Stories of a Striped Khajiit

10 posts · started by Ma'azha on Aug 29, 2016 · 2389 views · in Storylines, Journals, and Stories

Ma'azhaAug 29, 2016

Aug 29, 2016 at 12:36 AM #1

This thread will contain little stories about the character Ma'azha and what he does during all the time he claims to be "studying" or is off doing something else on his own. The main purpose of this thread is not only to get to write fun/cute/funny/deep/dramatic stories about the character but to give an insight to the secret life that they undergo and to show the side of the character that rarely gets to be shown as well as to show their opinion of the world around them through their actions and reactions to different situations. Plus it gives me a chance to work on my writing and storytelling skills without having the pressure of trying to get a passable response out quickly for other players.

It also will serve as getting to include features of the character that currently are limited by the game and/or its mechanics. Such as his love of Conjuration magic and the wide variety of creatures that come with that, his experiments and studies that he does in private with alchemy and/or magic, adventures into old ruins and crypts to ~~swipe cool shiny things~~ learn about the past, or his literal zoo of pets that he has to take care of and how they all interact with each other. There are also sides of the character that are limited by RP that I hope to explore in future stories such as how he copes with his vampirism, how he goes about getting all sorts of trinkets and interesting items, his kleptomaniac nature whenever he comes across something cool looking at a market stall, and his journey to learn about...other kinds of magic.

Overall, I hope that you enjoy any of the stories I post here whether they change your OOC opinion of the character and their actions during RP, give you some backstage knowledge at little Easter eggs he may hint at IG during RP, or give you a little laugh here or there.

Edited Aug 29, 2016 at 01:12 AM by 0

Ma'azhaAug 29, 2016

Aug 29, 2016 at 12:39 AM #2

A Forest Frolick
(Starring Ma'azha and Julius)

A gentle wind blew through the trees of the Valenwood. It was a rare sight to be able to see the beauty of the fauna and flora of Malabal Tor without rain. Squirrels dart across the ground, leaves crinkling beneath their small feet. Birds chirp and call above, the sound of raindrops no longer drowning out their song. The sound of branches being cracked are distant as a mammoth and her child trudge to a watering hole. Silent and graceful, deer and elk prance between the trees together. Insects crawled along the brush, in and out of little holes in the dirt. The ambience of the woods was calming to a wandering Khajiit who had set out for a walk in the pleasant weather. A small fennec fox was walking beside him, almost on top of his feet. The two were quiet as to not disturb the ways of the forest.

The pair had been walking for a while when they came to a clearing. The grass controlled only by the footsteps of creatures matting it down. Flowers dotted the ground around the stump of a tree. The Khajiit chose to take a short rest and sit on the stump, so he wandered closer. It was clear that the tree was cut down by an axe. A shame. The lines of the trunk spoke of the tree’s age. It was young and strong before it fell. The Khajiit exhaled deeply, saddened by the loss of beauty, before taking a seat. Crossing his legs, he beckoned his friend to come closer as he patted his lap. The fox listened and hopped once onto the trunk and then it hopped again into the Khajiit’s lap where it could curl itself up and be pat on the head.

It was surprising to the Khajiit to find such a serene place in a world so ravaged by fighting and distress. He shut his eyes to take in the world around him. The cooling wind against his fur. The feeling of life undisturbed by outside influence. The very aura of the land was peaceful yet held a sense of pride and determination to thrive. This feeling that the young Khajiit got contrasted all else that he observed while out among the man and mer of the civilized world. He welcomed the change of pace gratefully. Here, no one was judging each other. No one was arguing. No one was fighting. Natural order had taken over and cast a warm blanket of freedom over the land. The Khajiit inhaled slowly through his nose and smiled. The scent of flowers in bloom filled his nose. With an eased exhale, he opened his eyes and peered down at the friend in his lap who had already managed to doze off. The Khajiit removed one of his gloves then traced a finger over one of the stump’s lines. He could feel the pool of magic that flowed through the land not as a powerful, driving force that one could use to influence the world around them but as a river that carried order and balance in its stream to those willing to take a drink.

The Khajiit ran his hand down the side of the fox. Its fur was smooth and soft. The creature obviously was spoiled while at home. As the Khajiit took a look around the clearing, he could see that no animals were around save for the torchbugs that danced around each other and the centipedes that crawled around on the ground. Such creatures posed no threat so the Khajiit became to reflect on things that were troubling his mind. A place such as this was near perfect for meditation the Khajiit thought. Topped only by the study at home in his opinion. Clearing his mind, the Khajiit thought only on the magicka that was flowing in the world and that pulsated from him. The deeper he focused, the more he could feel the dividing wall between him and the world fade as his reserve of magicka started to bleed and drift along with his surroundings. It felt as though he could feel the world around him simply through the flow of magicka around the world as it outlined the trees, plants, rocks, and more that filled the clearing in his mind. Each sound that the world make caused a ripple in the image parallel to its physical location like something touching the surface of water. A feeling of euphoria slowly swept over the Khajiit as he relaxed. What felt like seconds passing turned into minutes as the stress over his time spent away from his studies passed.

There was the sound of a twig being snapped in two that broke that Khajiit’s trance. He opened his eyes to see a deer that had approached the clearing. Not just a deer but other wildlife had come to watch what to them was a strange creature sleeping in their home. It was hard to determine which side was more surprised to see the other as both stayed still and silence fell over the clearing until it was broken by the yawning and rolling of the fennec in the Khajiit’s lap. The Khajiit looked down at the animal in his lap and pet it gently with a small smile then looked back around to the animals that surrounded the clearing. The first to move was a squirrel that ran up the trunk to get a closer look at the cat-person. It scratched its nose and its tail twitched as it stared at the feline. The Khajiit noticed an acorn on the ground near the stump. Floating it slowly to him with a spell as to not alarm the squirrel, he took it in his hand before offering it to the squirrel. It peered into the Khajiit’s hand and watched the acorn as if it was about to start to move on its own again. The squirrel crawled onto the Khajiit’s palm to retrieve its gift, giving the acorn a quick few scratches and taps with its teeth before scurrying off back into the woods.

