"Zan'jhera, a peaceful greeting to you!"
Zan'jhera looked up from the ground, his pointed ears flattening against his head. The surrounding area was bleak, the sky a shade of blue too dark. His pupils dilated, the thin slits widening as he scanned his surroundings. Directly in front of him laid an ancient stone well, almost as old as Akatosh himself. A tall, bipedal cat figure stood to the right, waiting for him to return the greeting. He was clothed in a light gray tunic, matching the color of his fur. His paws hung loosely to his sides, a carefree expression painted on his face.
"A peaceful greeting to you, Dro'saad, as well," Zan'jhera sighed, crossing his arms.
"Khajiit is still selling cabbages, hmm?" Dro'saad smirked, his whiskers perking up in the air. He casually walked over to Zan'jhera, stopping in front of his wares. He looked down, a collection of fresh cabbages piled on his wooden stall, the light-green flesh glistening in the lamplight.
"Khajiit's wares sell well," Zan'jhera replied, "What is Dro'saad doing here?"
"It is becoming dark, Khajiit. All the other merchants have gone home. Who will buy Zan'jhera's wares at this hour? Khajiit did not come all the way from Elsweyr to sell cabbages, yes?"
"Khajiit did not intend to be a thief and skooma dealer, either, but that is what Dro'saad has become, no?"
"And what is wrong with selling skooma, hmm?" Dro'saad replied defensively.
"You know that it is illegal," Zan'jhera said sharply, "Now, leave Zan'jhera in peace, and let this one sell his cabbages."
"Hmm," A weary glance crossed over Dro'saad's face, replacing his untroubled expression like storm clouds blocking out the sun. He leaned in closer to Zan'jhera so that their faces were only inches apart, his eyes contracting seriously, forming thin slits filled with blackness. "Did you hear the rumors…?"
"Rumors?! What rumors is Khajiit asking about?"
"If they are true, dark times are coming to this land... Perhaps Dro'saad and Zan'jhera will go to the tavern to talk over some drinks, hmm?" Dro'saad instantly returned to his previous carefree state, a spirit of calm washing over him at the thought of mead.
"And what are these rumors, hmm? How does Zan'jhera know Khajiit is not trying to swindle this one's gold?"
"Khajiit would not believe Dro'saad if he told you now."
"Hmm... very well. And the cabbages, no?"
"Forget the cabbages!"
"Fine. But, remember that Zan'jhera does not appreciate this."
"If they really came back, Skyrim will have far greater problems to worry about than cabbage."
Two figures scurried down the cobble path, wrapped in cloth. They stooped low as if frozen in an eternal bow, hoods fully concealing their faces. The path led downwards to an iron fence door, hidden among dirt and rubble, as if it had been undisturbed for centuries. The individual bars were coated with grimy rust, orange-brown with shades of a foul green leaking through; an entrance to the Ratways.
They stopped in front of the door, regaining their composure. A paw stretched out from beneath the garments, gently pushing the door open. A loud grating noise could be heard as the door rubbed against the ground, until finally, there was the slightest opening. The two slipped through the gap like a bar of soap slipping between hands, out of sight. The door returned to its resting position with an audible creak.
"Khajiit still does not understand why he must wear this," Zan'jhera hissed, throwing back his hood.
"It is," Dro'saad said, also throwing back his hood, "necessary..."
Zan'jhera glanced around him. Stone bricks, covered with mud, moss, and dampness, was all there was as visual appeal. The smell in the air was dank, as what you would expect of a sewer system, occasional drips of water echoing through the tunnels. The walls were barely wide enough to accommodate 2 people, and any party greater than that would face trouble. The lighting was difficult to say the least, even for a Khajiit, who had much better eyesight than the average Nord or Elf. Only a dim torch, already past its prime, would appear every third or fourth turn.
Dro'saad led the way, being more familiar with the intricate passageways that seemed to loop eternally. Zan'jhera obediently followed.
Finally, after many twists and turns, they reached a plain, inconspicuous wooden door. The Ragged Flagon. Home and headquarters of the Thieves' Guild, it was more of a cave turned into a makeshift private bar than any tavern you'd see aboveground. Nonetheless, it still technically was a tavern, and that suited Dro'saad's needs well.
The two entered the through the door, seating themselves down at a wooden table. The area seemed more vacant than usual, save for a party of three chatting away at a distant table and a Nord quietly sipping his mead in the corner. Soon enough, they were talking over drinks of Honningbrew Mead, paid for by Zan'jhera.
"So… This one wanted to talk to Zan'jhera about something, yes?" asked Zan'jhera, ears perking up.
"Ehhh," said Dro'saad uneasily, "Khajiit may want to finish his drink first… How are the cabbages?"
