Later, when Dar’mhirr was dressed again, though still not in the armour he’d worn, instead wearing light fur clothing of Skaal make.  Not the huge, thick furs that Dar’mhirr had seen most of the Skaal in before, but instead something considerably thinner, though still warm.  More like actual clothes.

The Khajiit, with the assistance of Frea, made it outside of the Greathall where he beheld the village for the first time.  It was a small affair, consisting of naught but a few buildings scattered about.  To the left of Dar’mhirr’s position, a small hut stood a little ways separate, where Frea’s father was conversing with another Skaal.  Just beyond that, lay a forge, where a burly Skaal blacksmith was busy at work.

The blacksmith drew a weapon from his work table and held it aloft, examining it in the sun and Dar’mhirr’s breath caught in his throat.  The weapon seemed to be made of ice.  It was beautiful, subtle and elegant, with an eerie radiance the Khajiit had never seen before.

Frea noticed his stare.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she sighed.  “That’s Stalhrim.  An ice weapon.”

“How does the ice not shatter, when in use?” Dar’mhirr quizzed.

“It’s a rare material,” Frea explained.  “Only found in crypts, frozen over the bodies of ancient Nords.  A theory exists that the souls of the warriors were bound to the ice, giving it supernatural tendencies.”

A bunch of the Skaal were stopping what they were doing and were giving Dar’mhirr curious stares, much like Aeta had been earlier.  His tall, mobile ears were pierced with rings and his hair styled into a fierce Khajiiti mohawk, symbolizing his place as a warrior.

Frea herself wanted nothing more than to talk with their strange visitor, but she wished to honour his rights to be himself.

“It is indeed a beautiful weapon,” Dar’mhirr said.  He swayed a little and Frea put out a hand to steady him.  Through the clothing he had on, Frea could feel him shivering.  The Khajiit was cold.

“Let’s head back to the Greathall, alright?” Frea asked gently, not wanting to upset the Khajiit’s sense of honour.  Dar’mhirr glanced at her with his pale eyes and nodded once.  The shaman’s daughter helped the freezing Khajiit back into the Greathall, where he immediately leaned up against the wall.

“This one should never have attempted that,” Dar’mhirr confessed.  “Khajiit is still far, far too weak for movement.  Can you help him back over to his cot?”

“Of course,” Frea hastened to assure him.  She walked over and hoisted one of Dar’mhirr’s arms around her shoulder and he leaned on her all the way back to his cot on the floor.

“Innumerable thanks,” Dar’mhirr muttered, as she set him down.

Frea just nodded as her reply, taking a seat on the ground beside Dar’mhirr.  The Khajiit looked over at her before looking down at the cot.

“You wouldn’t mind if we talked, right?” Frea asked, again, wishing to respect their unique visitor.

Dar’mhirr seemed surprised.  “Of course not.  Dar’mhirr would be glad of some conversation.”

Frea smiled and shifted her seat.

“Where do you come from?” she asked first.  “Tharstan of Solitude told us it was a far away, sun-baked land.”

“This is true,” Dar’mhirr nodded.  “Dar’mhirr comes from Elsweyr.  Specifically, the city of Riverhold, more North than any of the other cities in Elsweyr.”

“Why did you leave your home?” Frea asked, the very concept seeming alien to her.  “Why would you come North?”

“Khajiit’s sister was stolen by vampires, many, many years ago,” Dar’mhirr said, a sad look entering his eyes.  “Dar’mhirr came to Skyrim to join the Dawnguard.  Vampire hunters.  He hopes that through this organization, he may be able to avenge his sister.”

Frea didn’t quite know what to say to this.  The Khajiit was clearly on a mission and would see it through to its completion.

“I’m…I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be,” Dar’mhirr brushed her off.  “It was a good question, for Dar’mhirr would not have left home otherwise.  Skyrim has nothing to offer him but frostbitten feet and a frozen tail.  If it weren’t for Isran and the Dawnguard, Dar’mhirr would not be here.”

“Is that where you got your armour?” Frea asked, switching the subject.

Dar’mhirr chuckled.  “No, Khajiit made that himself.  The armour is made of a polished ceramic and the designs drawn in the blood of a dremora.  That armour is incredible.”

