((Author's note: I have put Athene's adventures on the backburner for now, and will be focusing on this story for the time being. I do write the storyline out similarly to how my game ends up, minus some event swapping for theatrical purposes, and of course, adding all the extra head-canon. I hope you enjoy! ))
Chapter 1:
"You know," he drawled, thick tentacles of smoke curling from behind his glittering teeth. "I've never been with a Khaajiit lass before."
"Hmm, well, tonight will be many firsts for this one then." The Khajiit girl replied with a purr. Her back was turned to him, her shadow illuminated against the canvas of the caravan tent as she lithely removed her shirt tunic. The candles danced and flickered against the steadily climbing breeze outside, which wafted in from under the pegged sheets and left a faint chill upon the ankles of its inhabitants.
She turned to him, and even in shadow her fur shone luminously. Her legs were long and shapely, her hips cut but ample, her stomach flat and lightly defined; her breasts were the pinnacle of perfection, a good couple of handfuls each, and succinctly rounded, covered with a fine layer of ivory and black spotted fur, except her nipples which were pert and pleasantly pink.
The Khajiit seemed to float toward him, her movements a slow ballet, her lavender skirts flowing and dancing around her. She nimbly arranged herself on his lap, still dancing to the beat of their pulses. He took another long drag of the pipe, inhaling deeply the vapors the Khajiit trade: skooma. The girl draped her arms over his shoulders, pressing her breasts right before his face; he could hear her purring and thought, regretfully, how nice a sound it was.
"This one is pleased, no?" She murmured as his hands snaked under her arms to cup the ample breasts.
"This one is very pleased." He murmured back. It's really quite a shame that you'll be dead by tomorrow, he thought. "Just one taste."
His tongue darted out to sample the rosy flesh, and he groaned as the nipple hardened beneath him. He was a large man, muscle upon muscle; hardened from battle. His hair was a shimmering reddish brown, trimmed recently, but due for another cut. His eyes were a brilliant hazel, like the darkening petals of a late-summer sunflower. The Khajiit girl had noticed them instantly, and she had hand-picked him for her favors that night. Too bad I'll be robbing you blind, she thought almost regretfully, as she purred under his administrations; regret, however, does not bring in the gold, she reminded herself with a smile. No pretty face is worth missing out on riches.
"Is this one enjoying his pipe?" She rasped lustfully, leaning so that he would suckle from her other breast. You should be near sleeping time, the pale cat thought eagerly.
"Mmm." He moaned, taking the other nipple in his mouth and sucking greedily. "I am indeed."
"I thought you hadn't tried skooma before." She mentioned quietly.
The man swirled her nipple one last time, and rubbed his thumbs over the nubs before looking up at her. His hazel eyes met her big crystal blue's and turned cold.
"I lied."
Despite her lightning quick reflexes, she was not quick enough.
"Imperial!" She shouted as she flung herself off of his lap, toward her tunic and dagger.
But she was too late. The Imperial had grabbed his own steel dagger and cracked her on the back of the head with the butt of it. The tent walls came crashing down just as she hit the floor, revealing a hive of running Khajiit and soldiers in pressed, red gear. She recognized some of them from the gathering earlier that night; the dogs had disguised themselves as commoners! A fire had erupted somewhere, casting the caravan into an eerie reddish glow, and smothering the campers and soldiers in a blanket of smoke. The screams and bellows of her traveling companions could still be heard as her vision started to fade, and all went black.
**
"Xiomara, what in the world are you doing, little one?"
The spotted ball of fluff looked up at her mother, and gave her a toothy grin. The black Kahjiit woman scooped her off the floor and nuzzled her affectionately.
"This little one knows to stay out of such things." She meowed sternly, and took the bowl of moon sugar from her daughter. "Your teeth will rot with too much this early in the day."
She pressed her nose to her daughter's and began her stroll through the sprawling ranch house to find her husband; the toddler still perched on her hips. The ebony Khajiit woman found her husband stooped over his desk, scribbling hastily on various documents. She set the toddler down in the corner where a couple of straw dolls lay and stood over the desk, casting a shadow on her husband's work.
The Kahjiit man looked up, furrowing his ivory brows. He was a cat of average size, though his musculature failed to match that of his wife's. His fur was clean and white, like pressed linen, dotted with burnt umber spots and speckles; his eyes were like fire, a brilliant orange with flecks of the sun streaked through them. He met his wife's blue eyes and sighed deeply through his nose.
"Gyesa..." He mumbled to her.
"Irthur." She replied, leaning forward on her palms. "I need some gold."
"Gyesa, I just gave you 100 septim's not last Morndas." He hissed quietly. "What could you have possibly done with it all?"
