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Skooma Cat (TES V: Skyrim)

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Always felt it was a pity that the Dawnguard was restarted by former members of that Stendarr Cult. Meridia should have gathered her worshippers and had them do it.
 
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Chapter 12
  • Threadmarks
    • You are now imagining Mohamara in a cat carrier. Have fun with that.
    ---
    Chapter 12: Save us from the Queen!

    Back at the Winking Skeever, Yagraz filled Mohamara in on certain… details that she'd left out earlier.

    The tojay paused in getting changed out of the Jarl-meeting-clothes to something fit for adventure to glare in Yagraz's direction. "She's a vampire?"

    Yagraz sighed and made an affirmative noise since Mohamara couldn't see her nod. "I know because I came to Solitude like three years or so back. She gave me and my Shield-Sister a job to destroy a rabid vampire coven that was north of the city, kidnapping people from the docks to feed."

    Mohamara curled his lip in disgust while his fur stood on end. It made him look rather fluffy even though it was not friendly body language. "Ugh, I can't believe I let her touch me. If I could see, I would have been able to tell right away--...." Mohamara got a set of red and white robes on and turned to look at Yagraz again. "You've known about her being there for... years?"

    The Orc woman put her hands over her face and groaned. "She's too strong to kill discreetly, and in too public of a position to be able to get a solid chance. I figured once I found you, we could plan something out to kill her, have some fun, you know?" Yagraz found herself being repeatedly bapped on the head by the tojay's small fists. "Hey, what gives?"

    "I'm trying to knock some sense into you! You're Yagraz gro-Dushnikh, you Broke the Dragon to find me, made yourself a Companion again, and became one of the most badass people I know--and you complain that your enemy is too strong?!" Mohamara broke free of the Orc's grip when she tried to stop his attack by picking him up and promptly became a literal ankle biter. A rather ineffective one given the thickness of Yagraz's boots. "Malacath would kick your ass himself for that sort of talk! But he's not here so I'll do it for him!"

    The Orc woman looked down, stunned by the Khajiit attacking her so ineffectively. As she processed what he'd said, it was like a knot in her head suddenly unraveled. She could breathe deeper, her limbs responded just a fraction of a second faster, and colors seemed more vibrant. While Mohamara continued to gnaw on her, Yagraz stood and stretched.

    Bones that had been out of alignment for years that she hadn't noticed popped back into place, filling the air with a rapid series of pops and cracks. With her face set, she picked up the tojay again and held him at arm's length while he tried to wriggle free. "You're right. Malacath would be disgusted with me. So the first thing we're gonna do when we get back from Wolfskull cave is killing that bitch dead. Alright?"

    "Alright. ...Are you okay, that was a lot of popping in your back and shoulders. Kinda sounded like it hurt."

    Yagraz's expression was through grit teeth: "It's starting to hurt real bad, yep."

    --

    After Yagraz had an hour to rest, the two of them were off to Wolfskull. Fortunately, it was not terribly far from Solitude itself--the hill that led up to the city stopped in view of Mount Kilkreath, and from there they simply had to follow the ancient worn path up the mountain to Meridia's temple. Even though his Lady could not hear his prayers without the beacon, Mohamara prayed at her statue. There was always the chance that someone of the faith elsewhere in Skyrim was constructing a new beacon, which would allow the Daedra of Infinite Energies to hear him again.

    Wolfskull cave was a peculiar thing--a fortress hidden under the ground. Towers, portcullises, gatehouses and all. The common theory back when Mohamara lived in the temple was that these structures were part of an ancient fortress that had since been buried. But whatever the fortifications, they proved hopelessly ill-equipped to handle an Orc Tongue with a spell-reflecting, atronach summoning, phat heals providing Khajiit riding on her shoulders.

    Mohamara regretted only that he couldn't see any of the necromancers' faces when they shot off things like ice spears that bounced off him and impaled their casters on a cave wall. Or how a fruit salad atronach had managed to toss a Draugr Wight over forty feet as Yagraz claimed.

    The fruit salad atronach fought like a demon according to Yagraz, tearing through the ranks of the undead and necromancers that disgracefully lurked in the cave. Occasionally, Mohamara could hear it mutter 'yummy yummy'. He almost missed it when it eventually faded away.

    Yagraz described a dangerous scene when they went further in--a spectral woman floating above a tower in an underground fort. Surrounded by energies that drew from slain merchants, bandits, hunters, and soldiers littered around the cave--and being beseeched by necromancers.

    They called this ghost-woman 'Potema', which Mohamara found weird to be a name. It was a word in his time, potemal--meaning to be relentlessly cruel and selfish. Perhaps whoever the name belonged to had been the impetus behind the word's creation.

    The necromancers performing the ritual were attempting to call this 'Potema' back into the living world--already an oddity given the nature of resurrection magic. They made no reference to a realm of Oblivion or dominion of Aetherius from which they summoned Potema from--could she have survived as a loosed soul on Nirn?

    "Do you know anything about this Potema woman?" Mohamara asked while summoning another atronach. Whatever it was, it made a hideous oozing sound and drew ghastly screams out of its first victim.

    But she was a necromancer, so her suffering was a good thing.

    "Former queen of Solitude, had a kid who became Emperor, started a civil war way back when." Yagraz's answers were slowed down by chopping the legs out from under a Draugr Deathlord. A necromancer tried to sneak up behind her but she ended his miserable life by bashing the boss of her shield into his skull without looking. "Oh, and she's Dragonborn so if that's important, there you go."

    That explained how Potema had lingered on Nirn so long--dragons and Dragonborn could only be killed by each other. Their physical bodies could be slain, but their souls would remain bound to their bones until a dragon or other Dragonborn passed by to absorb their soul.

    It also meant that without knowing Potema's Dovah-Zul name, the necromancers' attempt to bind her would fail no matter what they did. Which then gave Mohamara a wicked idea. "Alright, I need you to toss me at the tower where they're doing the ritual."

    Yagraz stopped in the middle of decapitating another necromancer, who politely curled up onto the ground to cradle her stump of a left arm. "Want to run that by me again, short-stuff?"

    "Toss me at the ritual site. I'm going to have fun with them since they can't do much in the middle of their binding attempt."

    "And if they can do something while trying to bind her?"

    "Then that makes things so much more interesting!" In a few seconds, Mohamara was sailing through the air until his flight path was intercepted by a woman. While Mohamara hit the ground after their collision, the woman was knocked backward and fell off the top of the tower into the cavern below. "Howdy, necromancer filth! How's your health plan?"

    "What the-? An intruder! Stop hi-ckhhhh!"

    Mohamara stopped whatever the necromancer had been intending by summoning another atronach. The atronach was large, a physical fighter, and ended the woman's life with a satisfying crunch.

    "Yes! Yes, destroy the worms that would dare bind me!" Potema seemed to enjoy the show as well. The last necromancer, a man, foolishly tried to raise his fallen comrade as a thrall to fight back and was… well, whatever the atronach did to him resulted in a long, high pitched scream that resonated throughout the cavern.

    Mohamara pouted. "Aw, that wasn't amusing at all. It just killed them. I was hoping it would put up only enough fight to let me make some funny lines about their mothers and how they dressed them."

    "The wretched so rarely provide worthy amusement, little one." Potema's voice was close, entirely too close for Mohamara's liking. A faint aura of static sent his fur on end as a hand so cold it burned rested on his shoulder. "When I am at my full potential again, I will kill you raise you, and show you how to find proper fun with creatures such as them to thank you for freeing me like this."

    "Um. You're not my type?"

    "Await my arrival, worm. Until then, farewell!"

    The static and cold-burning hand left Mohamara, and distantly he could hear Yagraz shout "Where the fuck is she going?!"

    Mohamara tapped into the sympathetic bonds of the place, following the bonds between the necromancers to the altar, and from the altar to Potema to find her heading… toward Solitude. Uh oh.

