My first try at this fanfic business. Not much to say, except I'd love to hear constructive criticism and all that jazz. Anything to improve my writing, really

And so, without further ado, enjoy!

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Prologue - A Hunt Begins

“It is over, Alanthir. Stop this madness and return with us.” The speaker was a Bosmer, small, but compactly built and muscled. His tawny skin rippled as his fingers flexed the barbed arrow he held nocked on his minotaur-bone longbow. Alanthir knew the elf well, for it was none other than his brother, Gwinlas and it pained him deeply to see his kin turned against him so brutally. So quickly, he reflected with a pang of sorrow. Besides Gwinlas, half a dozen other Bosmeri archers stood scattered about the clearing and all of them gripped arrows. Every arrow was aimed towards his heart.

“I did what I must, Gwinlas, for the good of the clan. He had to be stopped, you know that as well as I.” Alanthir said quietly, calmly. He hoped the certainty in his voice masked his fear, “Does our blood-bond mean nothing to you, brother?” Another bolt of pain shot through his body as Gwinlas’ face remained as emotionless. What did he see, Alanthir wondered, was Alanthir merely another beast to be hunted and put down for the safety of the clan? Or did he see he see his brother, the Mer who had watched over him since he was born?

Gwinlas grimaced and drew the bowstring taut, “You broke our bond as surely as you broke the heart of father and drew the lifesblood of the Chieftain.” Gwinlas’ voice hitched, the barest pause. Was that a tear in his eyes? Perhaps Gwinlas was not lost to him, Alanthir hoped fervently. Yet Gwinlas’ next words, spoken so emotionlessly! Dashed what little hope he had.

“You are no longer of the clan, Alanthir… And are no longer my blood nor kin.”

Alanthir shouted suddenly, angrily, how could his brother proclaim such a thing so easily! “Gwinlas, no! You would doom your sister with your actions: Maerwen is only a child, Gwinlas. She cannot survive without me, without us!”

Gwinlas scowled now, letting his own anger distort his features into an ugly mask. Fervent fury dripped from his every word, “She will learn, Alanthir. Just as I learned of the serpent within our midst, so too shall she learn.”

Alanthir felt the despair he’d kept so desperately dammed washing over him. He had been too slow in his actions. He’d underestimated the outsider’s influence, that much was clear. He couldn't let his kinsmen rot under the outsider's rule, he'd have his vengeance. The thought gave him resolve. Purpose. First though...

He needed to escape.

Alanthir drew his blade. Elegantly curved and hewn from the blackest ebony, its razor-sharp edge shimmered with a bloody red sheen. Runes were etched across the blade as well, written in a script unintelligible to Alanthir and his clan. It was a beautiful thing, and a deadly weapon.

And then all his emotions were drifting from him, he felt light: his thoughts came clearly, effortlessly. Everything seemed to be painted in stark detail, he could hear the faintest rustling of the trees, could smell his own sweat and that of his pursuers. Alanthir knew he had tapped into that state of heightened alertness that all warriors strove towards, but few ever achieved.

He saw Gwinlas shifting uneasily, as well as some of the other hunters. They knew what was happening, they would see his normally hazel eyes becoming fathomless, almost horrific, black orbs. A wicked smile twisted his lips. Fear was good.

Suddenly he leapt towards the assembled hunters, his ebony blade gleaming with fiendish delight. Half a dozen arrows flew at him, but Alanthir only had eyes for one.

“Gwinlas”, he whispered fiercely.


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Stranger

Thud!

Vanya was driven off her feet and slammed hard into the wooden wall behind. The pain hit her like a hammer, driving the breath out of her lungs even as she struggled to wriggle out of the grip her attacker held on her. The Nord let out a harsh bark of laughter as Vanya tried kicking the literal bear of a man, albeit in vain.

