Silent Hunting, Stories of a Khajiit in Vvardenfell Options

[LadySaira]

Saira's (Shajira's) adventures, my first piece of writing!

Somewhere in the Inner Sea

The boat leaked, and it smelled of it's inhabitants. Shajira hated it. Water was always dripping on her no matter where she lay in the little hold they had forced her into, and the thin prisoner's clothing wasn't enough to keep it from matting down her fur, which by this time was dirty from first her stay in the Imperial prison, and now this raggety thing they dared call a ship. And to think, the furless use these things on the SEAS, how crazy are they? She wondered to herself, curled in a half opened crate which afforded her the best protection from the water. The guards simply added to the miserable conditions, abusive and loud at the best of times, now when they had to check on her by the captian's orders in the middle of the night and this horrible weather, she could hardly avoid a beating even if she was being polite. Which she wasn't often, and that was giving her a fair collection of bruises to go with whatever diseases she might have picked up over the months of confinment in the dirt.

A few days ago they had picked up another prisoner, but he was asleep now, and hadn't bothered to talk to her. Then again, he was a Dunmer who had for years used her kind, and the scaly Argonians, as slaves, and that didn't inspire the utmost respect from either side for the other. She smiled a very feline grin, showing her pair of fangs in a playful manner as she nestled her head atop her thighs in a ball within the crate and fell asleep. The dreams were strange, there was a voice... it sounded sort of maternal, it went on about how it had taken her from the Imperial prison... then strange landscapes flashed before her eyes as the voice faded into insensability, as most dreams do, but strangely one voice out of the chorus told her over and over; to wake up. Her eyes opened, and she hissed angrily, like a cornered tabby cat, as the scarred face of the dunmer filled her vision. "Pah, Khajiit." He grumbled, and her ears flattened against her head as he continued, " I'm Juib, and you cat, were having a serious spasm. Bloody wake up because you kicked me in the face." His hand drifted to a long scratch from his ear, down close to the jawline.

"Shajira." She anwsered. He blinked before replying, "I suppose that's your name, then." He turned away as the guard came to the doorway. It was a man, and he looked Nordic, and smelled it too, all mead and stink of sweat. He picked her up by the collar of her shirt, which surprised her as she expected it to rip far more easily than that, and dropped her on her feet. "Come on. We're here, and I want you bloody smelly cat off my ship." She rolled her eyes, but said nothing more as she flattened down some of the silvery fur on her arms and followed the guard to the hatch out of the hellpit of a boat. "Down onto the dock, they've been waiting for you." The Redguard on the deck told her, and pointed down to where a guard stood on the dock, as if she couldn't understand the words. Always so "helpful" these guards are. Not like I was going to jump in the water instead. I hate water.

[LadySaira]

Thanks everyone!

Landfall, Seyda Neen

She looked down at the guard who stood waiting at the foot of the ramp, tapping his foot impatiently as she liesurely wandered onto the dock. "Your papers didn't include where your from, care to fill me in?" The guard sounded tired, this was something he had done a hundred times before and wasn't in the mood to do again. She smiled, "Wherre do you think I'm from?" The guard rolled his eyes, and marked the sheet with a slick cliffracer tip pen, Elswyr in the simple scratches that most guards signed thier forms. She winked at him, and he sighed, and just barely audibly muttered, "Bloody Khajiit." Then in a louder, and more degrading tone, "Come along, you have to on into the Census and Registration building." Once again she was annoyed by guards insistance that as she was a Khajiit that the simplest conclusions would have to be explained, for whatever reason. Maybe it was because they thought she was a thief like the sterotypical Khajiit that they always pictured. Well, at least they'd be right about something. A sly grin spread across her face as she thought this, causing the guard to eye her suspiciously as she entered the building.

Soon as she was inside, she knew that she didn't like the place. It was stuffy, and there were the poor quality candles spilling ash into the air, burning her nose with the thick scent. Even worse the "Census Officer" was an old man, who like all old furless, smelled horribly, and his voice was so droning, that she was afaid she'd fall asleep there and then in this place. It'd take forever to get the smell out she decided as she patiently anwsered the questions asked of her... with a little variation when he asked her occupation, calling herself an "Acrobat" instead of thief. The man raised his eyebrow questioningly, but said nothing. So thier not ALL as dumb as they look. The man gave her some official looking forms for the captian in the next building, and dismissed her. She went through the door that the guard in the room so grasiously opened for her, then jumped when it closed with a bang, him slamming it behind her. There was a sharp pain at the end of her tail as she went to keep walking, and looking back she saw that some of her fur had been caught in the jam of the door. She pulled her tail free, and continued on into te next room, which was full of pewter silverware, a lockpick, food, and a dagger jammed into the table.

She took it all, and unlocked a little box that once opened revealed a small pile of golden soverigns. She left the room with nothing, but her pockets were full, and she was hiding the lockpick and dagger, just in case it was some sort of ridiculous test thought up by the guards to catch thieves. It turned out it was. The captian in the next room frisked her immediatly, an expert at it to be sure, but tired of the ritualistic nature that had been applied to these motions, and therefore missed the dagger, and the lockpick, though he did let her keep the ring, found in the waterbarrel outside, which was on her finger. He shrugged at her, "Standard procedure." He said as a way of apology. She nodded, and he took the offered papers and looked them over, "Seems to all check out. On your way then." She turned, but her tail caught on the table, the close quarters of the room not designed for the comfort a Khajiit, and the captian kindly helped her to her feet and out the door. Soon as he was back inside she patted her pocket gleefully, fatigue and uninterest had dulled the captian's senses, and he hadn't noticed her filch the key from the shelves as she got up. Maybe it won't be so bad living here among the Dunmer after all.

This post has been edited by LadySaira: Feb 29 2008, 04:26 PM