AN: I don't like the way that Khajiits are portrayed in the games, as weakened furries that like to steal. That's why this fic will have an overhauled version of the race. Basically, Khajiits now look younger and males don't have their cheeks drooped. And their names will be a bit changed.
Silverclaw/Dro'aptu
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The young Khajiit groaned inwardly. He had just woken up from being knocked unconscious. He tried to bring his paw to his head, but something kept his limb from moving. He cracked open his eyes, hissing at the bright light. He fought through the pain and look downwards. His paws were held together with a strengthened leather strap, which even he couldn't cut through.
It chafed against the skin underneath his grey fur. He tried twisting his hands, in vain. It couldn't be broken, just as he had suspected. "Oh, you're awake," said a male voice. He looked up, still squinting slightly due to the large amount of light. "No-o-o-o… what gave it away?" he replied sardonically, masking his discomfort. The man came into focus.
The man, obviously a Nord, had long blonde hair, some of it fashioned into elegant braids. The man had a strong jawline and nose, with piercing blue eyes. He had a short beard starting to grow, the color matching his hair. He was wearing a sort of mix between blue fabric, metal, and chainmail with fur boots. He seemed unamused with the youth's attempt at humor.
Silverclaw then became aware of whimpering to the man's side. His ears twitched as he looked beside the Nord and saw what he believed was a Breton. It was a male Breton, and he was looking around as if he were expecting an ambush there and then. "We shouldn't be here," he kept mumbling to himself, desperately trying to break the leather binds that had been put on his forearms.
"Quiet back there!" Silverclaw heard a voice holler. He turned to his right, his fur bristling with annoyance. He noticed that he was in a cart being pulled by a horse. An Imperial was leading the horse down a forest path. If Silverclaw hadn't been so caught up in the fact that he was being kitnapped, he would've surely thought that the forest they were passing through was beyond beautiful.
Now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the light, he could see that it was late in the day. The sky was starting to turn red in the west, glazing everything with a reddish hue. The last rays of sunlight glimmered through the trees, ending in dappled god rays that gave everything an ethereal glow. Stars were starting to show up in the east, making it even more appealing. A soft breeze blew through the path, ruffling the leaves on the trees and shrubbery along with Silverclaw's pelt. The breeze was scented with flowers and herbs, calming the young Khajiit.
Silverclaw toned his voice down to barely a whisper and leaned into the Nord. "If we jumped off here, we could run into the forest, break off our binds, and escape," he whispered. The Nord looked bemused and nodded. Silverclaw wasn't sure whether he could trust the people in the cart, but something instead told him he could. Maybe it was their scent of an honest life or just his gut telling him the way.
Suddenly, before they could put their plan into action, they rolled up at the gate to a town and went on through. "Well, that plan's dead," grumbled the youth, flicking his tail in annoyance. The Nord nodded grimly in agreement, making a slight attempt to break the binds, as if they were so brittle a simple flexing would shatter them. The town seemed to be a standard Imperial outpost, the houses all generic Nordic designs.
On the porch of one, a family of three sat. There was one boy, and the mother and father flanked him. "Dear, would you be so kind to go inside?" she asked nervously. "Aw-w-w-w… I want to watch the soldiers, though!" the child protested indignantly. This reminded Silverclaw of when he was merely but a kit. He had been a bit of a troublemaker as a youngster and rarely, if ever, followed the rules.
"Listen to your mother," the father said sternly. The young child made a face and went back into the house. He saw the two parents sigh. A crowd started forming around them, probably for some event.
Silverclaw returned his attention to his new-found acquaintances in the cart, realizing they had stopped. Elves on horses rode into the center of town that they were in, some wearing elegantly carved robes while others wore gilded armor. "Damn elves," the Nord cursed, "I bet the Thalmor's got something to do with this."
Silverclaw cocked his head in curiosity, but decided now was not the time. "Out!" shouted a gruff female voice. He turned his head and saw a female Imperial officer, wearing shining silver armor. "Well, this is the first time a lady has ever wanted me dead," he attempted a joke yet again. This time, the blonde Nord chuckled heartily. "You are a brave warrior, to make jokes when we are most likely facing our ends," smiled the Nord solemnly, standing up.
The Khajiit youth followed suit, growing to his full height behind the Nord. The man stepped forward and jumped off the cart, following the cowardly Breton. Silverclaw did the same as the Nord, portraying no fear or nervousness in his demeanor.
Might as well have one final cleaning.
He was currently wearing rags, his armor damaged heavily by a fight he had had prior. He then started licking his exposed arms, much to the crowd's shock. He actually wanted to laugh at some of the faces he saw out of the corner of his eye. He could tell that the Imperial office had recoiled in disgust.
He had no idea why they were acting this way. Khajiits usually groomed each other and bathed outside, due to their cat-like tendencies. He guessed that other races didn't share the same traditions.
