Alternate Title: An Alfiq's Charm
Author's Note: Rated M for occasional swearing, mild violence, and references to substances, but is overall pretty tame. This story follows and references the lore of the Elder Scrolls Universe as a whole, but the leveling system used is based on Morrowind.
Chapter 1 has been re-uploaded with minor, grammatical, and formatting changes. Cross posted on AO3.
To those who like to leave reviews, I am very open to constructive criticism. My writing style tends to be imagery focused, and I try to be a stickler for grammar. But, I'm new to writing fight scenes, and dialogue isn't really my strong suit. Please let me know how I can improve. Much appreciated. Enjoy the story.
Chapter 1: Khajiit On the Streets
The coarse ground beneath his sprawling body felt cold as stone. A far cry from the sweet, warm desert sands of Elsweyr. Za'ir-jo stretched his furry limbs, and with a deep yawn, he took an involuntary whiff of the thick, musty air engulfing the concrete jungle that lay beneath the soaring, urban skyline.
In a flash, his hooded, green eyes jerked open, and the fur on his arched back stood like needles as he coughed out the alien stench bombarding his throat—a stagnant mix of smoke, piss, and what he could only describe as the smell combusting Dwarven oil after being overheated in a calcinator.
Still coughing and dizzy from his torpor, the Khajiit staggered onto his four, tiny paws as his ears rang with what sounded like a distant cacophony of Nordic war horns blaring from all directions. His eyelids fluttered, adjusting his Eye of Night to the darkness that hung over what appeared to be an alleyway.
Tin barrels, overflowing in rancid filth, leaned against the reddish brick walls encroaching over on his small, feline figure. Crude lines and unfamiliar glyphs were plastered all over these walls, overlapping one another in a clashing array of vibrant colors tainted in dirt.
He had seen this place before, but he had never basked in its chaotic sounds and smells, nor felt its damp, icy concrete beneath his paws as he had at that moment. Za'ir-jo felt chest welling up with the heat of excitement. It was much too vivid to not be real.
He had finally set foot in that place. That realm. That temptation that Varmiina, haunter of dreams, had been dangling over his sleeping head like a piece of moon-candy for what must have the past several years. The Khajiit's feline senses tingled with a mix of apprehension and exhilaration. His experiment had been successful.
Then, Za'ir-jo noticed at least three, maybe five, sets of luminous eyes blinking in the shadows, all fixated on him. He approached with caution.
Blessings of the moons upon you, friends, he meant to say.
But his voice just escaped as a slew incoherent mews. Za'ir-jo failed to notice his altered speech, and the shadows returned his greetings with hisses and glints of small, white fangs.
Then, three haggard figures emerged from a stack of musty paper crates. Their shadows cast by the dim, alien streetlights against the towering walls appeared as large and as fierce as the Senche-raht tiger warriors that hailed from his home. But the shadows gave their form too much flattery, as the scabby, disheveled creatures slinking from their shoddy lair were not much bigger than Za'ir-jo, himself. Those eyes and teeth were not those of his fellow Khajiit, but those of common housecats. Feral ones.
Za'ir-jo must have unwittingly crossed into their territory. They circled him, hissing like snakes, with their eyes glowing in the darkness and their tails twitching with anticipation.
One of the scraggly beasts lunged at him from his left flank, but the usually-agile Khajiit failed to dodge, still recovering from his vertigo. He felt the sting of a claw digging deep into his hind leg and yowled in pain like a kitten.
With his head still spinning, the Khajiit shakily jumped backward in a quick retreat. Tilting his ears toward the back of his skull, he bared his fangs at his assailants, ready to fight back.
Although he was built like one of them, mere housecats were no match for a mighty Alfiq wizard like Za'ir-jo.
The Khajiit focused his magicka to summon a fireball between his eyes, getting ready to launch it at the feral one who dared lay its claws on him. But the flames failed to manifest as more than a tiny flicker.
Taking advantage of the opening, a wily tomcat jumped at the Khajiit from his side, mid-incantation. Za'ir-jo dodged in time, and the tomcat's teeth barely grazed the fur on his neck.
「 UNARMORED 16 」
A mysterious string of oddly familiar symbols appeared in the corner of Za'ir-jo's vision, but he ignored it in the heat of the moment.
