Korvan awoke on his back. The early morning sun was streaming through a hole in the roof. He stood up, his libs felt heavy, and there was something at the back of his mind that he just couldn’t shake. He looked around. The floor was strewn with slaughtered Imperials. He smiled coldly.
The he remembered – the wild hunt! He’d taken part in it, and somehow…he was still alive? It was unheard of. The whole point was to permanently transform oneself into a monster, then devour your enemies and then yourself. But somehow he was still here. There were parts of monsters strewn around the floor, too: scaly tails, feathered torsos, even a leathery wing rested in the corner. All the Bosmer who had taken part in the hunt were dead…except Korvan.
He had no recollection of the night before, save the sensation of extreme power and the sick joy of killing Imperials. It was then that he realised that he could feel something inside him, lurking just below the surface. The monster was not gone, but waited impatiently inside him, for the moment his feelings boiled over and he stopped keeping it in check, which he had been doing unconsciously since he had awoken.
Having turned into a monster, he was naked, so looked in one of the chests. He pulled out a plain set of clothes and a hood, as well as some supplies.
He allowed himself a smile, all the Imperials were dead! And he’d had a part in it! He walked out of the building and was shocked to find something he’d never seen before, desert. For the first time in his life, there were no trees as far as the eye could see. It was different behind him, of course, but there was nothing left for him in Valenwood. He strode off into the sands, heading for the city in the distance.
It took him just over a day to reach Dune, and once he got there, he found the city to be teeming with Khajiit. There were very few Men or Mer, and no Argonians. He stood against a post for an hour, just watching the bustle unfold around him. He was not accustomed to seeing so many people all at once.
He stiffened when an Imperial patrol strutted round the corner, and decided to follow them to the barracks. His years with the Vampires had taught him the value of remaining unseen, and he followed them to the low building unnoticed. He watched them go into the building before he made his decision. The city had a market place in the middle, and with the amount of people around it wouldn’t be hard to steal a couple of swords and then head to the Imperial barracks. He should be dead anyway, so what was the point in being sneaky?
He took two simple iron swords from an unsuspecting Dunmer merchant, and set off for the barracks. He was almost there when a clawed hand caught him by the shoulder.
“You have three seconds to move your paw before I move it for you,” Korvan threatened. He turned to see a brown Khajiit holding a small bag.
“You don’t want to do this, my friend,” he said, “we’ve been watching you, and I know exactly what you intend to do, but you’ll die.”
“That’s the point,” Korvan replied bleakly.
“Why don’t you come with us?” the Khajiit asked, ignoring Korvan’s suicidal statement.
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“We are a caravan of Khajiit traders, about to leave the city. We can teach you what it is like to live, out on the open road, with no one telling you where you have to go. Making money from stealing and selling, and spending the money on whatever we want. We are headed for Hammerfell, why don’t you join us?”
It was a good offer, and certainly preferable to death. He considered it for a moment, and then saw the chance to get his life back on track.
“Fine,” he said gruffly.
Korvan stayed with the caravan in Hamerfell for three years, and the Khajiit brought joy back into his life. They instructed him further in the art of stealth, and he soon became proficient at thievery and bargaining. They also sparred with him, and they quickly realised that he was a gifted warrior, easily surpassing them all at swordsmanship. He changed from the cold hearted boy who took part in the wild hunt to a young man who had much to live for.
He did at one point, however, have a bit of a scare with his…other side. He was out on his own gathering food, when he saw a party of Imperials. He had not seen any since he had been in dune, and his rage and hurt boiled over. The monster took over. He slaughtered them, then ate them, before the creature allowed Korvan to return. Once again, although he knew what had happened, he had no memory of the incident.
It was around noon one day, when they were walking along the road north, and a courier came running in the opposite direction.
“Ho, friends,” the Nord said. “You’re not going to Skyrim, are you? Ulfric Stormcloak has killed High King Torygg, and the ‘Stormcloaks’ are waging war with the Imperials.”
“J’Marzo thanks you friend,” said one of the Khajiit. The courier ran off and Korvan began to pack his things. The Khajiit wordlessly helped him, and when he was ready, said their goodbyes quickly. Korvan thanked them fervently for all they had done, and then set off for Skyrim. This was his chance to strike a blow against the Empire, and continue to make up for the damage they had caused him.
