Rules

1. Open, but ask before joining so we can prepare.
2. Be nice.

Setting We are in the Elder Scrolls era of 2E 582, currently in in Northern Skyrim woods.

The bowstring twanged loudly as the feathered arrow shot through the air where it met its target in the spotted hide of a grazing deer. A startled shriek reverberated through the air, causing the nearby tree branches to shiver, and the prey animal began to sprint off, it's flank beginning to trickle with blood that leeched crimson into the white snow. A satisfied smirk twisted onto the mien of white lynx-faced khajiit as he strung his bow back over his shoulder before he began sprinting on soft pawsteps after his injured quarry.

The target in his sights had, apparently, been the prey of another, as a shriek suddenly resounded from it. His own bowstring loosened as he retracted it's expanse, observing as the deer jolted through the woods only to be followed closely by an eager cat folk. The deer, now injured, stood no chance, because it wasn't long before it's wound lead to a deadly fumble: that which left it open to a precise attack by the cat man.

Once the kitty took care of it, the nord crouching in the snowy woods would saunter out, an amused smile across his bearded face, “Oh ho! You attack with the might of a Nord! Impressive for a kitty!”

Ma'jirr's knife did good work on the deer's throat, ending its suffering in one swift slash. The same knife was just about to be cleaned when it reflexively whirred around towards the foreign noise. The khajiit's body followed after and narrowed feline eyes met the strange Nord.

A low hiss began to emanate from snarled lips as Ma'jirr sized up this stranger, still clenching his knife dripping with hot blood. "What business does Nord have with Ma'jirr?"

"No business in particular, I suppose! Only that we happened to of been after the same prey!" Ezekiel held a broad smile across a bearded face, his posture evidently non-hostile, albeit a hand did rest on the hilt of a sword at his side. Better to be safe than sorry.

"I happen to be a mighty fine cook, if you'd like me to spice up that venison."

Although Ma'Jirr didn't outwardly show it, he was relieved to hear that the Nord's presence was not primarily to torment him. The tension eased from his shoulders, if only slightly. Deeming the newest threat not as bad as previously anticipated, Ma'Jirr went back to his bloody business, commencing to skin the deer with a paring knife.

"It is Ma'Jirr's prey. Ma'Jirr will not share it." He answered gruffly. He didn't trust the Nord as far as he could throw them. In addition, he wouldn't trust that the Nord's 'spices' wouldn't be tampered with.