“It looks beautiful,” Frea agreed, thinking back to her only time seeing the set.

Dar’mhirr nodded.  “This one may not have gotten his armour from the Dawnguard…though he did indeed get a set…but he did get the designs for his crossbow.  Though…Dar’mhirr made that himself too.”

“You sound like an accomplished smith,” Frea noted.

Dar’mhirr lowered his ears.  “You give this one too much credit.  The crossbow is not hard, when you know how.  Likewise, the armour is a simple armour design, copied from elvish armour, modified and made of ceramic.”

“You know how to fight?” Frea asked, though she was sure she already knew the answer.

“Of course,” Dar’mhirr nodded.  “Khajiit would not have lived to fight that Lurker if he could not fight.  Dar’mhirr has been training for years, under such teachers as the Renrijra Krin swords-woman Ma’jyrr, the mace-wielding Imperial commando Khazzi, Jo’akora, the Archmage of Winterhold and others.  Even this one’s grandfather, Dro’amoreth, could teach Dar’mhirr much on hand-to-hand.  But Dar’mhirr is a breed apart.”

Frea sat there silently for a bit, before Dar’mhirr cut into her musings.

“Can you fight?” he asked, in that sly accent that Frea really enjoyed listening to.  She felt as though she could just listen to him talk all day.

“Yes,” Frea answered.  “I can fight.  I was trained by the old chief of our village in combat.  I was an angry child, but he taught me how to direct that anger into purpose and use.”

“That’s good,” Dar’mhirr said.  “Maybe, when Khajiit is feeling better, you can show him some tricks.  Dar’mhirr is always wishing to learn.”

“Maybe I can show you some tricks,” Frea conceded.  “But my guess is that you’d be the one doing all the teaching.  You have an air of experience and lethality about you.”

Dar’mhirr flashed her a fang-filled grin.  “My thanks.  Dar’mhirr has plenty of experience.  But it is always good to learn as much as you can.  Then you won’t have to worry so much about Lurkers and their ilk.”

“Well,” Frea said, getting to her feet.  “I really should get back to my father.  And you really should rest.”

“Khajiit knows this,” Dar’mhirr sighed.  “He just does not enjoy sitting around.  Could you…possibly do Dar’mhirr a favour?”

“What?” Frea asked, looking at the deadly Khajiit.

“In amongst Khajiit’s supplies is a book.  A book called “The Story of the Khajiit:  A compendium.”  It was written by my grandfather’s cousin, Jo’akora.  This one has been reading a bit of it, but he wants to keep reading.  You know, if Dar’mhirr has nothing else to do.”

“Certainly,” Frea nodded.  “I’ll be right back.”

With those words, she left the cabin, going to fetch the Khajiit his book.

Over the next couple of days, Dar’mhirr improved rapidly.  On day two, he regained the use of his feet and could walk about unaided.  At this time, Edda also gifted him with a set of Skaal clothes, thick and heavy, which Dar’mhirr vastly appreciated.

A day after this, the Khajiit was already out exploring again and practicing with his weapons.  His side still hurt, but it would heal.

It was on day six that the challenge came forth.  Aeta, who’d been watching Dar’mhirr train, remarked that he was good enough to be a match for Wulf Wild-blood, the village’s First Hunter and a master two-handed weapon specialist.

Naturally, Wulf had been nearby enough to hear this and wished to put that to the test.  Dar’mhirr, who would admit that he was an arrogant person, refused to back down and agreed to spar with Wulf in one-on-one combat.

Which was how it led to this.

“You sure you want to face me, Khajiit?” Wulf asked, a greatsword in hand.  “I’m really good with this blade.”

“Khajiit is sure,” Dar’mhirr said.  He’d changed out of his Skaal clothes and replaced them with his own armour.  Though Dar’mhirr’s armour was insulated, so as to be able to withstand Skyrim’s cold temperatures, the Khajiit was shivering slightly.  But his hands and feet were warm, which meant he could dodge and keep a good grip on his sword, which was all that mattered.

“So be it,” Wulf said.  “With what will you fight?”

“With what Dar’mhirr is best at,” the Khajiit responded confidently, pulling an ebony dagger from his side and twirling it between his fingers.