"Dro'saad, Zan'jhera did not come here for drinks!" Zan'jhera said angrily, "Khajiit wants to know!" Dro'saad sighed.
"If khajiit must know.. Helgen," Dro'saad said slowly, "Helgen."
"Helgen? What about Helgen?"
"A dragon-"
"Dragon?"
"Yes. A dragon destroyed Helgen," whispered Dro'saad. The Nord in the corner began to mutter to himself, the group of three strangely glancing at Dro'saad as if he was committing an obscene act.
"Dro'saad," Zan'jhera spat, "what kind of lies do you need to make just to get a free drink?!"
"Khajiit is not lying! The dragon-they say it was huge! It darkened the sky and threw fire upon the houses! Who knows how many more dragons are there!" Dro'saad's face was stone-hard, absolutely no indication of a trick being played. Then again, he was a thief.
"How is this possible? Where did Dro'saad hear this?"
"One of khajiit's skooma clients, a traveler... he told this one."
"How can Dro'saad trust a wanderer?"
"Khajiit can feel it in the air, Khajiit knows!" He threw his paws up frantically.
"I...I do not believe in fairy tales," Zan'jhera said dismissively, yet a hint of weariness was in his tone.
"Zan'jhera," Dro'saad hissed, "do you see? Even cabbage will not be able to save you!"
"Zan'jhera hopes that Dro'saad will pay back khajiit's wasted money," Zan'jhera said, standing up from his chair, "Until our next meeting, if such is fated."
"Skyrim will die. This one will journey to Elsweyr as soon as possible. If Zan'jhera is wise, he will follow."
The sun was just rising, hints of light peeking through, yet the two moons, Secunda and Masser, could still be seen clearly in the sky. Early morning, a perfect time to sell cabbages. Zan'jhera stood facing the road, his cabbage stall to his right. He displayed no weariness that was evident the previous night. Dragons, after all, were just fairy tales. Dro'saad was just paranoid, but it wasn't Zan'jhera's responsibility to warn him. He'd realize soon enough.
"Khajiit has wares, if you have coin," Zan'jhera exclaimed to a passing Argonian. The reptilian figure ignored him, not even offering a single glance.
Suddenly, a shadow passed over Zan'jhera's vision. A dragon?! Zan'jhera tilted his chin higher. No, just a Nord. But, what was he wearing? Dragonscale armor?
"What are your wares?" he asked inquiringly. The individual scales sparkled silver in the sunlight, creating a majestic glow.
"Cabbages," said Zan'jhera nervously, "I sell cabbages."
"Ahh, okay."
"Where...where did you get that armor?"
"Oh, this?" the Nord asked, pointing at his chest, "I just found it lying around in a cave. I read on the Wikia it's suppose to be the best light armor in the game!"
Zan'jhera was confused. 'Where would you find dragonscale armor in a game?'
"Err, what did the Nord say?"
"I'm heading to the Greybeards now where they'll give me a quest, and thought I'd stop by at Riften, first. For this playthrough, I'm gonna try killing as few dragons as possible. Ya know, something different."
"You are one of those… special folk, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I'm Dragonborn."
Zan'jhera scoffed.
"Dragonborn? In the fairy tales?"
"Yeah, I just learned a new shout, actually. Hey, uh, do you think I can sell you some of this stuff I'm carrying?"
The purported Dragonborn produced four ancient nordic swords from a small satchel, the satchel seemingly too small to fit even one, but yet, the swords seemed to easily slide out, as if the satchel was endless. He laid them out on the table, pushing off many of the cabbages.
"I also got, uh, an enchanted axe and some potions of vigorous healing if you're into that kind of stuff." Before he could hand them over, however, a monstrous roar heard in the distance.
A huge black object flew over the squat houses, until it finally perched atop of a bell tower. It's wings looked like coarse leather, wicked spikes protruding from its back. Plates of bony, smoky armor lined the dragon's chest, it's tail beating wildly against the building. It's eyes, complete black like charcoal, revealed nothing but the void. With a giant breath, it spew forth a dry inferno, illuminating the rooftops with flame. The shouts of Riften guards could be heard as they prepared to defend the city in vain, arrows grazing harmlessly off the dragon's armor like rubber balls thrown at a stone wall.
"Whoops, gotta go," yipped the Dragonborn, disappearing into the shadows. Although Zan'jhera did not seem to notice the few missing cabbages, it did not matter. Dro'saad was right, probably already halfway to the warm sands, no amount of cabbage would save them. All that could be done was to flee. Flee from the cabbages, flee from Riften. Perhaps it would be safer at Ivarstead, wouldn't it?