    "Um, atronach? Could you help me get to the shouting Orc lady quickly?" Mohamara hoped by the Yellow Room that the atronach he summoned wasn't acidic, and soon felt alarmingly human hands pick him up and thunderously walk down the stairs from the tower roof. Soon enough Mohamara and Yagraz were together again, pincering the last holdout of necromancers and Draugr between them. "Okay, so I might have accidentally let the object of that necromantic ritual loose and now she's on her way to Solitude. So we should hurry."

    Yagraz made an exasperated noise and took the tojay from the atronach and put him on her shoulders again. "Next time you want me to toss you, I'm going to say no."

    "That's fair."

    --

    Meanwhile, in Solitude's Blue Palace, Jarl Elisif the Fair found herself shaken to wakefulness in the dead of night. When she opened her eyes, it was to find her court wizard, Sybille Stentor standing over her with a retinue of guards behind her.

    "What is the meaning of this?" The Jarl demanded as she stood from the bed.

    "My Jarl, my divinations reveal that you are in grave danger. A powerful evil has been unleashed and is about to attack the Blue Palace." The Breton wizard snapped her fingers and the guards quickly retrieved a robe for Elisif to wear over her nightgown, as well as the Jarl's circlet. "I must ask you to come with me to a bunker in Castle Dour, through the Temple of the Divines while Falk plans the defense of the city."

    The Jarl's mind whirled with possible outcomes, so much that she mechanically dressed in the items her guards had retrieved. "Al-alright, I will. But I want the townsfolk protected at all costs. Inform Falk that I want the city evacuated before this attack comes. And-and send word to General Tullius as well."

    "It will be done, my Queen."

    This gave Elisif pause, and she turned to look at the wizard with visible confusion. "Did you just call me 'Queen'."

    "I'm sorry, my Jarl." The Breton hastily inclined her head. "I only attempted a divination before bed as a whim, once we are secure in the bunker I will need to rest and regain my full mental faculties."

    "If we survive this attack, court wizard, I order you to take a vacation. I won't have my late husband's best friend work herself to death on my watch."

    --

    The dynamic duo rushed to Solitude, with Mohamara recharging the Spear of Bitter Mercy with soul gems that Yagraz had filled for him.

    However, they were stopped at the outermost defenses to Solitude by three High Elves--a Thalmor officer and two golden-armored soldiers.

    "Halt," the officer shouted, and held a hand up to stop Yagraz. "You are carrying a fugitive from the-... I said halt! Halt!" But the officer's shouts were not answered.

    Yagraz kept on running, trampling over her and leaving the Thalmor officer pressed into the ground with deep footprints on her body. The two soldiers that had been with her wisely chose to flee the scene rather than chase after the Orc and her Khajiit friend.

    "Where is she, short-stuff?"

    Mohamara dove into the sympathetic bonds of Solitude again. Still, they were so fine he couldn't see most of them. But a tangle of bonds led up to Castle Dour, the temple, and somehow deep deep into the Solitude archway. "Start in the temple of the divines, I can get a better picture from there."

    "When we get a big soul gem next, I would really like a Red Shoes enchantment for this sort of thing, by the way. My feet are killing me." Even still, Yagraz easily scaled the ramps that had previously been insurmountable by Mohamara and passed into the Castle Dour courtyard.

    Where they found Elisif, in a nightgown and coat, along with four Solitude guards and Sybille. Yagraz rested her hand on her ax but otherwise carefully approached while the Jarl looked at them in confusion.

    "What's going on, my Jarl? Had a late night crisis of faith?"

    The Jarl didn't get a chance to speak before Sybille scoffed in disgust. "Those fools didn't even do any fatal damage to you two? Oh well, guards--kill them and bring their corpses to me."

    "What? Guards you will do no such--" Elisif protested, shocked at the court wizard's orders but the Breton woman touched two fingers to the Jarl's head and she fainted right into Sybille's arms. The vampire then dashed into the temple with her, leaving the door ajar.

    The guards spoke no words and drew their steel. As Yagraz drew her ax, Mohamara lept from her shoulders, over the guards, and pursued the vampire and kidnapped Jarl.

    "So," Yagraz said through a vicious smile as the guards moved to surround her. "How's your health plan?"

    --

    It had been a stupid idea to follow a powerful vampire that had a hostage, Mohamara decided as he chased after the sympathetic bonds that were Elisif and Sybille.

    "Not really stupid, so much as mad I'd say."

    "Hey dad," Mohamara muttered to Sheogorath as he carefully navigated downstairs he couldn't see.

    Sheogorath made a delighted noise, a squeal that made Mohamara's teeth itch. "Been promoted to bitter affection! Yes! Haskill will be so proud."

    "I'm kinda busy, is this important?" Mohamara didn't position his foot correctly and ended up skipping a level of the staircase that he barely managed to keep from fully falling. It seemed to him that tojay were definitely visual hunters because his hearing hadn't adjusted enough to imply auditory.

    "Of course it's important. I'm important, so anything I do is important. Also, things I tell you to do are important. Such as becoming a bard!" Mohamara was scooped off his feet by a Daedra he couldn't see, who might not have actually been physically present and shook around in the air. "And you did it! Missed the announcement, but they gave ya the metaphoric diploma with the fire festival thingy. Glad to see you put my orders above your duty to Meri-pants by the way, though I doubt she'll feel the same."

    The Khajiit's blood was was ice as he processed what Sheogorath had said. "But… but you were gonna--"

    "I wasn't going to do anything if you didn't make it a priority. All I said was it was an order. You had to do it at some point. But you were afraid of what I might do more than what Meri-pants would do to you in that situation." The Mad God hugged Mohamara so tight it was hard for the Khajiit to breathe. "Thank you for that by the way. It's always a father's dream to have their children absolutely terrified of their wrath."

    For a moment, Mohamara forgot that there was a Dragonborn ghost at large, a vampire with a hostage, or that he was likely floating over a staircase that would spell his doom if he fell down on it and became a listless cat. He'd betrayed his Lady. It was a difficult thing to process. But, maybe if he killed the vampire she'd let it balance out and not smite him on the spot?

    "Aw, don't you worry none, sonnie. I'll be a good parent and take the blame for you. It'll be our little secret, hmm?" Sheogorath released the tojay and set him back on his feet. "By the way--we've got it down to two candidates for your groom. I'm afraid this is the first marriage of this type I've put together, so Haskill thought it would be a good idea if We provide a dowry for you rather than ask one of someone else. Assuming you survive this little adventure, anyway."

    That information restored to Mohamara his will to live, even for fearful reasons. "Um. Wait!" Mohamara tried to find where Sheogorath was in relation to him and eventually felt out the Daedra's hand. His mind raced for a way to keep that horrid fate far away for as long as possible. "D-did you talk to mom about it?"

    "... Do you want me to talk to your mother about it?" Sheogorath's voice seemed genuinely puzzled but grew more excited as he spoke. "I mean, it would be nice to chat with her again. And bringing this up out of the blue will make things so amusingly awkward. You know, you're right! I should speak to her about this." Sheogorath moved away from the Khajiit and started up the stairs. "It'll delay things considerably, but the end result is sure to be so fun! I can't wait. Seeya, son!" There was a distinct pop to give Mohamara the impression the Mad God had left.

    His doom forestalled by a little while, Mohamara started back down the stairs. Except he was already at the bottom, he realized. "I swear, if he keeps showing up like that I'll start to get gray fur before I'm thirty."

    "I swear if you keep running off into danger when you're literally blind I will invent the cat carrier just for you!" Yagraz told him from the top of the stairs as she slid down them on a wooden plank of some kind before scooping up the Khajiit once more when she made it to the bottom. "Figured there would be some stairs to slow you down, let's go."

    --

    After killing their way through Draugr, lesser vampires, and an excessive number of skeletons, they got to a section of Solitude's catacombs that strongly resembled a Nordic tomb.