He didn't really care, though. He was going to die, so the reactions of onlookers couldn't matter less to him. "Keep doing that. I will try to escape my bindings as you distract the crowd," whispered the Nord. It was to a point that a human wouldn't have heard it, but Silverclaw was a Khajiit, meaning he had the hearing of a feline.
His ear twitched in response. He moved from his left arm to his right, continuing to wash himself. He could hear the faint sound of the Nord grunting. He was trying to break through the bindings. "Try sliding out of them," whispered Silverclaw, not stopping from his washing. He saw the small face of reluctance the Nord had made, but he obliged and now started to try sliding his right hand out.
Guess Nords are more of a brute-force loving race.
He finished with his arms and sat down, stretching out his exposed digitigrade legs and starting to lick them clean.
Suddenly, he heard a small ziiiiiiiip as the Nord beside him loosened the bindings and slipped his hand out. "A prisoner is loose! Capture him!" shouted the Imperial captain. "Now would be a good time to run!" shouted Silver claw. The Nord man was one step ahead of him and sprinted off towards a guard tower. Silverclaw and the cowardly Breton followed suit, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Of course, this meant the Breton was the last one in, since Khajiit could run fairly faster than any of the other races.
Once all three were in, the Nord slammed the door shut and barricaded it with a weapon rack that had probably weighed over a hundred pounds. "We need to out of these bindings," said the Breton, all traces of cowardice disappearing from him. "Your powers of perceptiveness never cease to amaze me," said Silverclaw sardonically. "Aye. Why don't you use your teeth to free yourself?" asked the Nord.
"The bindings are too thick. I'll end up breaking a tooth," responded Silverclaw. The Nord gave a quick nod and took a dagger from the weapon's rack. The second he took it, the door shuddered, keeping their would-be attackers at bay. The Nord, adrenaline now running through his veins, quickly sliced off the Khajiit's and Breton's bindings.
The Breton quickly grabbed a battle axe from the rack and readied himself for battle. "I thought you were a coward," purred Silverclaw, grateful for being freed from the accursed torture bindings. "Just an act. Much easier to fight Imperials when they think you are nothing but a fretful weakling," grinned the Breton. His explanation made sense to Silverclaw. "We don't have any armor, meaning we won't last long in a fight. We need to escape," said the Nord, sliding his dagger into a sheathe he had on his armor. "Agreed. We could go up to the top of the tower and jump onto the trees," suggested Silverclaw. While he was no coward and his cat-like reflexes would give him an edge, he still saw reason.
The Breton still seemed to be itching for a fight, but reluctantly obliged, dropping the weapon. The door shuddered thrice, each time seemingly about to give in. The Nord quickly dropped a couple more pieces of weaponry and furniture to barricade the door, and then took off up the stairs with the young Khajiit and deceiving Breton in tow.
They raced up three flights until the reached the 'crow's nest' as Silverclaw liked to call it. Thankfully, the Khajiit's plan held up as there were trees taller than the tower and within jumping distance. Unfortunately, they were three stories up. If they fell or failed the jump, it would mean a plummet to certain death.
Silverclaw wasn't intimidated, though, as he had done things similar to this in his youth. And he was the descendent of cats, after all, so he had an innate sense of balance. Suddenly, the door thumped four times. It was so loud they could still hear it clearly from the third story. "Let's go!" shouted Silverclaw as he gestured for the Nord to jump. The Nord visibly scrunched his face up, but got onto the edge of the top anyways. He then leaped.
For a second, time seemed to freeze for Silverclaw. He could see the Nord's expression of pure terror as he floated slowly towards the tree. The second he slammed straight into the tree and grabbed a secure handhold, time resumed normally. The Breton, thankfully, truly seemed to be fearless and jumped without even making a face. He quickly slid down the tree, the Nord shimmying cautiously down.
Abruptly, the sound of a door snapping and falling to the ground reached his ears. "Crap," he muttered. He then ran up to the side and leapt, his powerful digitigrade legs providing him with more than enough speed. He nimbly swung around the tree thrice, using his claws to anchor himself to the bark, and stopped on a thin branch. A sudden creak got his attention. The branch suddenly snapped and left him falling. He could see below that the Nord and Breton were trying to judge his trajectory to catch him, but the endangered mammal had a different plan.
Time seemed to slow as he started. He had just dropped from the third story. He front-flipped and now faced the tree while freefalling. He stuck out his paws and prayed to the almighty Divines that it would work. Thankfully, the Divines seemed to on his side today as his claws caught on the bark and stopped him before he hit the ground. He sighed a breath of relief and looked down. He was about a couple feet from the ground.
He could easily handle the drop, and he did, his hind paws landing on the ground without making a sound. The Nord nodded approvingly while the Breton grinned. "Nice work there. We better be off," grunted the Nord. They all agreed and started running, but were frozen when a shape manifested on the darkened horizon.
"Wait… is that a… dragon?" asked the Nord, squinting. The thought sent chills down Silverclaw's spine. It suddenly flew upwards and flapped into full view. To the small group's dismay, it was a dragon. A big one.