The ebony creature looked quaintly to the ceiling, pouted her lips. "It is none of this one's concern." She replied, to her husbands chagrin.
He groaned, rubbing his fingers across the bridge of his furred nose before reaching in to his desk and pulling out a small pouch. He tossed it across the desk toward her. She snatched it and dropped it into a pocket on her lilac dress and stood straight, smiling sweetly.
"This one thanks her dear husband."
She turned, swishing her tail proudly, bent down to pick up her daughter, and left her husband's office. Irthur watched her leave, and reached into his own pocket, fingering the small, deadly vial inside. He admired his wife, certainly; her name carried significant weight in Elsweyr, but her addiction to spending had taken its toll. Irthur had invested a large portion of their entire earnings in an adjacent plot of land simply to increase their moon sugar production for that very reason, but the ranch had not been out of the red since. Gyesa was a strong Khajiit, lithe and powerful as the moons had dictated she be; she had standing in the Khajiit army, and had fought bravely every time the Khajiit were forced to defend their borders; but Irthur was a man fond of his money.
Gyesa stepped out into the sunlight of her husband's sprawling ranch, her daughter still clutching her fondly. The black Khajiit woman rubbed her chin upon the head of her youngest child lovingly, and then held her before her.
"What does this one say to a visit to the temple, and then for a sweet?"
The baby meowed happily, her tiny, fluffy tail rising and swishing as if to echo her feelings. Her mother laughed, pressed her child to her chest and continued on into their village.
"Hey..." The disembodied voice seemed distant. Her vision began to fade in, still blurry and accompanied by a shrieking headache. "Hey! You're finally awake." She looked up to the voice. It was a nord man, with a strong, stubble-covered jaw and a stringy mass of blonde hair. He looked like he needed a long dip in a cold stream. "You must've got picked up at the border raid."
She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember where she was and how she came to harbor a frightful and throbbing pain in her skull. Some other man had piped up by now, frantically questioning anyone that would listen. Xiomara opened her eyes again and looked to her side; another nord of considerable size was positioned next to her, but he had a cloth tied tightly around his face, thoroughly eliminating any means to speak. She and the other two, both nords, were not gagged, but she could feel the ropes around her wrists digging in to her flesh.
The men were speaking, but she wasn't listening entirely. She caught "Ulfric Stormcloak", and realized the name was designated to the man beside her.
Although the name carried no considerable meaning to her, the tiny nord across from her bench mate really began to panic. She gathered that the little man was a thief of some kind; stupid, clearly. He began praying to any divine that would listen as they rolled onto a village; the gates opened with a loud groan, and the nord in front of her sighed with resignation.
"We won't be leaving here alive." The blonde said distractedly, casting a glance at Xiomara.
She said nothing as she began to remember the details of the night before. Was it the night before? She pondered, trying to find her sense of time and location. Her head pounded as if to argue, and she stopped trying to think.
Imperial soldiers crawled from every corner and walkway of the town; the Kahjiit woman eyed them warily. They were armed to the teeth with swords, daggers, and bows; she wondered why. The cart rolled over bumps and rocks through the town; the townspeople shushed their children and sent them inside, watching the macabre parade with wide eyes.
"Are nords always this enthusiastic about prisoner caravans?" She grumbled to the nord across from her.
To her surprise he mustered a smile. "Most of the time. We're a passionate breed of people. Name's Ralof, by the way. Not that it matters any."
She returned the smile as best she could and reciprocated. "La'Xiomara."
The carriage came to a halt and the guards jumped down from the seats, ushering out the prisoners. They forced them into a line and two guards ahead of them began calling out names from a piece of parchment. Xiomara looked around and saw where they were headed: the chopping block. A huge, muscled man stood before the bloody arena, his head cloaked in black and holding an executioner's axe. The black bane glinted in the late afternoon sun and despite the threat to her life, Xiomara was inexorably mystified by it.
Someone shoved her. "You're up, cat!"
She stumbled forward, hissing behind her to the Imperial dog.
"A Khajiit-probably with one of the caravans. Your kind always seems to find trouble. Name?" An Imperial guard asked firmly. He had long ruddy hair, and muscled arms that seemed to barely tolerate the fabric of the starched red Imperial uniform. In his hands were the parchment and a quill; no doubt scribbled with the names of the future deceased.
"La'Xiomara." She said, standing tall.
The Imperial scoured the list and looked to the woman Imperial beside him.
"Captain, her name's not on the list."
Xiomara glared at the Captain, wriggling her wrists in her bonds. The Captain glared back, her face an angular tide of hatred and glory.