    "Potema!" Sybille's voice echoed through the ruins as the duo made it deeper in. "This vessel, prepared for you, will let you fully return to this realm. Consume her soul, and let her body be your second life!"

    "Potema!" Mohamara called back as Yagraz kicked in the door to a tiered room in which the spectral woman floated, sarcophagi lined the walls, and Sybille stood over Elisif's sleeping form with a knife. "Look at me!" When the ghost turned her head to behold Mohamara, Yagraz tugged on his leg to send the signal. "Bitch."

    "How in the shores of Coldharbour are the two of you still alive?!" Sybille looked over her shoulder, stood and gathered fire in her free hand. "You're just two worthless peons too short-sighted to see that this has all been built up to for hundreds of ye-argh!"

    With Sybille talking so much Mohamara had time to line up a bolt of holy sunlight and struck the vampire square in her previously perfect face. "I think the fuck not, you trick-ass bitch. Have at thee!"

    Potema directed her swirling vortex of energy into the sarcophagi, unleashing the Draugr from within, which Yagraz met with gleeful abandon. The reflect spells effect of the Spear of Bitter Mercy proved invaluable when Potema herself would attack with great bolts of lightning, or Sybille launched superheated balls of fire at the Orc and Khajiit.

    Though outnumbered, even with the watermelon atronach Mohamara summoned, it seemed that the tide of battle was going in their favor until Sybille managed to grab Mohamara and yank him off Yagraz's shoulders while the Orc was busy blocking two greatswords from two different Draugr Wights.

    "If you want something done right," the vampire snarled, holding Mohamara up by his robe and letting the human facade of her face slip away, "do it yourself, I guess."

    "Isn't it customary to grant the condemned one final request?" Mohamara tried to swing Bitter Mercy at Sybille, but she yanked it from his grip and cast it aside.

    "Not for the likes of you." Sybille opened her mouth wide, baring her fangs, but instead found herself biting into a watermelon fired from the atronach.

    Sensing an opening, Mohamara did what was becoming an alarmingly frequent thing--ditch his robes and go hunting for the spear in the direction he'd heard it clatter. "Either I'm getting too good at that, or people need to stop grabbing me by my clothes." As if to answer his request, Mohamara felt a mummified Draugr hand grab onto his tail while he felt around for the spear, and yank him backward. "Ow ow ow ow!"

    "Archers! Aim! Fire!" A female's voice rang out through the air, and many twangs of bows filled the air. The Draugr that had been holding Mohamara fell to the ground, dead with many arrows protruding from its back and skull. From the doorway, a squad of five Legion soldiers stood in formation, three crouched in front, two standing behind. And behind them was a Nord woman in the metal armor of an Imperial Legate. "Draw steel, put every undead in here to the sword!" The Legate and her soldiers advanced into the room, shifting from bows to swords as they went and joined the fray.

    Sybille had only just gotten the watermelon out of her mouth when the Legate grabbed her by her hair, and shoved Imperial steel entirely through the vampire's mouth and out her neck. It took a moment for her to die, her flesh drying out and becoming dust as the Legate watched.

    "No! It will not end like this!" Potema released a shockwave that knocked the Imperials, and Yagraz to the ground as she fled behind a sealed door. The Orc was the first on her feet to bash down the door and pursue the specter.

    "Get the Jarl and the boy out of here, Auxiliary. Everyone else, follow that ghost!"

    "W-wait, I'm not--" Mohamara was cut off by an unfamiliar hand grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him to his feet.

    "Don't worry, son," an Imperial-accented voice told him as he was forced out of the room. "Legion's here to save the day!"

    The watermelon atronach, with no orders and no enemies left to kill, dissipated and left thirty perfectly good melons behind.

    ---
    Those melons will go to waste because no one wants to eat watermelons with Draugr bits stuck in 'em. Right unsanitary, that.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • It's been so long since I've even used FF.net for my primary fanfiction archive that I can't even remember the rules, or what my account was. But, maybe!
     
    Chairtastic said:
    With Sybille talking so much Mohamara had time to line up a bolt of holy sunlight and struck the vampire square in her previously perfect face. "I think the fuck not, you trick-ass bitch. Have at thee!"
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    This is far and away the best piece of Skyrim (or Elder Scrolls) fanfiction I've ever read, and it just keeps getting better and better. I fully support our dear time traveling demiprince of madness gay furry bard.

    Also, your twist on Svaknir's verse was really good and not at all what I expected. The twists and turns in familiar quests have remade and refreshed them a bit in my mind.
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 13
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 13: What comes next?

    When they got back to the temple of the divines, Mohamara heard far too many people at work for how early in the morning it was. The Auxiliary dragged him through several checkpoints, thankfully at one of which someone gave him a blanket to cover up with. From words he overheard from the Legionaries there was a widespread mobilization of troops. Something about a Stormcloak attack on Morthal?

    "Hold it, Auxiliary," a gruff voice spoke with weight. "That's Jarl Elisif?"

    "Yes, General Tullius sir!" The soldier that had seen to Mohamara and Elisif's evacuation stood at attention and released the cat presumably to salute. "Legate Rikke ordered me to see her and this boy out of the combat zone, sir."

    "You think that's a child do you, soldier?" There was someone crouched down in front of Mohamara, he could tell by the way he felt a breath tinged with Imperial wine puff in his face. "This is a tojay Khajiit, fully grown. Shame about the blindness though. You okay, cat?"

    "Yes, um… General Tullius was it?" Mohamara inclined his head in the direction the wine-breath was coming from. "Your Legate… Rikke and her men are the reason why a Draugr didn't get the chance to chop me up, I think."

    "Rikke is one of my best, glad she could get you out of there, son." The wine-breath faded away, and the General addressed the Auxiliary. "Get the Jarl to the Blue Palace staff, then check with the Thalmor to see if they're missing any Khajiit. You're dismissed."

    "Sir!" The Auxiliary once more grabbed Mohamara's wrist and the cat realized he should have run when they had a chance. It was a few minutes of silent marching later when the Auxiliary spoke up again, in a whisper. "You in trouble with the Thalmor? Your fur's standing up on end."

    "Yeah," Mohamara answered. He hadn't noticed his fur poofing out and hastily started to pat it down.

    "Wish I could help you, but orders are orders."

    "Don't worry about it, once my Orc friend gets back up here we'll get it all sorted out. You could just leave me with the Jarl's people and I can fill them in on what happened down there?" It was a slim hope, but Mohamara had to try. The sounds of Castle Dour faded and were replaced with the sounds of the Avenues district which in turn soon became replaced with the Blue Palace's silence.

    "Jarl Elisif!" Another voice Mohamara couldn't put a face to, one he had heard from the court advising against sending forces to secure Wolfskull, cried out in shock and the sound of slippered feet came rushing over. "She isn't dead , is she?"

    "No, just sleeping." Mohamara looked up in the Auxiliary's direction. "I could have dispelled that by the way, but this way meant you brought me with you all the way to the Blue Palace and away from the Thalmor." The Khajiit grinned, ideally into a scowling Imperial face.

    "…That's fair, I guess," the Auxiliary muttered. "Do you have a place I can set her down, so the cat can wake her up, lord Firebeard?"

    "Yes, yes right this way." 'Firebeard' led them into the palace and right into the foyer.

    Mohamara hoped that the man actually dyed his beard a mix of red, orange, and yellow to mimic fire or he'd question the worthiness of the name. Once Elisif was set down Mohamara easily Dispelled the sleep that had been placed on her. For all the talking he had done with Stentor about Mysticism, she never seemed to piece together that it was possible to shatter the sympathetic bonds between a spell, its effects, and its target.

    When Elisif woke, it was with violent outrage as she instinctively lashed out and punched Mohamara square in the face as he was the closest one to her. It was then that the tojay remembered she was a Nord, and Nords seemed to have a racial ability to throw strong punches.