The Khajiit giggled at the small creature then returned his attention to the rest of the animals. Some of them moved closer while others remained at a distance. Their presence certainly caught the attention of the forest the Khajiit thought to himself. It was time to go home. He had ignored his research for long enough today. Perhaps he will return another time to meditate again. With one claw, the Khajiit carved the date into the trunk. With the other, he picked up the fox from his lap and carried it in his arm. Knowing that they knew not what it meant, the Khajiit waved goodbye to the woodland creatures nonetheless before vanishing away in a quick flash of light.

Home again, the Khajiit set the fennec onto the ground and it ran off to the corner of the room where its bed was. Numerous other animals were inside what was the Khajiit his house. A few of them came up to greet their cat friend. Some stayed where they were and simply looked at the Khajiit, but they both knew that each were happy to see each other again. After the welcome home party subsided, the Khajiit walked over to his desk and took a seat. A handful of books were open and sprawled across the desk in what to any other person would look random and unorganized. Though it made perfect sense to the Khajiit. One more deep breath...and the Khajiit resumed his studying.

Edited Sep 04, 2016 at 11:07 PM by 0

Ma'azhaSep 03, 2016

Sep 03, 2016 at 04:01 AM #3

Red and Blue
(Starring Red Man and Blue Cat)

Water flows freely through a stream inside a cave. The water shimmers as the light from outside reflects off of it. Ripples disturb the surface as a figure dips their hand into the stream. Cold. No sound save for that of the flowing water came from inside. Not moss nor weeds grew. Not even a fly entered the cave. Wind did not blow and light did not enter. The stillness was broken as a rock skipped across the stone floor and fell into the stream. The figure stood from the stream and turned to face the sound. Covering their eyes as the outside light strained them, they saw a silhouette standing at the cave entrance. Though it was difficult to make out precise details at first, it was clear that the figure was feline.

The robed man called out to the cat. No words returned to him. Instead the sound of footsteps as the cat approached. He stood his ground and observed carefully as the cat came within arm’s reach. The two examined each other before locking eyes. A moment was spent in silence as they stared at each other. The cat was the first to move. Breaking his gaze from the tall man, he reached into his bag and pulled out bottle and a small bag. He offered them to the figure before him but was declined so he set the gifts on the ground beside them. The figure watched, curious of the cat, as they walked over to one of the larger rocks in the cave to sit. The man attempted to follow but could not make it quite there and instead chose to sit on the ground.

The two were about even in height now though it would be difficult to see as there was a distinct lack of light inside the cave. The cat made an offer to light up the cave for the man whose response was that of indifference. With a small nod, the cat waved a hand before him and a ball of light appeared between him and the man. It was much easier to see each other now and they could make out the details of each other. The man’s robes were a deep red and tattered all over. He wore a hood and a mask to cover his face though they did not hide his burn scars. Even without the light, the man’s yellow eyes glowed brilliantly though now they did not appear as menacing and intimidating as before. Now they spoke of age and exhaustion. The cat was wearing a blue coat. He had a hood but kept it down. His fur was unnaturally pale. His eyes were red and hungry. The Red Man chuckled as he saw the Blue Cat’s appearance, but he was cut off by a fit of coughing and hacking. It was clear now what the cat had come for. The Red Man nodded and stood with a grunt. Hopping up from his seat, the Blue Cat offered to help but was declined once again. Limping slowly deeper into the cave while keeping a hand against one of the cave walls for support, the Red Man told the Blue Cat to follow closely.

As the pair descended deeper into the cave, the light hovered above the Blue Cat’s shoulder and illuminated the narrow passage that they traveled. On the walls were drawings and etchings in a strange text. Depictions of lands long since changed or forgotten, of beasts of other worlds and planes between them, and of wonders and magic lost to the ages covered every corner of the walls. The Blue Cat ran a hand over each as they were passed. Such knowledge to be learned and stories that could be told from what he was seeing, and yet for once he did not inquire. Now was a time for silence and thought. To be quiet and let the art rest was to honor it enough. The Red Man turned his head back to the Blue Cat and spoke of how stories are what keep the lives of the lost going, but not all stories should be told. Some should be left behind and forgotten so that legends may rest and the world may make new ones.

At last they reached the end of the passage and stepped foot into a chamber carved out and built deep within the cave. Candles were flickering and lighting the room. Potted plants lined a table in the corner of the room. The room was warm and had an aura of ease about it. It was as if the two had stepped into an entirely different world from the cave. Books were thrown about the room in a messy fashion. Some open on the floor and some stacked high against a wall. Scrolls were spread out across a long table in the center of the room. Herbs, alchemical tools, and crystals were organized beside them. The Red Man turned to the Blue Cat and gestured to the room to let him know he was free to explore. Without hesitation, the Blue Cat bowed and moved over to the stack of books against the wall, picking up two that were on the floor as he passed them. Tomes, spellbooks, journals, archives, and more were sitting before the Blue Cat as if they were nothing but papers crumpled up and disposed of. Taking one from the top, the Blue Cat gently opened the cover of one of the books. The book was thick and the pages numbered in the bottom right corner in the same strange text as what was on the walls of the passageway. Every word on the pages was in the same text as well. The Blue Cat was confused. He read about much before and saw examples of many languages used throughout history yet this one was new. Frustrated, the Blue Cat shut the book and moved on to the next to only be disappointed again. With a deep sigh, he stepped away from the pile of books and moved around the room to the next thing of interest. Meanwhile, the Red Man gingerly shifted through a desk for a piece of parchment. Once he found it, he set it on the center table and strolled over to the potted plants where the Blue Cat also found himself. Garlic, Nightshade, and Bloodgrass were the first that the Blue Cat recognized of the plants. The Red Man picked up each of the three however and took them away to the center table. Intrigued, the Blue Cat began to sketch the other plants down in his journal.