“Bosmer, you’re all the same. Think you can steal from an honest working man, and get away with it?” He spat on the floor, shoving Vanya even harder against the wall. She felt her shoulder-blades groaning in protest, sending a burning throb through her body. When she tried to shift to a more favourable position, her efforts were rewarded only with another bout of hurt. Giving up on her attempts to relieve the pain, she resorted to communicating with the grizzly-haired oaf.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t steal your coins! I’m the blacksmith’s apprentice for Y’ffre’s sake, why would I need the coin of some mangy mercenary?” Unfortunately, if anything, her words only seemed to further enrage the Nord as he spat his next words, splattering spittle over Vanya’s leather jerkin,

“Mangy Mercenary?” He asked indignantly, “That’s Fighter’s Guild, girl, you should remember that before I start taking matters into my own hands. Now hand over the gold!” He added, tossing Vanya down. She fell hard, landing on the cold dirt-encrusted roads with an audible slap. Gritting her teeth, she fought down the urge to shout out and glared at the Nord instead.

He rewarded her with a solid kick to the gut, blasting the air out of her for a second time. Infuriatingly, like a Dwemer clockwork, he repeated himself, his words very near to a bearlike growl “My gold. Now.” He stepped closer, looming over her like an ogre and filling her vision with his muscled bulk. His massive hand moved towards the sword belted by his side and with a horrifying hiss of metal, he drew it.

Gripped by a sudden urge, Vanya’s leg shot out and hooked behind the Nord’s ankle. A deft twist later, and the Nord fell onto the dirt beside her, his sword clattering out of reach. The man let out a stream of curses, but Vanya ignored him and scrambled towards the discarded sword. Her hands curled around the hilt, but before she could so much as lift the weapon, had an iron-shod foot slammed down onto the flat of the blade.

Vanya caught an earthly scent, something that reminded her distinctly of aspen trees, Valenwood? She wondered curiously. Her eyes drifted up from the boots then to take in the stranger’s armour: A rusted and battered set of chainmail covered his body while a black-hilted longsword was belted to his waist. A bone-white longbow was slung over his shoulders, his quiver poking over his shoulder like a bird’s plumage. He wore a dusty green cloak, but at the moment that was swept over his shoulders.

But her eyes were drawn to the face. His long pointed ears immediately set him apart as an elf, but he was neither golden nor tall and neither was he ashen and dour. He had handsome, noble features one would’ve expected to find on an Altmer, but eyes the colour of smouldering charcoal. His hair was tawny brown and hung freely to his shoulders, though he had a single braid running along the back. A wood elf, Vanya realized with a start. And this one was not at all like the frivolous kind that portrayed in the bard's songs.

No, she corrected, this one was a warrior. Like the living incarnation of a figure from the Wild Hunt.

Vanya was startled out of her observations when the elf looked down at her and Vanya nearly quailed beneath the endless depths of his dark eyes. He seemed to stare at her for an age before turning his gaze to the belligerent Nord. Vanya let out a pent-up breath, glad she wasn’t being scrutinized any further. If anything, the Nord looked even more bull-headed, baring his teeth in a snarl even as he stumbled away from the elf.

“Pah! Get gone stranger! This is between me and the girl, you’d do well to keep out of it.” The elf merely smiled, his lips curling up wolfishly. Vanya imagined that a pair of fangs wouldn’t look out of place in that fearsome grin.

“I’m certain that the Guild would be pleased if they discovered a certain Nord roughing up the locals.”

The words seemed to have struck a chord with the Nord as he hesitated, his bulging eyes darting from Vanya to the elf. As if finally realizing the elf wasn’t another villager, the Nord licked his lips nervously, backing away.

“Take the lass, take her! Just, stay where you are!” And with that the Nord bolted down the alley, his blade lying forgotten in the grime.

Vanya couldn’t help but laugh as the Nord fled, all semblance of dignity gone, and was about to turn to thank her mysterious helper, but a strong hand clamped down on her shoulder and cut her short.

“And now for you.”