Skyrim is such a serious game. Like, seriously serious. Uptight even. So here's a story to try and lighten it up. My goal here is to try and tell a spin on the 'modern person sent into Skyrim' genre, but also add much-needed humor, fun, and silliness to the material. Also yes, the main character is a Khajiit and the caravans feature heavily so if you don't like animal people, you've been warned. Because it is Skyrim, expect some detailed descriptions of violence, injuries, and other unpleasantness. Hope you enjoy!
Summary: Mohamara was just a tojay Khajiit in Skyrim trying to make a living. He went to Temple every Sundas, he was going to college and worked hard to stay afloat. Never drank, never did drugs, didn't even go to any wild parties. Frankly, his life was all work and no play. Unfortunately for him, a mad Daedra decided he needed a vacation-from the Twenty-First Age to the Fourth.
It was always refreshing to go to Temple. Father Lovian had a way of sermonizing that lifted the spirits, like a bath but for the soul-rendered clean. Mohamara hardly ever watched the Imperial man while the sermons were said, though occasionally the lights of his rainbow-colored robes were enticing. The Temple always had dust in the air, and it was always fascinating to watch the particles dance around the rays of light that filled the temple from on high. They sometimes made shapes similar to Daedric letters or animals, but you had to be looking closely to see them.
The potluck that happened after the final hymns were sung was the main draw for most people coming to Kilkreath-not the love of the Lady. It saddened Mohamara just a bit-the Lady would love them no matter why they came-but the people couldn't feel her love at all because they didn't love her back. Such was the case with Mohamara's Orc friend, Yagraz. Biggest Orc he'd ever seen, of either gender, and she could throw a punch that knocked people out of their shoes. Her favorite thing to eat at the potluck was, of course, Mohamara's fondue-made with imitation moon sugar.
She derived some sick pleasure from watching others watch her eat the cheese-covered bread that Mohamara couldn't understand. All she ended up doing was making a mess and having people leave her vicinity with red faces. So many people who came to Temple for the food seemed so angry with messy eating-Mohamara had to follow Yagraz around with napkins and insist she clean up regularly.
At least the Orc woman actually sang the hymns in the post-potluck sermons. It wasn't much, but in those moments could feel the light within Yagraz-and he knew the Lady was speaking to her in those times. Perhaps with a few years of going to Temple, she could feel the love as easily as Mohamara.
"Will you come with me to Temple again next week?" he asked her when they left Kilkreath to wait at the air ferry station for a ship heading south-Yagraz to brag to her sisters in Dushnik Yal about all the fancy food she got to eat, and Mohamara to attend his evening courses at the community college in Whiterun. The Orc woman purposely messed up his hair with a two-handed head ruffle, much to Mohamara's chagrin.
"Eh, I dunno short-stuff. You going to make more of that fancy cheese?"
Some of the passers-by in personal air-skiffs or walking on the elevated streets gave the two odd looks. It must have looked silly-an Orc woman in a Companions leather jacket, but otherwise dressed like a punk and sporting a mohawk tormenting a Khajiit literally half her size, who had a more hipster look. It wouldn't surprise Mohamara if someone assumed she was bullying him-some righteous people had tried to intervene before.
"Ack, leggo! I always make fondue for Temple-it's the only time I can afford eidar cheese." And it was something he knew Yagraz loved. He hoped that the love for the food would open her up to the love of the Lady. Malacath had made Yagraz strong, but he loved nobody-not even himself.
"Well fine-I'll come by next week for Temple. But only if you let me teach you how to throw a punch, hmm?"
Mohamara glared up at her through the Orc's hands and his own hair, not amused at all. "And give you a reason to hit me-I'm not stupid."
Yagraz shrugged and smirked to herself, then let the short cat go. He'd gotten used to fighting against her grip, so the sudden release sent him stumbling a bit.
