Loredas, 20th of Hearthfire, 4E 201
Night was well underway when Kjell made it back to Whiterun. Yet, despite the dark, quiet streets, everyone inside Jorrvaskr was awake, and Kjell's homecoming hardly went unnoticed. Njada rose from her seat the moment he stepped through the door, immediately on the offensive.
"And where have you been?" she demanded.
"Me..?" Kjell asked, acting taken aback. He wasn't about to tell the entire room what had just happened – not without Aela there to back him.
"Yes, you," Njada sneered. "Where have you been?" She was getting heated. Kjell wondered why she cared so much.
"Njada..." Vilkas's voice called, floating gently across the hall. He calmly began making his way toward her, as she stepped away from her place at one of the tables and made to approach Kjell.
"Traipsing off for days at a time, as if there's not enough work to be done around here," Njada spat, striding forward.
"Wait, days?" Kjell muttered, but his reaction was drowned out by Njada's tirade.
"What, you get lucky on a trial job and now you think you're better than the rest of us?" Njada was now standing chest to chest with Kjell, just inside the doorway. She looked ready to strike.
"Njada," Vilkas called out more firmly, closing the gap between himself and the argument with a touch more urgency.
"What!?" Njada demanded, whirling around to face Vilkas. "It's horseshit and we all know it. This milk drinker just up and leaves for two days without a word. Even you were looking for him!"
"Njada!" Vilkas snapped. Kjell thought he saw Vilkas shift awkwardly at Njada's last comment. "Sit down and let me handle it," he commanded her. "Now, you," Vilkas said, turning to Kjell, "come with me."
Kjell, flabbergasted that his absence had been so noticed, could only nod and do as asked. But when Vilkas led him down the stairs, instead of outside as Kjell had expected, he hesitated.
"Uh..." Kjell said awkwardly just past the bottom of the steps, as Vilkas moved to walk down the corridor. "Where are we going?"
Vilkas turned and looked at him sheepishly. "My room," he admitted. "It's not—look. We just need to speak privately. About more than one thing, now," he added hastily.
"Okay... I guess," Kjell said warily, following him down the hall.
. . .
"What did you do?" Vilkas immediately chided, once he had closed the door and locked it behind them. "You let them turn you? Are you insane?"
"How did you...?" Kjell began to ask, confused.
"I can smell it on you," Vilkas said, wrinkling his nose disdainfully. "Why in Oblivion would you do a thing like that?"
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Kjell challenged. "Say, 'no, thank you' face to face with Skjor and a werewolf? What should I have thought was going to happen then? Anyway... we have bigger problems."
"Like what?" Vilkas asked.
"Like..." Kjell still didn't feel as though the news of Skjor's fall was his to deliver. But how could he not tell Vilkas? "Like... Skjor," Kjell finished lamely.
"Skjor?" Vilkas repeated – it seemed like that was the last answer he expected. "What about Skjor?"
"He... he's dead," Kjell said quietly.
A look of disbelief came over Vilkas's face. Several times, he seemed about to speak, but each time he produced no sound. The two stood by the door in silence for several moments, until Vilkas stepped over to a table in the corner of his room. He gestured for Kjell to sit, as he himself took the opposite chair.
"How did it happen?" Vilkas asked.
Somberly, Kjell recounted the whole story to Vilkas, starting with Skjor and Aela taking him to the Underforge Turdas evening. He spared no detail of the kind of horrors they'd seen in the Silver Hand's lair, although Vilkas didn't seem as sympathetic about their victims as Aela had been.
"I don't even know what day it is," Kjell added, after finishing his story.
"Tomorrow will be Sundas morning," Vilkas answered.
"Sundas!?" Kjell repeated. Shit, he thought, my stupid meeting with that stupid fence. I missed it again! And how much of that time was lost when I transformed? He found himself unable to estimate how much time he had actually spent inside the Silver Hand hideout with Aela. All he knew was that it had been dark when he transformed, dark when he went inside the place, and almost dark again when he emerged. In fact...
"I'm not even that tired, really," Kjell said with a note of surprise.
"That's to be expected," Vilkas said. "It happens when you turn. Your senses get sharper, your stamina runs longer..."
"Then... not to be dismissive... but what exactly is the downside?" Kjell asked. "Why is it that Skjor and Aela consider it a blessing, and you see it as a curse?"
"You haven't been around many people yet, since you turned, have you?" Vilkas asked. "I mean regular people. Innocent people. Not like the Silver Hand." In his voice was a sense of knowing, and of resignation.
Kjell simply watched him, waiting to hear what he would say.
"You lose a part of your humanity," Vilkas explained. "You gain certain prowess, and the urge to use it. Even against humans. It becomes a constant struggle not to see your own neighbors as potential prey..."
