Chapter One
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You want to hear a tale? A story? Bah! You sound ridiculous. What’s that, you still want one? Fine, this one has a tale for you. Khajit doesn’t know if you’ll believe it, most people kjaiit tells don’t, but if you’ll indulge it, then prepare for what may end up being the strangest story you will ever hear. It’s all about a special khajit, armies of deadra, a missing hero, a mean tempered dragon, and a world populated by technicolor horses.
Yes, you heard this khajit right. Horses.
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My tale starts, with your friendly khajiit, me, and a pair of fleeing necromancers, and an ancient Nordic ruin, in the middle of Skyrim. They were sprinting, putting all of their effort in escaping danger, drawing in deep fatigued breathes. I chased behind, going at a slightly faster pace, my two hands clutching my swords. The mages were growing tired, their pace was slowing, and the fat one, a Breton, was wheezing. It was inevitable that I would catch them soon.
Luckily for them, they didn’t have to go far. Up ahead, a large metal door stood. I could see the relief on the Bretons face when he saw it, he picked up his pace, closing in on the door faster than both me and the dark elf. The dark elf looked back at me, but a few meters away from him, and screamed before he raised his hand, throwing a glowing green orb behind him. The orb split into several pieces, and flew into several crevices on the walls.
Then there was a flash, and several humanoid figures rose from the crevices, clutching weapons, looking at me with strange glowing eyes.
Draugr.
I paused for a few moments to look at them, moments the dark elf used to flee to the metal door, before stopping and looking back at the draugr, watching the soon to be fight.
The draugr started their approach towards me, neither stopping nor hesitating. I was vastly outnumbered, surrounded and almost cornered, but I showed no fear. A few draugr could never scare me. Not after all that I had gone through.
The first one made its move quickly, raising its ebony battle axe over its head as it brought it down in my direction, only to miss completely, I having dodged moment previously. Before it could retaliate, I swung both my blades in an arch, taking off the fell creatures head. It collapsed to the floor, and rolled several meters away before the body joined it.
The rest of the draugr pressed forward, and I found myself overwhelmed. Three of them swung their weapons at me, one I dodged, the others I parried, before I managed to riposte one’s blade and open its chest as it fell to the ground. Before another could attack, I spun around; swinging my blades in a three sixty circle, cutting down two more of the creatures.
By then there were only five of the draugr left, and me, having wasted enough time as it was, decided the best action was to ignore them. I pulled myself backwards away from the undead monstrosities, and bee lined for the door, my khajiit tail flapping behind me as I ran.
The dark elf, seeing me run at him, both blades drawn, expressionless due to my mask couldn’t help but scream as he turned around and ran through the door, grabbing a chain switch and tugging on it as he ran. Unfortunately for him, I was too close, and by the time the mechanism had the massive door shut, I had slid under, but a mere body’s length from the horrified necromancer.
He broke down right there; fell to his knees and while crying, begged for his life. His red eyes darkened as his coward’s tears fell from them, and his face stained itself with the water’s flowing marks. “Please please don’t kill me!” he practically screamed at me, “I never wanted to do this, I promise! I promise!”
My only response was to draw both of my blades across his throat, spraying the walls with his crimson blood.
I turned away as he slipped to the floor, his hands desperately trying to hold back his blood for a dozen seconds before he faded. I found myself extremely disgusted at the elf; he had dedicated his life to necromancy, a trade illegalised in almost every province. He had sworn to defend his kin, and to fight against any attackers of the lair, but he was no more than a coward. He acquired power they easiest way he could, and when confronted, he broke his oath, broke his promise, and lost his life. The world was better without such fools as him.
I turned away from the carcass and began to run down the room. I soon found myself in, a long tunnel, similar to the hundred others I had found in every Nordic tomb. From ahead of me I could see the Breton. Fat as he was, he was slow, and halfway down the tunnel, a couple dozen meters, he slowed dramatically, and clutched his chest in agony.
I turned and ran after him. When he heard my boots clattering across the floor towards him, he- like the dark elf, emitted an ear piercing scream. He picked up his pace, adrenaline pushing him forward, as well as will. I found myself having to speed up, although not quite as fast a sprinting.
Eventually, after around a dozen seconds, I caught up to him. He collapsed to his knees, but soon turned around as he filled his hand with fire. Before I could get close enough, he had flung them, and at the range we were at, they struck home on my chest, knocking me a good five meters back, and melting the metalworking of the tunnel with the heat.
