Ok! So, Kazaka is alive once more, and he has Dar-Ma and her family in his clutches! Oh no!

Anyways, sorry for the big delay, I had school and I came down with something, so my update speed isn't whatit normally is. Anyways, I hope you guys (And I do sincerely hope more than one person is reading this) enjoy the story! And you'll just have to find out why it's called Padfoot!

And now, we return to our feature presentation...

Amori ran through the underground caverns. He was a newcomer to the world of advebturing, and it had been thouroughly proven to him now that two skeletal warriors were chasing him. He glanced over his shoulder; the skeletons were drawing closer, their bleached skulls gleaming in the light from his torch. Up ahead, he saw a large, square stone platform: an ancient Ayleid trap. He was familiar with this kind: the platform smashed into spikes on the ceiling when someone walked onto it before returining to its resting place in the floor. Frantically, he formulated a plan. He stopped, waiting until his bony pursuers had almost reached him, then sprinted onto the stone platform. The skeletons followed, and the platform began to rise at an amazing speed. The skeletons stopped in confusion, and Amori leaped off the side of the platform, rolling as he hit the ground. He heard a thunderous crash, and turned to see bonemeal filtering out of the gap between the now-raised platform and the stone ceiling of the ruins. He got up, and walked on, his torch casting flickering shadows on the walls. He came into a huge stone chamber. At its center was a pyramid-like structure, a set of stone stairs on each of its four sides. Cautiously, he made his way to the top of the pyramid. As he reached the platform on its top, he saw an ancient stone sarcophagus, gold inlaid into its surface. Its surface was covered in ancient Ayleid runes: runes which Amori couldn't read. Then, he noticed a large crystal on the top of the coffin: the legendary Great Welkynd Stone. Cautiously, he reached out to take the magical gem. He was about to grasp it when suddenly, the stone doors on each of the crypt's four walls slid shut, sealing off the chamber. The Varla Stone sank into the surface of the Sarcophagus, and the lid slid apart into four pieces, each sliding into the depths of the oval coffin. A withered corpse was revealed. Amori cautiously approached the body, and its eyes flicked open, glowing an icy blue. It rose out of the chamber, floating in the air horribly. In one hand it clutched an ancient staff. It was garbed in ancient, red, robes; now moth-eaten, but once fit for a king. On its head was perched an elaborate, golden crown. Amori cried out in pain as he heard a voice in his head, terrible and foreboding. "HOW DARE YOU DISTURB MY SLUMBER!" it screamed, multitoned and omniscient. "HOW DARE YOU DISTURB ME, THE LAST KING OF MISCARCAND?!" The Lich raised its arms, and four doors at the base of the pyramid slid open, releasing four Zombie Guardians into the chamber. A wave of blue energy pulsed outward from the Lich's body, and Amori cried out in fear and pain as he was flung off the edge of the pyramid structure. He looked down in horror at the zombies, their arms outstretched. A rotten finger brushed his face, and-

Amori sat bolt upright in his tent, panting. He touched his face, releaved when he found no traces of mortified flesh there. His body was lathered in sweat, and his pupils had contracted to near nonexistence. He shuddered at the terrible memory of the King of Miscarcand, the ancient Ayleid ruler who had nearly killed him. Suddenly, he felt a hand alight on his shoulder. He nearly drew his sword and attacked the hand's owner until he realized that it wasn't a zombified hand. He turned, and saw Soul-Swimmer lying beside him, a look of concern in her eyes. "Are you ok?" she asked, staring worriedly at her lover's gaunt face.

