The Blood Of The Wolf

Chapter One

The air over Whiterun was thick and humid. Skyrim was entering one of its short summers. They always seemed to end just as they had began, which, for Maris, was a blessing. She had always felt more comfortable in the cold and snow.

Maris fell harshly against the paving slabs of the training yard, sending a cloud of dust into the air. It stuck to the blood and sweat on her skin, making her gashes throb and sting. The dust crept down her throat and up her nose, making it difficult to breath. The blood from a cut in her head ran into her left eye, making it impossible to see out of that eye. She hated the weather just as much as she hated Vilkas. Before she could gather her bearings, she was dragged harshly to her feet by the collar. A sword was thrust into her hand and almost immediately, a strike came crashing down on her. She managed, only just, to swat it always messily. She stumbled backwards. She hated this. She hated feeling so uncoordinated and heavy handed. She hated using clunky great swords and barbaric, unskilled fighting techniques. In a real fight, she would have cut down the cocky, bullish Nord before he had even had a chance to draw his sword, but this wasn't a real fight. She didn't have her bow or her broad bladed rapiers or her scimitar. She was intricate and precise, how could she possibly be that with such a ill crafted weapon? It wasn't even a skyforge sword.

Maris spat the blood from her mouth and slackened her arms. Vilkas stayed poised and strong.

"Why are you stopping bloodsucker? Are you truly so weak?" Vilkas growled.

"Well the sun doesn't exactly agree with me, mutt!" Maris hissed, throwing down the weapon with a deathening clatter. Loud enough to draw the attention of the companions who were sat conversing beneath the over hang of Jorvasr. They were probably sick of the constant arguments and snide comments between the two of them. Maris wiped the blood from her forehead and and turned to leave.

"Don't walk away from me, this training session isn't finished!" Vilkas yelled.

"Well I'm done here!" Maris called back. She grabbed her cloak from the back of a chair and the dog resting in the shadow of the table, opened one eye suspiciously. Vilkas tightened his grip on his sword and snarled, showing his white, wolf like teeth.

"Come now Barbas, I'll get you something to eat." She cooed. The dog jumped up excitedly, wagging his tail, his large, soft brown eyes glistening. With that she walked inside, Barbas following close at her heels.

Her and Vilkas were far too similar but in different ways. They were both headstrong, confident, determined, knowledgeable, strong people but the way they went about it was completely polar opposite.

Vilkas was a proud and heroic. He was far more wolf like then the rest of the companions. Years of penning up the wolf within him had caused the wolf like attributes to poke through his actions. Even more so in senses of heightened emotion. To others, Vilkas was actually quite a kind and thoughtful man. When in battle Vilkas was animalistic and violent yet somehow held himself as honourable and heroic.

Maris was the quintessential assassin. She was sleek and precise. She was sly, vindictive, cruel and ruthless, yet put on a charming air. She was underhanded and cunning. She kept to the shadows instead of taking the limelight. When fighting she was composed and never let her heart lead. She was powerful in spirit and body.

Even the appearances of the two were at completely different ends of the spectrum.

Vilkas was tall and muscular, like most Nords. Though, unlike most Nords, he had messy dark brown hair and wolfish grey eyes that seemed all the more threatening by the war paint he wore. His features were hard and ridged and his skin pale, scarred and weathered with a greyish hue. He wore thick, heavy metal plated wolf armour, accustom to the companions. Although Vilkas wasn't handsome in the traditional sense, he had a roguish charm to him that Maris denied she saw.

Maris, although was pale, was more porcelain and smooth. She was completely unblemished, as if time were afraid to touch her. Her features were soft and beautiful. Even for a breton/woodelf, she was short. She was slender and athletic. Her eyes were a deep blue but tended to melt into a piercing violate when her blood-lust set in. Her hair was long and pure white. Despite its length, it always seemed immaculate. She tended to sway towards light armour and cloaks so she could be quicker on her feet, and her clothing was almost always dark and hooded.

Maris wandered into the lower halls of Jorvaskr and towards her study.

"How dare he speak to the Harbinger in such a manor, stupid dog!" She hissed.

"I take offence by that," Barbas yapped. Maris smirked, bending down to pat his head.

"I apologies Bar-Bar." She smiled. "But there is no other name for such a barbaric mutt."

"Hay, hay, hay! I'm am companion to the deadric lord Clavicus Vile! I am a a supernatural being of unfathomable power! I will not be nicknamed like some house hold pet!" Barbas huffed.

"What ever you say Bar-Bar." Maris sneered, straining up and continuing to her chambers. Barbas growled slightly, then reluctantly followed.

"You've spent too much time with these people, Maris. I thought you were only gathering Intel? Now look at you, you're always here!" Barbas exclaimed.

"It's complicated... I never intended for it to go this far but I couldn't walk away... besides... I like being the good guy for once..." Maris shrugged.

"...And you said something about food right?" Barbas said, raising an eyebrow. Maris chuckled softly.

"Yes Bar-bar, I have a horker bone with your name on it." She smiled, showing her sharp white fangs.

There was allot that the companions didn't know about her. Maris was the unchallenged ruler of the underworld of skyrim. Guild master of the thieve's guild, Nightingale, leader of the dark brotherhood and listener to the night mother. She was the very personification of darkness. There wasn't anyone's dirty little secret that she didn't know of and no one was safe from her once she got her contract. There was a myth circulating that she could walk through walls like a ghost. That was a lie, she was just good with a lock pick was all but it didn't hurt to get the extra publicity. She didn't care if people respected or feared her. She just did her job. That was how she held her power, she just didn't care about it, so it would never go to her head.

It was strange to be part of the companions, everyone looked upon her with such hope and admiration when she wore the wolf armour. She had originally joined the companions because of something Arnbjorn had said to her before the dark brotherhood was almost destroyed by Commander Maro. She knew they had a secret and her curiosity got the better of her. How did she end up so deep?... It was Kodlak's fault. The previous Harbinger had seen something in her... He believed it so much that even she began to see it... But if she was such a hero, she wouldn't have let Kodlak die at the blade of the silver hand. She had never seen Vilkas so angry and vengeful. He'd refused to go into the tomb of Ysgramor because of it. No matter how much she hated Vilkas... The pain in his eyes harrowed her. She felt like she had to carry on for Kodlak, so that's what she did. Maris, the companion. Maris, the hero. Maris, the unworthy...