"Please, you knowing how to fight or not, I couldn't hit ya-you'd break like glass." She took a seat on the ferry stop, which Mohamara did as well once he got up. The station, as was the case for air ferry stations, sported a vaguely Dwemer design. Markarth had changed a lot of the public utilities to their Dwemer-revival style once the stone city became the capital of Skyrim. Mohamara hadn't been there to see the change, but he'd heard from his elf professors about the cultural dominance Markarth had developed over the generations.
More than one such elven professor had outright banned slates from their lecture halls because they hated how students could fact-check their lectures in real time. If they'd just stop lying, the cat postulated, there wouldn't be a problem. And if they didn't know the latest material, what were they doing teaching? Mohamara believed it had to do with the inclination of elven scholars to develop a superiority complex.
"That should be the one," Yagraz pointed out, jarring the Khajiit out of his musings. The Dwemer-bronze airship, held aloft by a metal plated air envelope and driven forward by four sets of propellers, took a few minutes to line up with the station so passengers could load on and disembark. The tedious process of standing in line while their passes were scanned to allow them passage was only made better by the rain finally clearing up. And because the weather had improved, the ferry opened up the windows on the covered deck, allowing for a pleasant breeze while it disconnected from the station and started southward.
While Mohamara watched the tall buildings of Solitude fade away in the distance, he wondered if he'd ever be well off enough to afford living in Kilkreath. It was a hoity-toity neighborhood, lots of rich and fake-rich people. He only came there regularly because Kilkreath had the last temple to Meridia in Skyrim-Dawnguard had long since become a purely Stendarr venue. A degree in Mysticism didn't promise a well-paying career, but if he could get into an enchantment internship he could possibly get in on the work for new wayshrines.
"You always get so mopey after you go to Temple," his friend chided and shoved his shoulder a bit. Mohamara almost fell off his perch looking out the window and pushed her back when he was stable again.
"Well, in my religion going to Temple is supposed to be the highlight of the week. So, of course, I'm mopey. You always seem excited to go get the food."
The punk-fashioned Orc made a face and scoffed. This prompted Mohamara to thread his long ears through the gaps in his hood, pull it up, and go back to looking at the winged figure holding the faceted beacon aloft fade in the distance. "Because it's the best food you can get all week, short stuff." Though he couldn't see her due to the hood, he caught glimpses of her black mohawk moving around to indicate she was looking at him. "It's rich people food. Well, and that cheese stuff you make. But if singing songs and standing in a dusty temple while rich people glare at you all the time is the highlight of your week, you need to get better hobbies. Or a date. Or a date with better hobbies. Or take dating as a hobby."
"Yes, thank you, but I will not be doing any of those things." Mohamara's ears went flat against his hood while his tail began to swish in irritation. "I've already got too much coursework-I have to appeal my last test in inter-planar wishes, there are two papers due in introduction to omens, and-"
"And," she purposefully cut him off and started to rub his head again. "If you don't take a vacation or something, you're going to work yourself to death. How about in a couple days you come with me to hear the shaman talk about Malacath? See, when we worship our Daedra, it's a fun time."
A soft but noticeable 'harumph' caught the Khajiit and Orc's attention, prompting both to look at the source. An elderly Nord man, with a prominent amulet of Stendarr around his neck, glaring at them. The two friends teamed up to glare the old man down-Mohamara using the natural eyeshine produced by his face being shrouded by the hood, and Yagraz using her tusks in a threat display. It wasn't long before the old man broke the staring contest, and the two went back to their original positions.
"I'll go if the appeal goes well, and if your sister doesn't manhandle me again."
Yagraz had to force herself not to chuckle.
"Hey, I don't know how many tojay she's met who like that, but I don't care for being carted around like a big doll."
"Then you just need to stop being such a shorty and grow to a reasonable size. Oh no, attack of the tail waps! Whatever shall I do?" The Orc played up her reaction to being bapped repeatedly by Mohamara's tail when he started to thrash it about from annoyance. "Alright, I'll tell her to leave you alone. Just stick by me, and she won't get the chance to trap you in the realm of 'cute kitty'."
When the temple was fully out of view Mohamara turned around and sat in the seat properly. To distract him on the way to the Dushnikh Yal station, he pulled his slate out and clipped on the earrings before browsing for a song.