It was not long after the plants were gathered that the Red Man called the Blue Cat over to the table. Many things had been scattered about in a mess but it was clear what was of importance at the time. A glass bottle sat in front of a mortar filled with a deep red liquid and pestle while smaller bowls of other substances surrounded them. The Red Man leaned onto a chair at the table that creaked as he was sitting down. Choosing to remain standing, the Blue Cat examined everything gathered as the Red Man spoke and began to mix the items together inside the mortar, using the pestle to fine them down. The Red Man began to mumble under his breath as he was working. This did not disturb the Blue Cat entirely but it was more than enough to make the fur on his tail stand up. The creation started to glow faintly and crack as the incantation was spoken and the ingredients were brought together. As the last piece was added, the mixture lifted up from the mortar it was gathered in and poured itself in the glass bottle and was sealed.

The Red Man coughed as the ritual was finished and gave the bottle to the Blue Cat. The Blue Cat took the bottle gratefully and bowed to the Red Man. As he brought himself back up, he jumped as he was no longer in the room. He was outside the cave. Stunned, the Blue Cat pivoted to see where the opening of the cave was, but it was nowhere to be found.

Edited Jul 06, 2017 at 11:26 PM by 0

Ma'azhaSep 04, 2016

Sep 04, 2016 at 11:06 PM #4

All's Well That Ends Well
(Starring Ma'azha and Lucius)

Darkness swallowed the sky and specks of light shined through as a wolf trudged through the woods. It had been a long march to where it now was with a few stops here and there at a river to drink or at a cave to rest. Upon the creature’s back was a slender Khajiit who rested on the wolf’s saddle and had lied down to observe the night over the top of its novel. A small orb floated nearby to provide a light for the Khajiit to read.

“The Ayleids, the Wild Elves, the Heartland High Elves, or simply Heartland Elves were a race of Mer who ruled over Cyrodiil during the First Era. The Ayleids were one of the descendants of the Aldmer, an ancient race of Mer who were the descendants of the Ehlnofey. During the middle of the Merethic Era, the Aldmer allegedly left their homeland of Aldmeris and relocated to the Summerset Isles. Ayleid society was heavily centered in around magic and their people were particularly skilled in the arcane. Ayleid cities were built partly above and partly below the surface of the land with Ayleid architecture appearing to be made of a whitish rock. Ayleid architecture was also integrated with magical artifacts as well, including Great Welkynd Stones, which were large variations of Welkynd Stones, which were used to power cities and increase the power of the people's enchantments. Magic was an extremely important aspect of the Ayleids and of their society. They developed magics far more advanced and powerful than any other at the time. Many, if not all, of the magical devices and technology created by Ayleid engineers and architects were made of meteoric iron and meteoric glass. One of the magical devices created by the Ayleids were Ayleid Wells. These Ayleid Wells were scattered across Cyrodiil, and were not associated with any Ayleid cities, settlements or other sites. Made from Meteoric Iron, Ayleid Wells were designed to harvest and collect magical power from starlight. It has been theorized that the Wells are located in the meeting point of ancient lines of magical power. For mages, and even for anybody without any magical talent, he or she could draw magicka from the Wells to restore their own sources of magicka. When people worked with Ayleid Wells, no ritual, basic academic or arcane knowledge was required to harvest the magicka, and were designed to serve people who were not skilled in the magical/arcane arts. When they do finally drain, the Wells replenish at midnight when the stars are out. Once recharged, they radiate some of the magical power back into the sky.”

The Khajiit closed the book and stored it in a bag attached to the wolf’s saddle. Turning back over to position himself upright again, he rubbed the fur on the wolf’s neck and behind its ear. With a deep breath, the Khajiit gathered his thoughts about what was to come. What if he was wrong and the Well was not where he had been headed? What if it had been damaged and no longer function? Could that happen? The Ayleids built things to last but the intelligence of some of today’s people seemed equivalent to that of a cross-eyed chicken. The idea of a bandit attempting to swim in one of the Wells was not that farfetched unfortunately in the Khajiit’s opinion. Regardless of what state the Well was in, seeing one with his own eyes was worth the trip to the Khajiit, and so he continued to ride.

As time passed, the Khajiit began to ponder why he did not take a portal instead of walking all the way to the supposed location of the Well. It had nearly been a full day before he reached even the forest it was rumored to be in. He would not trade the experience though as he had already enjoyed the trip vastly with his companion. The view of the night sky from beneath the trees, the beautiful native flora, the abundance of alchemical reagents untouched in the war-torn land, and the thrill of exploring something new to one’s self were all indescribable.

Suddenly, the Khajiit perked up as he heard a strange sound coming from somewhere nearby, the wolf stopped walking as well and craned its neck to look back at the Khajiit tensing up on his back. The noise was enchanting, like a song performed by the Divines. The Khajiit and his wolf pressed forward towards the sound with caution before realizing what it was they had found; a white stone structure brimming with light. Short columns encircled a raised platform where the light was originating from. The source was a brilliant combination of blue and gold light reaching upwards towards the sky. Around the entire structure were smaller lights resembling wisps that danced around the columns and platform. Their glow reflected off the columns and revealed faint carvings of symbols into the stone that have since eroded into drawings with meaning impossible to decipher.

