An angered shrug emitted from a short, spotted beast, trying its best to escape the man that had been grabbing her.
"Go away!" it shouted with a slightly-noticeable, yet understandable accent.
"I want nothing to do with you anymore!" was all the drunken attacker heard, but paid little attention to the beast's cries.
They fought eachother for several minutes, cuts and scratches dripping obvious blood onto the creaking floor.
"I own you!" he yelled as he attempted stabbing the bipedal creature; however, he was too disoriented to focus on his aim.
The screams passerbies heard through the tavern room door were blatantly ignored. People had too many problems of their own to worry about a damned cat and her owner.
"No... Stop! Stop it!" It screamed.
The drunkard had managed to wrap his arms around the creature's throat, pulling a knife to its neck.
He was interrupted by an elbow immediately bucking into his stomach, angering him.
"Ahg... Damnit! I bought you; I own you!"
He responded by stabbing the slave in its lower neck, as he clenched its jaw in his hand.
The beast's painful roar ended with a bite to the attacker's thumb, discouraging him further.
As she bled from her throat, she became just as dizzy as the man, maybe moreso, almost passing out of conciseness.
Her owner then did something all-the-more unethical:
as it seemed to be dying helplessly in his arms, he began tearing the shredded blouse he recently provided for it from its shoulders.
She didn't realize, unlike she would be able to. The pain had grown only tolerable. At least, that's what she thought.
She wondered if she were losing sight, or that she was blacking out. All she saw was black, then white, then black, then white. Darkened tunnels clouded her vision, scaring her to almost literal death.
She felt hot, and that she was sweating, but she also felt freezing, beginning to shiver. Never had this feeling hurt her so much, nor had it been this dramatic. She wished her spotted, grey fur were gone, just to ease her from the building heat only she felt.
"I... I..."
It spoke in an uncontrollably soft pitch as tears fell from her eyes and its legs gave way, only the man's grasp helping keep its stance.
He had finally torn off the shredded blouse without dropping the beast, then attempting to cut what remained, but dropping the knife during the process.
He cursed loudly near the creature's ear, overreacting to his mistake.
As if in reflex, the animal reacted without hesitation, even half conscious, by breaking free from its owner's grasp, and scratching him, cutting his right eye.
He jumped back, clenching his bleeding face as the slave slowly backed away from him, before falling onto the floor, once again seeing similar, black tunnels and feeling the same flux of temperature.
Through a muffled scream, it suddenly felt the same bloody hand grabbing her neck, and the fading glimpse of its attacker pinning her to the ground.
Even through being clawed and scratched, the man tore the undersized garment from its chest, ignoring the overwhelming amount of blood dripping off the creature.
Though it began to hurt using her claws against her owner, she continued fighting with any strength that hadn't poured out of her. She kicked, scratched, strangled, and even tried using her tail to defend herself, out of pure desperation.
It didn't help; she was slowly blacking out again, trying as best as she could not to.
Now half indecent on the floor, she felt familiar hands grabbing her in areas she often regretted having, as she stared at the ceiling, unable to move or respond.
The amount of blood soaking the room and floor was at a terrifying level, continually rising.
In his drunken state, he hadn't seemed to care, as he was only focused on feeling the creature's body.
The animal had no control, no dominance to defend itself. It did what it could with its dulled, blood-soaked claws, to barely any avail.
It hated him.
It hated everything about him.
She'd been beaten, stolen from, lied to, and now she'd die of his hand; helpless, defenseless.
All her dreams and hopes were being taken away by a single man, and all she could do was watch and die.
The slave only felt to cry; cry and dream, hoping that something, some sort of miracle, could save it.
The man went on with his actions, however. With obvious intentions, he reached for the stained knife behind him, letting up on his grip of the beast's throat. An unfocused groan escaped its mouth, eyes closed, the extreme pain catching up to her.
Her mind was clearing, along with her sight.