"I… I'm fine," replied Amori, his breathing returning to normal. "Just a dream, just a memory of a battle long past." Soul-Swimmer arched an eyebrow at him; it was obvious that his memory was not just any battle. He sighed, and began to elaborate. "It was three years ago, I had just recently been freed from the Imperial Prison by the Blades when they tried to save the emperor, Uriel Septim, from an assassin attack using an escape route that led through my cell. I was trying to make a name for myself as an adventurer, and decided to take on an Ayleid ruin. I don't know much about the ancient language, but I knew enough about the legends and stories to recognize the ruins as Miscarcand. I descended into the ruin's depths, battling and evading skeletons and zombies along the way. I was nearly killed by traps and monsters so many times that day, I'm surprised I still had any luck left for when I actually entered Oblivion!" Amori chuckled, the fear of the memory subsiding. "Anyways, I was running from a pair of skeletons, when I led them onto a trap and stumbled across an elaborate stone door. I went through the door, and entered an immense stone chamber known as Morimath. In the center was a tall stone pyramid, a stone staircase on each side. I climbed the pyramid, and found a sarcophagus at the top. On top of the sarcophagus was the Great Welkynd Stone. When I reached to take it, it sank into the sarcophagus, and a lich known as the King of Miscar-" Amori stopped, and leapt out of the bedroll. He ran to his desk, leaving Soul-Swimmer sitting, puzzled, in the bed, holding the covers up over her body. Amori swept his armor and equipment roughly off the desk, leaving it to clatter loudly on the ground. He stopped his rampaged search, and held up a crumpled piece of paper: the note Kazaka left. He uncrumpled the parchment, and read the clue that the evil Akaviri had left him to the location he was to be at in now three days time. I am hiding where the dead will never rest, and where their leader fell to your blade. He turned around slowly, grinning adventurously. "Where the dead will never rest, and where their leader fell to my blade!" Soul-Swimmer nodded, wondering what Amori was getting at. "I killed the Lich King of Miscarcand, ruler of the Ayleid dead!" He looked at the note in his hand: if looks could start items ablaze, the note would have burst into flames before his glare. "Kazaka is hiding in Miscarcand!"

Dar-Ma held her child close to her chest, wincing as the wrist irons chafed her wrists. She was one in a line of many prisoners: Khajiit, Argonians, and Altmer: all races hated by the Dunmer. Just in front of her was her husband, Dra-Shek, and behind her was a small group of Khajiit. The prisoners were bound together by a long chains running through loops on their manacles, so that if one of them tripped and fell, all of them would stumble. The group was a ragged bunch: about 50 or so worn people in the clothes they were wearing when they had been taken. Having been led around Cyyrodiil, and finally up to the ruins of Miscarcand, what had probably once been decent outfits were now torn, dirty rags. There, they had waited for two days, barely being given enough food to survive. She heard a cry, and turned to look behind her. The young Khajiit girl following directly behind her had tripped on a strip of cloth that had torn itself loose from her dress. Almost immediately, Dar-Ma felt the jerk on her wrists, and almost fell over. Taking advantage of the confusion, Dra-Shek turned around and hugged his wife. "Shhh," he said, holding a frightened Dar-Ma close to his body. "Everything's going to be fine." He released Dar-Ma from the embrace, and helped the frightened and weak Khajiit girl to her feet. He could see her ribs beneath her clothes, and as he helped her to her feet, could feel the hard bones in her fingers and arms. She had been starved even more than the rest of them; one of the other prisoners must have been taking her food. Dra-Shek looked over her shoulder at the muscular Khajiit following her. The dirty man was obviously a bandit, and he smirked at Dra-Shek. It was obvious that the dirt-encrusted Khajiit had been taking the girl's food, and probably wanted more as well. Dra-Shek shot him a glare that would shatter stone, and turned to face the girl. The skin on her face clung tightly to her bones, her cheeks thin and hollow. Her lips were parched, and her fur was ragged. Dra-Shek shuddered at the sight; she looked like she was already dead. "Are you alright?" he asked as she regained her footing, her back bent in a weak slouch, her arms crossed over her stomach.

"I'm okay," she replied hoarsely, her voice barely audible. The bandit hadn't just been taking her food, but had also been stealing her water. Dra-Shek pulled a small package out from a pocket in his armor, and handed it to the girl.

