AN: Ello, mates! Well, got more of this for ya! :P
Oh, and by the way, if you don't like this story, don't read it. That simple. There have been a couple of people who have PMed me with petty insults and saying Khajiits are a horrible race, so I won't say names (**cough cough** haters **cough cough**), but please. If you're going to insult me, at least think up something that doesn't basically amount to 'You're stupid and Khajiits suck.'
Silverclaw
Helgen, Skyrim
It was mayhem. The dragon had a bony exterior, beige armor plating covering almost every inch of its lean, muscular body. Its length was longer than two of the homes in the town, it's wings as long as one. The dragon had evil, menacing red eyes that seemed to pierce the physical being and look into your soul.
"This must be a dream," the Nord said weakly, his breath taken from him and into the night sky. Silverclaw cuffed him in the ear playfully. "Did that hurt?" he asked, his tone indicating he already knew the answer as the Nord put a hand up to his ear and let out an annoyed grunt. "There. Not dreaming, as you can feel," finished the Khajiit, trying to mask the terror he was feeling at the prospect of a dragon.
"We've got to help them!" exclaimed the Breton. "I'm not sure how insane you are, but those Imperials were probably going to behead us," grunted Silverclaw. "Not the Imperial bastards! The innocents!" responded the Nord as if the Khajiit was deaf. "Fine… but only you two are going and I don't want you to die," Silverclaw pouted.
"First we need to enter," said the Breton. "Then follow me," replied the Nord, then bounded off. "Should we follow him?" asked Silverclaw. He received a cuff to the ear, and then the Breton ran off after the Nord. Silverclaw groaned melodramatically and dropped into a sprint on all fours. Khajiits, while still having more cognitive prowess, still continue the habits and traditions of original cats, such as licking themselves to wash, loving fish, and stay mostly solitary unless part of a clan or tribe.
Silverclaw leaped over a shrub, his powerful digitigrade legs giving him more than enough strength to clear the foliage without touching it. He landed on the dirt and picked up the scents of his acquaintances. "They're gonna kill me…" he half laughed, half muttered as he pounded against the gravel.
There was a path made of bits of stone that lead to a sort of cave, flanked on either side by vegetation. The cave itself had some frost forming on the edges, giving the Khajiit youngster the impression of cold. His fur bristled in discomfort at the thought of going into a cold, dank cave with nothing on but rags. Sure, he had fur, but it was incredibly short and didn't have the ability to fend off colder temperatures, a side effect of his race developing in the desert-like Elsweyr.
He then saw his Breton friend disappear into its depths, following the Nord. "Great…" he muttered, skidding around a corner and grimacing at how the rocks scratched his paws.
Going to need to make footwraps sooner or later.
He sprinted into the cave, his tail flicking with anxiety. "I hear paw steps. Khajiit, you with us?" asked the voice that belonged to the Nord. "No, it's just some random cat that happened to wander into the same cave as you," he snorted a response, standing up on his hind legs. "Very funny," snorted the Nord, Silverclaw's eyes adjusting to the dim light.
"Come on," gestured the Nord, running into the dark depts of the caves. "I'm starting to have second thoughts about this…" I heard the Breton mutter to himself. So was I, to be honest. Khajiits and dark, dank caves don't mix well. At all. Water. "Are you going to haul ass or am I going to have to drop-kick you into the cave myself," the Nord growled, noticing that we were hesitant to follow.
"We'll totally follow you into a dark, creepy, eerie cave that probably has trolls or skeletons or bears," the Khajiit muttered sardonically under his breath, his ears twitching. "Then drop-kicking it is," he heard the Nord conclude. "Alright, alright, we're going…" resolved the Breton, walking reluctantly after the Nord.
"Fine…" said the Khajiit petulantly, sprinting after the Nord after remembering that lives are at stake. "I said haul ass, not to trudge it," grunted the Nord, referencing the Breton. "I'll just go ahead," Silverclaw finished, dropping onto all fours. Before anyone could protest, he sprung into the cave like a horse.
