Arrival at Morthal

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It was early in the morning when Sayaad came upon the odd little town of Morthal. The cold marshlands danced in his nose with the strong undercurrent of death and decay. The swamps were not a place one should ever travel alone at night, otherwise they would become your eternal home. The guards that patrolled stopped and looked upon the Khajiit. His red fur clashing with his dark leather attire. Most Nords didn't care much for outsiders, especially violent ones. And that dripping sack attached to his saddle showed the Guards that he was indeed a violent one. One of the helmeted guards approached him, drawing his sword. "Halt!" He said. "What business have you in Morthal, Cat?" The Tail-less ones always did to throw around that word. And every time he heard it, Sayaad liked it a little less. Especially with the way the Nords always seemed to spout it with such disdain.

Sayaad let out a low growl, and tried desperately not to roll his one eye in response. Instead, from his pocket he pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and held it out to the guard to see. That is assuming the fool could read. "This one has come to collect a bounty." Sayaad explained.

"You? You killed the King of Bandits?"

"King of Maggots now." Sayaad replied. "His head is in my bag." He motioned towards it with his head. The guard slowly approached and reached out for it. Then, his wrist was seized by the clawed hand of the Khajiit. "Hands off Va'Aneqasa." Sayaad warned and then let go of the guard's hand who quickly pulled it back.

"We don't take too kindly to trouble makers around here, Cat."

"And this one does not take kindly to pickpockets." With that, he hopped off of his horse right in front of the Nord guard, staring him down with his glowing yellow eye. Then, removing the bag from his saddle. Taking the reins of Faras and lead him towards the stables where another Nordic horse stood, eating grains. Closing the gate behind him, Sayaad headed towards the Jarl's Longhouse. All the while, he kept his hand wrapped around one of his falcatas, in case these small minded fools tried anything.

The Longhouse was well kept, a large firepit in the center for heating, an ornate throne beyond where the Jarl sat, and goblets and wine bottles a plenty. True Nordic indulgence for sure. On the throne sat an old tail-less one and her steward and husband beside her. It was the steward whom he desired to see. Walking forward, his spurs clicked as he did so. Then, he threw the bloody bag at the foot of the steward, Aslfur. This surprised both he and his wife. "What is~?" He began.

"This is the head of Sverre Einar." The Khajiit spoke in distinct accent.

"I told you I had had a vision of his fall." The Jarl said, looking to her husband. Aslfur frowned as he opened up the bag and nearly wretched when he opened it and the smell hit him. "You have done the people of Morthal and Skyrim as a whole a service, thank you." The Jarl said, giving him a smile.

"Your thanks are generous. But this one prefers payment." Sayaad said coldly.

"Of course. Aslfur, pay the hunter when you're done retching like an invalid." After he pulled himself together, the Steward walked out of the room to grab a coin purse. Sayaad held his clawed hand out and the purse was dropped in. He moved the bag up and down, weighing the contents of it in his mind. He looked at Aslfur who felt a chill run down his spine.

"May the road lead you to warm sands." Sayaad said before turning. Right as he was about to leave, he turned around before his shoulder could be seized. Judging by his armor, he was a member of the Imperial Legion. A legate.

"Sorry there, friend. I didn't mean to offend." The Imperial said in his Imperial way. The sound of his voice brought back many not so pleasant memories to Sayaad.

"No offense taken, this one will keep his hands to himself in the future..." He looked into the Legate's eye now. "Yes?"

"Uh...yes, of course." He cleared his throat. "One of our Imperial Couriers had told us about your dealing with the Bandit King. It was some fine work."

"This one did what the Legion would not."

"That's not fair, we have a war going on."

"There is always a war somewhere. And there are always those getting killed. Both inside, and outside of it."

"What are you? A Stormcloak sympathizer? Because Ulfric's men have no love for your kind either."

"Khajiit has no love for the Stormcloak bigots, nor does Khajiit have any love for the Empire."

"Well...regardless. The Legion is always looking for strong and capable warriors. If you change your mind, head to Solitude and join." It was then that the Legate finally noticed the large scars on the right side of Sayaad's face, and his seemingly missing eye." Say, that's a nasty scar friend, how'd you come by i~" Before the Legate could finish his sentence, Sayaad had thrown a punch right into his unarmored face. It was so fast that the guards at the door had not seen him do it. They only saw the Imperial fall to the ground, unconscious.

When Sayaad made it outside, he pulled out his bag of tobacco and a rolling paper. He licked the paper on one side and rolled the tobacco inside, then placed the cigar into his mouth. Lighting it with a match using his claw, he made his way towards the inn. Moorside.

Upon entering, Sayaad noticed that there weren't many here. And he quickly realized why. In the corner of the room was a skinny orc. He was grinding notes off of a poor lute and he was filling the inn with foul singing on top of it. Over the noise that made his red ears twitch, he heard the innkeep speak to him. "Oh good, finally someone comes in. Throw a log on the fire and stay awhile. The Khajiit did so, picking up a log and tossing it onto the firepit in the center of the inn. He then approached the innkeeper. She was a Redguard woman and did not look upon the Bounty Hunter with distrust. Only the typical weariness that one in her profession would have with anyone coming into their inn.