"Here," he said, "a rations package. It's not much, just a small pastry, but it's filled with dried meat, and in the center is an edible water-filled pouch." She looked up at him, Argonian had just given her some of his food and water: she had always been taught to hate Argonians.

"Sir, I couldn't…" she replied nervously. Dra-Shek nodded encouragingly, and she gave in. She grabbed the small package in his outstretched hand, and slowly unwrapped it as she felt the tug of the moving prisoners ahead of her on her manacles. She resumed the slow march into Miscarcand, and took a small bite of the pastry. As the crust broke beneath her teeth, she felt the moist pastry very nearly dissolve over her tongue. It had the taste of a baguette, and while to most this would seem mundane and ordinary, it was like a fine wine or meal to the starved Khajiit.

"What's your name?" whispered Dar-Ma from in front of her.

"Padfoot," replied the young Khajiit, savoring the pastry as she nibbled away. Her teeth pierced the layer of dried meat, and her eyes widened as the salty meat brushed her tongue. Padfoot shivered at the wave of flavor; she hadn't eaten in the past two days, and the jerky was like ambrosia to her. She nibbled the pastry away around the water-sack, savoring its flavor. Finally, only the water sack remained. She opened her mouth wide, and placed the entirety of the pouch on her tongue. She snapped her jaws shut, and let the water trickle down her throat as her teeth pierced the pouch. The water soothed her parched esophagus, and she let some of it trickle out of her mouth and lapped it across her dry lips with her pink tongue. As she finished her meal, she felt the line come to a halt. She looked past the line of prisoners, and saw a group of Brotherhood wizards placing locking spells around the edges of a large, square section of stone in the middle of the chamber. They motioned for a Dark Guardian, and nodded as the square section jerked slightly up and down, struggling against the spells, as the skeleton walked onto it. The line of prisoners began moving again, and cautiously, Padfoot stepped onto the hidden platform. It jerked up and down, but didn't fly into the ceiling like it was supposed to. Just as she reached the far end, however, the locking spells failed. Padfoot screamed, and the platform sped towards the ceiling, carrying her and about 10 other prisoners to their doom.

Dar-Ma was yanked off the ground by her wrists as the platform rose suddenly. The jostling woke her baby, who began to wail loudly. Dar-Ma put her feet against the stone wall, pushing herself up so that she could cradle her child more effectively. "Shhhh," she whispered into her son's ear. She gasped as blood began to ebb over the edges of the platform, and she realized, horrified, that Padfoot had been on that platform. She heard a call from below; it was Dra-Shek.

"DAR-MA!" he cried worriedly. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" She looked down at him, and nodded as the blood began to drip over her feet.

Padfoot screamed as the platform rose towards a downward-pointing spike filled hollow in the ceiling. She closed her eyes, waiting for the spikes to pierce her flesh. The platform stopped, and Padfoot opened her eyes. She screamed when she saw the bloody hand just a couple inches from her face. It belonged to the bandit. A spike was sticking into the top of his head, exiting his body between his legs. Blood trickled from his eyes and mouth, his face frozen in en expression of horror. Padfoot felt something wet and slimy at her feet. She looked down, and vomited: the bandit's intestines had slipped across the blood-slicked surface of the platform, and had become entangled with her feet. Slowly, the platform lowered, and the corpses of the other prisoners slid off of the spikes. They were all Khajiit: 4 males and 6 females, 2 of each children. The platform, now covered in blood, slid back into the ground, and the prisoners were ushered through a door and into a large hall. A hall called Morimath.

Ok, so Padfoot very nearly died, and witnessed the deaths of children! So pleasent... Anyways, the prisoners are being led into Morimath, the chamber in which the King of Miscarcand was fought! (I stumbled into Miscarcand at a very low level, and so I had to fight multiple headless zombies at around level 4-10!) What will happen next? Only time may tell...

The winds of time blow on, shifting the sands of reality into ever changing patterns.

-Baeowulf