She thought disappointingly of herself. She thought she was stronger than this, yet there she was, just letting herself die because some drunkard, some nobody, was motivated enough to hurt her that he practically ignored pain, but she didn't know where her strength went.
"What am I... doing..?" she asked herself. She wasn't like this. She wasn't a weak, depressed slave.
No, she wasn't a slave.
She wasn't going to die because guardsmen always decided they were higher fit to live; she was going to die as something, not the nothing strangers often made her out to be.
The self declared ex-slave took in as deep of a breath as she could, resulting in a raspy cough, scrounging up all of what little strength remained in her body.
Her chance came as coincidence, just as the guardsman had been reaching back for the same knife he previously stabbed her with.
The monster sat up as the man turned back towards her, knife in hand.
It sprang up its head towards his, using the one thing she had not yet used to aid her.
The guard felt a sudden, extremely sharp pain, but he sounded no scream or cry.
He was forced to stare at the dimmed ceiling of the tavern room, unable to move his neck as he felt his own blood trickle down his chest, and forced tears flow down his face.
The gagging sounds were quiet, but audible enough for both beasts to hear. They both could taste the man's blood, each wishing it would end soon.
It did not.
The monster felt its teeth grinding against bone, its strength surprising.
The man couldn't think straight, at least, less so than before. He thought he knew what it did to him, and that he was dying because of it.
Losing all senses, the bleeding man still felt the blade in his hand, shaking, but with a firm grip.
He was much more disoriented, but knew if he were to live, the knife would aid him in doing so.
As he grew unable to breath, he held onto the small dagger as hard as he could, lunging it into the beast's back, earning a more painful bite to his neck as he lost his sight.
The monster felt the bombarding pain of another stabbing, but much weaker than the first.
It seemed to have no influence on its actions, however. The hate and adrenaline shooting through its veins had quickly clouded out the pain it should have felt.
In its thoughts, it apologized, yet held its tongue, for it had been too frightened to speak.
As it felt another, slower stab in its back, it bit down harder than before, the sounds of teeth chipping and bones grinding loudly emitting through the room.
The loud, subtle noise of the blade hitting the ground was barely noticed; the creature's bite only grew stronger, and more hateful.
At this point, both the slave and owner were crying, one as a mental reaction, but the other, physical and forced.
Neither wished for this ending. Neither enjoyed it, nor had they found it tolerable.
The beast hated the taste of blood. She thought of it both disgustingly and terrified. Though, she often had it on her mind, especially after large deprivations from it.
Despite the fact she'd been both stabbed, and had been losing blood for some time, she felt strong; stronger than she had in years. Her injuries aided her in her choice to rebel, but also made the act seemingly more difficult. She hadn't known which assurance would be of more importance, though, her actions were proving successful, for the most part; she was no longer a servant to scoundrels.
At least, she hoped.
Blood was trickling down the creatures cheeks, somewhat drying into its bright fur, clearly noticeable.
The man's movements were slowing. Instead, he made a slight, uncontrollable twitching. It scared her, yet somewhere she felt satisfied with her actions.
She wasn't happy, though. In fact, she, as she let go of the man's neck, felt mortified.
She sat only a few feet from the twitching, lifeless body. Blood dripped from her teeth. The disgusting taste, untamable; it remained there for some time.
He was dead, finally. She was sure of it.
The body lay unmoving in front of her as she stared in disbelief. What she did, she had no idea whether she would regret or not.
Unfortunately, however, her species of... beast... was massively looked down upon. Somehow, the people would find a way to put whatever blame they had on this creature, which happened to her kind often.
She stared, breathing heavily and crying, the only things she could do. The floors creaked beneath her hands and feet as she slowly backed away, her face and chest soaked in blood.
There was a dead guardsman in her room with a missing throat. If she weren't to lose her life by shortage of blood, it would surely end in execution.
Even if he did not deserve to live, which, in her mind, he didn't, the man was still a guard; a low-ranked one, yes, but he was well known. If one were to realize what she'd done, a majority of the local barracks' members would go into an uproar, which, more than likely, would result in bloodshed.