The Khajiit slid off of the wolf and inched closer to the Well, unblinking and unbreathing as if in a trance. Step by step he approached the Well, its glow illuminating his body. When he reached the center of the structure, standing just a foot in front of the Well, he outstretched his arm into the flowing pool of raw energy residing within. As the energy stored into the well began to flow into the Khajiit, all of his fur stood up as chills went down his back. For a brief moment, he felt as if he could do anything. As if any spell he ever imagined was just a finger snap away from being done with the utmost perfection. But just as soon as that feeling came, it was gone. The magic saved up by the well balanced out within the Khajiit and he felt a new sense of calm and renewed energy wash over him as if he had just awoke from a nap. The Well’s glow had faded and the structure fell dark yet its grace and power remained. Stepping back from the Well, the Khajiit stared at the Well in awe and amazement. The air was silent as the Well’s song faded outside of the Khajiit’s attention. The Khajiit walked back to the wolf, who had kept its distance from the Well, and jumped back into the saddle. He patted the wolf’s head and smiled. It was time to head home.

Edited Sep 04, 2016 at 11:07 PM by 0

Ma'azhaSep 05, 2016

Sep 05, 2016 at 04:09 PM #5

Crimson Night
(Starring Ma'azha)

The hunger calls to me. I feel the yearning for red scratch at the back of my throat as the world around me begins to slow. Every noise a booming pulse in my ears. Every movement exaggerated as an opera. I crawl out of my bed and land without sound. The animals resting in my home move not a muscle as a I leave. My mind is foggy. Clouded by feral instinct that I cannot fight. The darkness that blinds others is as clear as the sky over the Summerset Isles. I prowl along the empty roads as listen for the sweet beating of the heart.

Through the murmuring of the night, I hear its call. A lonely fawn wanders across the stone pathway, lost without its mother. My scarlet eyes pierce the night as I observed my prey from a distance. I bear my claws and pounce on the fawn. The creature falls to the ground in a second as my teeth burrow into its neck and my claws pull at the creature. A wave of satisfaction runs over me and sends shivers of pleasure down my spine as I drain the helpless creature. My vision begins to clear and I come back to my senses. Red smears covered the clothes I failed to change out of before the hunt.

As I finish off my meal, I hear the sound of a rock skittering against stone and turn. Before me was a man, young and frozen in his tracks with a hatchet in his hand. He must have heard something and came to investigate, bringing the axe to defend himself. I must flee from here for this man’s sake. I tell myself to run but my body does not move. My eyes gaze into the man’s and I see his fear of what stood before him. A beast, a monster, a freak of nature that feeds on the life of innocents to sustain itself. I understand his struggle and position though I do not attempt to speak. The feeling of hunger begins to creep upon me again, demanding that I attack. I try to fend it off as I attempt to run away again to no success.

The craving blinds me and takes over. I come to moments later at the feeling of a fist weakly beating against my chest. My fangs were dug into the man’s neck and my hand was wrapped around the wrist of the hand carrying the hatchet. Blood covered his arm as my claws tore through the skin of his hand when I attacked. A pool of crimson poured from his head and neck from where my fangs were in his neck and my hand holding his head in place. I pull away as fast as I can but I am far too late. The man taints the ground as he stares towards the sky, his breathing shallow and strained. No matter how I tried, I could not look away from the poor man. It was only seconds before the beating echoing in my ears ceased and the man fell cold.

Ashamed and disgraced, I knelt to pick up and carry away the remains. I did not go far, only a bit off from the road. With care, I set the man on the ground. In a cruel irony, I prayed. I prayed for the man I, a creature abandoned by the Divines, killed. As a spell twisted the ground to bury the man, I began to weep. I wept for what I had done. The life I took, the potential I stole, the family I damaged, and the pleasure I felt in doing so. The thrill of the act. The flow of energy as I pounced. The relief from feeding. They tormented me as I returned home covered in blood and shame.

Throughout the night I tossed and turned, haunted by the image of the man on the ground. For so long I tried to stave off the hunger through willpower or other means. In the back of my mind I knew that the day would come that something like this would happen. The smell of blood from just a scratch one might receive was intoxicating. The sight of it was mouthwatering. I never denied the idea that one day I would feed off of an unwilling person. As much as I try to tell myself that I am better than this affliction, I never prove it.

Ma'azhaSep 12, 2016

Sep 12, 2016 at 12:46 AM #6

Sacrilegious Homage
(Starring Ma'azha)

Death marched through the town. Parading the remains of the fallen as trophies to decorate the charred shambles of former homes. As Death patrolled the land, its dark cloak dragging across the grass and cursing the unfortunate who dared follow in its path, it circled a building which stood tall in defiance. War and Death ravished the land but this building, this Chapel, would not submit. The walls glistened through the ivy that had started to inch up along them. Stained glass windows reflected brilliantly the light of the sun to cast off the encroaching darkness. In a rainbow of color, a projection of the Divine whose Chapel stood to welcome and protect wandering souls graced the stone tiles.

With open arms, the image welcomed a figure cloaked in robes of dyed leather and fur who covered their appearance with a hood as if to hide from the Divine’s light. They stepped lightly on the Chapel’s tiles as if not to disrespect or dirty them. Their steps were deft but echoed softly throughout the empty building. Several rows of stone benches were left divided in two in the center hallway to allow passage to a lifted platform where a priest would speak to followers. An altar dressed with red and gold cloth sat on the platform, and two dim braziers stood on either side of the altar’s front. As the Follower approached the altar, they touched the stone benches with a hand, causing dust to lift into the air from their fingertips. Coming to the altar, the Follower felt weak and decided to rest on their knees and allow their head to fall. They stared at the dust left behind on their index and middle finger from benches before rubbing their fingers together to brush the dust away. Exhausted and drained of their energy, the Follower reached their hands up to touch the altar.

“Mother, I must pray for your forgiveness for I have strayed from the ways of our fathers. As more beast than man, I came to strike down the innocent and gave in to the unholy desire of my cursed soul. I knew not of the love you teach or the compassion you spread but only of the desire for the life of man. For this I pray to you for forgiveness. I know that I have sinned and blurred the line between graceful and wicked but it is for this that I come now to your arms in my time of need and stay not at home to mutter idly by candlelight.”

