“Good morning Dar’mhirr,” a young girl’s voice piped up.  Dar’mhirr stirred and opened his eyes to see Aeta standing above, looking down at him.

“Morning Aeta,” Dar’mhirr replied in confusion, sitting up a little.  “What happened.  Did this one fall asleep?”

“Frea said you passed out from blood loss,” a voice, that of Fanari Strong-Voice, the village chief, said.

“That actually explains it,” Dar’mhirr muttered.  He lifted up the blanket to find that, once again, his clothes were gone.  Not only that, but the wound at his side, which had been healing nicely, was now raw and re-stitched.  An ugly mark.

“Woah,” Aeta said, looking at the wound.  “That’s a nasty mark.”

Dar’mhirr nodded and set the edge of the blanket back down, hiding said nasty mark.  Beside his bed was a water skin, which the thirsty Khajiit was grateful for, and the book written by his grandpa’s cousin.

Taking a heavy drink of the water, Dar’mhirr slid the book closer to him and looked back up at Aeta.

“How long was this one out?” he asked quietly, feeling embarrassed by the whole ordeal.  Here he was, the chief hunter of the Dawnguard, collapsing like a child from an injury.  Oh how Dar’shaza, his sister, would’ve laughed at him.

“Not long,” Aeta assured him.  “You blacked out after the combat and slept through the night.”

“Ah,” Dar’mhirr said, relieved it had only been overnight.  Had it lasted through the day, it would’ve been embarrassing beyond measure for the fierce Dawnguard.

“Aeta,” Fanari Strong-voice said, coming in from outside.  “Your mother is looking for you.”

“Alright,” Aeta said cheerfully.  “I’m coming.  Goodbye Dar’mhirr.”

“May you walk on warm sands Aeta,” Dar’mhirr called back.  Aeta and Fanari left the Greathall, leaving a vaguely annoyed Dar’mhirr by himself.

He slid his book over to him and opened it to a random page.  Looking down at the paper, the Khajiit was surprised to read the page’s title as Dar’mhirr: A story of Vigilance and Dedication.

Curious as to what his grandfather’s cousin had written about him, Dar’mhirr flipped past the chapter page.  There, on the other side, was a page covered in writing and a hand-drawn image of Dar’mhirr himself.

Dar’mhirr is an interesting character, the book began.  A member of the Dawnguard, Dar’mhirr is a fierce opponent for any unlucky enough to cross blades with this Khajiit.  At only twenty-two years old, the Khajiit has managed to carve quite a niche for himself.

Born in the province of Pelletine, Elsweyr, Dar’mhirr is the son of my cousin’s children.  He is the middle child of three, with an older brother named S’rassa (Pg 46) and a younger twin sister of the name Dar’shaza (Pg 54).  Together, these three make up the grandchildren of Dro’amoreth (Pg 20).  Dar’mhirr differs from the other two by his being raised in Pelletine (Pg 6).

Dar’mhirr’s parents (Pg 58) were on the move in Elsweyr for a period of time, trying to escape the Thalmor and the great war.  As a result, S’rassa was born in Anequina (Pg 9), while Dar’mhirr was born in Pelletine with his twin.  However, unlike the other two, Dar’mhirr picked up a strong Pelletine accent.

Dar’mhirr joined the Dawnguard around the same time I myself was roaming Skyrim with a desire to defeat Alduin.  Three years before Dar’mhirr’s emergence in the province of Skyrim, at the age of eleven, his sister was kidnapped, presumed killed, by vampires.  Dar’mhirr grieved for a time before he headed north, determined to learn all the skills necessary to become a vampire hunter.  Now, one should not get the wrong impression of the young Khajiit’s parents.  They absolutely forbid him to leave.  But he ran away in the middle of the night, journeyed through Elsweyr into Cyrodiil and from there to Morrowind and finally Skyrim.  He was fourteen years old.

The Dawnguard accepted this Khajiit and he trained fiercely, until he was considered one of the finest hunters in the Dawnguard, quite possibly better than Isran himself.  Here in Skyrim, while on a mission, he passed through a farm where his grandfather was at work.  It was his farm, after all.

