In a forest in Whiterun Hold
Vinx sat at the edge of a campfire, mouth watering in anticipation as he waited for his Venison Chops to finish. His dark eyes were wide as he watched the flames dance, rubbing his hands together. It had been a long time since he'd had the privilege of a decent, hot, fresh meal. He'd been on the run for who knows how long now, ferociously (for he never does ANYTHING out of desperation) trying to reach the land of his kin, his homeland, Skyrim. The journey from High Rock had been long, and made even longer by the whole hunted like an animal part. He'd gotten through mostly unscathed, and managed to get proper healing for most of the close calls. Still, his tail was toying with him. Or, at least, he feared it was.
He owed his successful withdraw in large part due to his martial skills (and by extension, his blade), his durable cloak which served as fair protection from the elements, the money he had procured, and his trusty horse. He wasn't sure what its name was, just that it had been the only one he'd been able to escape with. He had been afraid he'd have to eat it a few times, and other times that he'd have to leave it behind. Still, it had gotten through to Skyrim in better shape than its master. Vinx's clothes and armor had numerous dings and rips, and the cloak was torn and cut in several places. Dirt and mud clung to him just about everywhere, and he was sore in several places, especially his legs and his crotch. He didn't pride himself with his riding skills, but had been forced to do some of the hardest riding in his life.
The going only got tougher when he finally found his way into Skyrim. He had been expecting it, but it still struck him to see the place wracked by this Civil War. Tensions were far too high, and Vinx found himself indecisive for quite possibly one of the only times in his life. He did not know which side he wanted to join, and so found his heart torn in such a time when being neutral was a very dangerous thing. The country side was ripe with conflict, and danger. Both from the armies and from bandits, and other distasteful individuals.
It seemed, however, that a hot meal of Venison Chops (the deer had been a pain to actually take down, even with a horse's assistance), would make everything worthwhile. His spirits were not so easily daunted, and very easily renewed. He was confidant that, at least for the moment, he had given his tail the slip, and that he wouldn't have to worry about bandits, imperials, or stormcloaks at least for these few precious moments.
He would eat this Venison, and then he would make his way to Whiterun, and wait for a decision to come to him. At least, that was the plan, sitting in his shoddy little campsite in the woods.
As the precious Venison neared it's completion, its journey to perfection, and the smell and the sound of the fire popping the wood reached their zeniths, Vinx did not notice his company until as it came up behind him, and then walked around in front of him to take a seat opposite the fire.
Vinx did not give a reaction as he saw the man cross in front of him and take his seat, gave no reaction as the instinctual link between a hunter and his prey made his hair stand on end. There was no doubt by the look of this man, a cloak meant for the purposes of stealth, superbly crafted medium armour and arms. A sword, daggers, a bow and arrow. The boots were muffled, and the man was a master of moving silently. The man carried himself proudly and smugly, and plopped himself down across the fire as if he belonged there.
Vinx smiled at the audacity, and gave a boisterous laugh. He liked this assassin's style. The man was probably smiling, though Vinx couldn't tell under the deep cowl and mask. He could just barely make out the metal mask around the eyes, the rest of it obscured by a cloth mask that held itself by his nose, obscuring the bottom half of his face.
"Smells great. I didn't know you could cook, much less hunt. Seems I've underestimated you yet again." the hunter said, half amused.
"Ha! Yer not the only one. But a man's gotta do and all that." Vinx said, half amused himself. He didn't hate the Hunter, he had grit, and they had been playing a deadly game for a long time now. Vinx should have known better than to assume he'd lost him. This man's skill was absolute, and the only reason Vinx was still alive now was because the man absolutely loved to hunt. He was savoring this, as he hadn't had such an exquisite subject in a too long a time. But, Vinx was nearing the end of his rope. He couldn't keep this up for much longer, and they both knew it.
"I'd thought you'd forgotten about me, but I see you prepared for two." the hunter said, gesturing to the Venison. And it was true, there was plenty enough for more than one person.
"You calling me fat, boy?!" Vinx demanded with deadpan, not knowing the hunter's actual age, and it being no secret that Vinx enjoyed his food. He wasn't offended by the backhanded compliment, more amused by its wit as he denied that he'd anticipated this meeting.