Tears began to slide down the Follower’s cheeks and soak into their pale, white and grey fur. Sniffling and drying their eyes on their arm, they quietly mourned themselves before pulling themselves up and speaking out to the empty Chapel with a weak, choked voice.

“What have I done to deserve this? Why was I cursed to prey upon the life of man? To be stuck to the shadows for eternity and be forced to constrain myself with every bit of willpower I have whenever someone so much as scrapes a knee? I know not what sin I have committed against you all before this to be punished so. Is this some cruel test of fate or have you all gone silent when we all needed you most? You all gave everything you had to create this world and guide its creatures, yet turn a blind eye when but one tainted soul asks for guidance? I have become a creature forsaken by your light and your warmth but I continue to pray and you show me nothing of your will to help? You let your beautiful creations destroy one another in a stupid war while the Daedra claw at our world and tear it apart? All my life I have studied and practiced to become strong enough to protect the ones I care about, and during all of this I prayed to your for your guidance and your love. Everything that I have come to learn so far I thank you for and yet you stand idly by and watch as I struggle to beat back this curse. Diseases and afflictions you cure with a glance to any that speak your name at night no matter what they have done to break your codes, so why must I be the pariah of your grace?”

The Follower had moved to the center of the aisle-way and was straining their voice till the end of their declaration before collapsing again to their knees in a fit of coughing and wheezing. They stared at their hand that held them up from the ground. It was blurry and the red vibrant color of the carpet began to fade away. What little strength they had left they could feel begin to be sucked away from the longer they stayed inside the Chapel. Their tears continued to drip down from their face and fall onto the carpet below. Things began to dim as the Follower felt light and dizzy. Suddenly, their was a gust of wind as if a door to outside was opened and the sound of hurried steps against the stone tiles echoed throughout the Chapel. The Follower knew not what happened next as they collapsed onto the hard floor and blacked out.

As nighttime approached and the light of the two moons shined down on the world, the Follower came to. They were outside of the Chapel on a stone bench, positioned on their side with a pillow underneath their head. In a panic, they sat up from the bench and stood to look around for who or what had moved them, but they saw only an amulet sitting in a bowl filled with flowers on the Chapel doorstep. Cautiously the Follower approached and knelt to pick up the amulet. As they put the amulet around their neck, they felt a wave of warmth pour over their body that set them at ease. The Follower pulled their hood over their head and walked out into the new night.

Edited May 05, 2017 at 02:07 AM by 0

Ma'azhaMay 05, 2017

May 05, 2017 at 03:45 AM #7

Hungry for Silence
(Starring Ma'azha)

Another day passing by as always. Faces coming and going as one passes by them between here and there. Words muffled as they were blocked out through lack of focus. The ones on the pages speaking softly in one’s mind like spider’s silk. Calling you to distant worlds of fantasy and dreams one day and filling your eyes with newfound perspective as light is shed upon the veil of the unknown. The pages a haven from the cruel reality to which you turn a blind eye for a moment of security. Now, you blind yourself with the tale of a Dremora recounting being summoned by a mage to Nirn.

Suddenly, you feel pick out the sound of someone calling to you. Peeling yourself away from the novel, you turn to look at the sound and are greeted with a light poke to the shoulder by a Bosmer woman. She was familiar to you. A resident of the town who was often very...outspoken at times. She was the one who spoke on fighting defending against vampires not long ago. Before you could chuckle about the memory, you were snapped back to reality as the Bosmer questioned you about your knowledge of vampires. Did she know? Had you been found out? You stammer to cover your tracks. Instead of receiving a dagger in the chest or a swift strike to the face, you are invited to come with them. What? Where would you be going? Was it a trap? Would you be ambushed the moment you turned a corner? No. Others were gathering around as well. Someone had come to town speaking of vampires attacking them and a group of their friends. A tale of the beasts descending upon them from the shadows like the animals they were and the survivor escaping by the graces of the Divines alone.

Before you can question further, you are swept along with the crowd to find the demons. Warriors surrounded you as you were pushed forward by the fear of exposure. Some were dressed head-to-toe in metal while others preferred lighter weighted gear. Nonetheless, their weapons are what kept your voice stuck in your throat. Silver weapons or not, their numbers and skill put them far ahead of anything you could handle at the drop of a pen, so you walked on without meeting the eyes of any, choosing instead to count the stones you stepped on that made up the path you were on. Before you knew it, it was time. The group had arrived at the sight of the attack. And you were going inside. As you opened your mouth to protest, a voice from behind spoke and you nearly jumped out of your skin. It was another Khajiit. A woman who spoke softly and questioned you about what to expect inside the cave. Tripping over your words like a Nord out of a tavern, you managed to explain to them the situation while lifting the strap of your staff over you hand to pull the magic weapon close to you for comfort and security.

As you entered the cave with the rest of the group, your breath hitched as its scent swept past your nose on the subtle breeze. The sound of a beating drum thumped against the inside of your head as the scent passed. It was nothing. You had grown accustomed to it by now. The allure of the its smell. The rhythmic thumping that came with it. The sweet taste of it when it was fresh as it washed over your tongue. The pulsing power that came with every drop. But these are all thoughts that you stomp out and push to the back of your mind as you push further into the cave. The group turns a corner and sees an opening where stands of light broke through the cracks of the stone ceiling to illuminate sections of the cave. There was a small pond inside which figures in the dark skittered through. To others, the details of their forms may have been lost, but you could count every repulsive leg as they crept along the ground. Hoarvor were blood-sucking insects that preyed on the lost traveler or lonely deer much in the same fashion as your kind often do. Those leading the group cut through them like farmers harvesting grain, spilling their blood across the cavern floor like spilled buckets of red paint. Had it not been for the vile scent of decay that plagued your nose, you were not sure how you would have responded. Pressing on further, hoarvors falling left and right as blades cut them with little more resistance than the air, the group came to a pause as the surviving Bosmer pointed out a belonging of one of the friends that sat in a mess of fresh crimson. There were drops falling into the gathering pool from above. Their friend had passed and been hung up like a piece of meat waiting to be cooked. You swallow hard as the sight both offends and calls to you. It came again. The beating of the drum that seemed to echo from every direction around you. You knew that you could not handle much more of it at the current rate of which you were exposed to so much of it. Nervously, you ask to scout ahead. A feint to escape somewhere to sate your hunger before it took over. To your unfortunately lack of surprise, the others spoke against it and continued on.