    What followed was an explanation of the situation with Potema, Stentor, and why the cat had been dungeon diving while blind.

    "The answer to that might upset certain people in attendance, my Jarl," Mohamara said when Elisif put the third question to him. "Are you sure you want the answer?"

    "Yes. My life was at risk—my subject's lives were at risk." Elisif's voice was brisk and uneasy, riding an emotional wave to make it seem like she was fine when likely she was far from it. "I cannot spare the time to care about people's feelings right now."

    "Well, it was because people like Stentor… and your steward didn't think it was important enough to bother with." Mohamara's tail flicked a bit in agitation, remembering the appeal from Varnius just the day before. "If they were right, I would have been fine, and if they were wrong then I wanted to be in a spot where I could help. And staying behind would have meant letting my friend go in there alone."

    "My Jarl," Firebeard started, then paused for a moment. "You were right, and I was wrong. If we had sent a legion into the cave, perhaps this situation could have been avoided."

    "Unlikely." The tojay wagged his finger at where the steward's voice came from. "The binding ritual the necromancers were going to use on Potema didn't include her Dovahzul name. No matter what happened, she would have gotten free and made her way into those catacombs. Unless of course one of those soldiers you sent in happened to be Dragonborn."

    "I think I'd notice if one of my fellow soldiers had scales and wings," the Auxiliary tried to crack a joke, but instead earned the unwavering stares of the Jarl and the steward. Mohamara's stare was diminished by the band of cloth in front of his eyes. "Sorry."

    "You said your friend, the Orc Companion, she knew about Sybille being a vampire for years?" Elisif addressed Mohamara, who nodded. "Heh, I wonder who else knew and thought me a puppet for her. …Falk?"

    "There were rumors, my Jarl, and nothing more." Firebeard—Falk—seemed to have regained confidence in himself since apologizing. "Sybille wasn't well liked in the city, but I can't say I heard many people accusing her of wickedness like this."

    "Vampires are products of Molag Bal violating women," Mohamara started to recite what he had heard in Temple about the many types of undead. "Like dragons that have a deep-seated desire for power and domination. This can make them rabid for power, or insidious in their plots. She could have had you under a spell and you'd be perfectly fine with her—perhaps someone did start accusing her of this and she made you forget. Since she likely didn't write it down, we'll never know. With her skill in Restoration, she could have been feeding off you and you'd never notice."

    Though Mohamara could not see it, Elisif quickly placed her hand around her neck—feeling for any bite marks.

    "That… I want to say you're blowing this out of proportion." The steward spoke again. "But after hearing that Sybille was part of a plot to resurrect Potema, I can't rule anything out."

    An awkward silence started but was eventually broken by the Auxiliary coughing. "Well, Jarl Elisif I'm glad you're okay. But I have my orders—I need to take this Khajiit with me to the Thalmor."

    "But he's with the bard's college, not the Dominion," Elisif spoke up for Mohamara and stood up from the way her bench creaked suddenly. "I demand to know why you must hand him over to the Thalmor, soldier."

    "Well—the General's orders were to see if the Thalmor were missing Khajiit, and the Khajiit said--"

    "I am a citizen of the Tamrielic Empire," Mohamara quickly started, standing between the Auxiliary and Elisif. Fortunately, the hegemonic Empire he'd come from in the Twenty-First Era had decided on a throwback name which meant technically Mohamara wasn't lying. "Born and raised in Skyrim—in Haafingar, even, on Mount Kilkreath. I am one of your citizens, Jarl Elisif. Don't let them hand me over to the Dominion just because I'm a Khajiit. Please?"

    "I… I don't want to, but General Tulius…." Elisif probably had an understandably difficult relationship with the foreign military leader in her city, it was hinted at in her tone.

    So Mohamara took off the cloth over his eyes and turned up his 'cute cat face' to maximum levels. It was his last way of killing time before Yagraz caught up with him.

    "Under article sixteen, section twelve of the White-Gold Concordat," Falk declared like he was announcing a royal decree. "The Dominion cannot pursue legal action against citizens of the Tamrielic Empire who are not in breach of the clause concerning the worship of Talos. And under the Provincial charter for Skyrim, even in times of war the Empire cannot detain or extradite people in a Jarl's court without a writ from the Emperor himself." There was a moment of silence while the humans worked their minds and Mohamara kept his 'cute eyes' up.

    "I recall you bringing up a topic of a patronage for the bard's college when we last spoke, yes? I hereby grant your request and offer you the position. Will you accept?" When Mohamara, naturally, accepted, Elisif directed a question to Falk. "There used to be court Skalds, or bards of Jarls, yes?"

    "Ah, not quite my lady. It, um… the official title was 'court jester' or 'fool'. Sometimes 'knave', but that was back in the time of the First Era."

    "If it means I don't get High Elves sticking sharp metal things in my skin until I tell them things, I will gladly accept any of those titles," Mohamara informed the Jarl and steward. "Hell, you can call me 'royal cat' and I will only consider you sort-of racist."

    Elisif snrrked at Mohamara's joke. "Okay, I'll consider the 'royal cat' thing if I ever actually become High Queen." Her tone became far more formal, presumably as she was addressing the Auxiliary. "Inform the General that this Khajiit is part of my court, and I do not take kindly to him attempting to violate the Provincial charter of Skyrim, even unintentionally. You are dismissed, soldier."

    The Auxiliary left with little resistance. Likely he only resisted the idea at all because it meant he had to report directly to the General. And no one wants to tell their boss that their other boss is mad at them.

    --

    Mohamara, the new 'Fool of Solitude' for a little while at least, was given a guard to escort him back to the city to locate Yagraz. Which turned out to be easy—she was in the Winking Skeever having drinks with the Legate who had saved the day down in Potema's crypt, Rikke. "I'm so glad that while I was risking being sent to the Thalmor," Mohamara told her, voice flat, "you were getting wasted."

    "Short-stuff, you woulda gotten out." Yagraz pointed at him with her bottle of mead, and almost spilled it on the floor. "Just had to get naked-er and run away like you did in Markarth."

    The tojay scowled in Yagraz's general direction while she snickered. "I don't know if I'm more annoyed that you brought that up in public, or that it would probably work. Still, I know how to get vengeance on you come tomorrow." With a self-assured stance, Mohamara stumbled his way to his room.

    As it turned out, however, when the next morning came Yagraz was not in an awful hangover like Mohamara expected, so he could not have his vengeance in that way. So, he roped her into his backup vengeance.

    Talking to every. Single. Person in Solitude about how they felt about Elisif, what they liked and what they disliked. Every store owner, every dock worker, every child running through the streets, every beggar on the corner, every madman wandering the alleys about how his master was vitally needed. There was only one of those, however.

    Mohamara recorded their responses with his slate and started to work on the final report to present to Elisif. Fortunately, the Burmice servitor was able to take dictation for hands-free writing. Which meant that he could have his Yagraz mount travel to the bard's college for review.

    Naturally, Viarmo thought it to be far too critical of Elisif but he understood once Mohamara explained it was the sentiments of the citizens which Elisif was paying him for.

    "Alright, I'm sorry for leaving you alone to almost get snatched by Thalmor," Yagraz finally admitted on the approach to the Blue Palace.

    Mohamara adjusted the hood of the Jarl's court outfit he'd switched into and made himself as comfortable as he could on the Orc's shoulders. "And?"

    "And for telling an entire bar about an embarrassing story you told me in confidence."

    "There we go, you're forgiven." The tojay made sure nothing was going to get caught on Yagraz's shoulder spikes, then hopped off to walk on his own. "Now let's go wreck a Jarl's day."

    As a member of the court, Mohamara didn't have to wait in the foyer with the few people seeking an audience, he could stand among the Thanes and delight in how they tried to politely shoo him away.