The Khajiit fled towards higher ground, and the feral cats ran after him. Using one of the nearby barrels, he boosted himself atop the roof of what looked like a stout, metal garbage-shed to gain some distance.
「 ACROBATICS 46 」
The figment of symbols flashed in his peripheral view, once more, finally catching Za'ir-jo's attention. It was a of series of hooked and curly letters, all strung together by a crisp, horizontal line. He recognized the script as his native tongue, Ta'agra, but didn't quite catch what it read as the words quickly faded away.
Za'ir-jo kicked the sight of the words to the back of his mind. The feral ones had gained on him, bringing reinforcements, and he had little time to think.
The Khajiit attempted another spell. As the tingling static built up on the pads of his front paws, he began charging his attack, preparing to unleash a bolt of lightning. Arcane sparks of energy crackled in purple flashes from the pads of his paws, then spiraled along the dark gray stripes on his front legs like crawling vines, raising each little hair in its path, until the build-up of sparks reached his shoulders and neck, where the furs on his scruff stood up, and his muscles tensed as the energy gathered. Za'ir-jo braced himself for the release. And then—
… Nothing.
The magic dissipated as thin static in the air. Something was off. Admittedly, Za'ir-Jo had no talent in the arcane school of Destruction, but he had never been that utterly inept. It was as if his arcane mastery had been reset to the skill levels of a novice.
This spelled danger for the Khajiit. The feral cats were a mere obstacle, but if his magic was truly rendered unusable in this realm, that meant he had no way home. Lest he be satisfied with the life of a housecat in another world for his remaining years.
Dark moons, forbid it.
Za'ir-jo sensed a creature as big as an Alfiq-raht, nearly twice his size, breach his position atop the shed.
He was cornered.
The Khajiit desperately scanned the area for an escape route, his mind racing for a way to fend off the feral beasts. He was no fighter, and his minuscule frame could attest to it. Unlike his brothers and sisters of a larger furstock—different breeds of Khajiit, the Alfiq mage had never been trained in the martial art of Claw-Dances. He wasn't averse to putting his claws to good use, but he was outnumbered and backed into a wall. The feral ones did not back off, and he had no opening to flee.
With its jaws wide open, the big one jumped at the Khajiit from the edge of the shed, but his quick reflexes dodged the blow. The feral one quickly got back on its feet to lunge at Za'ir-jo, and he instinctively avoided the attack, once more. Swooping from under the feral one's legs, the Khajiit countered with a double-claw strike from above.
「 HAND-TO-HAND 21 」
This time, the string of text went completely over Za'ir-Jo's head in the middle of his exhilarated trance. His legs burned, and his ears pounded in the rush of adrenaline. Za'ir-jo let out a feral hiss at his attacker, pouncing at him and knocking them both off the shed, landing in a circle of alley cats, ready to spring forward with their dirty claws.
Channeling his magicka, the Khajiit tried to cast a steadfast ward to shield himself from the oncoming attack. Instead, the forcefield came and went in a matter of milliseconds, knocking his attackers away in a sudden burst. Most of them staggered, and Za'ir-jo gracefully cantered down the path he'd opened.
「 ALTERATION 36 」
With the distance he'd gained, Za'ir-jo took the chance to cast another spell. Casting a strong aura of calm should prevent the feral ones from chasing him down. The Khajiit waved bushy his tail in a circle, leaving a trail of faint, turquoise light glowing in its path. Another wave of his tail, and the light glowed brighter and brighter, until—
~ Poof! ~
The magic dissipated into shadow, and Za'ir-Jo was hit with a wave of mental exhaustion accompanied by a telltale pounding ache behind his eyeballs. The aura has failed to cast, as the round of feral eyes menacingly stared him down.
Ziss! Out of magicka? He thought, as the feral cats closed the gap between their tails.
Without time to think, the Khajiit fled in no particular direction, finding himself in what seemed like a narrow passageway, squeezed between an amalgam of brick towers and a tall, otherworldly fence built of woven steel, resembling a fishing net. The hulking walls spiraled all around the Khajiit, his headache pounding to the rate of his heartbeat as he kept running, until his pursuers lost his tracks.
Then, a myriad of low, mechanical rumbles echoed in the air, which grew thicker with smog. The Khajiit had stumbled into the middle of what seemed to be a busy road, resembling a vast river of smooth, black stone and swarming with massive, armored beasts that had thick, leathery wheels for legs and a pair of glowing eyes on both their front and rear ends.