The time for Yagraz to leave came soon. After exchanging a promise to join her for attending a sermon about Malacath, she left with the vast majority of the ferry's passengers. Dushnikh Yal was a popular transfer stop, allowing people to swap to a ferry heading further east to Eastmarch, or west to the Reach. Mohamara stayed on the ferry as it started the route back to Whiterun and kept to himself while listening to music.
Until he got a call from a number he didn't know. The number vanished almost instantly, as his cipher put a name to the caller: CHEESE4EVERY1. Mohamara knew no one with that name and moved the slider to the red button, declining the call. But instead the call interface popped up over his music, and the caller's orange and purple icon started to blink in time with their words.
"Hello! How are ya?" A voice with an accent he couldn't quite place started off quickly. It was a man's, and seemed to be slightly withered with age but still energetic.
"Um, who-" Mohamara started before he decided not to bother and attempted to end the call. But the button to do so never seemed to register.
"Am I? Well, that's been a topic of debate for a while now actually. But you and I already know each other, lad." The voice went soft and ever so slightly menacing for the last few words. "I just came by to let you know: It's all sorted! I heard you need a vacation, so I decided to take you along with me on mine! We can talk, hang out, eat some clouds together. I'll be swinging by in a second, so be ready to go." The man spoke with such energy and swiftness that Mohamara wasn't able to get a word in edgewise before the call was ended. He had all of a second to blink before someone sat down uncomfortably close to him on the bench.
It was a Nordic man, paler than any he'd ever seen, with white hair and milky eyes. He wore a bizarre suit that seemed… fleshy, with deep patterns on a base of purple and orange fabrics split in half so he had two limbs of each color. "How ya doing, my boy? Meri-pants been treating you well? She's so temperamental with her mortals I half expected you to be a scorch mark when I got around to meeting ya." The Nord man spoke with the voice from the call, and this combined with his sudden appearance made Mohamara jump and almost drop his slate.
"Who in the Ashpit are you?"
The man squinted a bit at Mohamara's outraged tone, and a palpable sense of dread crept over the short Khajiit.
"Um, who are you… sir?"
That got the stranger to break out into a wide grin. "That's a good lad, minding your betters. And bettering your mind-a college boy I see." Somehow Mohamara's wallet had appeared in the man's hand, and after a hasty check of his jeans pockets the Khajiit confirmed it was definitely his. The stranger flipped it open and began to look through the credit slabs and identification cards. "Not on the cheer squad? Ah well, still time for that. Can't go wasting all that cute on books. Or screens, as the young people do."
"Um. Sir, please, give that-back?" Mohamara tried to snatch the wallet back from the Nord and found his hand gripped so tightly by the human that the pain took a second to register. The Nord man's expression didn't change, he just held Mohamara's hand away from the wallet while it was examined further.
"Oh, blood type blue. Must make you popular with vampires, eh lad? But I suppose you being with Meri-pants means you wouldn't want to be popular with vampires. Though they'd certainly want you to be popular with them!" He leaned in to whisper to Mohamara, who held his ears flat against his skull and tried not to think about how he could feel the two bones in his forearm grinding against one another. "Vampires are strange like that."
"Yes-sir, please…." Mohamara's arm was released, and once free he decided the insane Nord could keep the damn wallet and he tried to run. Tried being the key word there. He found himself held fast by his tail-the Nord not holding so tightly as he had the Khajiit's arm, but still strong enough to keep Mohamara from escaping.
"Now, now, don't be like that. This is a fun time! Vacation time!"
With a powerful yank, the Khajiit was pulled back to the seat and made to sit. The wallet vanished from the man's hand, though Mohamara was too afraid to go looking for it. He had started to piece together who the man was-the distinctive clothes, weird accent, and powers that would require significant effort for a mage all painted a bleak picture.
"Look at you, shaking like a leaf. Understandable, really. Meri-pants doesn't really teach her mortals to be able to work with Daedra, ya know? Makes for great surprises when they end up using the wrong fork at dinner and need to be eviscerated, eh?"