    After a proposal for a parade was dismissed, considering a recent Stormcloak attack on the city of Morthal, Elisif addressed the blind cat. "Ah, my Fool returns so soon. Composed a little ditty about how my people feel for me, yet?"

    "Indeed, my Jarl." Mohamara bowed in her general direction while moving to the middle of the throne room. "And that is a prelude to how this is going to go, I'm afraid. If you would like to receive it with just you and the steward in the room?"

    "No, no. I would like my entire court to hear what the people think of me, so they can all help to improve upon it."

    "As you wish." Mohamara cleared his throat and made it look like he was reading from his slate while breaking out into lyrical speech. "You say: The price of this war is a price that you're willing to pay." He pointed opposite the Jarl's throne, to indicate the city outside. "They cry; in fields, on the hills or at sea after battle goes by. Why so blue?"

    The palace itself was indicated, though the people felt more it was that Elisif had been in mourning for far too long given a war going on. "The one at the risk of dying out there isn't you. Am I making you mad? If you're sick of lying, then I'm your man." Falk had been completely wrong about how many people complained about Stentor, to the point where Falk himself was considered an unscrupulous liar. But the song wasn't about him. Mohamara gestured with wide arms to Elisif, "what comes next? You've been freed. Do you even really want to lead?" The next part saw Mohamara show off his high-jump capabilities to show excitement. "Potema's dead. Awesome! Wow!"

    All amusement left Mohamara's body language, but not his expression for the next part. "Do you want to know what happens now? Oceans rise, Empires fall!" The citizens had been with her in supporting the Empire, but more than half of them thought the institution was past the tipping point and would fail on its own. "Except now it's really your call. So, when push comes to shove, will you rule them all with fear or with love?"

    Part of the job of a Fool was to get people to laugh, so a ridiculous dance number during a cool down period for his voice. A bit of self-healing during the dance allowed him to keep going after without fear of his voice cracking. "They say their coin is draining and they can't go on! To you, they'll be complaining when it's all gone." Mohamara cartwheeled over to the Jarl's throne, sidestepped the armored and thus noisy housecarl who tried to stop him and leaned against the back of the Jarl's fancy chair. Even seated, he knew she would be taller than him. "And I will not change the subject. For these are your own subjects. Your less than happy subjects. Your loyal "royal" subjects." The use of air quotes marked Mohamara leaving the throne zone, jumping up, landing on the housecarl's head and leaping away to his starting position.

    "What comes next? Like those before, will you fight the fight and win the war?" If he had been aware of the late High King's portrait in the throne room, he could have used that to drive the point even deeper. But he didn't so he just turned his back on Elisif and spread his arms toward the city of Solitude. "For their love, for their praise? So they'll love you till their dying days?" Again, the cat drastically moved position, spinning his way toward where Stentor had stood during the court proceedings last time. "When you're gone, will they be glad? And tell everyone how you were bad? So, when push comes to shove…" The housecarl was making another attempt to grab him, Mohamara could tell from the sudden approach of steel plate boots. "Will you rule them all with fear—" he jumped over the man's grab at him, landed on his back and bounded away to drive the housecarl face-first into the wall. "Or with love?"

    A final bow marked the end of the performance, to weak applause. Expected, considering he'd gone with the tune of an Eighteenth Era play's music for the piece, and the subject matter.

    "I'm… not sure I quite understood all of it," Elisif started when the clapping ended. "But from what I gather, the people are not happy with me for multiple reasons."

    "You are as foreign to them as General Tullius, my Jarl." Mohamara stood up and pretended to work on something on his slate. "They know nothing about you, and think you'll end up as a tyrant if this war keeps up."

    "Yes, that is one of the things I picked up on." The Jarl shifted on her throne, to address the court at large. "How might this be remedied?"

    "Lower the tax burden on the citizens," a female Thane said. "The East Empire Company can afford to pay more."

    "And if the Company decides to leave Solitude to go somewhere with fewer taxes?" A male Thane responded to the other. "Skyrim isn't as rich as High Rock or Cyrodiil, they have no obligation to do business here."

    "My Jarl," Mohamara spoke up again. "Do you go to the temple of the divines often?" Elisif responded in the negative, Mohamara sighed. "Julianos tells the faithful 'when in doubt, seek the wisdom of the wise.' Your court can help you to rule Haafingar efficiently , but perhaps you would be best served by asking your fellow Jarls for advice on how to keep your people happy?"

    "In better times, I would agree." Elisif's tone was sorrowful. "But I've heard reports from Markarth and Morthal. The people there are far from happy—and Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath is even newer to ruling than I."

    "What about Whietrun, then?" The female Thane once again spoke. "Balgruuf holds no animosity towards you, and his people are happy enough."

    "If he's the one to ask, my friend and I will be passing through Whiterun on a quest to retrieve some stolen property from Eastmarch." Mohamara gestured to Yagraz who stepped out of the shadows to look as menacing as possible. "We could deliver the request and bring it back to you?"

    "Oh, you're leaving? I thought… no, that's perfect." Elisif clapped her hands, in an attempt to appear Jarl-ly. "Falk, some quills and paper please, I need to write a letter to Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. No, I will not dictate it, I will write it myself ."

    --

    Yagraz and Mohamara soon found themselves on a carriage to Whiterun, paid for by the Jarl to speed them in delivering her letter. It had been lowkey hilarious, according to Yagraz to watch the Jarl struggle with sealing wax when her missive was complete. She assured Mohamara she'd snapped a picture of it on her micro-slate to share with him when he got his eyesight back.

    On the road, they passed a pair of dueling wizards. Apparently, they were fighting to see whom could apply to be Solitude's new court wizard. The carriage driver stopped at Yagraz's insistence and the pair of them watched the fight while Mohamara asked for details every so often. In a battle between ice and fire magic, fire had the advantage of lower cost to create and a sort of scaling damage—burning a person already on fire would double the amount of fire they were on.

    Except the ice mage had one crucial advantage: Physical projectiles. The fire was well and good, but it couldn't defeat three ice spikes launched into the liver, lungs, and head at medium range. Ice won the duel and marched up the road to Solitude.

    After days of travel, Mohamara's sight returned and he could see exactly how stupid he had looked with his Jarl's court outfit. The fabric was black velvet with garnets sewn into the color sleeves, hood and buttons with floral silver designs worked around them.

    As the horse was given a break in Rorikstead around that time, the tojay decided to talk about it with Yagraz. "Okay, how much money did those elves owe you to use real fucking garnets in the buttons?"

    Yagraz's response was a wicked smile and whisper. "I got them a deal with the Jarl of Whiterun—they do all his and his kid's clothes. So, a lot is what they owed me."

    Mohamara boggled at the idea, he looked at Yagraz, and the real garnets sewn into the robe and still couldn't process it. But then his ears went flush against his head, and his tail began to thrash. "If I go look at the smallclothes from them and find garnets I'm gonna--"

    "Excuse me, young man?" An elderly Breton from the town's manor on the hill had come down while the two friends talked in the unhorsed carriage. He had a narrow face and wore quilted brown clothes. "I heard from your coachman that you and your friend were coming from Haafingar? Would you by any chance know Maria, who lives on Mount Kilkreath?"

    Mohamara whipped his head around to look at the man while Yagraz leaned forward, with her hand on her ax. "Yes," the cat answered perhaps too quickly. "I'm a friend of Maria's."

    The old man's face split open in a wide smile. "Oh, happy day! I'm also a friend of Maria's, but I haven't heard from her in so long, I thought maybe something had happened."

    "She's… been kidnapped," Mohamara carefully put it while looking around for any signs of a Vigilant ambush. "My friend isn't a friend of hers, but she's a friend of mine, and is going to help me rescue her."

    "Maria? Kidnapped? Oh, how awful." The man's excitement withered away quickly. "No wonder she hasn't responded to any of my invitations to come visit. Where have those scoundrels taken her, if you don't mind my asking?"