The tense atmosphere had never quite faded, Vinx's hairs were standing on end, and he was tense and ready for a fight. The hunter, by contrast, had maintained a jovial atmosphere and an almost casual countenance. And so, they sat across the fire as the Venison cooked, staring each other down, waiting to see who would make the first move. Once the Venison was done cooking, the tension grew even more. Vinx cautiously harvested it from the fire, blowing it to cool it, and tossed the Hunter a share as quickly as he could, trying not to burn himself. It crossed his mind that this could be a chance to attack, but the hunter seemed content to catch it, and so he sat down and enjoyed his first hot meal in a very long time, what would probably be his last meal, though he didn't so much enjoy the company. The hunter removed his mask to eat, and the look of it made Vinx shudder, despite himself. There were few things in the world that could send such an acute chill down his spine. The hunter, noticing, hid the mask from view, and Vinx tried to put it out of his mind. The deep cowl continued to hide most of the hunter's face, preventing Vinx from getting a proper view of his attacker, though he could tell the he was human and white, along with a beard to rival his own. Vinx pulled out some ale, and they shared a few chugs.
"Be heading off, then." Vinx said, trying to conceal his doubts and tensions.
"Whiterun, I suppose?" the Hunter said, phrasing it more like a statement than a question.
Vinx answered it as a question anyways. "Aye."
"Not taking your horse?" The hunter said mockingly, noticing that Vinx was not walking in the direction he'd left his horse.
"Course not. He's dead." Vinx said with certainty, knowing more than guessing that the assassin had killed his horse silently.
"Hm. Are you ready, then?" the hunter inquired, getting to his feet. Vinx responded with a nod.
Vinx then dove to the side, and rolled to his feet, sword drawn and ready as his eyes found the hunter, standing in the same place by the fire, some Venison in hand as he tried to notch an arrow and eat at the same time. Vinx couldn't believe his eyes for a moment, as he stood there temporarily stunned. He shook himself back to reality as the hunter abruptly readied the arrow, stuffing the Venison in his mouth, and Vinx once again lunged to the side, this time getting into the trees as he heard the arrow's dull thunk against the tree he had just been standing in front of. The hunter calmly retrieved his mask and replaced it, then took up the chase with a mad laugh.
The mad laugh, however, was the last inkling of his hunter's location Vinx had as he frantically weaved through the foliage for his life, arrows coming from seemingly every direction. It was going to be a long run to Whiterun, it seemed.
After quite a few arrows just barely grazed him, Vinx gave a grunt of frustration, and roared, "STOP TOYING WITH ME!" to which there was no reply save that of his own voice's lingering echos. He took off running again in preparation for the inevitable retort in the form of arrows.
After a few minutes of hell, and his nerves shot, Vinx spied a shadow that seemed to be rising from the ground, an assailant ready to strike him, and he swung his sword in a wild chop, only for it to slice through foliage, and not an assailant. He let a few frustrated seethes escape, and then a twig snapping behind him made him whirl around, just in time to parry a blade coming right for his neck. There was the sound of metal striking metal as Vinx shoved the blade away, moving in for a lunge at the hunter's abdomen, using the part of the blade closest to his hilt to keep the hunter's blade out of the way.
The hunter responded by sidestepping the lunge, allowing Vinx to throw himself off balance, bringing his other hand down to the back of his head, and hitting Vinx with the hilt of a second weapon. "Sloppy. You won't make it at this rate." the hunter stated matter of factly, and a little disappointed. He then stepped away from Vinx, as he fell to one knee, ears ringing, and tried to compose himself. He got to his feet, and with another roar, began to mount a ferocious offensive against the hunter. A feinted lunge into a backswing, forehand, backhand, leg sweep, feint for the head, then go for the stomach. None of them came close to their mark, as the hunter simply dodged them all with contemptuous grace, even taking the time to sheathe the dagger he'd used to pommel bash Vinx earlier.
The Hunter feinted, and Vinx leaped backwards a few feet out of range, outclassed. The hunter pressed him, leading with an overhead cut, to which Vinx attempted to stop with the flat of his blade and force to slide down its side, trying to throw the hunter off balance. The hunter, however, did not put enough force behind it to be thrown off balance, and instead allowed his blade to glance off and immediately follow up with a sidecut on Vinx's left.
Vinx barely managed to parry, keeping his blade between them as he went for another feint-lunge at the hunter's left, which he then turned into a cut at the hunter's main weapon arm.