Numb, the Khajiit nodded and looked around for the other passengers. None of them even seemed to realize what was happening. Or if they had, they were ignoring the situation entirely.
"Well, go on isn't there something you should be saying since I'm taking you along on my vacation? Did your tongue stop working? Would you like a replacement?" Again, the madman edged onto a low, dangerous tone towards the end.
Mohamara made a low whine in his throat and shook his head no, but still didn't answer. The man was clearly a Daedra, and words could become dangerous with Daedra. Silence, also, could be dangerous but he hoped that silence would just bore the Daedra into leaving.
"How ungrateful! And I spent all these twelve seconds putting together this little get-together." The Daedra appearing as a Nord sighed, longsuffering. "Oh, I didn't expect to get into this little family dynamic right off. Exciting progress!"
The Daedra shifted emotional states so rapidly that Mohamara had to guess him to be a servant of the Mad God, Sanguine, or possibly Clavicus Vile. As he put the thought together, the Daedra seemed to laugh as if he'd heard the best joke in recorded history.
"Me? Serving old Clavicle? You mortals are too spoiled by how fun he is now. None of you even remember the rambunctious scamp he was oh… I think five thousand years ago? Time is so hard to keep track of-it keeps changing! And you mortals keep breaking Time anyway, so what's the point?" While Mohamara parsed that the Daedra could read his mind, the Daedra screwed his brow up in thought. "Well, I guess Alduin was the point? But he's not around anymore, so!" The Daedra released Mohamara's tail, and the Khajiit was about to make an attempt to escape when instead he found the Daedra's arm slung across his narrow shoulders and brought in for a side hug. "I think it's been made clear that you have no idea who I am, and I must say I'm rather insulted." Slowly the arm holding Mohamara began to squeeze like it had with his wrist earlier, only the crushing pain was gradual rather than sudden. "Here, this should clear things up."
A bill of paper money was held in front of Mohamara's eyes. Orange and purple, like the man's clothes, with an upside-down portrait of the man in the middle surrounded by Daerdric script. The concept of Daedra having money was lost on him when Mohamara read the name atop the portrait.
'Sheogorath'.
"Oh." Mohamara broke his silence, trying to make himself as small as possible when he realized exactly who had him in a side hug and was lowkey attempting to crush him.
"See that?" Sheogorath's voice was soft, almost pleasant. Almost. "That moment of dawning realization is one of the best things you can do with a mortal. Makes dealing with all the boring people so worth it."
While he couldn't get away, Mohamara could still move his arms a bit, so he reached up to his shirt and grabbed the amulet of Meridia underneath. A simple silver plated chain holding a faceted orb that shone from within with Meridia's light. Once he got a hold of it, Mohamara began to desperately pray for help. The odds were low that the Lady would deign to save one mortal that the Lord of Madness had ensnared, but still there.
Sheogorath found the whole thing hilarious and wiped a laughter tear from his eye before speaking again. "Oh, praying for Meri-pants to save you? Best joke I've heard in ages. Literally. Ages. And thank you for capitalizing my title there, that's far more respectful." The crushing stopped, but Sheogorath's grip did not relax. "Relax, mortal. I'm not going to be killing you. Yet." Again came the low tone with an edge of menace. "I'm just going to put you somewhere where you can relax, have some fun, maybe solve some problems."
Sheogorath made a sweeping motion with his arm before he screwed his face up in consideration. "Wait," he started, unsure. "I think I used the wrong word there. It's related to 'somewhere', but the wrong suffix."
Mohamara didn't stop praying even though, as Sheogorath kept talking, the inner light from the amulet signifying his connection to the Lady began to dim until it was a colorless crystal bauble.
"Anyway, I've been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while. But I haven't had the free time to come and visit-Uncle Jyggalag isn't going to needle himself, is he?!"
"You… honor me with your presence, Lord." His Lady was clearly in no position to help, even if she was so inclined. So Mohamara resorted to talking, in the hopes he could stay alive long enough for that to change.