    "Eastmarch. She's being held in Eastmarch."

    The elderly Breton rubbed his chin in consideration. "How could they have gotten her all the way to Eastmarch without crossing this way? Oh, she'll be so very cross with me for not noticing." He looked back up to the tojay, with plaintive eyes. "Please, rescue Maria quickly. Knowing her, she'll want to go home straight away, so I'll ask her to visit some other time. If you can manage to see her back home—I'll find a way to reward you. Just come back to Rorikstead when it's done and find me. My name is Jouane Manette."

    "Mohamara Ahramani, and Yagraz gro-Dushnikh," the tojay indicated himself and then Yagraz for the late introductions.

    "Thank you for telling me the news and may the light of certitude guide you to Maria, and safely back." Without anything else to say, Jouane briskly walked away from the carriage and into the local bar.

    "So," Yagraz started after they were alone again. "Want to give me the odds on him being a Rainbow Man, like you? Ack! Attack of the tail-snake! I am defeated, laid low, and made a corpse by the assault of fluff!"

    ---
    My best friend, who has been a big help with the fic in general, did a cover of Mohamara's little song.



    Please keep all criticism respectful and constructive.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • RichardWhereat said:
    They have teched up. They've got a tablet.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    I meant tech up in the sense of advancing the technology of others, or start using their uptime knowledge. I imagine that even a student should have far more knowledge of magic and science to knock the socks off anyone from the College of Winterhold. For a more direct approach, they can start selling arms. There's a neat trick with some sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter... (or, if they're really ambitious, nitric acid, cellulose, and a sieve.)
     
    Think more fantasy than sci-fi for teching up that will happen. Modern Tamriel looks a lot like our modern world, but it functions similarly to Eberron where magic is everywhere. Because that setup would cause the Dwemer to violently vomit.
     
    I think I might have posted here earlier, I'm not sure, but I just finished rereading this. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I was getting into a mighty dark place, and I thought "well, there's that crazy catboy running around skyrim, maybe he could cheer me up", and lo and behold, it worked.

    So, yeah, thank you so very much for this fic. I just wanted that on record.

    Edit: Carpet Hug-bombing complete.
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 14
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 14: City on a Hill

    On the road from Rorikstead to Whiterun, Mohamara and Yagraz encountered a conflicting sight. Three people in mages robes--that came with trousers, much to Mohamara's irritation--but with armored extremities and melee weapons. From their battle cries, it wasn't difficult to piece together that they were Vigilants of Stendarr. They were chasing a vampire Dunmer woman, dressed in bizarre layered armor that resembled spider webbing. The coachman was forced to stop because the battle spooked the horse to the point where she would go no further.

    This let the two Daedra worshippers talk amongst themselves about the situation.

    "They're Vigilants, this is their job and I'm okay with letting them deal with one vampire on their own." Yagraz's expression was unusually hard and merciless. Not unexpected given that Dushnikh Yal, the largest Orc neighborhood in Skyrim, had historically been a target for Vigilant raids.

    "Yes, but it's a vampire," Mohamara countered. "She could be leading them into a trap, or have a way to turn them against each other."

    Yagraz spat over the side of the wagon. "She's out of tricks to pull. I know that run, it's the run of someone afraid they're gonna die."

    Mohamara turned to watch the Vigilants chase the vampire across the hills. "What if they attract a sabre cat with all the noise they're making? A sabre cat can kill those three no problem, and then come after us." The tojay narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Yagraz. "Can either of us kill a sabre cat before it kills the horse?"

    "You know," the coachman said with an unsteady tone. "That is an excellent question. I would also like the answer to."

    Yagraz looked at the Vigilants chasing the vampire once more and sighed. "Slow her down and I can take her out from this distance no problem."

    Pleased as punch that he got to kill a vampire, even if it meant helping Vigilants, Mohamara put his hands together and gathered the holy rays of the Sun. After leading the target, he launched the Sunfire bolt and watched it sail through the air to the vampire.

    It missed, but it hadn't meant to hit, just to get the undead monster to stop from fear of the attack. Yagraz's followup was immediate. She launched her skyforge steel ax through the air like the fury of Malacath and struck the Vampire in the spine.

    As the Vigilants descended on the crippled vampire to end her suffering with many mace blows, Mohamara considered the vampire. Who had she been, before she became a monster? Did she seek out the curse, or had it inflicted upon her? Did either of those things matter? The beast had become a disease upon living things, the likes of which Peryite couldn't develop in his wildest dreams.

    Meridia didn't mind that some of the faithful showed empathy for necromancers or undead, so long as they did their duty and put an end to the abominations. Mohamara remembered a sermon about the subject, which quoted the Lady addressing her fifth Champion thus:

    'You feel for the person that they might have been, had they not made this mistake. Your sorrow comes from the potential they had that was squandered by this course their life took. You see a tragedy because you are full of My anger, and My anger comes from grief.'

    Mohamara looked up at the night sky as the Vigilants retrieved Yagraz's ax and approached the carriage. The moons, two halves of a dead god's corpse according to legend. The god that had tried to trick his Lady into giving her life for his ambitions. The tojay wondered if Lorkhan had added the undead to the World, and that was why his Lady had carved her way out at the very last moment.

    But then idle wonderings had to take a backseat to the Vigilants. They were getting close, so Mohamara threw his blood-stained quilt over the Spear of Bitter Mercy, lest they see the Daedric artifact.

    "Thank you, Companion," the leader of the Vigilants, an Imperial woman declared and offered Yagraz her skyforge steel ax back. "Your assistance was invaluable."

    "No problem," Yagraz muttered in as close to a fake-polite voice as she ever got. "Always happy to put down a blood-sucker."

    "May Stendarr guide your way." The three Vigilants left off down the road, toward Rorikstead.

    With the battle over, it wasn't long before the horse was calm enough to resume moving. "Well," Mohamara said with a clap. "They didn't even threaten you over being an Orc and likely worshipper of Malacath. So that was an overall net positive, I'd say."

    Yagraz nodded, begrudgingly. "Yeah, one less vampire in the world and didn't have to hurt any stupid humans."

    "As a human," the coachman started. "I would like to thank you for not killing my stupid kinsmen, Companion."

    The two Daedra worshippers looked at the back of the coachman's head, with different levels of confusion. It was so… unlike a human to call out others of his species, if not race, as being stupid for any reason. But then he spoke again and explained everything.

    "Hail Sithis."

    ---

    Whiterun city was nowhere near the level it would be in sixteen thousand year's time. It was strangely haunting to see Dragonsreach palace looming over the horizon for hours before they got to the city's edge. Mohamara had only seen the palace in historical paintings, and the attempt at a reconstruction for the Whiterun museum didn't prepare him for the weight it had in sympathetic bonds alone.

    It had been said that the ways of Whiterun were the ways of the quintessential Nord, and feeling the sympathetic power that flowed in and out of, to him, ancient Whiterun convinced Mohamara it had to be true. For better or worse, the city influenced what it meant to be a Nord.

    It also stank of horses. And dogs. Mohamara had to actually cover his nose the first time the carriage was downwind of Whiterun city. Yagraz cackled in delight while Mohamara's eyes watered from the smell of the place.

    "How do Khajiit caravans tolerate this," he hissed while burying himself in his quilt. Even the faint smell of his own blood was preferable to the reek of Whiterun. "Their noses are stronger than mine!"

    "It'll get better when we're past the farms," the Orc told him with confidence. But she still giggled every time the cat poked his head out from under the quilt to sniff the air and violently retract. "Aw come on, horses and dogs don't smell that bad."

    "I will never be able to forget this smell." Mohamara rolled around in the quilt until he was safely underneath many layers of the blanket. The smell of dogs and horses managed to work its way through, but greatly weakened. He also realized soon that he couldn't breathe from how tightly he had rolled his cocoon

    Yagraz got him out after he tried to do so himself, failed, and had to whine plaintively for help. So he had to suffer from the awful smell until the wind shifted. "Hey, there's the caravan right outside the gatehouse."

