Author's note: I hope you enjoy my story. I write to cope with stress. I found this story to be very engaging and entertaining to write. Some parts had me laughing out loud as I wrote them. Other parts made me feel incredibly sad. But it might be different for you. Regardless, I believe this story might be a prequel to a fanfic series featuring Cicero and Cat. Also, if anyone is inspired to create artwork based on this story - I'd love to see it.
Summary:
Cicero meets a Wanderer who has very few memories from before she ended up in Skyrim (under mysterious circumstances). As he begins to fall in love with her, his loyalty toward the Night Mother wanes. Eventually, Cicero discovers something about his own past that changes his life forever.
This is a Cicero-heavy fanfiction. It crosses Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim with Fallout 4. This story takes place in both the Elder Scrolls and Fallout settings. The original female character is not the Dragonborn nor the Sole Survivor. She does, in a roundabout way, play a role as Listener. I had a lot of fun writing this. Some parts made me laugh, other parts were quite sad.
This is M-rated; it contains strong language, violence, and sex.
My other work, "The Chronicles of Madness" is a continuation of Cicero and Cat. The tone changes (past tense) and it is considered its own series. It is a bit more explicit than C.A.T.
I do not own any rights to Skyrim or Fallout.
The pointy eared bandit snatches up a hefty log of firewood, howling with amusement. Lifting the firewood high above his shoulder, he smashes the Night Mother's head clean from her rotted neck. His buddies throughout the camp erupt with laughter, whooping and shouting as they guzzle more ale. The spectacle appears to be done in some kind of choreographed, albeit drunken, unison.
"Wouldya look at that!" he exclaims, pointing at the ground. "Come here you old hag and gimme some head, eh?" He retrieves the Night Mother's head as it rolls across the frozen dirt. Holding the head in one hand, he wrestles with his pants using the opposite hand. Withdrawing his flaccid cock, the stumbling, chuckling bandit pisses right in her petrified mouth. He bursts into outrageous laughter as drool shoots from his cracked lips.
Cat winces. She knows it's just a corpse, but something about the whole ...thing... is unnerving. And these guys are obviously way too drunk. When they're done with the Night Mother – what do they plan to do to Cat? Shaking her head, she tries to wriggle free from the restraints around her wrists and ankles. Her black Converse shoes kick along the gray mud as her body awkwardly rolls backward. "Fuck," Cat grumbles under her breath. The bandits don't hear her.
If that freaky dude carting around the dead lady finds out what they're up to... Cat sits back up, peering through the crowd of inebriated criminals, inspecting the trees just in the distance. Is he out there? Freaky or not, she's hoping to see him. But who knows.
Those bandits really got the jump on her earlier in the evening. The wagon wheel had broken, so she and Cicero had no choice but to search for help. Unfortunately, this guy Loreius caused a big problem, prompting both Cat and Cicero to abandon the wagon. With a shake of her head, Cat frowns at the memory.
It wasn't long ago when she met Cicero. It had maybe been a day or three. She lost count. That's likely not accurate. Cat struggles to keep track of the days because they all had such weird ass names. Turdas? Really? Come on, now. Cicero was traveling with this corpse – the same one that the bandits stole. The same one that the bandits are now pissing on and dry humping. Cat shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the god awful sight she's seeing. Holy shit. Delightful. This cannot end well.
Cat doesn't understand much about what the hell is going on around her, and that is an understatement. But one thing is for certain – she knows the jester is obsessed with the dead woman. On the road, he would wave his daggers, screaming and manically laughing, at the passing children who reached out to inspect the obscure, large object hanging from the back of his cart.
Cat was shocked Cicero abandoned the cart to go toe-to-toe with Loreius. But that farmer was in no mood to help either of them, and Cicero must have been desperate to get his wheel fixed. One thing is for sure – Cat wouldn't forget the terrified look on Curwe's face when Cicero threateningly held a blade to her throat. Poor woman. After the jester had "convinced" the farmer to fix the wheel, they went outside only to discover a missing horse and a missing sarcophagus. Cicero erupted into a frenzied rage, slashing at Loreius who, Cicero screamed, was at fault for the theft and of no further use to him.
He failed to kill the farmer, but Cicero sliced him deep across the chest. Curwe screamed in the farmhouse doorway, watching the spectacle. Cat bolted. She had to get the fuck out of there, away from those people. Cicero screamed after her, and she wasn't entirely sure by his crazed tone if he was angrily chasing after her or what. Regardless, Cat ran and ran, wondering if the jester was following close behind. Each time Cat checked over her shoulder, there was nothing around but the empty dirt path, eerily still with the spread of late evening shadows.
