The forest whipped by in a blur, branches and brush snapping as a trio of leather-clad fugitives crashed through the greenery. Shouts and curses followed the three, as their pursuers hastened to keep up with the nimble pirates. One pirate, with a wild grin and a dangerous gleam in his eye, laughed as he turned his head to watch as their hunters fell away behind them. And while his eyes saw what he'd been hoping for, his feet tripped up on a tree root, and the grin fell away from the pirate's face as he tumbled down a small ravine, and landed with a thump and a splash as his body slumped into the trickling stream. The other two cursed as they stopped, and started to head to his aid, but were halted by the sound of more mercenaries. With a shrug, one turned away and continued to their destination.
"Idiot," muttered the other, as he too fled the scene. The sound of stomping boots, laughter, shrieks of pain, and a final sickening crunch echoed through the trees as he followed his companion.
Hours passed as the two continued on their way, sometimes running, sometimes jogging, but always moving. Finally, after several detours and purposeful backtracking, they stopped and huddled under an overhang of dirt and stood stock still. Hardly breathing, the two waited for the sound of pursuit... but there was nothing. Just the sigh of the wind as it pushed through the trees. A bird warbled in the canopy. A single leaf, separated from its branch, flitted to and fro until it brushed against the Khajiit's muzzle fur, and held fast. Just in front of his eyes, it sat. He couldn't help but stare at it for a moment, before he began to raise his hand to swat it from his sight.
Before he could, though, his companion's hand stayed him. He shifted his gaze to his captain, Tabivah, waiting for orders. And, with a barely perceptible sigh, she turned to face him. Her hot red eyes glanced over him, searching for injury, before she turned to face the forest once more.
"You know this already," the Dunmer breathed, "but we were sold out. Never should have left that damned ship," she scolded herself.
The Khajiit inhaled sharply, about to apologize for his mistake, but she held up a finger to silence him. "Skingrad," she said simply. "That's where we'll go. I have a contact who's made appearances there, though they may not wish to see me. Hard to find, harder to forget. Goes by-" but the name failed to be uttered, as an arrow embedded itself in her throat, pinning her to the wall of soft dirt behind them. A second arrow, not even half a heartbeat behind, thrummed as it struck the dirt his face was pressed against, the feathers tickling the bridge of his nose. Blood welled up from a shallow cut where, moments before, the leaf had rested. As it rolled out of the opening and onto his fur, the Khajiit's mind registered the situation, and his body instinctively rolled backwards, just in time to avoid three more arrows as they arrived at the spot he'd just been occupying.
Turning as he fell back, the pirate's feet dug into the soil as he pushed off to the nearby trees. Dodging and weaving between the slim trunks of the surrounding trees, the nimble Khajiit put all of his effort into escaping that dreaded forest. No longer did he have someone's side to keep to. No longer did he have orders to take. No longer did he have to deal with the name-calling and drunken fistfights of that pirate ship. No longer did he have a home. It had been a long time since he'd felt so heart-achingly free of an anchor.
Hot tears burned their way out of his eyes as he rushed headlong through the trees. His scabbard slapped against his thigh as his legs pumped in a frantic rhythm. For what felt like hours, he ran. Hours upon hours of green and trunks and blurred vision. And then he burst out of the trees, and stumbled, backpedaling to regain his balance, ultimately finding himself staring out of the twigs of a thorny bush. He turned about, and spotted the mercenaries he'd been fleeing from for what felt like a lifetime. Their swords gave off a dull shine in the grey light, but that shimmer disappeared as they sheathed their weapons, glaring at the city before them. They turned to one another, shouting and gesturing at the city, before slipping back into the trees. One stayed behind, though, staring at the massive walls. His hand slowly rose up behind his shoulder, and plucked an arrow from its quiver. He nocked it, and pulled the arrow to his cheek as he aimed at the clouds above the city. Even from a distance, the Khajiit felt the yearning to kill emanating from the bowman. Before he released the arrow, though, another mercenary appeared from behind, and got his attention. After a moment's hesitation, the bowman put his arrow back, slung the bow across his chest, and followed his comrade into the darkened forest.
The Khajiit breathed a sigh of relief, and crawled out of his impromptu bolthole. The thorns scraped at his face and hands, and tugged at his clothing, but it was much better than being poked full of arrow holes. He inhaled sharply as he put weight onto his left leg, and squeezed his eyes shut while his fists balled up. Forcing the breath out again, the Khajiit limped his way to the city gates, and slipped inside while the guard was distracted. Following his nose, the cat made his way through the city, and found himself at the door of an inn. Its sign, once colorful and inviting, was now a disheveled, unreadable mess that flapped lamely in the breeze. Shrugging, he stepped inside and made his way over to the bar. He looked up at the barmaid and flashed his trademark grin.
"This one is Dar'Kazhel, and he is looking for someone," he cooed to her, "Would the jewel of this fine establishment care to help?"