XXX
He could hear the horrified screams of the people merely a few feet above him. It sent shivers down his spine, hearing the shrieks of children and then a sickening CRUNCH, implying that they had been eaten. While he was merciless at times, that didn't mean he didn't have a heart.
His culture valued life and preached that if a person means you no harm and causes no harm, there is no need to act upon any negative emotions. Basically, don't be a jerk to innocents. In wars the Khajiit had fought, they had made it a point to kill only those who would kill, and not any citizens who wished it all to be over.
That's why it was so mentally scarring to the young Khajiit apprentice. When he was an orphan, others acted with mercy and kindness, which he lived off of. The dragon, the one that Silverclaw assumed was causing all the trouble, had no such emotion.
All the more reason to get up there and slay its sorry ass.
He ran into a brick room. There were four beds, two on each side of the wall and all on raised platforms of stone. To the left of the farthest bed, there was a door imprinted with the word OFFICER on a sign that hung from the doorknob. There were footlockers at the foot of each bed, presumably containing supplies and weapons.
He curiously peered into one, wary of what it could contain. He thankfully found three minor healing potions and 43 coin, his tail curling up in satisfaction. He checked the on next to him and found merely a diary of sorts.
Might make for some interesting reading later on.
He quickly sifted through the two remaining chests, finding an old iron sword and some boots that were useless to him, due to them being made for humans and not the Khajiit or Argonians. He quickly decided to check in the officer's quarters to see if he couldn't find any sort of relevant protection.
"A helmet and chest plated would be best…" he mumbled thoughtfully to himself, peering in carefully in case the inhabitant was still there.
It was a small square room, a bed off to the right-hand corner with a desk right next to the door he had opened. The bed was flanked by a chest and bookcase, most of its content being military tactics and only a few were honest-to-god stories. Though, as Silverclaw noticed, they weren't exactly the most enthralling of what he had read in his life.
He shrugged and took a few, making sure to not grab military books. He checked in the chest and found a full set of iron armor, right there for the taking. He grimaced at the thought of putting it on, knowing that the heavy metal would slow him down and force him to fight more like a brute and not naturally. In fights, he usually relied on his speed to protect him, also wearing light armor that covered up pivotal parts of his body.
He knew better though, and reluctantly put on the armor, breaking the hide boots into straps to use for his paws. All in all, the armor felt heavy and bulky, much to Silverclaw's chagrin.
Time to whoop some dragon ass!
XXX
The scent of charred human flesh entered Silverclaw's nostrils, causing his tail and ears to twitch uncomfortably. He gripped his iron sword in his paw tighter, looking around. People were running and screaming. The citizens were trying to evacuate, a good chunk of them trying to help children. Soldiers, archers, and mages were standing their ground and trying to slay the beast, yet to no avail.
The dragon was swooping down, taking out combatants right and left. "What will it take to put this beast down!" Silverclaw heard someone scream. "Lots more than a blaze," he said to himself, sprinting into a ruined house. His tail twitched when it got dangerously close to a flame. "Not in a mood to barbecue myself," he grunted, crouching down behind a torn wooden panel.
Suddenly, a dead body flew over the top of the damaged wood, causing Silverclaw to jump from surprise. "Son of a-" he was about to curse until the wooden panel he was hiding behind crashed down, very nearly flattening him into a pastry.
Goddamn this armor… so freakin' heavy.
He quickly sprinted out of the house, only for a wall of flames to blocks his path. He skidded to a stop, having to fall down on all fours to stop from being flung into the fire and being roasted alive. To his left, there stood the dragon. It snorted flames out of it's nose.
The dragon shouted something that the Khajiit didn't quite catch, but a blue aura emanated from its mouth, making the young apprentice be flung backwards several feet. It was then that the full danger of this threat sunk in.
"Divines, please let my friends save me…"