    Mohamara perked up and looked over the side of the carriage, still under his quilt. Sure enough, there was Ri'saad's caravan milling about and doing business with some of the locals. "Do you mind if we stop there before going into the city?"

    "No problem, short-stuff. I'm going to get something for my girl from them if they have anything."

    "You'll want Atahbah, the one in the blue dress. She handles all the children's toys and stuff. Plus I know she got some good dolls and things from…" Mohamara paused then turned around. "I'm sorry, I briefly forgot it was your daughter we're talking about. The guy who handles small blades and such is that one in the green tunic and bandana. I think he has an elven dagger in stock that would be great for a little murderess in training."

    "You're such a thoughtful little guy." Yagraz reached over and trapped the tojay in his quilt with a sudden hug. "You'll be a great uncle at this rate!"

    "Mmph!"
    --
    Mohamara greeted the cathay Khajiit as he bounded ahead of Yagraz on the way to the caravan site. Those who were not busy with customers greeted him warmly, though with confusion. When the tojay found Ri'saad he was discussing the price of an enchanted dwarven sword with a Nord woman in full plate armor. Given the sword had the Blessed enchantment, the elder cathay spun a story of how useful it would be against undead such as Draugr. The sale was made, the Nord woman walked away with a fine weapon, and Ri'saad earned a considerable amount of gold.

    His ears perked up when he saw Mohamara, though the tojay knew he'd been aware of the smaller Khajiit's presence before. "Ja'khajiit, you return to us so soon. A bard, already? This one did not expect to see you again for a year's time."

    Mohamara's tail went up and hooked at the end with apprehension as he stepped forward. "Yeah, I did some work for them, studied a little bit and they made me an honorary bard. That seemed to please Sh-... Skooma Cat. He told me so, himself."

    "Is good that you do not have the threat of the Skooma Cat hanging over you any longer." The elderly cathay leaned to one side and smiled faintly. "You have regrown your tail, also good."

    "Yeah. Nice to be able to balance and jump properly again. But, um." The tojay reached into his backpack and produced a small leather bag to hold out to the cathay. "Here. It's not much, but I wanted to start paying you back for what you did for me."

    Without complaint, Ri'saad took the bag and opened it up. Inside was all of Mohamara's money and the garnets from Dead Man's Respite. Without so much as blinking, Ri'saad closed the bag back up and put it under his coat collar. "Ja'khajiit, your debt to this one is not so great as you imagine. But thank you nonetheless." Ri'saad sat on the rug at the door to his tent and patted the ground in front of him. "Sit. Tell Khajiit what has transpired since you left us."

    Mohamara checked over his shoulder for Yagraz and saw her examining greatswords from the weapons vendor. Because of course, she would. He sighed and took the offered spot in front of the cathay. "Well to start off, I found out my best friend is in this time period too. Malacath taught her how to Break the Dragon."

    Ri'saad's droopy expression did not change. His body language did not change. But he leaned forward and whispered his reaction to the tojay: "What."

    The tojay spent about ten minutes summarizing the events of his stay in Solitude, retrieving the lost verse of King Olaf, dealing with Potema and becoming the Fool of Solitude. Ri'saad said nothing but did direct a stern glare at any of his caravaneers that stopped in their duties to listen in for a bit too long.

    When the story was done, the elder cathay sighed, wistful. "To be young and have grand adventures again. No matter. Is good that you have a place in the Jarl's court. Perhaps clever ja'khajiit can earn Ma'dran's caravan the right to enter Solitude to do business like he did for this one at Markarth?"

    "I'd certainly try," Mohamara nodded in agreement. "Still… I don't know how long I'll be the Fool of Solitude, Elisif agreed to make it a temporary position."

    "Any time you can spend in the Jarl's court, to learn to give our people a chance is better than what we had before." Ri'saad's droopy face became a scowl. "Though, if the Hero of Kvatch could not teach the Imperials to give Khajiit a chance, perhaps nothing can."

    Mohamara conveyed confusion through his ears and tail, prompting Ri'saad to tell the story of a suthay Khajiit that had become a storied hero in the Imperial province around the time of the Oblivion Crisis but had their name forgotten in the time since then. It had sparked a surge of Khajiit heroism in the hopes that Elsweyr could, at last, get desperately needed aid from the Empire. But to no avail.

    "It is why the homeland so readily joined the Thalmor," Ri'saad admitted with a mix of bitterness and sorrow. "They at least pretended to care about the Khajiit. The Empire never did. But perhaps ja'khajiit can speak to many Jarls, and make the Nords a friend to Khajiit?"

    "Oh yes, that sounds completely possible." The tojay's voice was so heavy with sarcasm it almost slithered on the ground to reach Ri'saad. "How about I teach them that magic is perfectly fine while I'm at it--can't be that tough."

    The cathay patted Mohamara on the shoulder and quickly glanced to Yagraz who leaned on a wagon, silently watching. "Is it any less difficult than the plans you already had?" Ri'saad's answer was silence and a completely unchanged expression. "You did have plans, yes?"

    "Stay alive long enough to help my friend with hers, help you with yours, and maybe trick Skooma Cat into ruining my life slightly less. That's about it."

    Once again, Ri'saad glanced at the Orc who watched Mohamara with an unreadable expression. The elder cathay decided to press on the subject. "But… in your time? You spoke of college and degrees?"

    "That's less a plan and more a societal obligation." Mohamara sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yagraz was lucky, she got a job she loves doing and that she gets to keep doing here. My end goal was… I guess I never had one." He shrugged, no bitterness in his face or voice. "Just go to class, do the work so I can get a degree, and then work until I get too old or too injured to work anymore, then starve to death."

    Ri'saad's droopy face somehow found a way to become even droopier. "That… would be a miserable waste of a life, ja'khajiit."

    "It's the best I could hope for." Mohamara shrugged once again. "I… didn't want to tell you this, but from what I've heard of Elsweyr and the state of our species… this is as good as it gets. From now till my time in the Twenty-First era, it just goes downhill."

    "Okay, nope." Yagraz made her presence known, marched over and scooped up the startled tojay. "None of that. Friends don't let friends get so depressed they bleed it into their worldview. Come on, you and I are going to have a talk."

    "This one looks forward to seeing you again, ja'khajiit." Ri'saad spoke quickly while the tojay was still in earshot. "And hopes you will be happier when it happens!"

    Up to Whiterun the Orc marched with a Khajiit squirming under her arm. The guards greeted her warmly and made no comment about Mohamara as he attempted to gnaw his way to freedom. Past the wood and iron gates they went, and down the main street of Whiterun's Plains District until Yagraz turned and marched up the steps to a cottage. Presumably, this was her home 'Breezehome', for she had a key to the place and entered without incident.

    The cottage was pleasantly warm compared to the ever-present chill of Skyrim. Far at the end of the cottage was a dining table and doorway to an adjacent room while a stairway led upward. Immediately in front of the door was a firepit with a stewpot over it, and two chairs flanking a low table. Into one of these chairs, Yagraz dunked Mohamara, while she sat in the other.

    "'Work until you're too old, or too injured to work anymore, then starve to death.'" The Orc woman looked at the Khajiit disbelievingly, moving her hands about in a variety of gestures trying to convey how much she didn't understand. "What?"

    Mohamara said nothing, twiddling his thumbs and kicking his feet in the too tall chair while he looked into the coals. "It's… pretty straightforward. Not a lot of ambiguity."

    "What the hell happened to your 'become a teacher' thing? I thought that's what you were going to college for." Yagraz got up out of her chair to pace around. She'd always needed to be mobile when she was pissed off, if she stayed in one place she'd end up punching someone.

    "You're mad."