“A dagger?” Wulf laughed.  “Against a greatsword?  Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Dar’mhirr said, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.  “Khajiit will not lose.”

“If you say so,” Wulf shrugged, unslinging his greatsword.  “Let’s do this.”

“Everyone ready?” Frea asked.  Dar’mhirr gave curt nod and Wulf grunted an affirmative.

“Go!”

Dar’mhirr rushed, straight at Wulf, who swung his greatsword sideways at Dar’mhirr, aiming to hit with the flat of the blade, so he wouldn’t cut the cat in two.

Impossibly, or so Wulf thought, Dar’mhirr dodged, dropping to his knees and falling back over flat, using his momentum to slide forwards and come up in a roll.  Wulf turned to strike again, but felt the cold press of ebony against his throat.

“You lose,” Dar’mhirr said simply from his back.

“How did you do that?” Wulf demanded, when the dagger had left his throat.

“Dar’mhirr is quick,” the Khajiit shrugged.  “Lots of practice.  Would you like to try again?”

“You got lucky,” Wulf said, giving his greatsword a half swing.  “Yes, I want to go again.”

“Fair enough,” Dar’mhirr shrugged again.  He twirled the dagger once and slid it in the elegant scabbard at his side.  He unclipped the ebony mace and gave it a half swing as well.  “This time, Dar’mhirr will try with this thing.  A mace is hardly a fitting weapon for the kinds of work this one does, but Dar’mhirr enjoys the weight.”

“Alright,” Wulf said, standing ready.

“Go!” Frea called.

Dar’mhirr rushed in as before and intercepted the first of Wulf’s mighty swings with his mace, redirecting it past him, where the Khajiit immediately counter-attacked, swinging the mace at Wulf’s side.  With more dexterity than Dar’mhirr had expected, the other pivoted and blocked the strike, bashing out with his blade and staggering Dar’mhirr.

The Khajiit stumbled backwards and barely managed to intercept the next swing.  But he did and struck out quickly, smashing at Wulf’s stomach.  The Skaal managed to dodge, but Dar’mhirr followed his strike up with a kick to the side, that made Wulf grunt.

Dar’mhirr brought his mace down and stopped it an inch from Wulf’s shoulder.

“Two for two,” the Khajiit said, trying to sound casual.  As had been previously mentioned, the Khajiit knew he was arrogant.

“You’re good,” Wulf conceded, straightening up.  The entire village was watching in awe.  They’d never seen Wulf beat by anyone except Frea, and even her bouts with the First Hunter lasted longer than Dar’mhirr’s.

“One more round?” Wulf queried.  “I want to see if I can beat you yet.  What weapon are you decently skilled with, but that you wouldn’t consider your best skill?”

“Unarmed,” Dar’mhirr said, dropping his mace in the snow and flexing his fingers, revealing the sharp claws through the holes in the fingertips that Dar’mhirr had cut specifically for his razer-like talons.

See, Dar’mhirr, like all Khajiit, took pride in the natural weapons his kind were gifted with.  Their stealth, their agility, their sharp claws and night vision.  Even their tails granted them an innate sense of balance and poise.

But Dar’mhirr differed from his kin when it came to his gifts.  Unlike a lot of his kin, he practiced for hours to be a good sneak.  He would balance on one leg for hours, to develop his balance properly.  He would sit out at night and practice discerning objects in the dark at greater and greater distances.

But his chief difference lay with his claws and teeth.  As Aeta and Frea had already noted, his teeth and claws were sharp.  This was because Dar’mhirr used them regularly in battle, and so had them keenly sharpened, to better deal with any threat he may have had to encounter.

“You’re going to fight me unarmed?” Wulf asked incredulously.  “That’s suicide!”

“Don’t do this Dar’mhirr,” Frea warned.  “You’re still recovering.  Just concede this round.”

Dar’mhirr looked at her in shock, as though the very concept of surrender was as foreign and alien to him as the Skaal culture itself.

“Dar’mhirr does not quit,” the Khajiit said, with a shake of the head.  “He perseveres.  Khajiit will succeed.”

He took up his stance opposite of Wulf, who readied his greatsword.

“Ready?” Frea asked nervously.  At both combatant’s nods, she shouted “Go!”

