Qa’skil lay across the lavish couch, his bag discarded besides him and his glazed eye staring off into the distance. Not that he realised but he had barely moved in several hours, so far within his own mind he was he barley paid any attention to what was around him as he indulged himself. The room he was in was obviously some kind of lounge, filled with chairs, cushions, artwork and other expensive baubles – the dirty Khajiit looked extremely out of place amongst the finery that surrounded him. Through the archway that lead into the room black smoke was slowly billowing through and pooling in the high ceiling getting thicker and thicker. Suddenly Qa’skil became aware of the smoke, his eye following its trail through the doorway as he remembered he had lit the fire pit and tried to cook a stew that was in the kitchen before leaving it for what he intended to be only a moment. Summoning his strength he sat upright before he made his way through into the corridor and then the kitchen, the entire room filled with dark smoke as the now completely ruined stew boiled away. The dark smoke was leaving through every opening it could find, not only spilling into the rest of the house but also out of the windows into the cold evening air. He cursed several times in-between coughing splutters as he rushed to move the pot from the fire pit, his mind racing at the thought of being discovered because of his own foolishness. Grabbing the edges of the cooking pot and trying to lift it he screeched as the hot metal burnt his hands, causing him to half drop and half fling the pot as the sensation of burning overwhelmed his dulled feelings. Shaking his hands and blowing instinctively on them he froze as the pot crashed into the ground and rolled across the floor spilling what remained of its contents before it came to rest on a bearskin rug, moments later the fur catching fire as the red hot base remained in contact with it. Gaping in disbelief Qa’skil stared as the flames rapidly spread jumping from the rug to a nearby bookcase and table, before quickly spreading along the wall to everything within distance. Realising it was time to leave the Khajiit rushed back into the lounge before he began to snatch up his possessions and stuffed them into his bag, cursing again at the pain that shot through his hands. Grabbing the discarded and empty bottles of Skooma he stuffed them in with his pipe, wanting to leave as little trace of himself as possible considering the corpse that was upstairs laying naked in the grand bedroom – at least the fire should cover his tracks mostly. 

With one last glance towards the kitchen Qa’skil made his way quickly to the back doorway he had infiltrated the house from, slipping out into the cold night and becoming one with the shadows as he did so. Several minutes later he had positioned himself further up the street and was watching intensely as the city guard and several men attempted to combat the blaze, though it seemed the wind was making the blaze more and more intense by the moment. It had been a mistake to come to Windhelm, he realised now as a garrison of Stormcloak soldiers rushed past his hiding place and to towards the inferno. Plus even if it were not for the fact this place housed the leader of the rebellion there was also the grey quarter to consider, the numerous Dunmer setting him on edge whenever he encountered one. Crouched in the shadows he began to carefully consider his options and what he should do next. He was dangerously low on skooma and his hands were starting to sting worse than an untreated Chaurus bite, both situations that he desperately wanted to resolve as his buzz continued to slowly wear off. 

The grey quarter might be the kind of place he could find what he wanted, but then again it was also the kind of place where the Morag Tong would find him. Growing angry at his inability to make a decision Qa’skil began to grind his teeth and clench his fists – again sending pain shooting through him. It would be too obvious to visit a healer in the city, after all it would soon be the only news around that someone had burnt down and possibly killed... whoever it was that he had killed, and a strange withdrawn Khajiit would draw far too much attention. Turning he slipped through the darkness to the nearest edge of the city wall, and waiting for a gap in the patrol he slipped over before flinging himself down into a snowbank and stealthily making his way towards the road. With a few glances back at the city as he casually strolled away, content that he had escaped unseen. 

Frowning to himself he began to search the horizon for the first house or farmstead he would be able to 'pick up' some supplies at seeing that he hadn't had the foresight to loot the mansion before he dosed himself up with the last of his skooma stash and set fire to the place. Qa'skil twitched once involuntarily as he temper started to rise again and he his mood continued to darken.