Despite their size, the armored beasts gracefully darted past each other in great speeds, up and down the winding black stream. Za'ir-jo's heart, already racing from the chase, skipped another beat at the thought of being so up-close among the herd of these magnificent creatures. He could feel the gusts of wind against his fur as he took in the mesmerizing sight, his eyes tracking the flurry of bright lights buzzing around the pitch dark street.
Suddenly, a horn blared into Za'ir-jo's ears as one the wheeled behemoths swerved into a screeching halt, breaking the Khajiit's trance. Its wheel had stopped mere inches before his tiny, pink nose, giving off an unfamiliar scent akin to burning alchemical tar. Za'ir-jo froze, in both fear and awe, savoring the sight of the soot-stained bowels of the beast looming over his head like a Dwemer construct. The odor of burning Dwarven oil invaded his senses as gray smoke filled the recesses beneath the creature's bowels.
"Get off the road, you stupid fucking cat!" A voice yelled from within the armored beast as a hairless fist shook at the Khajiit, followed by a slew its steed's horn-like cries. The voice spoke in an unfamiliar tongue, yet the Khajiit somehow understood the words in his mind.
As he came to his senses, Za'ir-jo retreated to a grassy patch on the side of the road. The Khajiit noticed the hairless faces, like those of men and mer, contained in the windowed compartment built into the behemoth's steel armor. He scoffed at the hairless one's insults, casting a very mild poison cloud behind the glass windows, with a magical flick of his tail.
"God! Bro, at least give me a fair warning before you rip out a big one!"
"Wasn't me, I swear!" Za'ir-jo heard the men's muffled voices and coughs from behind the glass as the wheeled behemoth skidded away.
Enjoy the outhouse, jetwijiri, the Khajiit sneered at the shaven-skinned men.
It seemed that even in that world, the Alfiq were derided as lowly, unintelligent housecats. Za'ir-jo figured he must keep a low profile, lest the locals would ask too many questions.
As the creature that nearly trampled him disappeared from sight, Za'ir-jo continued to observe the oncoming herd of behemoths rolling down the road. They came in different shapes and sizes. Most were sleek, and some were boxy. Some were larger than the others, even twice as large. There was even one that resembled a horse, but with one large, glowing eye at the center of its head and two wheels for legs. Its rider sported a dark, leather tunic and a round helmet forged with alien material. Each beast was clad in iridescent steel that reflected glints of light in various colors, equipped with large compartments on their backs that carried up to four to six men. It finally made sense to the Khajiit, who was unable to sense the creatures' life-force, or even their riders' magicka. They were no armored creatures. They were merely wagons, drawn with neither beasts of burden, nor any magic spells. They were automatons.
A giddy smile crept from whisker-to-whisker on the Khajiit's face, resembling that of the Mad-Cat, Sheggorath, himself. It really was just like what Za'ir-jo saw in his dreams. He couldn't believe his luck as he marveled at the enchanting spectacle of that world's technology.
As the adrenaline died down, the burning sensation on Za'ir jo's left flank called to his attention. He examined his wound, fearing the risk of disease. Three deep claw marks swelled across the length of his thigh, caking his thick, gray fur in clots of crimson. Looking down at his body, Za'ir-jo had also finally realized that he was naked. An Alfiq's shame.
He needed to find a healer and, preferably, a tailor's shop. Then again, there was the obstacle of appearing as a common housecat to the locals. Unable to use magicka to heal his own wounds, he had no choice but to steal or scavenge something of use. Za'ir-jo lamented his inability to recall a single healing spell from the depths of his mind. In fact, he had never been attuned to the school of Restoration.
He was born a talented Illusionist and had mastered the craft, despite being unable to heal a scrape, disenchant a quill, or even summon a worm to save his life. The Khajiit had never denied that his Conjuration and Enchanting skills were just as abysmal as his Restoration skills, or lack thereof. However, out of necessity due to his size, he was well-trained in the schools of Alteration and Mysticism, primarily to use the power of his mind as a stand-in for opposable thumbs.
Perhaps Za'ir-jo could find an open-air market and borrow a page out of his Bandaari cousins' book—finders, keepers, as the old adage went. He could make away with some loose merchandise, but he wasn't sure if his telekinesis would be strong enough, after his recent struggles with spellcasting. Then again, his other encounters had just proven that his magic wasn't completely useless.