"I do, don't I? Which is odd, given how disrespectful, ungrateful, and utterly boring you've been with me isn't it?" With each accusation, Sheogorath squeezed slightly tighter, until the poor Khajiit's spine started to pop as if it were being stretched. "Oh, you make music! Delightful."
The other passengers on the ferry were gone, Mohamara realized. Where they had been were now piles of empty clothing, holding the shape of people as if they'd merely gone invisible.
"But, I suppose that the point of this vacation is to fix these… deficiencies. I mean, you're what, twenty or so years old, and all you've done is work, work, work, work, and heap praise on old Meri-pants." Sheogorath paused, considering, and took his arm off of the Khajiit to scratch under his bearded chin.
"You sound like my friend, sir."
"I'm not sure how to take that. Comparison to a mortal is usually so insulting, but that Yagraz girl is just so endearingly detached from reality. Hmm. I'll decide to be neutral about it this time."
It took a moment for Mohamara to realize he was free before the Khajiit hastily turned, climbed out the window of the ferry, and jumped.
He realized how stupid this was the literal second he saw the ground hundreds of feet below him.
"Ha! I like the execution, but I doubt you'll like the end result." Sheogorath's voice spoke to him even as the ferry grew distant from the force of gravity. The wind whipping through Mohamara's ears did nothing to impede the Daedric Prince's words, which made Mohamara think they came from his mind. "An astute observation. Betcha wishing you had that kind of clarity about ten seconds ago?"
He should be screaming, Mohamara realized. It would be the natural thing to do. But knowing that at least Sheogorath had found him interesting enough to let die of natural causes was a relief. "Yeah, would've been nice." As he fell, he noticed some… peculiarities of the land below. It was rocky, which he only really saw in the Reach. And covered in grass, which he'd only ever seen in the lawns of rich people. Perhaps it was Sheogoath's influence, driving him to hallucinate. "At least the fall won't kill me."
"Aye, it'd be the right nasty splat at the end. Had that happen to me once, still stung a little. But! Meri-pants would be right miffed if I let you die too early, so I'm afraid I'll have to keep you alive. Now, don't let that get ya too hopeful, I'm still a bit sore about how ungrateful you've been. So I'm going to handle this… my way."
Deep below Mohamara, a Dunmer netch herder was learning an incredibly valuable lesson: Netch herding in Skyrim was an awful idea. As everything in Skyrim was fast and deadly enough to grab onto them and pull them out of the sky. The sheer degree of harassment the average netch got made its health deteriorate from stress alone.
There was also the fact that Skyrim's cold climate wasn't good for netches. And neither were Khajiit that randomly fell from the sky, pulverized betty netches on impact and ended up being bounced by the impact to land farther away than logic dictated should have been possible. The Khajiit falling onto his last betty wasn't the last of the poor netch herder's problems, as a pack of sabre cats had taken an interest in the distress of his netches. They didn't last long.
After bouncing away from his netch landing pad Mohamara found himself lying on his side, on a hill, unable to move, and in mild pain from the multiple impacts with the ground. To top it all off, he hadn't even escaped Sheogorath. The Mad God was crouched in front of him, holding his finger close enough to Mohamara's nose that he could no longer see it, but too far away to feel it.
"I'm not touching you," he would sing-song every minute or so while moving his hand and pointed finger around the Khajiit's face. "Not touchin' ya at all, lad."
All Mohamara could do was scream internally as the infernal Daedra played with the limits of his vision while he couldn't move.
"Now, let's have a good look at you while I wait for my luggage to fall off the ferry."
The Khajiit found himself in an all too familiar situation of being moved around like a doll while he was listless, unable to fight back. It was like every single time he interacted with Yagraz' sisters. "Well, you definitely got these lanky limbs from me. But you're just so cute -I could pinch your head off and make it into a doll."
Mohamara found himself holding his breath while the Mad God examined him like a new toy, speaking nonsensical things.