Specifically, her's.
A shiver flew through her slightly-damaged spine. Once she regained as much of her composure as she could, the thought finally dawned on her.
She had just killed someone, in a very gruesome way, at that.
Of course, she'd seen her fair share of death, and she'd commit thievery, as most of her kind did to avoid peasantry, but she had never hurt someone before, at least not fatally.
The sight of her actions' results sickened her. Blood, scars, open wounds, and some bones could be seen, even. Both bodies trickled blood in between the floorboards, nerve-racking scents flooded the room, and scarring visuals tormented her, as they would with most people.
With shaking legs, the beast slowly stood up, almost losing its balance.
The floor creaked loudly under her as she took a step forward towards the garments previously ripped from her. What she came to was a shredded, fully-white blouse, with its torn segments strewn across the scene, degrading both its economic and intrinsic value.
She sighed an unintentional breath, reaching for the dark-colored undergarment at her feet, also taken from her. One strap, severed, but still useable, fortunately.
Suddenly, she felt the same, cold feeling coursing through her body again, along with the dark, blackened tunnels clouding her vision. Her wounds stung, the feeling remaining extreme, but a new, smaller pain in her head appeared, however, breaking the similarity between the separate moments.
She quickly sat, or rather, fell onto the end of the room's small, wooden table, breathing heavily with her head in her hands.
What had she done? There seemed to be no way to come out of this unscathed. Even if she'd get out of the city unnoticed, the fact that she was physically obvious to be some sort of psychopath remained.
The body couldn't even be moved, let alone hidden somewhere. It was a tavern; the door led to a room full of both soldiers and guards, and the open window was three floors above a busy street road. There was no point in thinking this through; she had to leave the mess she unwillingly helped to make-even the body. It would definitely be found within the day, but she'd rather not have be there when it was.
Thinking as her tormenting senses calmed, fortunately, she realized that, even if she were to properly bandage her wounds, she wasn't exactly decent enough for publicity.
Of course, she quickly looked to the body near her, before noticing the rather obvious red stain coating its furred under-armor.
She cursed to herself, knowing it would be impossible to leave in a guard's blood-stained uniform.
Thinking on her feet, however, the bed came to mind. The single blanket had been too small, although the bed sheet stuck to her thoughts.
As she stood up from the table, her legs almost, once again, gave way. Quickly balancing herself out, her eyes gazed over at the small bedding in the corner of the room, fixated.
With a small hesitation, the beast carefully took her steps towards the furniture, paying close attention to where it stepped, assuring she didn't fall, as easily as it could have been to.
After reaching her thoughts' goal, she pulled up on the under-sized, fur cloth, dropping it to the floor, sighing at what she came upon.
The fact that the bedding was practically half see-through proved how self-evidently inexpensive the inn really was, and how unfortunate her day had been.
It was just her luck; after having looked around the barely-decorated room, nothing of fabric could be seen, other than a massive carpet and the previously mentioned blood-stained garments, discouraging her further as she saw their tinted color.
She had no idea what to do; she was trapped in a room, an obvious criminal, half indecent, and just waiting for some eye-prying guard to show, witnessing the happenings her actions dealt.
As far as her knowledge went, she had two options:
Either leave, basically shirtless, obviously drawing some attention, or sit, wait for authorities, and executed within the week.
Somehow, she knew which choice would turn out better for her.
Before grabbing the thin sheet, she felt a slight, chilled breeze emitting from the open window.
When looking over, her heart sank, as she focused on the little, white flakes slowly falling into and past her sight.
A storm, completely unpredicted, was dawning onto the city.
"No... No..!" she thought, screaming in her head. It seemed as if anything that could go wrong did. She had been stabbed several times, somewhat handicapping her, and spending her possibly last few hours in the freezing cold would likely multiply her ill condition severely.
Naturally, she began stumbling over towards the source of the freezing winds, feeling sharp pains as she did so.