The cut, arcing downwards, was caught in the hunter's hilt, and he forced the sword away as he once again pressed Vinx, who was continuously backing away. It was the hunter's turn now for a full on assault. He opened with a backhanded cut, making Vinx grunt from it's force, and then a swift and delicate overhead blow, throwing Vinx off balance, barely giving him enough time to respond to the next lunge. He'd thought to counterattack then, but the hunter's sword slipped from his parry, and he was once again pressed back with a ferocious backhanded cut, and then another and another, them coming too fast for him to immediately punish their repetition. By the next cut, the hunter had changed tac, and ran his sword up to it's hilt against Vinx's, twisting it out of the way and keeping the hilt locked as he sought to get the blade around at Vinx's neck.
Vinx desperately tried to keep his feet as the blade grazed just barely under his chin, then was forced to parry an upward cut from below on the return stroke, and finally had his weapon abruptly pushed to the side as the hunter's blade knocked his away. Vinx just dodged a stab, barely keeping from tripping over the foliage along the ground, and the hunter was on him again.
A slash at his neck, then his feet, then an upward cut for his face, a slash for his ribs, a stab at his knee, a glancing blow off his arm, and another slash for his neck. All of which Vinx was just barely managing to avoid or parry, and somehow keep his feet. This backpedaling, however, couldn't last. At this rate, Vinx would die. He strained his brain as he was pressed, pressed harder, and then pressed even harder again.
Their blades collided, and Vinx abruptly planted one foot on a down tree, praying that it wouldn't roll, and lunged forwards at the hunter, attempting to stab him and bring him to the ground, and turn it into a wrestling match in which he would have the advantage.
Naturally, the hunter expected it, sidestepping it as Vinx got a cloak in his face, temporarily blinding him as his feet were swept out from under him. Vinx took in the night sky for a split second before he parried a stab, and rolled to his feet as fast as he could, only to be pressed again with more slashes, stabs, and overhead blows, the hunter coming at him like a whirlwind, and Vinx lost control of his momentum, falling down again. Vinx tried to follow his momentum, dragging himself backwards, raising his sword in preparation to parry, and was shocked as he got to his feet only to find the hunter was seated on a fallen tree, yawning, and casually resting his sword against his thigh.
With another roar, Vinx charged the hunter, closing the distance in seconds as he brought his sword down in a deadly arc at his tormentor's head. The hunter sighed, maneuvering to the side, blinding Vinx again with his cloak.
This time, it was the hunter's turn to be surprised as Vinx recovered almost instantly, the charge being a feint, and pressed him for a few moments. He was not able to land a blow, however, and was just forced back again.
The hunter didn't press his advantage for long, but merely disappeared. He'd gotten around Vinx's guard, slipped around him, and then was simply gone. Vinx was unable to see him, or any sign of him, and couldn't hear him over his own thudding heartbeat and heavy breathing. He hadn't wounded him, and he wasn't even sure if the hunter was winded yet.
More arrows darted from various directions, narrowly missing Vinx every time. Then the hunter came from the shadows, seeking to engage in melee yet again, and Vinx resolved to hold his ground. The sound of metal made music as they danced the dance of death, the hunter always just ahead of Vinx. They traded blow after blow, slash after slash, as Vinx sought yet again to use his weight to his advantage and turn it into a wrestle. He brought his sword down in an overhead cut, then immediately darted out his left hand, trying to grab the hunter as attempted a bull rush. The hunter merely grabbed his arm and threw him to the side, using his momentum against him. And then the hunter was gone again. Only to reappear from a different side, come in with a flurry of brutally strong blows, and then disappear again.
From a different angle, the hunter repeated the process, and then he was gone again. And again, and again, and again, coming from the most unexpected directions, driving Vinx mad. He wasn't just wearing down his stamina, but he was wounding his pride. Blow after blow rained down, and Vinx could not stop all of them. He acquired a myriad of cuts and bruises, and spit out some blood from a particularly brutal punch to the face. The assassin was enjoying this, and making it last.