"Oh, you got those fluffy toe things from your mother! Those were just adorable." At some point, Sheogorath had deigned to remove the Khajiit's shoes for a look at his feet-for reasons said Khajiit refused to ponder. "Okay, I've seen enough to be able to tell you apart from other mortals. For a while. Since you want to go off on adventure on your own, I'll go take my vacation alone. Try not to get eaten alive before the paralysis wears off."
And like that, he was alone again. Mohamara didn't put much stock into much of what Sheogorath had said-it was likely purposefully misleading or designed to drive him mad if he thought about it too much. After all, only the Lady was kind enough to make her intentions and desires known plainly to mortals. Most other Daedra worshippers had to speculate as to what their gods wanted.
Over time, the paralysis effect from the netch's innards began to wear off. But during the wait, Mohamara had no choice but to look at the scenery. By how far away the mountains to the south were, he should have been lying in a Rorikstead suburb. Instead, there were plains. The only plains he'd seen were the lands set aside for the native giants to herd mammoths on-both were critically endangered species.
His tail was the first thing that became able to move, and it began to weakly flick about from his lingering irritation. That all stopped when his large ears picked up ever-so-soft footsteps approaching. Way too heavy to be a person. Too light to be a wild horse. A rumbling growl Mohamara could feel rattle his bones sounded from the approaching animal. He'd never heard the sound before, but it awoke in him the need to be quiet and not move. The paralysis helped him stay still, and play dead from the approaching animal. All he could do was hope it wasn't a scavenger.
Suddenly a pain in his tail shot up his spine, along with a sickening crunch. Mohamara had broken his thigh bone as a teenager, and the pain he experienced from his tail trumped that by several magnitudes of order. Even though he couldn't move his jaw yet, he cried out from the sharp agony. Actual crying occurred as well. These seemed to startle whatever creature had snuck up on him and sent it bounding off.
Every time his tail moved, it produced a new stabbing pain, so he stopped moving it. The paralysis worked its way out of his limbs first-starting with fingers and toes then moving inward. By the time Mohamara could move enough to get up from his prone position, he was starting to feel a chill. The reason why became clear-his tail was less than half the limb it used to be, ending in a bloody mess about a third of the way down. There was a lot of blood pooled around the wound. Thankfully, it was downhill from him so it hadn't gotten onto his clothes. Already they were stained and damp from the jelly of the netch he had landed on, but the paralysis effect seemed to be inactive.
With the limited self-healing he knew, Mohamara stopped the bleeding and mourned the loss of his tail. It was painful, and he hoped that whatever had bitten him choked to death on the tail, but not a terrible loss. Walking would be a pain, and his balance would be shot to hell, but a prescription of regeneration meds or an hour in a regenerator would see the tail restored.
Government provided healthcare was great for things like that.
Sure enough, when he got up to walk-after first putting his shoes back on-he was unsteady and stumbled often. "Damn animal, hope it gets rotten teeth," he muttered after tripping on the rocky plains for the twelfth time in a row. The only landmark he knew in the area was the mountains-directly north of Lake Ilinalta, where he hoped the town of Lakeview would be. "Okay, review what we know. Sheogorath is mad. And decided to fuck with me because he's mad. Jumped out of a moving ferry, almost fell to my death. Note to self: Don't do that again."
As he got over a hill, slowly and with many fumbles in the attempt, he saw a strange sight. A mammoth, huge wooly elephantine creature with two sets of tusks covered in wounds and looking to be on its last legs, surrounded by a few quadrupedal animals with thick yellow fur and pronounced fangs-sabre cats. He'd seen them in the Whiterun natural history museum… because the species native to the plains of Whiterun had gone extinct in the Tenth Era.
Which meant that Sheogorath had taken him on 'vacation' to Skyrim's ancient past. However, that was to be considered later, when he got far away from the predatory cat he had no idea the abilities of beyond taking down a mammoth in groups.
"Lake Ilinalta is to the south over those mountains… means I'm heading west. Oh Lady above, let this be a time after Dushnikh Yal exists." The traveling was getting worse, as he had to go uphill and climb over rocks, which his shot balance made for a stumbling, unpleasant affair. The situation was made all the more unpleasant when he started seeing a minor mountain range he had no memory of in the direction he planned to go, which meant going further south and closer to the not-so-extinct sabre cats.