    "I'm not mad, I'm just confused. Come on short-stuff, you've always been a sourpuss but this?!" The Orc woman gestured toward him with a bewildered expression. "Where in the Ashpit did this come from?"

    Mohamara's ears flicked back and his tail began to sway. "Look, the teacher thing… fell through. I got told early on that going for that degree would be a waste of time as I wasn't going to get hired anywhere."

    "... Because you're a Khajiit or…?" Yagraz tried to look in Mohamara's eyes, he could never lie to her when looking her in the eyes. So Mohamara kept his gaze fixed firmly on the coals in the fire.

    "Does it matter? It doesn't really affect things now--"

    "When my best friend's end goal is to starve to death it affects things plenty!"

    A sudden interruption to the tense discussion came from a Redguard man stumbling into the house with a cloud of alcohol smell around him. "Oh hey," he greeted Yagraz with a tip of his wine bottle. "Good to see you're back." The Redguard took a long drink of his wine while glancing around, then noticed Mohamara. "Found yourself another kid? I bet Lucy'll be happy to have a little sister."

    Yagraz let out a hiss of laughter despite the scene that had been playing out before, while Mohamara glared daggers at the Redguard man, presumably the Brenuin friend Yagraz had mentioned.

    "Heh, with a glare like that she'll have no problem keeping the boys away until she's ready for marriage."

    "Would you mind if I murdered him?" Mohamara asked without taking his eyes off the drunk who had emptied his wine bottle.

    "Yes," Yagraz answered. "I can't afford a long-time babysitter who wants to be paid in gold instead of booze."

    "You know what? This calls for a drink, break out the Argonian Ale!"

    --

    'Lucy' was actually Lucia, a ten-year-old Imperial girl who seemed to comprehend that Mohamara wasn't actually a kid, just short, far better than Brenuin could. Not all that surprising, given the man was absolutely shitfaced by the time Yagraz came back from letting the Companions know she was alive, with four pounds of venison purchased from the marketplace for dinner.

    Because neither Brenuin or Yagraz could cook venison worth a damn, Mohamara knew from experience, it fell to the shortie squad to get dinner prepared. "You put your Momma in front of a grill and give her any animal--anything the Divines put on Nirn, and she'll make you something delicious." Mohamara told his 'new' niece with authority. "But ask her to make a stew and she'll hand you a bowl of poison."

    "Brenuin's not much better." The brown-haired Imperial girl spent her time chopping leeks and potatoes for the stew with her new elven dagger while Mohamara carved the venison with his Nordic one. "He's good with bread, though. I think he used to be a baker."

    "Don't you go spreading those vicious, hurtful lies about me, young lady," the resident drunk pointed his bottle of ale at Lucia from across the house.

    "Your mother has a job, and is a respected member of the community," Mohamara informed the Redguard man with a flat voice.

    "How dare you say that about my mother, I swear when I--" The drunk hastily tried to stand but tripped over the bench and landed on his face. He stayed there for a second before faint snoring sounds began to drift over toward the shortie squad.

    "Dumbass," Mohamara added the chunks of venison to the stew and carefully shook a small bowl's worth of salt over the mixture. "Stew's ready for the vegetables when you are, Lucia."

    Yagraz was busy on the second floor, moving furniture around looking for something. As long as she wasn't trying to dig deeper into Mohamara's problems when she still had a life of her own to live, the tojay was happy. The situation was years old, and there was no legal recourse to correct it in the Twenty-First Era, so why did she insist on bringing it up?

    "Hey, short-stuff!" The Orc woman called from the second floor. "Get your butt up here!"

    "It's the room with the double-doors around the corner from the stairs," Lucia informed Mohamara as she started to add in the vegetables. "That's how she sounds when she has presents."

    The walls were decorated with silver swords, Mohamara noticed as he went upstairs. Functional swords made out of real silver, but the reason puzzled him. Undead were so much weaker to fire than silver--why stockpile them? Perhaps she'd intended to have them all fire-enchanted by the tojay when he showed up?

    Yagraz's room was an absolute mess, containers thrown open and their contents--mostly loot from previous dungeons, he guessed--spilled out. But when he entered past the door, Yagraz hastily closed the door and held up… a suitcase.

    Not just any suitcase, Mohamara realized. His suitcase, from under his bed back home. When she handed it over to him, he almost fell over from the weight--the suitcase was physically larger than him and seemed stuffed.

    "What in the Indigo Room did you put in this?" Mohamara laid it out on a mostly clean part of the floor and unsealed the anchors. Inside he found what he'd expected--mostly his clothes. "I never thought I would be happy to see a pair of sweatpants in my life."

    "It gets better." Yagraz's grin was from ear to ear as the tojay dug through layers of dusty clothes.

    Wrapped up in several shirts and some socks Mohamara found… two filled grand soul gems that he'd definitely never seen before. The Khajiit's eyes reflected the steady blue-white glow from the gems as he slowly looked up at Yagraz.

    "I've been dungeon diving for years, short-stuff. Lots of grand-sized Draugr in that time." She crouched down to look Mohamara in the eye, letting the glow catch on her tusks and eyes. "Now, I think we both know what enchantment you need to make out of these things."

    "Red Shoes?"

    "Red Shoes."

    ---

    When you wear Red Shoes;
    You must choose to use their spell;
    To do nice things for all you meet;
    And make sick people well;
    To help the poor and fight for right;
    For if you are hard-hearted;
    You won't get far, till you are;
    Right back where you started;
    Have to give and share;
    Spread goodness everywhere;
    Have to love, have to care;
    When you wear Red Shoes!
     
  • Threadmarks
    • It is a reference to something. Even if y'all don't get it, it'll be expanded upon next chapter, don't worry.
     
    Chairtastic said:
    The tojay narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Yagraz. "Can either of us kill a sabre cat before it kills the horse?"

    "You know," the coachman said with an unsteady tone. "That is an excellent question. I would also like the answer to."

    ...

    Yagraz nodded, begrudgingly. "Yeah, one less vampire in the world and didn't have to hurt any stupid humans."

    "As a human," the coachman started. "I would like to thank you for not killing my stupid kinsmen, Companion."

    The two Daedra worshippers looked at the back of the coachman's head, with different levels of confusion. It was so… unlike a human to call out others of his species, if not race, as being stupid for any reason. But then he spoke again and explained everything.

    "Hail Sithis."
    Click to expand...
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    That was hilarious.

    Chairtastic said:
    The walls were decorated with silver swords, Mohamara noticed as he went upstairs. Functional swords made out of real silver, but the reason puzzled him. Undead were so much weaker to fire than silver--why stockpile them?
    Click to expand...
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    Because the Silver Hand are a bunch of retards who keep handing over the silver swords, and cure disease potions, whenever you do a quest for the companions.

    Chairtastic said:
    "Red Shoes?"
    "Red Shoes."
    Click to expand...
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    Gunna tap your heels together and chant?
     
    Last edited:
    Or are they shoes of foot work like the cursed ones of dancing.

    Mohamura is depressed.

    Become a preist. Moha. Or a Mystic. You have strong practical skills is the market that saturated?

    Say who say the Hero wasn't Imperial. That was a dragonbreak.
     
    Larekko12 said:
    Or are they shoes of foot work like the cursed ones of dancing.

    Mohamura is depressed.

    Become a preist. Moha. Or a Mystic. You have strong practical skills is the market that saturated?

    Say who say the Hero wasn't Imperial. That was a dragonbreak.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    There's a reason Sheo is being referred to as the 'Skooma Cat'. The Hero mantled Sheo. Therefore, we now know WHY Sheo is doing this, this is a grand plan to make the Khajit into a respected species by throwing in his special Tojay son who is going to fuck up the political order in a way that makes what happens when Sheo whips out the cheese knife look sane and reasonable by comparison. Hell, he probably used Yagriz's dragon break to throw Mohamura back in time, too.
     
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