When she gazed out after reaching the window, she saw the busy street underneath, full of merchants, farmers, traders, and various types of people. They all were probably having a better evening than her, at least, that's what she assumed.
She received her answer when she heard the sudden creaking of wood outside the door.
Her heart stopped when the footsteps slowed as their approach neared. She went instinctually silent, unknowing of what her actions should be.
A fast, pounding knock batted through the room, scaring the beast, who knew not to answer. She knew it was time enough to leave.
The stranger spoke up after receiving no response.
"Guard, I know you're in there! You're required at your post!"
She held her breath; there was no chance of escaping through the door, even if it were just one soldier.
Her eyes darted around the room as the door handle shook violently, finally landing on the bedding she had just left.
The sounds of a key rattling into the door's lock caused panic in her thoughts; she quickened her pace, ripping the sheet from the bed, before darting towards the same open window.
The loud door quickly opened behind her, creaking. She hadn't dared to look at the stranger, however, her speed rose.
Just as the door slammed into the wall behind it, the stranger, a frustrated captain, involuntarily scanned over the room. What he saw put him into a small shock; blood was everywhere, staining the floors, the carpets, and the little amounts of furniture. Claw scratches marked a majority of the scene, including the body of the same man he had been searching for, which laid sprawled across the floor, clearly deceased.
As he stood in the open doorway, staring in disbelief and disgust, a sudden chill hit him, thus retaining his focus - there was someone else in the room.
When he looked up, his eyes met with the obvious killer as she crouched in the window frame, back turned with some sort of cloth in hand. They stared at each other for several, meaningless seconds, fright and nervousness in their faces.
Returning to his Soldier-Instinct at the sight of a blood-covered murderer, the stranger reached for his sheathed blade, intent on finding answers, or vengeance.
"Damned Khajiit!" she heard. The captain pulled out a small, clearly used sword, his intentions clear.
She looked down to the street below, and the how high she was above it.
"Three stories..." she cowardly thought, "...there's... there's no way-"
Interruptions occurred as more, similar creaking noises emitted from outside the room, their speed rising.
He held up his blade, sprinting towards the beast, readying himself for a fight.
She saw this, and her nerves instantly reacted against her will.
While only with the captain a meter or so away, her foot slipped on newly-forming ice, combined with ever-strengthening winds. The stranger saw this, and slowed his pace, though reaching forward. His attempted grip failed, however. Due to his slowed run, he remained more than twice an arm's length from the window, as he only somewhat regretted.
The blistering cold hit her body suddenly, forcing her eyes shut as added gusts rushed past her. She refused any sight, as her eyes remained sensitive to the lowered temperature, along with the continuous fear of death.
The previously-busy streets were now partially emptied, with the exception of a few travelers not minding the cold, and several townspeople returning to their homes.
The world seemed to have slowed as she fell, if not by mere seconds. Everything seemed... surreal, almost mystic.
With her back facing the ground, snow fell from the skies, the amount and speed increasing. The cold, harshing winds continued as well, violently shaking nearby trees and market signs, their sounds annoyingly audible.
She saw the same stranger looking down at her from the room window, along with several others. All of them seemed to be soldiers, or at least guardsmen.
She struggled not to scream, though, no one would blame her when she did. Her mind went blank once again, her thoughts disappearing into the imminent void of death she assumed to have led herself to. When the men above her saw what was happening, it almost looked as if they were smiling, but the Khajiit was in no place to pay mind to detail. She waited for it - for the shock of her death, even while fully expecting it, yet without acceptance.
Unclear thoughts coursed through her mind when she hit the hard, ice-covered stones. A pain shot throughout her body, subtle and torturous. Her spine hit first, immediately throwing a wave of unpleasantness into her bones, like she'd been stabbed a fourth time. When her head met the road, however, everything went pitch black, as if she had gone unhesitatingly blind. The world seemed to be constantly spinning around her, and a loud, painful ringing echoed around her. She felt obviously dead.
The disrupting sounds of angered soldiers filled the air, slowly becoming untraceable. Any motivation she previously had to live dissipated, with no clear sign of returning.
