Chapters 1 and 2 are mostly summarizing, since they go over events of the beginning of the game, Skyrim. Starting at Chapter 3 is when it gets more interesting and I add more of my own twists.

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Chapter 1 – Of Origin and Travel

I've never thought that they would actually accept me into their ranks. But they did. I've proven myself, apparently, and only a couple seem to discriminate me. I want to show that I truly want to live a proud Nord's life. I want to show them how much it means to me.

Ever feel the wind rip against your flesh as you sprint unrestraint through the night? Words cannot describe the freedom, the mentality. Even I barely remember my first experience for that it was unusual and unexpected, even to those who have seen generations of such occurrences.

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I am J'vairi, a female Khajiit. Generally, my kind are traders. Both of my parents were, though after their prime years, they had actually settled into a home in Leyawiin, in the province of Cyrodiil. Both had died when Imperial guards barged into their house. I had already moved out at the age of 26 season-cycles. My father was apparently an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood but wasn't clean enough with his last kill, enabling the guards to track him down. He fought back when they attacked, betraying his mate rather than his guild. I heard that my mother didn't know he was a murderer, but the guards had taken care of her anyway.

I've always felt negative towards Imperials; they tended to raise their small noses snootily in the air whenever a Khajiit passed by. But this incident with my parents had deepened my disgust towards the Imperials. Yes, I was startled and slightly troubled to learn that my father was a hired killer, but that didn't mean I had to seek the Brotherhood myself.

So instead I decided to leave Cyrodiil for the northern province of Skyrim to hopefully start an entirely new life. Though I've heard that absolutely no Khajiits lived in the Nord country, they often camped and traded on both the rural roads and outside the main cities. If all else fails, then I would most likely join these northern traders.

On the days-long journey to the border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, I came across one too many traveling Imperial guards. They had sneered at me and, assuming Khajiits have a tendency to become outlaws (for example, the very common Khajiit highwaymen), called me "mangy house cat." One. Too. Many. Times. The last poor soul who did just that was walking on foot half a day's distance from the northernmost Cyrodiil city, Bruma. The past few weeks built up frustration within me and enabled me to launch myself at this guard. I had pressed my ears against my skull and swiped at his neck. Since my attack was unexpected, I was able to hook my claws underneath his breastplate and sink them into the base of his neck, dealing a fatal wound. I hadn't meant to go that far, but it's not like I regretted it. I took his silver longsword and the 74 gold he had been carrying. I left the heavy steel armor, favoring to be able to move easily rather than trapped underneath plates of forged metal.

And so was my first kill. Luckily, no one found out about it. Or, at least, it wasn't traced back to me.

Bruma was the last civilized stop before heading into the Jerall Mountains and into Skyrim. I had decided to stop a local mage and learn the Flame spelltone from him. Magicka arts didn't generally fascinate me, but destruction spells caught my attention. I also purchased light leather armor to wear beneath my midnight cloak while travelling.

After resting the night at the Jerall View Inn, I left Bruma to scale the Jerall Mountains. The temperature was well below what I was used to in Leyawiin, but I managed well, reaching the province border by early afternoon.

That's when Imperials gave me trouble yet again.

I had just entered Skyrim when Imperial guards ambushed, shackled, and tossed me onto a carriage with several other prisoners. The Imperials carried us to Helgen, where we were to be… executed. Now I don't know what the other prisoners did, but this was ridiculous.

"You picked the wrong time to cross the border," they said. Apparently the Imperials and their Empire were trying to hold claim of Skyrim over the native Nords. Oh, condemn me to Oblivion planes and Daedric realms for however I might've corrupted their plans!

Luckily they let me keep my armor and cloak on instead of redressing me into a filthy roughspin tunic, but they took the sword. I liked that silver sword.

And when they were taking roll of the prisoners, they asked me my name and had the nerve to address me "mangy house cat." I had the impulse to unsheathe the sword that was now missing from my waist. Accursed, Oblivion-sent Imperials.

I told them my name, and they studied me for a moment. From my silver moonlight eyes and tufted ears pierced with several silver loops, to my lightly spotted dark gray fur and deadly claws and pointed fangs.

The first prisoner was called forward. He laid his head upon the support, and the hooded executioner swiped it cleanly off. The thick scent of blood had filled my nostrils. I had turned away, disgusted. The guards and prisoners alike were temporarily distracted at a rumbling noise coming seemingly from the sky. Then they shrugged their curiosity off, and I was beckoned for my turn.

Thoughts of escape ran through my mind as the guards pushed me. Reluctantly, I kneeled before the bloody support and turned to face the sky when suddenly a dragon attacked Helgen.

Bless that blasted beast. It enabled me to quickly leave Helgen with the aid of a Nord rebel, Ralof. We ran through crumbling buildings and into tunnels, slaying Imperials on the way. I had acquired a couple blades from fallen foes after alighting with my flaming magicka. Ralof brought me to his sister's mill in Riverwood, not to far from the ruined Helgen. He and his sister gave me a map of Skyrim. Though I was a Khajiit, Ralof suggested for me to join the Stormcloaks, the true Nords of Skyrim rebelling against the Empire.

Though first, I was to speak about the attack on Helgen to the Jarl of Whiterun, the closest city. The trip on foot wasn't far from Riverwood, and only goats and elk accompanied me. As the sun was setting, I caught view of a walled city. I approached it and walked across the drawbridge. A little further sat the large gate that led into the city.

"Halt, by the Jarl's orders, no one is allowed into the city with a dragon flying around," a Nord guard standing to the side of the gate barked at me. I pushed back the hood of my cloak and replied, "I have official business to speak with the Jarl about. Concerning the attack on Helgen." The guard looked slightly curious as to why a Khajiit would be carrying the news, but I was permitted access into the city anyway. With a quick nod to the guard and a quiet inhale to myself, I opened the gate and proceeded forward.