What would you do? You were not sure how much more of it you could take. Each slain hoarvor was like a fresh keg being opened in front of you. It could not have been much longer. You told yourself you would only have to hold out for another few minutes before the group would find the survivors friends. Suddenly, there they were. The vampires. The Bosmer’s friends bound and bleeding behind the fanged creatures. There was no chance for a surprise attack as the vampires turned towards the group and began to hiss at them. Their piercing red eyes and pointed fangs setting something off in you. It reminded you so much of how you came to be one of them. A late night alone after running away. You sought a place to escape the rain and took shelter just within the entrance of a cave before being called further in by a mysterious sound. It was nothing but endless darkness that was broken only by flashes of red that darted around before descending upon you. You were scared. You backed away from them, dropping your staff to the ground as you began to lose feeling in your hands.

All it took was that one second of dropping your guard and it was over. Your focus was gone and you were overwhelmed within seconds. The smell from the wounds of the captured Bosmer brushed against your nose. This time, it was not just a single, pleasant note that tickled your nose. It was an intoxicating song that sent chills down your spine that skooma addicts could not even dream of. Your mouth felt dry and your thirst became acutely apparent. The beating you so constantly blocked out from your mind broke through at a deafening volume. The rhythmic thumping of the hearts of everyone around you drowned out your own thoughts and replaced them with an almost ritualistic call to feed. You dropped to your knees and tried to cover your ears in hopes of blocking out the sound. You tried to fight the urge to lunge after your fellow townspeople. To pounce upon them and sink your teeth in. To drown yourself in the bliss that came at the cost of their life. You had done it before. It would be easy. They were distracted. You would not have to do much to sneak up on them. They would never expect it. Then you could take out the rest. Just a drink from one of them and you’d have enough strength to fight them all. You could conjure Daedra to keep them separated as you picked them off one by one. You and your beasts could cut them down with claws sharp enough to tear through leather like paper. Why not do it? You had tried for so long to hold back. Why not give in? Accept who you were. What you were. What you would always be. What you could never get rid of. These thoughts clawed against your mind as the only things loud enough to ring out over the numbing sound of the racing heartbeat of the people fighting.

As your vision began to fade and the hunger take over the last of your senses, something else broke through the disorientating cloud of noise. It was the voice of the Khajiit from earlier. They were whispering to you, whispering a spell to calm you down between sweet words of reassurance. But the spell did little to stave off the hunger, merely slowing it down from swallowing you whole and sending your body into a bloodcraze. Then, you felt yourself being lifted up. Someone was carrying you, taking you away from the others fighting. You could not see their face as your vision had yet to come back from the hunger-driven takeover of your body. As the smell of the blood began to grow further away, your senses began to dull from their state of being heightened beyond what you could control. The voice of the female Khajiit was there. You could she was the one carrying you, but there was another. It was a male’s voice that you could not recognize. Regardless, it became clear that they carried you out of the cave as the warmth of the sun graced your skin soon after the smell of blood had completely faded away. You had grown accustomed to the minor itch and fatigue that came with being outside, but you were far too mentally drained now to do anything now. While you may have been removed from the source of the blood, its call lingered over you still. The desire to feed haunted and crippled you to where you could only shake and shiver without risking losing complete control.

As you sat curled up on the grass, the female Khajiit whispered to you. She said she knew what was going on but that she promised to keep you safe. Her words were calming and reassuring like a mother speaking to her child after they had a nightmare. However, her soothing words were cut off as the group returned and with them the call. There was shouting. People were bleeding. Hearts were racing. Soon, your awareness faded and you could not remember what happened next...

Ma'azhaJun 25, 2017

Jun 25, 2017 at 02:10 AM #8

To Continue or To End
(Starring Ma'azha and Lucius)

The Khajiit stumbled as he appeared from nothing, staggering and tripping over his own feet until he collapsed to the ground. His staff rolled down the stone road just outside of the town. What little magicka he had left was burned getting as far away from the clinic as he could and yet the south road was all he could manage. With a strained groan, he pulled himself from the dirt and limped down the road out of town, picking up his staff as he passed by it to use for support. Looking over his shoulder back at the town, he sighed and pushed on.

In a cave, not far from Vulkwasten, he dropped to the ground out of sight of any travelers. Figuring he was finally safe, he removed the cloth from his mouth that had kept him gagged. He took heavy breaths as it was removed though they did not serve much purpose other than to help calm himself. Bursting into tears, the Khajiit buried his face in his knees as he pulled his legs close to his chest. So, it finally happened. It got the best of him after doing all that he could to stop it. Guess things truly were futile in the long run. As he sat alone in the dark, he heard and smelled something coming closer. Something large and familiar. It was his pet wolf that had always accompanied him or watched from a distance while he was in town. The beast sat down beside the Khajiit and licked the side of his face which brought a half-smile to the vampire’s face. Sniffling and giggling through his tears, he reached into one of the satchels that the wolf had on its saddle. A single glass bottle was removed that was filled with a deep crimson liquid.

