S’kaajo’s story begins with his father, S’bar. A travelling mercenary and a well-known thief, few actually knew S’bar’s true identity when they met him, else he would have likely found himself in more trouble than he did already. After being ran out of Elsweyr for plaguing the nobles of the country’s ancient cities, S’bar sought the only other sands he knew, Hammerfell. Being an Ohmes-raht, S’bar was able to seamlessly integrate himself into the busy markets of Hammerfell, with a traditional hood and scarf shielding his face from the harsh winds and miniature sandstorms that sprung up at a moment’s notice. It was in these Hammerfell streets that he made his living, working for whoever offered the most coin in return for secrets, gems, people’s locations, anything. There was nothing unobtainable for ‘the hooded cat,’ until that one job which almost cost him his life.
Word had spread around the crags and crannies of Skaven that there were Aldmeri agents roaming around the city, hidden in plain sight. One of S’bar’s contacts had got in touch, to tell him about a client he had refused on a particular job. As the Khajiit listened to the Redguard in the dark, dusty corner of the tavern, the pair hatched a plan on how to get a hold of a very special item, an Aldmeri diamond, engraved with the sigil of the Aldmeri royal court, and how S’bar was the only one able to track down the item’s owner and retrieve it. The deal was done, and the Khajiit had left the tavern before the pair had even discussed pay as he slinked out into the night.
Soon enough he found the agent he suspected to be carrying the diamond, supposedly expecting to present it to a reclusive Hammerfell noble. S’bar tracked the elf back to an unassuming little guesthouse, mounted high on the rocks near the edge of the city. Following the elf through one room, two, and out again into a small, cramped alleyway. The Khajiit noticed the change in the air immediately.
“Put your daggers down, S’bar, all of them.”
S’bar looked up to see his friend stood on a small walkway above the alley, flanked by a pair of Redguard guardsmen.
“There was no diamond, friend. Know that they paid me handsomely for your capture. It seems I was the only one this side of Corinthe who knew who you really are, ‘hooded cat.’”
The guardsmen took a step forward as S’bar unsheathed two of his daggers.
“It took me weeks to get the rumour going about the Aldmeri, friend. The sort of heist you’d be proud of, and the ultimate prize.”
******************
The night was colder than Dar’Jina had expected, winter in Dragonstar felt more like Skyrim than it did the Alik’r. Nevertheless, her furs and hood kept her warm and unseen as she made her way into the guildhouse via the unguarded side entrance, usually only used by cooks and cleaners, and near invisible to the untrained eye.
Slipping through the shadows, she avoided the eyeline of the guards as they patrolled the main corridors and archways. Dar’Jina spent what felt like an age studying the movements of the guardsmen, intricate tilts of their heads and craning of necks, but most importantly their steadfast routine. She picked the lock and entered the treasure room.
Closing the door slowly and quietly, Dar’Jina almost wasted all of her work as she stifled a curse. Sitting there on an empty chest was another thief, hidden by a black hood which covered his face. He removed the hood, and the scarred face spoke through a wide krin.
“You’re a little late, pretty one.”
She scowled and trudged across the room, still silent.
“How did you get in here, Khajiit set off at the same time?!”
The words were no more than whispers, but were filled with a palpable mix of confounded fury and admiration, how did this Ohmes-raht beat her to yet another treasure room?! The Ohmes-raht tilted his head up, and Dar’Jina sighed. The smug-looking winner spoke softly, with an unusual accent of Corinthe and Hammerfell forged together.
“The window was unlocked, my dear. I do not think they expected one as agile as S’bar. We need to hurry; the deal for our safe passage is off unless we bring the count his gems before sunrise.”
The pair came together and kissed, S’bar placing a warm hand on Dar’Jina’s stomach as he thought about their family to come and how much he hoped for their safety, and how he hoped that his past would not come to haunt them. They quickly filled their pouches with sapphires and rubies, and climbed through the window and out into a chilly Dragonstar.
**************************************
Years later..
The faint scars on his shoulder pulled slightly as he lifted his shield onto his back, providing a welcome relief from the sun beating down on the back of his neck. S’kaajo was in dire need of water, but the men hunting him had plenty, and would not stop until they got their man. From north to south, S’kaajo had crossed the Alik’r desert alone, running from band after band of mercenaries hunting the only remaining son of ‘the hooded cat.’ As he continued to stagger south, he thought of the last group he had slain.
--
“Stop there, Khajiit! There’s a mighty price on your head, enough to make all five of us rich men indeed. Come quietly, son of ‘the hooded cat,’ or you’ll earn yourself the same fate as your father and your brothers.”
--
The men had fought bravely, yet S’kaajo had expected nothing less of any of the Redguards sent from the north, or any of the Orcs, or even the Bretons. His shield and narrow sabre had both tasted much blood to get this far, and S’kaajo expected they would taste more before he reached Rihad and the boat which waited for him there. His father had not only made enemies, after all.
--
The voyage to his father’s homeland was long enough for S’kaajo to satiate his thirst, barely, and regain some strength, but he was nothing of the swift and strong Khajiit he had been before his deadly game of cat and mouse, in which he was the mouse.