The hunter had disappeared again, and Vinx stood, his breath coming in drawn out, labored gasps. He was nearing the edges of his limits, sweat and blood stinging his eyes, the taste of his own blood on his tongue, arms and legs crying out for a reprieve, and more bruises and cuts than he could count crying out for attention. A dagger flew out of the forest on his left, and Vinx brought his tired arms up in time to knock it away with his blade, his feet feeling like bricks. Moments later, another dagger flew from the woods, and he could not will himself to stop this one, his body not responding to his brain. He roared with pain as it struck him in the back, driving him to a knee. It struck one of the stronger parts of his armor, and was nonlethal even without, but it still hurt like hell. The weight and force alone practically knocked him forward and off his feet.
Down on his knee, completely spent, Vinx used his sword for support to stay upwards. The hunter walked out of the surrounding forests, retrieved the dagger that lay on the ground, and took a knee in front of Vinx, who glared at him.
"I'll let you keep the other one as a souvenir. You're getting bad at this, you know. You weren't even able to land a blow this time." the hunter mocked, and waited for a response. When nothing but Vinx's labored breathing responded, the hunter continued, "Well-"
He didn't get to finish, as Vinx drove an arrow into whatever he could reach of the hunter. To his regret, it wasn't a lethal blow, at least not immediately. The hunter would likely be able to stop the bleeding, and make a full recovery, but it was the principle that mattered. with a smile, Vinx replied between breaths, "That wa'... tuh last souvenir... ya' left me. Sure ya'... want tuh... leave anotheh?" he tried to twist and drive in the arrow as he talked, but the hunter grabbed his arm in an iron grip, broke off the arrow, and then violently twisted Vinx's arm, forcing him face first into the dirt, a boot on the back of his head.
Then, just as the hunter was going to finish him off, he hesitated, sword poised to strike. There was a low growl off to Vinx's side, and the snapping of branches and twigs as something big made its way towards them. Whatever it was stopped, and the hunter evidently figured that any sudden moves at this moment in time would be very poor for his health. And so he froze, sword poised in the air, ready to finish off Vinx.
The beast began to stalk around them in circles, watching them, growling at them, and slowly edging closer. And then, total chaos. The hunter dove to the side, as people burst out and began firing arrows at whatever beast had found its way to them, and shouting at the hunter as he slipped away. The beast roared, people shouted, and then all was black.
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He was in and out of consciousness for awhile. He remembered a lot of pain, lots of dry heaving, and lots of foul tasting medicine. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, probably a few days. When he finally woke up, he woke up to a companion slapping him on the back, telling him how lucky he was, buying him a drink, and telling the story. They'd been out hunting a monster of a Saber Cat that had been growing overly bold. The dead horse had happened to draw it in Vinx's direction, where it had been startled by him and the assassin in the woods. And then from there, they had put it down, and attempted to stop the assassin, but he had escaped, leaving a poisoned dagger in Vinx's back. They initially hadn't been sure whether Vinx was bad news or not, but judging by the way the hunter had ran off, they figured Vinx had probably been the victim. Still, he felt harsh eyes on him as he made his way out of one of the tents, nose wrinkling at the foulness that spread out before him. Refugee tents. Everywhere.
"I take it you want to head into the city?" the companion inquired, the city being Whiterun.
"Aye." Vinx replied, heading off, thankful that they hadn't stolen anything, as far as he could tell. He had varely enough septims to get by, and hoped he'd be able to find a job to earn some more. He didn't want to linger among these tents any longer than he had to.
"Let me go with you. I might know you have some coins in your purse, but you look like hell. Doubt the guards would let you in, times like this. Best remember well, though, we're watching you. First sign of trouble, and you're gone." the companion warned, leading the way. He was right, too. Vinx did look like hell, he smelled like hell, and he felt like hell, and he would march into the first inn he could find, eat ravenously, drink ravenously, and then hibernate like a bear.
The guards at first stepped in front of Vinx with hands on their weapons, but the companion explained the situation, and they begrudgingly allowed him inside. He added a bath and a change of clothes to his list.
And so he found himself in an inn, not really paying attention, and attacking the food and drink that he could afford. He had precious little left, and would have asked for more food on his tab, but he didn't think the innkeepers would take too kindly to it, with the poverty and all, and his obvious disgruntled looks. They would tolerate him only as long as he could pay, and so he saved his remaining septims for the bath and the change of clothes. He wouldn't be able to afford a soft bed and a roof, but he had grown used to roughing it. These thoughts and more flew through his mind, and he became so focused on his food that he stopped caring for his surroundings. He was thankful to be alive, after all. He may as well celebrate. He probably wouldn't get another reprieve like this one for awhile.