Removing the cork, the Khajiit tossed it further into the cave as it was the very least of his worries at the moment. He drank every last drop from the bottle before dropping it to the ground as his entire body began to shake. Slowly, his vision began to return as the rhythmic beating the drowned out any other sounds began to slow before disappearing entirely. Never before had he fed after being so hungry. It was an indescribable sensation. The feeling of pained emptiness and hunger was gone in seconds as he felt a wave of sick euphoria and ecstasy washed over him. How could something so vile and unholy bring about such relief from agony? His breathing began slow and steady as the shaking began to subside. The burning glow of his eyes calmed as well to their “natural” state. He stood up from looked down at his hand as he felt not only all the energy that he had lost return fighting the Daedra that invaded the town but a new kind that came only from feeding. It was almost overwhelming to the point where he considered continuing to see the limit to where it could go, but he barely managed to contain his excitement at the prospect. He knew that feeding always restored his reserves and fought off any fatigue he felt but never had he willingly consumed such an amount before.

Nearly as good as new, he opened a portal to his home within the cave and stepped through with his mount. Though it was good to be home, he took no time to say hello to his pets or to check anything but the trunk he had stored underneath his bed. He undid the locks that kept it closed and threw it open. Inside was a single bottle filled with a swirling, glowing mixture. How long had it been since he had stashed it away and feared the day that he would be forced to use it? Regardless, he closed the trunk, locked it, and carried it under his arm to his desk. Placing the trunk carefully out of the way, he took his journal and skipped through pages that were still blank until he came to the last one, and then he began to write.

Edited Jun 22, 2018 at 07:40 PM by 0

Ma'azhaJul 07, 2017

Jul 07, 2017 at 02:10 AM #9

Life Through Death
(Starring Ma'azha)

Could it be true? Was there really supposed to be a cure here? What if it was a trap set by those that relish in the demise of his kind? Regardless, any chance to fix things was worth whatever efforts it would take to validate or disprove such rumors.

A thin, pale Khajiit stood beside his most trusted companion on the shore of Topal Bay. They took a deep breath before turning to the wolf and giving it a hug around its neck. The beast nudged the Khajiit with his head in return before taking a seat at the edge of the water as to wait for its master’s return. The Khajiit took a few cautious steps into the water, frowning at the feeling of his boots getting soaked entirely throughout. It was not the damp feeling of wet boots that stopped his advance into the water but something else that called out to him. There were no words and actions to accompany it. Only the unsettling aura of something that tiptoed across the line between holy and sacrilegious. It did not lure him closer nor did it impose a threat that would drive him away. It was if it was alerting the Khajiit to its presence, to offer validation for their quest. Wary but intrigued, the Khajiit held out his arm with his wrist limp. Slowly flicking his wrist, the water around him was pushed away in a circle. He held his hand out and moved towards the presence.

The water parted around him till he stepped to where his head would have gone under the surface. Then it washed over the top of what seemed to be the top of an invisible ward around the Khajiit. Not too far from the shore, there was a sealed off entrance to an underground tunnel. The Khajiit pulled each of the wooden planks off until he was able to squeeze by and enter the tunnel. Once inside, he looked down at his feet to see that barely any water had managed to flood the inside of the tunnel even as he lowered his ward. Another concerning part of the whole deal but helpful nonetheless.

Further inside, the air seemed to change. No longer did it feel like a chilling breeze brushing against your face before creeping across the back of your neck. Now, it felt as if the cave was alive. As if it had a heart that was beating and pushing the air throughout that felt like it was pressing against your chest with the intent to suffocate you but instead would pass through you with a discouraging weight to it. Only slightly disturbed, the Khajiit pushed on deeper into the cave before coming to a door. This was it. This is where the feeling was coming from. The heavy air, the presence he had been feeling since reaching the shore, all of it was behind the door. He swallowed hard before pushing open the door to reveal a room with walls of cut stone with pillars in the middle that supported the ceiling. In awe, he stepped inside with his jaw hanging open as he stared at the intricate architecture. Suddenly, the door slammed behind him, snapping him back to reality. He had not noticed it when he first entered but the thick air had disappeared though it was not replaced by anything new. The room felt empty in every sense. The only thing that seemed to exist within was the spiritual hum of whatever it was that hid further inside.

Following the presence, he passed into another room that was appeared to be the halfway point between the rest of the rooms and the cave as there were still the cut stones and tiles but naturally shaped and laid rocks were throughout the room with vines and plants growing all over. In the center of the room was a pool of water within which stood an obelisk bearing a strange sigil that was mirrored on all four sides of it. It was this that was resonating outwards when he first approached. While the obelisk held his attention in a tight grip, a strange formation in the corner of the room drew his eyes in. Lines of silver crossed over rocks that had burst through the stone tile wall of the room. The Khajiit approached the formation and touched one of the lines but quickly drew his hand away as he felt a wave of warmth flow over and within him that faded as quickly as it came when he stopped touching the stone. Using a claw, he scratched one of the lines causing a dust that was both silver and red in color to fall into his other hand until he had a small handful of it.

He knew not was he was doing but something within him beckoned that he should pour the salt into the pool around the obelisk. As he did, the salt quickly dispersed and the sigil on the obelisk began to glow faintly. For all of the research on theories, speculations, and myths, none other than the one that brought him hear mentioned such an event. Almost instinctively, he removed his robes and boots till he stood alone in the room in his undergarments. While mildly embarrassed, he dug around in his bag for three objects; a tome, a vial and a gem as black as the night’s sky. With each in hand, he eased himself into the pool using a set of stairs that were against on the sides of the basin. As his foot sunk into the water, he flinched as he heard and felt something in his chest. A single beat of his heart. Frozen in a flurry of different emotions, he could not help but crack a smile and begin to giggle. It was not from a single feeling that this reaction came from but from an overwhelming combination of relief, joy, pride, and hope. He continued into the pool until he stood in front of the obelisk. Uncorking the vial, he nodded to it and drank down all of the contents before tossing it aside. He waited to see if he felt anything other than the disgusting taste of the potion.