Upon docking at Torval, S’kaajo’s heart sank. For what he expected would be a warm, friendly place was a desolate wasteland of the desperately ill and what was left of the scum of the city. He fought another Khajiit to the death for a bottle of clean water and a meal, and headed north, skirting the border with Valenwood, fervently clinging to the hope of being able to find somewhere safe to stay in Elsweyr.
It was no use, the disease had spread like a sandstorm and had swept almost the entire province, and so S’kaajo did what he thought he would never do, and headed back towards Hammerfell into Valenwood. Days upon days passed, as he cut down numerous bandits and madmen seeking to escape the Flu by any means necessary. He had almost given up hope when he heard the song that reminded him of everything he lived for – the memory of his father.
He pushed his way into the clearing and found another Khajiit, dark grey/brown in colour, strumming a lute and murmuring a tune at little more than a whisper. J’Kaasha hadn’t even noticed the presence behind him, so lost was he in his own memories, until he heard the faint hum of the tune behind him. Shocked, he jumped, forcing his lutestrings into a spasm which stirred both Khajiit from their moments of home. Pulling his sword, J’Kaasha backed away quickly as he noticed the state of his kinsman slumped against a tree.
“Please... water... I haven’t seen a friendly Khajiit in weeks...”
From a distance, J’Kaasha studied the intruder for any signs of the Flu, before throwing him his pouch of water.
“Drink, friend. And tell me how you know a song from Hammerfell.”
As S’kaajo drank and explained himself, J’Kaasha listened to the tale of a young Khajiit constantly on the run, killing to survive and constantly fearing capture and separation from his family. He told of his upbringing, foraging between desert tribes and small settlements, trading whenever possible before moving on to the next settlement and back again. He told of the Redguards sent after his family, and how his father had taught him the ways of the blade and how to use a shield. He told of the first time he killed, to protect his brother, only to lose him on the next raid. He told of the way his father wept to the Twin Moons in secret, praying to the Khajiiti gods for mercy on his children, pleading that they were not to blame for the ill deeds he had done in his life. And he told of the songs that the family would sing in times of hardship, songs that they would hear sung by the very men that hunted them as they slept by their campfires.
“This one just needs a place among friends; a place to feel safe and to disappear from those that seek him.”
J’Kaasha had told the story to Ri’Karav, who held his doubts over a newcomer who drew trouble.
“They do not know where he is, Ri’Karav. They probably assume that the boat sank, or he died of the Flu when he got to Elsweyr.”
“If they hunted him from Dragonstar to Rihad, they won’t stop there, Kaasha. You’re not naive enough to believe that, are you?”
“He is Khajiit, he is strong, and he needs us a lot more than we need him. First sign of trouble, and he goes. Do this for me, Ri’Karav.”
“Very well. But at the first sign of trouble, we hand him in.”
Word had spread around the crags and crannies of Skaven that there were Aldmeri agents roaming around the city, hidden in plain sight. One of S’bar’s contacts had got in touch, to tell him about a client he had refused on a particular job. As the Khajiit listened to the Redguard in the dark, dusty corner of the tavern, the pair hatched a plan on how to get a hold of a very special item, an Aldmeri diamond, engraved with the sigil of the Aldmeri royal court, and how S’bar was the only one able to track down the item’s owner and retrieve it. The deal was done, and the Khajiit had left the tavern before the pair had even discussed pay as he slinked out into the night.
Soon enough he found the agent he suspected to be carrying the diamond, supposedly expecting to present it to a reclusive Hammerfell noble. S’bar tracked the elf back to an unassuming little guesthouse, mounted high on the rocks near the edge of the city. Following the elf through one room, two, and out again into a small, cramped alleyway. The Khajiit noticed the change in the air immediately.
“Put your daggers down, S’bar, all of them.”
S’bar looked up to see his friend stood on a small walkway above the alley, flanked by a pair of Redguard guardsmen.
“There was no diamond, friend. Know that they paid me handsomely for your capture. It seems I was the only one this side of Corinthe who knew who you really are, ‘hooded cat.’”
The guardsmen took a step forward as S’bar unsheathed two of his daggers.
“It took me weeks to get the rumour going about the Aldmeri, friend. The sort of heist you’d be proud of, and the ultimate prize.”
******************
The night was colder than Dar’Jina had expected, winter in Dragonstar felt more like Skyrim than it did the Alik’r. Nevertheless, her furs and hood kept her warm and unseen as she made her way into the guildhouse via the unguarded side entrance, usually only used by cooks and cleaners, and near invisible to the untrained eye.
Slipping through the shadows, she avoided the eyeline of the guards as they patrolled the main corridors and archways. Dar’Jina spent what felt like an age studying the movements of the guardsmen, intricate tilts of their heads and craning of necks, but most importantly their steadfast routine. She picked the lock and entered the treasure room.
Closing the door slowly and quietly, Dar’Jina almost wasted all of her work as she stifled a curse. Sitting there on an empty chest was another thief, hidden by a black hood which covered his face. He removed the hood, and the scarred face spoke through a wide krin.