They were however; not nearly hot enough to stop me.
I stood back up, completely protected by my dragonscale armor, and rushed towards him, sheathing one of my swords, valuing precision over power in this fight. The Breton gasped when he saw this; most likely having never seen someone survive such an ordeal. He readied two more fireballs in his hands, but never had the time to launch them before I reached him and slid my blade through his ribs. Instantly an electric current flowed from my blade into him, jolting his already
wounded heart into a still. He shuddered for several moments, before convulsing off my blade and falling dead to the floor.
Breathing heavily out from my mask, Krosis, I continued down the tunnel. It didn’t take long to reach its end; I had covered most of the ground during the chase. Ahead of me, a smaller wooden door inlaid with iron stood. Luckily, it lacked a lock; I kicked it open with my dragonscale covered foot.
And stepped into hell.
Before me stood dozens of undead, draugr, wraths, and skeletons. I had stumbled into the literal pit of death. Near one hundred of the beasts stood to confront me. It was a sight that would horrify a lesser creature, and even I felt a small sense of fear as I gazed upon them.
The room itself was rather large to accommodate the crowd. It stood with a ceiling that was eight or nine men tall, and around fifty paces wide. Every fifteen paces from the wall lead to several steps that went downwards a man’s height. There were three of these depressions, eventually ending up in the center, the lowest area. From these standing points, the undead stood, staring at me intently. If looks could kill, I’d have died then, but they seemed content to simply keep their gaze on me, and I did the same to them.
This went on for almost an entire awkward minute before a loud cackling sound filled the room. It took me a moment to realize it was laughter, distorted and disturbed as it was. It came from the farthest wall to my front.
Before me undead parted way to reveal a tall golden figure, high elf, yet so deformed and twisted it hardly resembled one. Its face was twisted, part wrinkled and part smooth, as if it couldn’t quite decide on its age. Its body was likewise, it carried a hunch and gait that beamed with age and decay, but also seemed fit and muscular, ready for action, and covered in a black robe. These were disturbing, but nothing compared to the eyes.
Its eyes were deep, black pits of pain. They radiated their golden glow outwards, and yet also seem so unnaturally dull, as if someone had sucked the light out of them completely. Looking into them almost made you pity the creature that possessed them, but at the same time inspired and seduced you.
The creature was undoubtedly old. I suspected its voice would be crackly and hoarse, the laughter it produced confirmed that. However, nothing could prepare me for when the creature stopped laughing, and spoke.
“Dragonborn, might I just ask, to what do I owe the honor of having you in my home?”
The voice was painful to hear, it scratched at my eardrums, visibly discomforting me. I couldn’t help but raise my hands to my ears, if only momentarily. I couldn’t tell what expression the creature wore, its face was far to deformed, but the small creaks on its right lip suggested a smile.
As I lowered my gloved hand, I cleared my throat and said “Linsive Pargrove, now formally known as Dread Lord Pargrove, this one is here to carry out the royal writ of execution, on order of high King Ulfric Stormcloak, against your crimes against the citizens of Skyrim. This one expresses hope that you will choose to go peacefully, and retain your honor, but accepts that this may not be the case.” As with many khajiit, I spoke in the third person, a trait many khajiit shared.
Pargrove seemed to be entertained from my decree.
“Dragonborn, you know I cannot accept your offer for peace. But don’t fear, I would rather you not perish tonight. While my friends” he gestured over the hundreds of undead that filled the room, “May wish your death, I do not. If you so wish to leave with your life, I will allow you to do so, but please hurry, my patience is limited.”
I tilted my head to the right for a moment, before drawing both of my swords, Dragonbane and Oathblade from their sheaths. All around me undead did the same as they prepared for combat. The only figure in the room that didn’t happened to be Pargrove himself, he merely widened his expression, although I still was not sure what it was, a smile or a scowl.
“Dragonborn” he once again said, “This is your last warning. Turn around, run away, live life, love, drink, eat, but only if you go that way.” he pointed at the door I entered from. “If you do not, my minions will descend upon you, and you will die, make no mistake.” As if he imagined I was still considering leaving, he said, “You have twenty seconds.” on queue he started counting backwards from twenty.
I looked to my right, at a large draugr, a death lord holding an ebony long sword, then to my left, at a skeleton in plate mail, holding a pair mace and shield. Then I looked at Pargrove. I shuffled my katanas in my hands, and steadied myself as I waited for him to finish counting.