Listening to Vilkas talk about it, Kjell thought he was starting to understand why Vilkas seemed so tightly wound all the time. He was surprised that Vilkas was opening up to him so much. But, he supposed, they shared at least one common secret...
"I worry about what I might do if I get too comfortable," Vilkas continued. "If I lose control..."
"I... don't know what to say," Kjell admitted. Suddenly, he felt an urge to reach out and touch Vilkas.
"I'm not sure there's anything to say," Vilkas said grimly, standing from the table and walking over to the door before Kjell could act on the impulse. "I'm going to try to get some sleep. I'm sure this will all get sorted out when Aela gets back."
Vilkas unlocked his door and quietly opened it, gesturing for Kjell to leave. Kjell rose and walked to the door, but hesitated just on the other side of the threshold.
"What about... the other thing you want to talk to me about?" Kjell asked uncertainly. It was strange that, after so much avoidance, Kjell had at some point become eager to discuss it.
Vilkas let go of a heavy sigh, one that seemed as though he'd been holding in for years. His eyes lingered on Kjell's face, and his expression softened as Kjell held his gaze.
"I have a lot of thinking to do," Vilkas finally answered, slowly and gently closing the door between them.
Kjell went to his bed in the shared sleeping quarters, but found he couldn't seem to relax. Is this an effect of the lycanthropy? Or am I just too worked up to fall asleep? he wondered absently. He, too, had plenty to think about, but there was a certain buzzing to his mind that didn't want to let him hold onto a line of thought. Eventually accepting the fact that sleep wasn't going to be coming, Kjell decided instead to go upstairs and wait for Aela. He had doubts about everything else – except that, any way he looked at it, the Silver Hand was his enemy.
. . .
Sundas, 21st of Hearthfire, 4E 201
Aela arrived back at Jorrvaskr just as the sky started to lighten. she seemed almost surprised to find Kjell awake, but took it as a sign of readiness – which, Kjell supposed, he was.
"Good that you're so eager," she said, her tone a bit hushed.
"What's our first target?" Kjell asked, with a firm nod.
"Looking through some of the Skinner's things, I caught onto a lead. It seems one of the brighter Silver Hand has been sniffing around Hjaalmarch," she said.
"Hjaalmarch?" Kjell repeated.
Aela nodded. "I want you to sneak into their camp. I even got a solid idea of where you'll find that camp."
"I'm listening..." Kjell said.
"He had the way marked on a map," Aela explained. "Once you get to the major road, follow it west from here. Go past Rorikstead and bear north as the road curves. You'll be able to find the place somewhere off the road to the east, around some streams."
"Got it," Kjell said, nodding, repeating the directions over again in his mind.
"It's up in some hills off the road, I think, but it'll be there. It's before the river crossing – if you come to a bridge then you've gone too far. And be careful of the giant camp in the area," Aela warned. "The Silver Hand camp should be north of it. Sneak inside, steal their plans, and we'll have the advantage."
"Consider it done," Kjell said, rising and heading for the door.
. . .
It was a little past midday when Kjell's stomach began to feel noticeably empty. He trudged on another half an hour, wondering how much farther to the town of Rorikstead, when something caught his eye in the field to his right. There he saw a group of wolves taking down an elk. He watched for only a moment, and the scene seemed to awaken something inside.
Before his mind had a say in the matter, Kjell's feet had begun to move. He stepped off the road, walking the first few steps, until, beyond his notice, his pace began to quicken. Now he strode quickly, covering more distance faster. The elk was still fighting, but the damage had been done. It might get away, or even take a wolf down with it, but it wouldn't survive.
Without him realizing, Kjell's pace had increased to a jog. One wolf jumped up, biting and scratching at the elk's side, as another bit into its throat and held on, wriggling and pulling, trying to rip its neck apart. Kjell broke into a run. He was closing the distance as the elk was brought down.
The wolves weren't pleased to have company at this stage. They turned toward Kjell, snarling threateningly, ready to defend their meal. In an instant, Kjell's dagger was out, and as the first wolf lunged at him, he cut it down immediately. The second, third, and fourth came at him and he swiped, stabbed, and slashed them down. Weak, Kjell could heard his mind chiding. The last wolf standing growled at Kjell as it backed away. But its weakness and submission only angered him further. When the wolf had put enough distance between them that it turned and fled, Kjell reached for a throwing knife and hurled it forcefully, taking the last wolf to the ground.
With the wolves dispatched, Kjell looked down at the elk on the ground – useless, bleeding out, but still shakily drawing breath. Without hesitation, Kjell practically dove down to the ground on his hands and knees and sank his teeth into the animal's flesh. The wolf hadn't bitten the elk's throat out, but Kjell did. He ripped into the elk with his teeth, hands, and knife, destroying it, devouring its raw flesh, lost in his hunger and bloodlust.