Instead of immediately moving in, as before, Dar’mhirr cautiously circled the mountain that was Wulf Wild-blood.  In turn, the Skaal kept back at sword’s distance.

Finally, Dar’mhirr lunged in, diving under the sword and slashing furiously.  However, the Khajiit received a nasty surprise in the form of Wulf’s boot, which nailed him and sent him flying back.  The assembled Skaal gasped, but Dar’mhirr, despite the pain, completed the kick into a flip and landed in a crouch, like the skilled warrior he was.

Again, the Skaal gasped, but this time in admiration.  Dar’mhirr waited in this position, whitish eyes carefully surveying the great First Hunter of the Skaal.  Evidently, the other had learned to anticipate his tricks.  Dar’mhirr wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He stood straighter and started circling Wulf again.  The other just waited patiently for Dar’mhirr to strike again.  The Khajiit wandered, waiting for the right opportunity.  When it came, he struck.

He rushed forwards, dodging to the side as the massive blade cleaved downwards.  He dug a hand in the snow and ducked Wulf’s recovery strike.  Whipping his hand up, he flung a flurry of snow flakes straight into Wulf’s face, staggering the Skaal.

With this brief moment in his favour, Dar’mhirr rushed up, kicked Wulf in the side and used his claws to pull himself up onto the Skaal’s back.

“Urg, get off!” Wulf shouted, bringing his free hand back to try and grab the Khajiit.  Dar’mhirr, instead, grabbed this incoming hand and flipped to the ground with it, bringing Wulf to the ground.  However, before the Khajiit could move in, Wulf was on his feet again.

“Impressive,” the Khajiit nodded, circling again.

“Likewise,” Wulf agreed, keeping his body turned towards Dar’mhirr.

The Khajiit and Nord circled each other for a bit more, before Dar’mhirr once again lunged in.  He leaped the Skaal’s blade and came down hard on the nice steel, pinning it to the ground with a foot.

Wulf, realizing what Dar’mhirr was doing, dropped the greatsword and brought up his fists.

Dar’mhirr smiled.  The victory was his.  No way could Wulf beat him in unarmed combat.

The Khajiit moved in and jabbed directly at Wulf’s stomach with his left hand.  Wulf easily blocked this, but Dar’mhirr was already spinning around to slash at Wulf’s side.  The Skaal tried to intercept, but Dar’’mhirr’s claws raked the side of his clothes…and stuck.

Dar’mhirr’s talons, though razor-sharp and hard as steel thanks to a compound developed by Jo’akora, Archmage of Winterhold, could not tear through the thick Skaal clothing.

Wulf grabbed Dar’mhirr and picked him up, flinging him bodily backwards into the air.  The Khajiit flew and landed flat on his back with a grunt.  Dazed and sore, he started to get up, only to find the point of Wulf’s greatsword under his chin.

“Woah,” he managed, leaning back a little.  “Dar’mhirr yields.”

“Finally,” Wulf grunted, lifting the blade.  “You’re good Khajiit, I’ll give you that.”

“Likewise, Skaal,” Dar’mhirr admitted, accepting Wulf’s helping hand up.  “It’s been a long time since Dar’mhirr was defeated.  A bit humbling, to be honest.”

“Everyone needs humbling, now and again,” Wulf shrugged.  “I got my fair share combating you.  It had also been a long time since anyone beat me.”

“This one believes it,” Dar’mhirr chuckled, grimacing briefly at the impacts he’d received.  “What of Frea.  Did she best you?”

“More than once,” Wulf admitted.  “Though the outcome varies.”

His eyes darted down and widened.

“You’re hurt!” he exclaimed.

Dar’mhirr glanced down at his own side to see that the gaping wound he had received from the Lurker sometime back had split open and was spilling blood at a prodigious rate.  Seeing the amount of his own blood, Dar’mhirr felt dizzy and he took a confusing step forwards.  Wulf caught him as Frea and Storn rushed over.

“By the Eight,” Dar’mhirr muttered.  “Not good.”

The Skaal gently carried the powerful Khajiit back to Greathall, where Frea and Storn worked on restitching the wound.  Despite the procedure, Dar’mhirr never even pulled a face of pain, much less made a sound of pain.  Stalwart in his pain, Dar’mhirr just bore it.

But it still hurt.