“You’re a little late, pretty one.”
She scowled and trudged across the room, still silent.
“How did you get in here, Khajiit set off at the same time?!”
The words were no more than whispers, but were filled with a palpable mix of confounded fury and admiration, how did this Ohmes-raht beat her to yet another treasure room?! The Ohmes-raht tilted his head up, and Dar’Jina sighed. The smug-looking winner spoke softly, with an unusual accent of Corinthe and Hammerfell forged together.
“The window was unlocked, my dear. I do not think they expected one as agile as S’bar. We need to hurry; the deal for our safe passage is off unless we bring the count his gems before sunrise.”
The pair came together and kissed, S’bar placing a warm hand on Dar’Jina’s stomach as he thought about their family to come and how much he hoped for their safety, and how he hoped that his past would not come to haunt them. They quickly filled their pouches with sapphires and rubies, and climbed through the window and out into a chilly Dragonstar.
**************************************
Years later..
The faint scars on his shoulder pulled slightly as he lifted his shield onto his back, providing a welcome relief from the sun beating down on the back of his neck. S’kaajo was in dire need of water, but the men hunting him had plenty, and would not stop until they got their man. From north to south, S’kaajo had crossed the Alik’r desert alone, running from band after band of mercenaries hunting the only remaining son of ‘the hooded cat.’ As he continued to stagger south, he thought of the last group he had slain.
--
“Stop there, Khajiit! There’s a mighty price on your head, enough to make all five of us rich men indeed. Come quietly, son of ‘the hooded cat,’ or you’ll earn yourself the same fate as your father and your brothers.”
--
The men had fought bravely, yet S’kaajo had expected nothing less of any of the Redguards sent from the north, or any of the Orcs, or even the Bretons. His shield and narrow sabre had both tasted much blood to get this far, and S’kaajo expected they would taste more before he reached Rihad and the boat which waited for him there. His father had not only made enemies, after all.
--
The voyage to his father’s homeland was long enough for S’kaajo to satiate his thirst, barely, and regain some strength, but he was nothing of the swift and strong Khajiit he had been before his deadly game of cat and mouse, in which he was the mouse.
Upon docking at Torval, S’kaajo’s heart sank. For what he expected would be a warm, friendly place was a desolate wasteland of the desperately ill and what was left of the scum of the city. He fought another Khajiit to the death for a bottle of clean water and a meal, and headed north, skirting the border with Valenwood, fervently clinging to the hope of being able to find somewhere safe to stay in Elsweyr.
It was no use, the disease had spread like a sandstorm and had swept almost the entire province, and so S’kaajo did what he thought he would never do, and headed back towards Hammerfell into Valenwood. Days upon days passed, as he cut down numerous bandits and madmen seeking to escape the Flu by any means necessary. He had almost given up hope when he heard the song that reminded him of everything he lived for – the memory of his father.
He pushed his way into the clearing and found another Khajiit, dark grey/brown in colour, strumming a lute and murmuring a tune at little more than a whisper. J’Kaasha hadn’t even noticed the presence behind him, so lost was he in his own memories, until he heard the faint hum of the tune behind him. Shocked, he jumped, forcing his lutestrings into a spasm which stirred both Khajiit from their moments of home. Pulling his sword, J’Kaasha backed away quickly as he noticed the state of his kinsman slumped against a tree.
“Please... water... I haven’t seen a friendly Khajiit in weeks...”
From a distance, J’Kaasha studied the intruder for any signs of the Flu, before throwing him his pouch of water.
“Drink, friend. And tell me how you know a song from Hammerfell.”
As S’kaajo drank and explained himself, J’Kaasha listened to the tale of a young Khajiit constantly on the run, killing to survive and constantly fearing capture and separation from his family. He told of his upbringing, foraging between desert tribes and small settlements, trading whenever possible before moving on to the next settlement and back again. He told of the Redguards sent after his family, and how his father had taught him the ways of the blade and how to use a shield. He told of the first time he killed, to protect his brother, only to lose him on the next raid. He told of the way his father wept to the Twin Moons in secret, praying to the Khajiiti gods for mercy on his children, pleading that they were not to blame for the ill deeds he had done in his life. And he told of the songs that the family would sing in times of hardship, songs that they would hear sung by the very men that hunted them as they slept by their campfires.
“This one just needs a place among friends; a place to feel safe and to disappear from those that seek him.”
J’Kaasha had told the story to Ri’Karav, who held his doubts over a newcomer who drew trouble.
“They do not know where he is, Ri’Karav. They probably assume that the boat sank, or he died of the Flu when he got to Elsweyr.”
“If they hunted him from Dragonstar to Rihad, they won’t stop there, Kaasha. You’re not naive enough to believe that, are you?”
“He is Khajiit, he is strong, and he needs us a lot more than we need him. First sign of trouble, and he goes. Do this for me, Ri’Karav.”
“Very well. But at the first sign of trouble, we hand him in.”
I even smiled while I was reading this, I admit its better than mine but I also admit its not as epic as mine, I was disappointed by the ending but I can change that later.