The sight of another person, hopefully not a Daedra in disguise, got the Khajiit moving. In time, he could tell it was an Orc man, which made him hopeful that Dushnikh Yal was in fact in the area and he could make progress on escaping the Mad God's vacation.
The Orc man reeked of the smell of booze. Mohamara could tell the moment the wind shifted to put him downwind. Already, the Khajiit was leery of approaching further, but the Orc had started toward him by then. It became clearer that the man was armed, brandishing a spiked club of some sort-Mohamara didn't know weapons the way Yagraz did. Seeing a normal Orc always made him realize how much taller than average Yagraz was. She stood as tall as a High Elf, but the Orc man was easily half a head shorter than her.
"Hey… you, kid," the Orc declared once he and Mohamara were close enough for the Mer's liking. "Hand over your gold." A bandit, Mohamara realized after trying to parse why a set of leather armor such as the Orc was wearing was even considered acceptable. Yagraz would have torn into the design for how ineffective it was, but to Mohamara it just looked drafty, ugly, and unpleasant.
"I… have no gold?" The Khajiit held his jacket slightly tighter to himself while he tried to parse the Orc calling him a kid. It wasn't uncommon for people to see a tojay Khajiit and think them to be a cathay child, but the facial structure difference and fear of being racist usually kept them quiet about it.
"You look like a rich brat, cat, think I'm gonna," the Orc paused in his disbelief to force himself back from throwing up, and then spoke again. "You think I'm gonna buy that you ain't got gold?"
Mohamara shrugged, and turned out his pockets for the Orc, keeping his slate carefully hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket.
"See? No gold. Now can you just point me to Dushnikh Yal?" Without his wallet, he couldn't even have given the Orc paper currency, which he doubted had been invented yet.
The development of not having gold drove the Orc into a rage, prompting him to lunge forward to Mohamara's surprise. On a better day, he could have danced circles around a drunk of any race. But with his tail amputated and every leg movement producing stabbing pain, such was not the case.
The Orc's hand was easily big enough to wrap around Mohamara's entire neck, from jaw to clavicle, and almost lift him off the ground even when drunk. "So you ain't got gold, but I know a few rich man's kids that'd like them fancy clothes." The Khajiit's ears went flat against his head while he processed what the Orc was getting at, and regretted that he'd been declawed as a child.
Five minutes later, the Khajiit was on his way again, going purposefully as south as he could, in only his skivvies. Fortunately, there was little wind, so he was not constantly reminded of how cold it could be in Skyrim, even in the more pleasant regions. "Maybe Malacath will set trolls on him for robbing a 'kid'," the near-naked Mohamara muttered to himself while trying to avoid sharp rocks There were still no roads in sight, and he was almost glad for that. It wasn't going to be pleasant walking to civilization without clothes.
"One hour in the past, and already naked and missing my tail. Some 'vacation' Sheogo-rath!" Mohamara had, in another instance of talking to himself, taken his eyes off where he was walking to make air quotes and give the sky an unamused expression. And in that precise moment, he stepped into a bear trap, which snapped down around his leg.
The pain wasn't as bad as when his tail had been bitten off, nor as bad as when he'd broken his thigh bone, but it was still debilitating-and unlike the other two injuries it produced an alarming degree of blood loss. Every curse word Mohamara had ever heard in his entire life, and some he made up on the spot, was screamed at the top of his lungs in the immediate aftermath.
It was very clear from the first attempt at getting free that he was not strong enough to pry the fanged jaws of the trap open enough to escape. Thankfully, shock quickly set in and numbed the pain enough for him to examine the situation. "So this is how I die," he realized. "Not to a mad Daedra, or falling two hundred feet-but naked, in the wilderness, trapped like an animal." He stood there and realized another horrible fact to his horror that tipped the scales and drove him into full on crying while he slumped forward in defeat. "That screaming Dunmer witch in 7-H was right!"