Then the bandits found her.
As it turns out, it's the same crew that stole the horse and the corpse. With a front row seat, Cat's watching their late night antics as she pulls the hood of her red sweatshirt over her black, half-shaved, half-outgrown hair. The piercings along her ears snag a bit on the red cotton and so she adjusts the material around her head. Her hands move awkwardly, given the restraints, but she manages.
"...the fuck am I gonna do..." she mumbles.
This whole shit show started with Cat asking Cicero for a ride. At the time, she was exhausted and out of breath, not thinking clearly. Cat had been running for so long. She needed to get to safety. Running is pretty much the only thing she knows how to do.
Cicero eagerly obliged, calling her "Wanderer" within seconds of their introduction. He called her Wanderer over and over again, no matter how many times Cat reminded the guy of her real name. But it didn't matter. Wanderer, Wanderer, Wanderer. Wanderer. Christ. That was her new name forever and always. Tattoo it across her head.
As they rode along the dirt path, headed toward a city called Whiterun, the jester talked Cat's ear off about the Night Mother. That was the thing in the back of his cart. It was a dead body. An old dead woman who apparently killed her kids to sacrifice them to the dark lord Satan or something like that. Cat had no idea. It... it wasn't Satan. It was some other dark lord. But yeah... wow. At that moment, she realized she was hitchhiking in one royally fucked up place.
Everything, up to this point, had been surreal. A dream? A nightmare? One minute, Cat was half-watching her younger sister play a video game, half-thumbing through her quasi-burnt copy of Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor. Then – whoosh! She found herself here! It was all such a shock to her system that Cat could barely remember much before that. Soon, she found herself running, screaming, trying to dodge crazy shit as it flew overhead. She thought the bombs were falling. But no. That sound. She heard that awful sound. It was the sound of a massive, horrifying animal – like a Deathclaw zooming overhead. It sliced through the trees overhead, crying out with rage, shaking the very ground. When Cat looked up, she saw it – a fucking giant flying lizard, spitting out horrible noises coupled with fiery blasts, burning the trees outlining Cat's path to escape.
She got away. She ran until her sides split. Huffing and puffing, her legs carried her for what felt like an hour. Maybe two hours. She couldn't keep going, and that was when she spotted the cart, navigated by the strange man dressed like a mime or something. A really loud, crazy, boisterous, out-of-his-fucking-mind mime. Yeah. One of, uh, those kinds of mimes.
And now, Cat sits captive, watching these assholes amuse themselves with a dead woman. At least they're amused with the corpse and not with Cat, she thinks, but Cat reassures herself too soon. Sure enough, she spies one of the drunkards approaching her, stumbling along with an intoxicated gait. He smiles, revealing a partially toothless grin. Cat swallows a shudder, grimacing at the notion of whatever sick thoughts might be entering this guy's mind.
"I've gotsh shomething for you, lovely," he slurs. The bandit holds up a small, pointy object. Cat tilts her head, squinting to get a look at it. It looks like a finger. An old, rotten finger. "Took it from that long-dead elf. One last thing to remember the ol' bitch by!" His eyes squeeze shut as his toothless grin widens to a laugh.
"What do you mean, one last thing–" Cat's words fall short as she watches three bandits lift the headless Night Mother above them and toss her entire body onto the campfire. The flames engulf the embalmed remains, violently wrapping around the Night Mother like arms, hugging and tearing away at what was left of her preserved flesh and bone. The Night Mother's body glows orange, then crumbles to dust within minutes.
"Oh god, what the hell are you doing?!" Cat shouts.
"Brilliant!" hollers the bandit holding the Night Mother's finger. "Burn the bitch!" He turns his loopy gaze back to Cat. "Eat this!" he yells, pushing her flat to the ground. "It'll be good for a laugh!" he chuckles.
"Wait, what the hell are you doing?!" Cat shouts the same question again, which ends up being an unfortunate choice. Her open mouth gives the bandit a prime opportunity to shove the dead finger straight down her throat.
"Eat up!" he laughs. "Does a body good!" He covers her mouth with a grimy hand, refusing to let Cat spit it out.
She gags as she feels the finger's bone scrape its way past her soft palate. Her throat muscles involuntarily flex, pushing the thing further downward. Cat hopes for another gag reflex to vomit it up, but to no avail. The Night Mother's finger is now swirling in her belly.
"You look a little pale, lovely!" the bandit stands and rejoins his comrades, laughing and kicking up the dusty remains of the Night Mother.