He chuckled at the thought of the rude shaven-skins rushing their automaton to the nearest outhouse.
Then, Za'ir-jo was struck with an idea as he set his sights on a nearby pebble on the ground. That was the key to test his magical abilities in that realm, once and for all. He kept his eyes on the pebble and channeled every ounce of focus he had on the little stone to lift it above his head, using only his mind.
The pebble clattered from side-to-side, dancing, as if entranced by the eyes of the Khajiit.
Steadily, he concentrated on the stone, which gradually dragged itself along an imaginary thread that hung plumb from the sky. Zai'r-jo found himself cross-eyed, staring at the pebble in front of his nose.
Za'ir-jo has done it!
The pebble hovered in mid-air, just above the pointy ends of Za'ir-jo's ears. But in mere seconds, it fell to the ground with a soft clink.
Ziss! He cursed, mentally.
The Khajiit's shoulders slumped, and his head pounded in exhaustion from casting such a minor spell. Baring his teeth, Za'ir-jo hissed in frustration at the damned pebble.
Then, a glowing string of text flashed before his line of sight, once again.
「 MYSTICISM 36 」
His keen eyes focused on the line of text, wondering where it came from. And in his concentration, a translucent screen of light resembling a sheet of parchment filled the center of his field of vision. Floating symbols neatly arranged themselves in an ethereal wall of text on its surface, spread like a sheet in a business ledger.
At the right side of the screen appeared to be a list of the schools of magic Za'ir-jo had studied over the years, along with a list of skills recognized by a number of guilds across Tamriel that the Khajiit were known for. Each name lay adjacent to a string of seemingly arbitrary numbers, all written in perfect Ta'agra.
Za'ir-jo's name appeared at the top of the sheet. Below it, the apparition presented another odd list. The Khajiit eyed the words quizzically.
「 LEVEL 1 」
「 RACE - HOUSECAT 」
「 CLASS - DREAMSTRIDER 」
Housecat? He repeated the word in his head, his ears perking up in disbelief and visible chagrin. Surely it must have been the work of the Skooma-Cat, Sheggorath. Za'ir-jo did not know of any other Spirits who could conjure up such visions and words before the eyes of Khajiit. But Dreamstrider implied Varmiina's possible involvement.
This better not be the Seventeenth Accord of Madness about to unfold! Za'ir-jo thought, trembling as he recalled the stories he had read in his youth. He did not want to end up like poor Darius Shano, an artist who received the gift of inspiration by Varmiina—or Vaermina to the hairless ones—then, tormented into insanity by Sheggorath—or Sheogorath, respectively.
In the end, Darius Shano lost his head. He had lost his mind to madness, then found his neck at the mercy of a headsman's axe. And it was all because of a wager between the Dark and Adversarial Spirits over the lives of helpless mortals.
Azurah, forgive Za'ir-jo, for Khajiit has strayed from The Path and fell to temptation.
He prayed, looking up to the moons for answers. Through the glassy screen, he saw the obnoxious wall of text obscuring the face of Secunda waxing over the complete darkness of Masser's new moon. The screen taunted him, and the phases of the moons were not in his favor. Za'ir-jo's nose flared as his cheeks tensed in frustration.
The Khajiit hissed and swiped his paws through the accursed screen hovering at his snout, but the apparition didn't leave his sight. Then, he noticed a detail at the bottom of the screen confirming what he had feared.
The screen had a name—
『 SHEGGORATH'S MIRROR 』
"Bwahahahaha!"
He could almost hear the disembodied, maniacal laughter of the Skooma-Cat in the depths of his mind. The Khajiit did not know if he should be afraid, baffled, or just ride out what was left of his excitement.
"Don't be afraid, little kitty," he imagined—no, he heard a gruff, upbeat voice mocking him amidst the sound of cackling. It was the unmistakable voice of the Mad-Cat.
"What you have here is a gift! A boon! A blessing, some might say. If you only bothered to read, you would have already known that! It says it right on the label! You do know how to read, don't you? It would be shame if a learned mage such as yourself didn't know how to read. Though on second thought, that's a splendid idea!"
"MREOOOOOOW!" Za'ir-jo yowled, clawing at at his own head. It really was the voice of Sheggorath. He really was going mad, and he had just realized that he had lost the ability to speak.