The most he could do to actually do about the situation was attempt to keep himself alive with self-healing. But with him constantly bleeding from the bear trap, a novice spell wasn't going to cut it forever - and in his mind, it would just make it more likely that something would find him to eat him alive.
But the alternative was to do nothing. And if he died doing nothing to try and save himself, then what would his Lady say to him in her Colored Rooms? So, lamenting that he didn't study Restoration or Alteration more in secondary school, he kept up a consistent flow of weak healing into his injury.
Large Khajiit ears picked up the creaking of wheels and sound of horses not too far away. Mohamara had been near a road after all. He pondered the value of calling for help when he had no idea the time period or who the travelers were. Perhaps they'd help rather than laugh at his situation. But he had to consider: This was the Reach, unsafe even in Mohamara's time. Who would believe a voice calling out for help away from the road, when there were fucking bear traps potentially in the grass?
But if he didn't call for help, the alternative was to do nothing. He could recall a couple parables from growing up in the Kilkreath temple about the devout not accepting the Lady's help because they did not think she had sent any.
"H-hey! Help! Please, I'm stuck in a trap!" Mohamara heard no voices, call out, but the creaking of wagon wheels stopped, but the sound of horses continued. Whoever was on the road had definitely stopped, and in a moment he heard two sets of footsteps crunching on the grass.
Over the hill stepped two tall-legged people, and for the first time since falling out of the ferry, Mohamara felt relief. They were both Khajiit, a man, and woman. The man significantly older than the woman and dressed in fine quilted clothes. While the woman sported armor of steel and fur in equal measure. They were both easily two feet taller than Mohamara, and from their tufted ears and speckled furs, he guessed them to be cathay.
They did not approach quickly. Instead, they scanned the surroundings with keen eyes, ears, and better height before they advanced.
"Um. Hey! Thanks for not… shooting me?" Mohamara didn't see any arrows on them, but he couldn't ignore the possibility that the droopy-faced elder cathay was a mage who could have ice spiked him from a distance.
"A tojay? So far from Elsweyr?" The more brown-colored cathay woman asked the man in a hushed tone but was quickly shushed by the finely dressed Khajiit. She had a pronounced accent, Mohamara noticed but did not have time to speculate as the pain from his trapped leg began to steadily grow. The numbing effect of shock was about to pass.
"Ja'khajiit, this one thinks you require assistance." The cathay man stopped six feet away from Mohamara and the woman joined him in holding position. "You appear to be stuck in a Forsworn trap for wayward travelers."
"Y-yeah, and it… hurts about as much as it looks." Mohamara took a moment to slow down his breathing. Yagraz would have been chiding him over how little tolerance for pain Mohamara had but she wasn't there. None of this would have happened if she had been present. "H-help?"
The cathay watched Mohamara struggle to heal his injury, then looked around him again, before nodding to the armored woman. "Go get a blanket from the wagon, and tell Atahbah to get all the healing supplies no one's bought yet out." The armored Khajiit nodded and trotted off back down the hill, while the elder remained behind and cautiously approached. "The omen from Skooma Cat said we would find something interesting today, and here is a tojay far too far from home for this one's liking." Mohamara half expected him to crouch down to meet his gaze equally, but the cathay kept standing while talking. "I look forward to you telling this one why you are here, what happened to your clothes, and why you are missing your tail. But for now, Khajiit needs you to stop that healing, and get ready for when Khayla comes back to open the trap."
Hesitant to trust a stranger, even one who offered help, Mohamara stopped his healing and tried to stand up fully despite the pain in his legs and tail. "It's going to hurt even more once it's off, isn't it?" Without speaking, the elder Khajiit nodded, ponderously slow. Mohamara then rewrote history by being the first person to use an expletive that otherwise would not have been heard until the Eighth Era, in High Rock.
If you're curious, a tojay Khajiit resembles a cross between an African Wildcat and a Sand Cat. Long limbs, red backed ears, and stripes of the wildcat, and facial structure, fur color, and fur thickness of the Sand Cat.