also took the warriors he deemed worthy and forced them to participate in his Hunt Game on his plane of Oblivion. No Eir survived.

He also was responsible for the deaths of my three older half brothers. I'll never know them, the strong warriors they once were.

That bastard Daedra also slaughtered the Danes, my adopted clan since birth. His werewolves massacred most of the clan population for fun. I've vowed revenge for what Hircine and his flea-ridden beasts did to the Eir, the Danes, my brothers and my mother. My time for retribution will come.

Hircine knows I still exist. He's visited me three times in the past two hundred years, and the visits are usually not a happy family reunion. He hunts me to kill me, as if I'm a weak little fawn. I don't understand his motives, but for some unknown reason he allows me to escape with my life. Barely.

I don't brag to others what I am: an unusual aberration. A type of half-immortal who was left on her own at the age of eleven. The only items I fled with from that isolated, snowy forest in southern Skyrim was my mother's Elven bow, a Daedric dagger I pried from my mother's dead body, my Amulet of Talos, random supplies and an oversized leather armor set.

I mentioned I'm half-immortal. I can die. A witch told me so right before I slit her throat because she tried to poison me and steal my supplies. I won't spawn from the Waters of Oblivion like the Deadra. Once I die, I'm dead. I have to completely bleed out or lose my head in order to die. That's why vampires and sick, decapitating bastards are at the top of my "To Kill" list. I have to eat, sleep and do everything else mortals do to stay healthy. I suffer like they do. I bleed from wounds like they do. I can experience heartache like they do. I can't age though. One of the blessings of being that bastard Hircine's daughter. I stopped aging at twenty four cycles.

Once I die I'll go to whatever afterlife awaits me. I pray to Talos he will pardon a half Daedra like myself and bless me a place in glorious Sovngarde and return to my mother and brothers. It's not my fault I'm the consequence of my parent's unfortunate coupling. But until my time comes when I cross over into the afterlife, I will wander Tamriel to hunt, to kill, to live.

I've wandered all over the land for nearly two hundred cycles. Unfortunately Hircine kept his promise to hunt me. On one his three visits, my dear father so graciously gifted me with a pet wolf, Fang, as a companion to save me from utter boredom. On that same visit, Hircine also gave me a fur cuirass peeled from his own body, a reward for riddling his body with arrows and surviving another one his lovely father/daughter hunts. He said the cuirass would protect me from magicka attacks and poison ailments. A Savior's Hide he called it.

My mother's human traits keep me "civilized," allowing me to mingle with the citizens of Tamriel. Apparently I inherited her beauty and grace, yet most men can't handle me. Men have told me I'm too rough and not the preferred, dainty Imperial or Breton submissive type they can dominate or order around like a pretty pet. I don't mind. I've never been able to settle down in one place for too long anyways to really get to know someone. Romantic relationships aren't my forte. I vowed to keep my emotions on lockdown. I've broken that vow only and the end results weren't pretty: a lot of crying, a lot of heartache, and a lot of mead consumption. I don't do relationships, but I'm down for the occasional one night stand. I've got needs too, you know.

I could smell that filthy Breton just ahead. Fang began to pant in excitement and kept glancing up at me as if saying, "Let me rip his head off!"

"You will," I cooed at Fang, smiling as I reassured him. "Just a little bit further."

I scrambled up a boulder pile on the top of a hill to get a vantage point, searching for any sign of the Breton. I heard the clash of metal against metal as I climbed the boulders. Once I reached the peak, I shielded my eyes from the bright, midday sun.

Down below I saw a dozen or so men in the midst of battle. I recognized the armored uniform of the Imperial army. I've had my fair share of run-ins with those incompetent pigs throughout Cyrodiil. The Imperial Legion doesn't take kindly to my side profession as a mercenary for hire. I've been chased out of the Imperial City and Cheydinhal quite a few times for assassinations. I'm pretty confident there is still a kill-on-sight bounty in affect. However, those targets got what they deserved. If you've got the coin, I'll happily carry out the kill, as long as there is a legitimate reason for it. I always enjoy a good hunt, and the coin is nice too.

I took cover behind some boulders, making myself less likely to be detected by someone below or anyone else lurking nearby. I leaned against a rock and peered to the right to catch a glimpse of the action at the bottom of the hill.

Fang started whimpering. I could tell the blood was overpowering his senses. Blood has the tendency to drive a wolf's senses wild. With Fang, the coppery red life force drives him into a bloodlust frenzy.

"Easy, Fang," I comfort him as I ran my fingers through his soft, white fur.

The other group of men fighting against the Imperials looked like they were getting their asses handed to them. I could tell the men were Nords with their fair hair braided in a war fashion and their massive body size. Natural born warriors who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. In my opinion, Nord men are by far the most handsome in all of Tamriel. I've been around the continent a few times and only the Nord men and the occasional Nord woman can appease my personal desires.

My competitive side wanted to dive into the battle and help my fellow brothers. However, it would be breaking one of my Golden Rules: don't get involved in other people's battles. It's inviting unwanted trouble.

Trouble is something I don't need. I've been around for far too long to take on unnecessary responsibilities. When the Oblivion Crisis broke out in Cyrodiil two hundred cycles ago, I sought refuge in the deserts of Elyswer. I tried to help when I could as I trekked to Elyswer by killing Daedra along the way. I even helped the Hero of Kvatch close three Oblivion gates. I'm not a coward. It's just not a good idea to be hanging out in the same area as other Daedra, and Cyrodiil was chock-full of Daedra at the time. Daedra can sense other Daedra. Since I am half Daedra myself, I didn't want to risk being captured by Mehrunes Dagon's lackeys. Once Dagon discovered I was Hircine's daughter, he sent Dremora assassins to sniff me out and capture me. Dagon had an ongoing feud with Hircine and really wanted to piss him off. Unfortunately for Dagon, Hircine preferred me dead so that plan wouldn't work. And since Dagon's plan wouldn't work, he'd kill me himself if he captured me. Or he would use me for his own personal needs, and I shudder at the thought of what those needs could be.

So don't get involved in other people's battles.

I saw a Nord warrior cut down by a bastard Imperial. My blood boiled at the sight. The last standing Nords bellowed battle cries for their fallen brother and charged the Imperials in a final attempt to overwhelm them.

"I will not get involved. I WILL NOT get involved," I repeated to myself.

Fang growled, jumped down off the boulders and tore off into the dense forest. Something obviously caught his attention. Before I had a chance to call Fang back, a sharp, stabbing pain pricks into my right side. I looked down to see an arrow penetrating through my Savior's Hide and piercing the flesh above my hip. I quickly dropped to a kneeling position, unsheathed my dagger and scanned my surroundings. I could hear the fetcher's breathing from a distance out in the woods.

Yanking the shaft out, the arrowhead cleanly dislodged from my side. I pressed my hand against the wound as blood began to trickle out. My wound burned as if on fire. My vision suddenly started to cloud and become hazy. I sniffed the arrowhead.

Hmmmm. That's interesting.

I'm hit again with another arrow. This time to the chest. Everything went black.

-0-

First chapter completed. I'd appreciate reviews or your thoughts. I'm looking for a betareader...I've sent a few PM's out but no one's responded. If you're interested, send me a message. I'd appreciate the help and advice. Merry Christmas! :D

-LadyLuna83