It wasn't until late afternoon that Kjell's frenzy subsided, and he took a step back and looked at the scene. He had been completely lost inside his own head, and was shocked when he finally stopped and surveyed his handiwork.
The elk was utterly mutilated – its sides and belly ripped to ribbons, random chunks of it cut out (or worse – bitten off), and some of its entrails lying tangled up on the ground. The wolves around it hadn't been his focus, but were cut down viciously all the same, including the one that had tried to flee. Feeling a sense of shame and dread, Kjell dislodged his throwing knife from the back of the last wolf's head.
A few feet away, Kjell's gloves lay on the ground, saturated with blood. His hands themselves were covered with it as well. He noted with a shudder the chunks of flesh stuck up under his fingernails. They were wedged in, painfully tight.
Remembering the knapsack on his back, Kjell pulled it off and began rifling through it, but was disappointed to find that his waterskin was empty. He'd have to find another way to clean up, as there was no stream in his vicinity. He wanted to continue on to Rorikstead to rest – fatigue was starting to set in now – but he couldn't walk into a town covered in blood like this. He'd have to find a way to clean off without water.
First, Kjell picked the chunks out from under his nails, then tried wiping his hands on the grass. It kind of worked a little, he supposed... but the blood on his hands was dry and crusty, and it was sticking to him. Something with a rougher texture might work better; looking around, he saw a large rock, and tried rubbing his hands on it. Eventually, between wiping on the grass, wiping on the rock, and picking with his fingernails, Kjell managed to get all the crusty, dry blood off of his hands and face – but it left a reddish stain on his skin that he supposed would only come off with water and some soap. He even tried spitting into his hands to try to rub the red tint off of them but to no avail. He had done all he could do for now, so he got back to walking.
As day transitioned to night, the cold seemed not to affect Kjell as it used to. As the sun disappeared, he found that, though he knew it was cold, he didn't really have a problem with it.
When Kjell walked into the town of Rorikstead, night was well underway. He kept his head down and gave the guards patrolling the road a wide berth when he passed, until he found his way to the town's inn.
"I only take real coin here," the innkeeper said, looking Kjell over. "No handouts and no bartering."
Kjell plopped his knapsack onto the counter and pulled out a heavy coin purse. "A room," he said hoarsely.
"Sure thing," the innkeeper said, as Kjell plonked ten coins onto the counter and put the purse away.
The innkeeper showed him to a room right next to the counter, with no door. He'd hoped for a bit of privacy, but at least it had a water jug and basin, along with some other hygiene items. He moved to the opposite side of the room, away from the doorway, and began to wash up.
As he cleaned the bloody tint off of his skin, Kjell couldn't get the incident with the elk out of his mind. He tried to think back. When had he lost himself that afternoon? When had he crossed the line that marked a path of such extensive barbarism? He found he couldn't remember the moment itself. One second he was glancing at a hunting party of wolves off the road, and the next he was covered in blood and viscera, it had seemed. Trying too hard to recall where his mind had been made his head hurt. So, once cleaned up, Kjell decided to just sleep it off.
. . .
Morndas, 22nd of Hearthfire, 4E 201
Kjell didn't need much sleep, he found, and he was awake and back onto the road before the sun was up – swiping a bit of food and drink on his way out. He didn't plan on coming back.
The Silver Hand's camp wasn't far from Rorikstead. Kjell knew he was at the right place when he saw several werewolf corpses impaled outside the mouth of a cave. He took a moment to mentally ready himself, then crept inside.
It was a sparsely populated camp. Kjell had expected them to put up more of a fight, but the five Silver Hand goons he found inside were easily dispatched. He briefly searched the small cave once he was sure he was alone, and grabbed two bound notebooks (the only things he could find that might contain written plans), a couple of coin purses (after all, their previous owners wouldn't be needing them anymore), and was out by midday and headed back to Whiterun.
Instead of going through Rorikstead, Kjell went around it. He didn't think the innkeeper would be outside looking for him – he may not even notice that Kjell had stolen anything. But all the same, he just didn't want to go through it.
On the other side of the town, there were more elk roaming around. It made Kjell tense up, thinking back to his violent blackout from the previous day. He felt an urge flash through his mind to chase one, simply because it was running away from him. But this time, he kept himself in check.
Aside from the fact that it was simply gross to dive face first into a live animal, Kjell found it deeply unsettling that he had done so without control of himself. That was the root of his unease. Fine, he supposed, if his tastes and habits might change as a result of being turned by Skjor and Aela, but he had at least expected to be mentally present during the process.