Upon questioning, Dro’amoreth realised who was dealing with, he contacted me (Pg 12) and my twin Ma’jyrr (Pg 16).  We in turn contacted his brother, S’rassa, who had already migrated north to be with his grandfather.  S’rassa then contacted his parents, who came north and settled on Dro’amoreth’s farm.  The reunion was exciting, to be sure.

With Dar’mhirr’s history covered, I think it safe to move on to him at the time of this publication.  Dar’mhirr is a fierce opponent, comparable with our mysterious rogue Do’razzi (41) in sheer sneak skill.  In combat, however, the Khajiit is much more fierce, with considerable skills in all the various applications of combat.

Dar’mhirr’s preferred weapon is a mace, which is an odd weapon when dealing with rogues such as the Khajiit.  With his mace, Dar’mhirr is a deadly combatant, but he is more proficient with his other weapons, the dagger and crossbow.  Dar’mhirr will, quite often, enter a fight with just a dagger.  He does not spar, but moves fast and stealthily enough that he seems to disappear.  When he reappears, it’s directly behind you with a dagger at your throat.  A clever illusion that works well with Dar’mhirr.  Now, Do’razzi practices a similar form of combat and it is quite possible that Dar’mhirr picked it up from him.

With his crossbow, Dar’mhirr is something else entirely.  As precise a shot as Ma’jyrr, the Smiling Beheader of the Renrira Krin and possibly one of Tamriel’s top bow-women, the only one comparable being that of Jiira (Pg 61), a wild-raised Khajiit huntress.  Dar’mhirr is precise with his crossbow, taking only the number of shots needed and where they are most needed.  He designed this crossbow himself, off of an old dwemer design.  This crossbow can penetrate brick in its sheer power.

In summary, Dar’mhirr is an opponent not to be messed with.  With incredible skill with a mace, dagger and crossbow, the Khajiit is quite capable.  But, unless you happen to be a Werewolf, Vampire, Werebear, Daedra or Bandit, you should be fine. 

Dar’mhirr smiled.  It was just like his grandpa’s cousin to slide a little joke there in the end.  But he was somewhat surprised at his review.  He’d expected a little more of a mention of his negative traits.  While Dar’mhirr didn’t view them as negative, his complete ability to disregard emotion, morals and conscience were not even mentioned.  But his sister…it always hurt to be reminded of her.

Out of curiosity, Dar’mhirr flipped to her page.  There, under the name of her chapter, was a small hand-drawn image of young Dar’shaza.

Dar’mhirr’s eyes teared up as he beheld the picture of his younger sister, who’d had her life robbed from her at too young an age.

He touched the picture and felt a hot tear dampen the fur around his eyes.  Disregarding his usual protocol, he hugged the picture to his body and wept.  He cried for a bit, before he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder.

Immediately, the Khajiit stiffened and turned around, finding himself face to face with Frea.  The Skaal seemed surprised by his reaction.

“Sorry,” Dar’mhirr gasped, trying to reign in his emotions.  “Dar’mhirr did not expect you.  You caught this one at a bad time.”

“My apologies, Dar’mhirr,” Frea said, backing up a tiny bit.  “I did not mean to intrude.”

“No, no,” Dar’mhirr protested, quickly wiping his eyes.  “It’s no problem.”

The Khajiit set the book down, reminding himself to pick it up again later.  Frea glanced at the picture of Dar’shaza with curiousity.

“Who is she?” Frea asked, sitting down fully.

Dar’mhirr sighed.  “She is this one’s sister.  Or…she was.  She’s dead now.”

Frea remembered Dar’mhirr talking about that.  How his sister was stolen by vampires in a raid and never seen again.  Frea could hardly imagine having something taken from you so brutally.

“Anyways,” Dar’mhirr said, wiping a final tear from his icy eyes.  “What can this one help you with?”

“Well,” Frea began.  “I have something for you.”

She thumped him in the shoulder.  Lightly, so as not to push him off balance, but hopefully enough to still hurt.

Sure enough, Dar’mhirr’s eyes widened and he yelped.

“What was that for?” the Khajiit demanded.

“That was stupid of you,” Frea said, eyes locked with him.  “Taking on Wulf when you were as injured as you still were?  You should’ve known something bad would’ve come out of that.  Now look where you are again.”

Dar’mhirr opened his mouth to reply hotly to her, thought better of it, then closed his mouth with an audible click.