With a sigh at the apparent fallacy, he moved onto method number two. Holding the soul gem above his head in one hand, he began to recite a verse from the tome. As he neared the middle of the verse, he hunched over in crippling pain as he felt his heart beat angrily in his chest. While it may have been beating, it was not at the rhythm of a living person but at that of a gong being struck again at a single pace. He collapsed to his knees and dropped the tome and book into the pool. He began to breathe heavily but now it was out of necessity instead of to blend in with mortals. Practically gasping for air, he reached out for the soul gem, feeling around blindly under the water until he found it. With what strength he could muster, he held the gem up and continued to recite the incantation from memory as best he could.

As the last word of the chant was spoken, the gem floated out of the Khajiit’s hand into the air above him. However, his staring at the gem was cut off as a burning sensation began to come from his neck. Coughing harshly and gripping at his neck, he had fallen forward to his free hand with his back arched high. He felt something coming. Something that certainly was not going to taste good. All of a sudden, he began to throw up a dark liquid into the pool as his eyes became bloodshot and his breathing was cut off, nearly choking him. As it ended, he took a breath as quickly as he was able to and looked back up to the gem which had gone from black to a radiant white that was almost blinding to look directly at. Struggling to gaze at the gem, he was suddenly pulled up from the ground as a beam of light began to spiral out of the top of the gem before it shot forth at incredible speed and struck the Khajiit in the face. But, it did not strike him. Instead, it forced its way into his throat and pulled him off the ground till his feet were just above the surface of the pool. As the last of the light flowed out of the gem and into the Khajiit, the gem burst apart into shards that scattered across the room. The Khajiit dropped from the sky and landed in the pool on his chest, unconscious.

Coming back to, the Khajiit pushed himself up and out of the pool with his hands. His hair hung over his eyes, dripping with water. He coughed up some of the water back into the pool from his lungs. Rubbing his face and eyes to get the water off and fix his hair, he opened his eyes to look up at the obelisk with tears rolling down his cheeks and a smile on his face. The golden Khajiit pulled himself out of the water and gazed up to the light that came in from the ceiling, basking in its comforting and nurturing warmth.

Ma'azhaJul 02, 2018

Jul 02, 2018 at 10:45 PM #10

Magic Malpractice
(Starring Ma'azha)

The world around a young Khajiit had began to adjust its tune from cricket chirps to songbird calls as the first glimpse of Magnus’ early morning glow crept over the horizon. The air was thick and stagnant around him, a side effect of the discordant influx of magicka in the area. A magic circle that had been emblazoned onto the ground whose glow had begun to flicker before fading away as the lingering magicka flowing through it from a recent spell dissipated. Left in the center was the young Khajiit collapsed onto their knees wearing tattered clothing that been ripped, torn, and charred in various parts from imperfect spells.

He could feel his faith wavering as what once he believed so strongly to be the solution, the answer to his questions, was beginning to fail him. An art that would betray him every time he tried to call upon it surely could not be what he should turn to in dire times. But why should he turn away from what he practiced so hard to comprehend and commit to if the problems it brought came from the judgment of others? How is it fair to throw away the countless nights of studying, practicing, and pushing his limits for the sake of those who may not even know his name? There were save but a few that seemed to care even the slightest for his wellbeing, yet he would strive to please those that would scold him for trying to save their lives? In what plane could that be considered fair or just?

If he was not able to call upon creatures to aid him in protecting others, then he had no other choice then to find a way to defend them himself. Not through physical prowess or cunning tricks could achieve this. Both of these options had left him long ago when he was washed cleaned of his curse. Feelings of anger and uncertainty began to swell up from inside him as a tension that sought to suffocate his entire body. As he pushed against the pain of begging his legs to stand, the runework of the circle returned to life with a faint, spectral glow. The constant drive to improve himself was what little remained within the Khajiit as he had drained all but a fraction of his magicka reservoir. No longer could the circle serve as a safeguard to protect him against rampant energy surges.

Arcs of lightning began to leap along the Khajiit’s right arm starting from his wrist. The arcs danced furiously along the mage’s arm, lashing out at the stray, remaining fabric of his tunic causing it to be burned away further. The Khajiit flinched away from the lightning as an arc stretched to swipe at his cheek and singed part of his fur. The spell retaliated against its caster in a fit of objection to the Khajiit’s weak attempt at powering through his emotions and fatigue to cast the spell. As the Khajiit winced in pain from the spell wreaking havoc along his arm to cause muscle spasms and twitching, he lifted his arm to aim at the rock formation in front of him, his target for the past two hours. There were over a dozen splatters of black ash dotted across the stone as markings for where the Khajiit’s earlier spells landed. In a flash of light, the spell slung forth from the mage’s arm at the target leaving behind a ripple of energy from their hand. The force of uncontrolled spell knocked the Khajiit back onto the ground as bolt scattered across the stone wall and left behind another black mark.

As the young mage laid out on the ground, their breathing labored and unsteady, they looked over at their right arm which had become burn marks covering their fur. Using what little physical strength he had left, the Khajiit pulled himself from the ground to sit and cradle his wounded arm. They could feel nothing but a dull, fuzzy tingling throughout their entire arm that turned into a sharp pain along their forearm whenever they would try to flex their fingers. The side effects of the spell were not all outwardly visible but the Khajiit knew exactly what they had done. In trying to push their limits by disregarding what little energy they had left and the proper steps to control the magicka being pulled from their body to be harnessed as lightning, they inadvertently damaged part of their being responsible for maintaining control and manipulation of magicka within their body. While not an uncommon result of poorly executed spellcasting, the ramifications ranged from temporary impairment of magicka control to permanent magical disability in the affected region of the body.

Overcome with uncertainty and fear, the Khajiit could do nothing but hold onto their arm and weep softly as they rocked back and forth. The repercussions of their actions could not be fully understood at the moment but the regret and shame at their own doing tormented them relentlessly. Why did they not stop themselves before pushing too far? Why didn’t they cut off the spell the second they noticed an error? What if they had just ruined everything they worked tirelessly towards for years?