Picking a few septims out from the coin purse he had just received, he threw them down onto the bar in front of her. "This one requires a bed and a meal." He said to the women who lit up, happy to have the business.

"Right this way, I'll show you to your room and then get the stew ready." Sayaad tipped his hat in thanks to her and was lead to the room on the right. "Just let me know if you need anything else." She said.

"Have the Jarl's men posted any bounties?"

"Oh. You're a hunter? Sure give me a minute, the Jarl's men left something a few days ago."

"This one thanks you."

"Its my pleasure. We don't get too many visitors around here."

"Khajiit can see why." Sayaad said with something almost akin to a chuckle. That made innkeep chuckle as well before she headed out of the room. When she was gone, Sayaad took off his hat, placing it down on the table beside him, then his gauntlets, his boots, and his scarf. It felt good to let them breath after so long. He yawned, running his claws through the fur on his head. He leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling for a moment or two. Just letting the past day wash over him.

His thoughts were quickly shattered by the harsh tones of the Orc bard. You didn't need sensitive ears like his to want to claw them off your head hearing it. Sayaad stood from the chair, cracking the knuckles of his hands and then his neck. He approached the Orc who could see the anger on the Cat's face. He gulped dryly in his throat. This was without a donut, the skinniest Orc that the Hunter had ever seen, it was almost jarring.

"Y~yes M'lord?" The Orc stammered out in his gruff voice, trying to avoid eye contact with the intense single one Sayaad had.

"This one has had a long night. Here." The Khajiit held out a beautiful flawless emerald and placed it into the hand of the Orc. "If you do not sing for the rest of the night, you may keep it." The bard stared wide eyed at the emerald for a moment or two. "V~very well. Thank you M'lord. Thank you!" The bard then grinned at Sayaad and ran out of the inn excitedly.

"For sparing us all this night, your meal is on the house." The Redguard innkeeper called from the cooking pot. Sayaad smirked as he took a good drag of his cigar before tossing the remains into the fire pit.

Sayaad returned to his room and shortly after the innkeeper brought a bowl of strew and the bounty letter. Again, she was thanked and he was left alone. He ate the stew as he looked over the paper.

By Order of Idgrod Ravencrone

To all able bodied and fearless men and women of Hjaalmarch. The Breton Witch Clauline Gilech murdered her husband and two children and has used their bodies in some profance ritual. A reward will be offered to anyone who brings her back, dead or alive.

~Alsfur.

When the stew was finished, Sayaad brought the bowl up to the bar and ordered himself a bottle of Hunningbrew Mead. He enjoyed the sweet taste of it as opposed to the bitter alto wine. And then, he slid the paper over to her. "Know anything about this?" He asked, his one eye steady on her. "Yeah, it was a terrible thing." The innkeeper said with a frown looking at the paper. "Her husband had a little mill outside of town. With the war on, they had been getting busier just like all the other mills. He was a Redguard just like me, and his wife was a Breton. The two of them had three of the cutest little kids you ever did see. But then, one day something happened. Someone came to pick up their order from the mill and there was no one there. He found that the house hadn't been locked. And when he looked inside, Sheogorath almost took him right then and there. There was blood everywhere, and you could hardly tell where one person's parts began and the others stopped. They were all put together in a horrible fashion. The Jarl is pretty sure that the wife wasn't actually a Breton but a Reachman and she got radicalized by the Forsworn." Sayaad listened closely as the woman recounted the story. From his satchel he pulled out his map of the province and put it over top of the bounty letter. "Can you point out where the mill is? This map is old." And he was right. It was yellowed from age and Rorikstead hadn't even been named yet. She pointed to the spot and Sayaad was ready to hand her more gold. "No need for that." She said with a smile, chewing on her bottom lip. Her chest rising and falling now and smell of her desire suddenly became palpable. "I'm just in love with your accent. I've never seen a Khajiit carry themselves like you before..." She blushed and looked away. Sayaad shook his head and chuckled. "This one is flattered, truly. But, tail-less ones don't usually find the experience...what they expect.""Oh, I've read the Real Barenziah. I'm aware." She smirked. That made Sayaad quirk a brow and now he smirked, revealing his sharp teeth. He then turned his head to look back at the nearly empty inn. "Lock up early, and this one shall give you what you seek. But first, your name?" "Jonna." She said, and with his acceptance she went and did just that. "Lovely name Jonna." Sayaad said, putting his map and his bounty letter back into his satchel before undoing the button on his leather pants. Jonna approached, moving to sit astride his hips. "Like I said, we don't get many visitors here." In the morning, Sayaad was the first to awake. Beside him was the naked form of Jonna, curled up and asleep. The blanket was stained with a bit of blood, but after the initial pain she seemed to enjoy herself. He put a few septims down on his side of the pillow and began to get dressed. The sun had not yet come up yet, and he wanted to make headway into investigating the bounty. He helped himself to another bowl of stew and then heard out into the darkness of the early morning. 

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