Kiseenaji - The Huntress

What happened before meeting Him did not matter, for Kiseenaji was not born until that moment. Her parents? Or home? Or dreams? They did not matter. Everything had turned to blood and dust.

All that matters is the moon.

--

She was young and wild, tracking a quarry deep in the forests of Cyrodiil. She has been born in this Imperial land, an ordinary Khajiit girl to ordinary Khajiit parents. Farmers. She was used to the elements - she felt more alive in the woods and climbing the trees as a cub. The wind against her fur, the sun on her back, the touch of soft earth beneath her paws. She had taken to hunting in the night, to catching the most difficult of prey with her bow, her arrows and her paws. Her senses had sharpened of course, but there was something about the night that enthralled her. Something about it's majesty and dominion over the forest. The fawn and flora lived and died by the passing of the moon.

Kiseenaji had been tracking a lone boar, a huge specimen. Male, with giant curved tusks. Old and wise. She had seen it against the treeline, surveying the farm on which she and her parents lived. All scars and dignity. It had taken to intimidating the local hunters, after some of the more foolish youngsters had found the homes of the one of his females, and slaughtered her and her young. Kiseenaji had found the wanton killing of the animals disgraceful, and was secretly pleased when the mother of one of the youngest hunters found her offspring gored in her farmyard, near the local town. Kiseenaji was sure the boar had dragged the body there purposely. Oh, the wildness of it! The cruelty!

“Serves him right” the girl hissed under her breath, fangs gleaming in the shadows. The boar was close, his musk was strong and his massive tracks were fresh. She darted through the undergrowth of the thick forest cleanly, expert at traversing the ferns and plants. Digging her claws into a huge tree, she began to climb, higher and higher until she latched onto a branch steady enough to hold her weight and flipped around it, crouching silently on the bark and letting her long tail dangle behind her. There it was, just a few metres in front of her. A small pond, with lillypads and flowers. A broken tree next to it, coated in moss and fungi. The giant boar drinking calmly from the water. Kiseenaji’s eyes widened – the moon illuminated his coarse coat. It was almost as if his fur was gleaming. As if it was pure white.

“Kiseenaji.”

The young Khajiit went completely still. The night was silent – all she could hear was the brook in the distance. The sound of a frog jumping into the pond. The rustle of some rodent underneath. The call of an owl. Again, the word was spoken.

“Kiseenaji, child. Kiseenaji, bask with me in this moonlight. You can see me.”

Her eyes watered, tail curling and uncurling. She blinked, and there in the brook, was no longer a boar. But a man.

“I mean you no harm, child. I wish to speak with you.”

Kiseenaji felt along the shaft of her bow, and felt the weight of her quivers, yet she hesitated. She felt no menace from this stranger. There was a stern kindness in his voice, and his eyes were familiar. She jumped down, and quickly leapt into the opening of the brook.

The man was tall, perhaps Man, perhaps Mer. The huge, ornate skull of some kind of huge stag covered most of his face, dotted in all manner of paints and powders. He was wearing various furs, leathers and stitches, but carried them as if wearing nothing – this man was a hunter. This man had hunted far dangerous creatures than Kiseenaji could ever dream of. There was no need for words. Like the creatures they both hunted, they both knew. His stature, his body, the sight of him here in this moonlight-bathed brook – Kiseenaji had no need of a name, for she knew it innately.

She lowered herself to one knee, out of a deep reverence. A girlish grin spread across her face – her emotions burned within her. Pride. Happiness. Regret. Fear. Her waiting was over.

For she knew it was time to make a choice. One she had been waiting for her whole life.

“I-I am honoured, Lord Hircine.”

The Daedric Lord of the Hunt, Hircine motioned for her to rise, but she did not. Instead she waited. He strode over to her, his walk like that of a sabrecat. She felt the air shift as he kneeled down, and he lifted her face with his hands. His hands were warm, and chiseled. Kiseenaji looked at his visage, heart beating furiously in her chest. She could see his eyes, glinting in their sockets – heavily shadowed by the bone of his mask. Deep, crimson red, with slit pupils stared back at her – the eyes of a predator. A hunter of gods.

“I see a great many hunters, my child. It takes a truly grand one to stir me from my Grounds. I have come to the mortal realm tonight...for you.”

He let the end of his sentence linger, and smiled when he saw the Khajiits’ pupils widen.

“I have heard your heart. Your passions. I have been there, when you have felt the wind on your face and the taste of blood in your mouth. I have been there when you have helped a mother birth a cub in these very woods, and I have been there when you have slaughtered their ancestors for you own survival. You respect the world of creatures and of hunting, and yet you understand that there is pleasure to be had in their cruelty. The world of Men and Mer...stifles you, does it not?”

“Y-yes, my lord”

“Would you like to be...severed from that world? Would you like your soul to be truly let free? To hunt and feed and kill and run for eternity?”

“Yes, my lord”

The eyes seemed to glow with excitement.

“I do not wish to force you, Huntress Kiseenaji, but know that should you reject my offer, I will never seek you out again. You may return to your mortal life – to fall in love, to find a mate, have cubs of your own, grow fat, grow old and die in peace and happiness surrounded by your loved ones – or....”

“No, my lord. I have made my decision. I made my decision long ago.”

Kiseenaji felt the hands cradling her face tighten for but a second. She couldn’t help but let out a small, excited snarl.
A low laugh emanated from his grisly headpiece, and seemed to echo throughout the brook and the forest. Hircine was rarely surprised, but this young Khajiit had guts. There was still fun to be had in the world of mortals. He threw back his head and howled into the night, his laughter raucous and genuine. He stopped, and pulled out a tiny dagger from one of his various pelts. He dragged it quickly across his palm, and cupped his hand. The young girl didn’t even hesitate.

“Hah! My girl, it is time. Now, I give you my gift. A gift most terrible and exhilarating, but I have no doubt a huntress such as yourself will find a way to live well with. I believe you will make...very good use of it.”