“Alright, so maybe Khajiit did deserve that,” he admitted, rubbing his shoulder.  “Dar’mhirr let his pride get in the way.  You have this one’s apologies, Frea.”

“You’re forgiven already,” Frea said, a small smile at the corner of her lips.  “Which brings me to my next question.  How are you doing?”

“Physically?” Dar’mhirr asked.  “Khajiit is fine.  This one’s side hurts and he has a tendency to grow bored, but otherwise he is okay.”

“Good to hear,” Frea said, rubbing the back of her neck.  “How are you doing otherwise?  We Skaal are not your people, after all.”

“Dar’mhirr is…fine, he supposes,” the Khajiit shrugged.  “He misses his home and the familiarity of Skyrim. But feelings like these, Dar’mhirr is used to.  He doesn’t generally get emotional.  You caught him at a very bad time.”

An image of Dar’shaza flicked into his mind again and Dar’mhirr suppressed a shaky, sobbing cough.

“May I see the picture?” Frea asked, curious despite her desire to see the Khajiit happy.  Dar’mhirr looked at her and nodded, sliding the book over to her.

Frea took the book gently and looked at the picture.  The picture, small and hand drawn, was that of a young Khajiit girl.  She looked a lot like a younger, happier version of her brother, with a simple ponytail instead of the warrior’s mohawk that Dar’mhirr wore.  Her clothes were fairly simple, yet ornate, and her face was plastered in a wide grin.  In her hands, she held a wooden sword, which was raised in the air in a fierce expression of battle.

“This is your sister?” Frea asked.  “She’s beautiful.”

“Was,” Dar’mhirr said.  All of the former emotion on his face was now gone, with him burying it as he usually did.  “But the dead exist in the past.  The present is where we must maintain our own survival.”

Frea thought that was a rather cold way to think, but she flipped the page.  On the reverse of the page, another picture was present.  This one was of the same Khajiit, but an adult, probably the same age as Dar’mhirr himself.  It showed his sister, fierce and noble, with elegant face markings.  Her cameo was serene and seemed untroubled, though the eyes seemed to show a deep sadness.  Whomever did these drawings, clearly had quite a skill.

“How old was she when she passed on?” Frea asked in confusion.

“The same age as this one was,” Dar’mhirr answered.  “Dar’shaza disappeared when we were both just eleven.”

“Then how’d the author of this tome retrieve a picture of her at your age now?” Frea asked, not understanding a bit.

“What?” Dar’mhirr asked, holding out his hands.  “May I see it?”

He took the book and looked at the picture in absolute confusion.  The individual portrayed there looked similar to his mother and, by some extent, to him too.  She looked every bit as Dar’shaza would look today, were she alive.

“Khajiit…Dar’mhirr doesn’t understand,” Dar’mhirr said.  “There’s…there’s no way this one’s grandfather’s cousin could’ve obtained a picture like this…he must have made a guess, based on our collective appearances.  Yeah, that’s probably what he did.”

He blinked, shaken.  That image was precisely how his sister would’ve looked today.  Even for Jo’akora, extrapolating that kind of precision was nigh-on impossible.  If not for the proof before his own eyes, he would’ve sworn it was impossible.

“Well, if that’s what he did, that’s rather impressive,” Frea noted, her thoughts following similar lines.  “You haven’t read her page yet?”

“No,” Dar’mhirr shook his head.  “This one was reading the book from cover to cover.  He came across his own page by accident, and read that.  Then he flipped to his sister’s page in curiosity, which is where you came in.”

Frea nodded, seeming distracted by a thought.  “You said that Dar’shaza disappeared in a vampire raid, right?”

Dar’mhirr nodded, confused.

“Have you ever considered that they may not have killed her?” Frea asked, not really wanting to pursue this grisly line of questioning.

Dar’mhirr’s gaze grew colder.  “Dar’mhirr has considered that, yes.  Vampires need food sources.  Fresh blood.  After so long though…they’ve probably killed her when she became…stale…”

“Oh…” Frea said, feeling her mild hope diminish.  “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“It is history,” Dar’mhirr asserted, brushing it off.  “Dar’shaza is dead.  Nothing about that can, or should, be changed.  Her memory must be avenged.”

