The Khajiit snuck to the border of Cyrodiil and Skyrim. Soon he would be in the depths of the coldest harshest environment in all of the empire. He was a long way from his native land of Elsweyr; entering a land he knew he was not welcome. His people were treated as only drug dealers and thieves, an honor they had worked hard to get. He snickered at that thought.
He was heading toward the Khajiit caravans, to join them in a most crucial role. He was to procure goods for them to sell. In return he would receive a very hefty sum of gold and items. It mattered not where these items came from, but he would need to be quick so as to not lose his opportunity.
Though he was excited about being able to have this chance, he did not like the prospect of leaving Cyrodiil. He had a very cushy lifestyle there, and knew even the cheapest of Cyrodiillian living was near better than that of his soon to be home and life.
He frowned at the thought. It was his own fault however. He had gotten sloppy; he had received a hefty bounty and knew it was but a matter of time that he'd need to move on. So he took the initiative and here he was, border jumping into misery.
He padded softly and silently through the brush, moving from shadow to shadow, every movement precise and calculated. Avoiding twigs, leaves and other potential alerts, he was as a ghost. A mumbled word was heard, and the cat activated his inborn ability, the colors drained from the world as night became as bright as day. Glancing quickly around he saw the source of the word, a human, possibly a Nord, attempting to find his way in the dark, not 15 feet from the cat. A much louder sound came to him as he wheeled around to see a group of large Nords, all dressed in similar uniforms, marching in rank.
Shit, the cat thought to himself. If these men were guards, I will not be able to fight them all.
He quickly stopped moving, hoping none had caught sight of him. As his luck held he watched them march forward away from his position.
Slowly he began moving again.
"Halt!" a female voice shouted through the darkness. "In the name of the imperial legion you are under arrest. Throw down your weapons, Storm Cloaks and we need not have violence."
"Men, do as she says," A deep voice boomed in the ranks of the "Storm Cloaks" "This is a fight we cannot win."
The cat heard clanging as weapons hit the ground, and then a sudden harrumph as a legion soldier threw the other man onto the ground. "This one was trying to sneak past our ranks ma'am."
"I am not with them you have made a mistake!" the man sniffled and squealed.
"Throw him in the cart with the others."
"But you are making a mistake!"
"Silence!"
Looking intently, the cat forgot to watch is own back, a sharp pain in the back of his own head told him he had been found. The last thing he heard as his world darkened was a masculine voice, "I've got another over here. It's a cat."