The Khajiit froze, covering his mouth with two front paws. His thoughts raced, fearing what could happen if the Skooma-Cat took away his literacy along with his speech.
S'rendarr, have mercy on this one, he prayed.
"Alright, alright," the voice in his head continued.
"No need to claw your brains out my furry friend. Though, that would be a fantastic sight. Brains on the walls—and throw in some entrails—with a side of cheese! Oh how fun, I should write that down for my next party. Anyway, I won't stick around in your head too long. It's way too crowded in here, and the thoughts are loud enough as they are! Don't you worry, though, my furry friend. I'll be there with you in spirit—on that screen! In your face! Or you could even call it an 'interface.' Ha! But, good luck trying to navigate it. It's not very user friendly. Ahem, best of luck on your adventure, blah, blah, blah. Oh, and I do mean best of luck. You're going to need it. Bwahahahaha!"
「 『YOU'RE GOING TO NEED IT』 (10 LUCK )」
As the newest string of symbols flashed in the corner of his eyes, the voice faded away among the echoes of disembodied laughter. The Khajiit was left staring, dumbfounded, at the interface of Sheggorath's Mirror. Reading through the attributes, it almost seemed as if Mad-Cat made sense.
He had received a power that let him visualize intangible attributes, such as his strength and intelligence, as visible points— assigned as numerical values. But Za'ir-jo knew he had to tread carefully. A gift from the Spirit of Madness should not be so easily trusted.
On the bottom right of the screen was a list of his known spells. Focusing on it with his eyes seemed to make the text appear bigger and closer, revealing more information. It seemed that minor twitches in his eye controlled the way the text moved through the screen, but it wasn't always consistent.
Looking at the numbers, Za'ir-jo concluded that the points assigned to each attribute and skill were part of some odd grading system. And based on the cost of each spell he had cast, his skills ranked absurdly low for his level of experience. If it had cost him all of his magicka to lift a pebble just a few inches off the ground for a few seconds, then his abilities truly did reset to those of a novice.
Ziss! He needed to come up with a plan.
With a wave of his tail, a faint turquoise light gleamed over the ends of his hairs. Za'ir-jo enveloped himself with an aura of calming presence. He took a deep breath in through his nose, then breathed out a deep sigh, feeling his pulse settle down to a comfortable pace while his pain temporarily subsided.
「 ILLUSION 36 」
The words flashed before his eyes. It seems that successfully casting spells improved his skills, just like when he was first learning how to control his magic as a kitten. As he watched the points increase, Za'ir-jo thought he could use it to his advantage.
As he analyzed the wall of text, he noticed a small cross at the corner of the screen. Za'ir-jo stared it curiously, with a mild twitch of his right eye, and the screen finally disappeared in a flash. He let out a sigh of relief.
Looking ahead at an intersection at the end of the street, Za'ir-jo noticed what seemed to be a tall, metal pole fitted with color-changing lights. With what's left of his slowly regenerating magicka, he focused his energy into a thin violet film over his oval eyes. Through his spell, Za'ir-jo detected the presence of a small crowd of bipedal figures walking along the side of the road near the intersection.
Following the crowd, Za'ir-jo found himself weaving through a sea of human feet clad in otherworldly fashion. It seemed there were no other Khajiit in this world, nor any variant of elves. No Orcs or Argonians, either. People that resembled Nords, Redguards, Imperials, Bretons, and possibly Akaviri, who had gone extinct back in Tamriel—Za'ir-jo had only seen their likeness in books— strolled up and down the walkways. Some were rushing, while others ambled in chatter, perusing the windows of shops lined up along the edge of the road.
Many avoided his gaze, but some paused to coo at him, much to his chagrin. Za'ir-jo quickly fled from such encounters. It was annoying enough as it was being mistaken for a housecat, but twice as embarrassing walking around the streets unclothed.
It was no different from when he travelled around Tamriel. It was no wonder the Alfiq rarely travelled outside of their home province of Elsweyr, as only their fellow Khajiit showed their furstock the respect they were due.
This time, the Khajiit thought it would be safer if he played along with the assumptions of the men. In a world without magic, beast races, or elves, there was nothing more suspicious than a housecat breaking the fabric of reality.