“Five, four, three, last chance Dragonborn, two…one.” He looked down on me in disappointment, and then waved his shriveled hands at me, “Deal with him.”
The undead around me began to move, all in one wave, towards me. I was a capable warrior, but against so many I stood no chance. My only hope stood in Pargrove. He had to die. Afterwards his summonings would lose their orientation, and while they would still be violent, I would at least be able to sneak away.
But first, Pargrove had to die.
I ran forward, towards him. He seemed even more amused than prior as the undead closed in on me, but I wasn’t about to die, not against undead, and most certainly not for his amusement. I called within myself, brought several thoughts to the tip of my mind as I let out a shout of power.
”WULD NA KEST!”
Then I was flying towards him, he seemed almost shocked as my pace threw me over his head, both of my swords angled for the kill. His dead eyes betrayed his shock as his hands lit up on the first spell he could think of. It flew out of his hands and hit me square in the chest, but didn’t slow me down as my swords flew towards his head, and I flew towards the floor.
That’s when I landed on a patch of grass, and my swords struck a tree, reverberating outwards and throwing me off balance for a second before I straightened myself out. Instinct took over as I went into a defensive position. When it became clear that there were no hostiles, at least nearby, I dropped the stance, and stood up straight before being hit by a very unmistakable feeling. Heat.
I soon found myself peeling off my dragonscale armor, being padded with fur was too much for the heat, although it couldn’t have been higher than room temperature. Not long after, I wore only my clothing, a light black shirt and trousers, and Krosis, my mask. Soon after, that came off too, and I was able to see my surroundings clearly, no longer hindered by the small eye slits on the mask.
I was standing in a forest, heavily wooded, almost like a rainforest. Memories of my time in the argonian homeland, with all its bogs and swamps flashed before my mind. But I couldn’t be in Black Marsh, that’s far to south for any teleportation spell. No mage could hope to cast such a spell, the exhaustion would kill them and the effect would disperse.
But here I was, in someplace very similar to Black Marsh. I let out a feline growl as I leaned against a nearby tree. Something was very wrong with my current situation. What was happening was impossible, it couldn’t be done.
After around a minute, I figured it would be best to simply accept what had happened and start working to resolve it. I had to find my way all the way back to Skyrim, which meant going through either Morrowind or Cyrodil. Before all of that however, I had to figure out where specifically I was. Argonia was a rather big place after all. I needed to study my surroundings, and what better place to do that than the top of a tall tree.
I had a brief look around before I garnered that the largest tree nearby, at least from where I could see through the foliage, actually happened to be the one I was leaning one. It was also the thickest, with many smaller branches that would make climbing easier.
I stretched out my feet while I studied the tree. I had taken off my boots (custom made for my feline feet) due to the temperature, and now was digging them into the cool earth.
When I finally devised my plan, I gathered all my belongings, Oathblade, Dragonbane, my armor, and Krosis, and put them into a tree hallow where no one would find them, should a traveler pass by. The only thing I didn’t leave was a small ebony dagger, which I looped onto my belt. I approached the tree, extended my claws from both my feet and hands, gripped the bark, and began to climb.
It was an easy task, all khajit are acrobatic due to our feline nature, and climbing is one of our best skills. Even the clumsiest khajit is more agile than the most acrobatic nord, and I was very acrobatic among my kind. I ascended the tree with grace unheard of, silently making my way upwards. The only time I came close to falling was when two branches I was supporting my weight on snapped, yet I managed to catch myself on a hollow. The rest of the way was smooth sailing, I found myself at the top sooner than I anticipated; the tree not quite as tall as I figured, but still almost double the length of any nearby.
I climbed the last few branches calmly, and I ended up on the very top branch, completely exposed to the elements, feeling the winds blowing at me lightly. I smiled, just for a moment, at the feeling; it felt like I was at the top of the world.
Then I looked at the land in front of me, and I nearly fell out of the tree.
The place, vast and wide as it was, wasn’t Black Marsh. It wasn’t even close. The swampy forest ended almost a league from me, and after that, pure green fields of grass dotted with trees stretched forward. Behind them, in the scenery, stood a mountain, taller than the Throat of The World, and on it, stood a castle, brightly illuminated in the sunlight. I gasped, losing my grip for a moment as I loudly cursed.
“Where in Oblivion are we?” I said aloud, not bothering to take into account the fact that no one was near me. That didn’t matter at the time, what did matter was that I was far from home, far from Skyrim. Gazing around the land, one thing became sadly clear.
There was no way I was getting home anytime soon.