She saw it. She saw the tunnel, and the far light at the end.
The fact that she survived the fall became mostly meaningless. With no current reason to live, she let go of what she hoped for, including the life she dreamt of having. That was it, though. She killed her abusive owner, who finally received the justice he deserved, but she did not expect to live through the aftermath.
The light brightened, growing closer and brighter.
It actually hurt her eyes, before transitioning from pure white, to more of a dark, cloudy grey. Another sight came - white dots gliding down towards her, hitting her face.
She realized she was alive. Unable to move, and possibly paralyzed, but alive.
Her mind returned as the continuous sounds of stomping rose steadily, their source noticeable. She turned her head slowly, and carefully, the grinding of creaking bones frightening her.
An audible groan escaped her lips, somehow. Attempting to move her arms, the Khajiit shouted a silent scream from the pain she crawled through, questioning if her recent actions were worth the payment she dealt.
For reasons even she wasn't aware of, the footsteps she heard motivated her to quickly jerk up, striven. The cracking emitting from her spine, however, scared her further.
Enduring through the feeling of her slightly dislocated limbs severely bothered her.
Somehow, with the little strength she was left with, she managed to leave herself on her hands and knees, before coughing suddenly.
To her surprise and dismay, when she opened her eyes, she had apparently coughed out blood onto the rising snow. She had only a small amount of time to care, though, as the rugged footsteps returned, now with the nerve-racking background of clanging metal.
It was growing dark; not because of loss of sight, but because dusk was imminent. Purple and gray clouds blocked out the sun and sky, blowing cold ice faster towards the ground. The winds grew, making eerie whistling in the distance.
Almost losing her balance as she carefully rose to her feet, the Khajiit stood in pain, forcefully grasping the bed sheet she'd stolen.
After her first step, the crunching of snow felt freezing under her bare feet, and the cold winds pierced her fur, making it seem useless originally having any.
With no accurate sense of direction, she only focused on the daunting shouts that suddenly felt nearer, holding her dislocated shoulder.
She attempted her fastest pace from them, fearing their unknown speed.
It was pointless, as the sounds grew louder anyway.
She regretted her noticeable limp, trying to ignore the sharp pains throughout her body. Practically jumping on a single leg, her sight lessened as the storm grew rougher, although the sounds of a wood's swaying trees felt to be in her heading.
Thankful for her blessed hearing, she heard what sounded like the guards tripping on ice and stone behind her, as she unknowingly hoped for. A slight grin emerged on her face as she somehow felt amused by their stumbles, but was quickly retracted as galloping could be heard, followed by a rider's shouts.
As painful as she felt, she forced her limp away, as struggling as it was.
The horse neared, a lantern light shining through the thick, blinding snow. Her hopes seemed lost, as was she; the howling winds then blocked out both the shouts and the leaves' rustling. Now, she had only her memory to guide her, hoping for the best.
The galloping and light was as close as they could have gotten; she was sure of it. She was about to die, for the second time. As lucky as she'd been so far, if you could call it luck, it could only last so long.
Tears of fright and pain froze to ice on her cheeks, sticking to her fur. She was crying, and she hated it; accepting her death would be possible for her, but not in a situation like this, and especially not as she was crying.
Even through the cold, loud winds, the Khajiit noticed that the horse had been slowing to a halt, for a reason she soon found. Under her, as she took each step, the crunching of dried leaves sounded, replacing the similar crunching of hardened ice.
The snow remained blinding, but became slightly clearer. Now in the woods she had heard, she ran as fast as before, still limping.
As she ran deeper into the wood, towards what seemed to be uphill, her leg met with a small, lone root, quickly throwing her to the ground.
Now on her knees, looking back, her eyes became locked onto the rider holding the bright lantern. She stood up slowly, as the rider stared to her as well, wearing a soldier's helmet. Backing away, the Khajiit sped up once more into the freezing depths of the trees, knowing not to return.