Again, Frea was struck by the coldness of this Khajiit and wondered if all of them were so…emotionless.  Dar’mhirr clearly had a lot of emotions, but he constantly suppressed them.

“Just…get some rest,” Frea said, patting Dar’mhirr on the shoulder as she stood up.  “I’ll be back later.  Right now, the village needs me.  We have a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” Dar’mhirr asked, interestedly.

“Not now,” Frea shook her head.  “I want to be sure it really is a problem first.  But I’ll be back tonight.”

“So be it.”

Dar’mhirr spent the rest of the day in the Greathall, talking with some of the villagers and Aeta, who frequently stopped by.  Dar’mhirr appreciated the company and, when there was none of it, he read from Jo’akora’s book.

Eventually, when he knew it was dark outside and that Frea still hadn’t come, Dar’mhirr chose to go to sleep.  He lay down and drifted off in moments.

After what seemed like seconds, he opened his eyes again, wide awake.  He was not where he should have been.

He seemed to be in some magical environment.  The sky above was thick and evil-looking, with patches of darkness in the green clouds.  Tentacles dangled from those dark holes and a myriad of eyes surveyed all over the place, floating in various spots.

This is a dream, Dar’mhirr’s mind told him.  And Dar’mhirr heartily agreed.  He pinched his arm and was surprised to feel that he could actually feel it.  You couldn’t feel in a dream, right?

“So you have arrived,” a voice said, vaguely Nordic, sounding like he was speaking from the end of a pipe.  “I had almost wondered, hero.”

Dar’mhirr looked up and saw an elegantly-robed figure approach him and get on one knee before him.  He had a mask on, preventing Dar’mhirr from ascertaining an identity.  The mask was golden, with two slit eye holes and a Cthulhoid net of tentacles below that, all carved in gold.

“Who are you?” Dar’mhirr asked the figure, as the masked man straightened to his feet again, helping Dar’mhirr to his.

“I could be asking you the same question,” the man with the mask answered.  “I am Miraak!  The very first Dragonborn!  And this is the realm of Hermaeus Mora, Apocrypha!”

He gestured around expansively and the terrain seemed to rumble.

“And who are you?” Miraak asked.  “To settle on my island and take refuge with the Skaal?”

“This one is Dar’mhirr,” the Khajiit answered, hand just itching to grab his mace and whack Miraak under the head.  “Warrior, vampire-slayer, chief hunter of the Dawnguard and the defeater of Lord Harkon Volkihar, master of the vampiric Clan Volkihar.”

“Oh, boasting are we?” Miraak chuckled.  “So be it.  As I have said, I am Miraak.  I am the first Dragonborn, the rightful ruler of Solstheim.  I have slain many dragons, tamed others and am the chosen servant of Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Destiny.”

He gestured expansively and set his arms down.

“Already, I have begun prepping for my return to Tamriel,” the Dragon Priest continued.  “The Skaal have already felt my presence.  But they have connected the recent events to you in their hearts.  Even Frea is silently wondering about you.  And as my time for return draws ever nearer, my people are reconstructing the shrine around the ancient standing stones around Solstheim.”

Dar’mhirr felt a shiver of dread run up his spine, but he straightened and looked Miraak right in the slit eyes of his mask.

“You will be stopped,” Dar’mhirr said.  “You made the mistake of attacking Solstheim while this one was present on the island.  And he will defend the Skaal.”

“Such arrogance,” Miraak shook his head.  “To assume that one lone cat could even slow my return.  Dar’mhirr, I will be returning, regardless of your efforts to the contrary.”

“And even should you return, you will be stopped,” Dar’mhirr replied.  “If not by this one, then another.  You missed a lot in your absence, Miraak.  Alduin returned and was defeated.  The dragon return, prophesied so long ago, has been stopped.  The dragons are no more.  There are many who could stop you.   The Smiling Beheader, the Black Rogue, the Dragonmage.  All of these can bring you down.”

“If they could be bothered with Solstheim,” Miraak sighed.  “It’s a pity.  I was hoping you’d join me, as the right hand of the retaking of Solstheim.  Well, so be it, Dar’mhirr.  You and I are on opposite sides.”

Dar’mhirr!

“And someone’s calling you,” Miraak added.  “It’s time to wake up.”

Dar’mhirr staggered backwards with the sensation of falling and Apocrypha disappeared into blackness.