Za'ir-jo paused before the gaping, glass windowpane of what seemed to be a store. It was hazy with smudged handprints and plastered with large signs. Flowing, yellow symbols unfamiliar to the Khajiit, but similar to an Akaviri script he had once seen in an old scroll, stood out against its bright red background. There were various herbs, mushrooms, and seeds on display, all kept in small glass boxes stacked upon one another against the window, each kept with tiny yellowed papers, which he assumed were labels of the items' names. The Khajiit noticed a glass box full of pale, bead-like seeds that resembled water root pod pits and another one that contained mugwort seeds.
It was an apothecary shop. Za'ir-jo was saved.
As the wooden door to the shop creaked open, a little, brass bell tinkled from the corner of the entryway. The unmistakable aroma of dried herbs and reagents wafted through the mild breeze from inside as a pair of human feet descended the brick stoop.
The Khajiit followed his nose and ascended the steps to the half-open door, but he stopped at the threshold, reminding himself he wasn't in Elsweyr anymore. Looking up, he saw a balding, old man standing behind the counter, shooing the cat away with dismissive flicks of his bony wrist.
Though he was tempted by the cornucopia of earthy, herbal smells swirling through the door, the Khajiit turned around. He would not do business where he was not wanted. Za'ir-jo hurriedly descended the steps, and as he walked away, the clumsy human who had just left the shop nearly tripped on him.
To the Khajiit's surprise, the human apologized immediately, but then, unsurprisingly began to coo at him. It was a short-statured girl, built like a Breton, with a pale, round face and a curtain of raven black hair that fell to her nearly flat chest. Her robes were unusual, even for the humans of that world. She was clad like a witch in a ruffled, black dress with matching dark stockings. A large sack of purple canvas, embroidered with a crescent moon and the silhouette of a cat in light pink thread, was slung by a strap over one of her angled shoulders.
The Breton girl slightly bent down at her waist, offering an open hand to the Khajiit, as if beckoning. Her other arm held a brown paper bag that smelled of sage and dried fruit.
Za'ir-jo eyed her cautiously, then the girl squatted down to the ground and used her free arm to rummage in her sack. She took out what looked and smelled like a stick of cured, dried meat. It was covered in a clear, ripped-open film of an alien material, and appeared to be half-eaten.
"I know it's probably not the healthiest, but I figured you must be hungry. Right, little guy?" The Breton girl spoke with a flat, raspy voice.
"It's okay. I don't bite," she continued. "I hope you don't either."
This one tries to jest, even to a mere housecat, Za'ir-jo thought as he took a careful step towards her. As the sweet, pungent smell of the meat stick entered his nostrils, he felt an instinctive rumble in his stomach betray his better senses.
Fine. Za'ir-jo snatched the morsel with his teeth and swiftly fled, disappearing in the sea of pedestrians.
"Hey, wait!" He heard the girl call out from behind him, her voice filled with concern, likely from the sight of his wounds. But the Khajiit didn't want to take any chances.
At the dimly-lit edge of an alleyway, Za'ir-jo devoured the morsel, spitting out the slippery, clear film that covered the meat. It was mildly sweet, with a smoky, syrupy flavor, but extremely dry and salty. The Khajiit craved a sip of water, but drinking out the shallow puddles that pooled under the garbage barrels were out of the question.
If he left town, perhaps he could find a stream somewhere. But it seemed like such a large city, so finding a well would be more likely than a stream. But, he would have to improve his telekinesis well enough to fetch himself a drink, lest he fall in. The Khajiit recalled seeing unusual wells in his dreams, similar to a water pump, but much smaller, with steel and ceramic basins at the bases of their necks. From his visions, it appeared that they were found inside people's homes. Za'ir-jo had to find one of those wells.
Just then, the Khajiit noticed a scrawny man turn at the corner of the building before him. It was another Breton, this time a male, who strongly resembled the girl from the apothecary shop. He had the same round head, but with elven eyes sunken into his otherwise youthful face, with dark circles underneath. He had a pair of odd spectacles shaped like large squares that sat upon his button nose, so thick that it made his eyes appear to take up half of his face.
His pin-straight hair was styled in the fashion of Imperial monks, cut like a bowl with a crisp line just above his thick eyebrows. Unlike the girl, he was dressed in a similar fashion as his kinsmen in this realm. He wore a blue, hooded tunic with a large pocket at the front and dark trousers of a thick, linen-like material. His dirty, white shoes were of an alien material, covering his feet just below the ankles. Though he was almost dressed like one, Za'ir-jo could sense that he was no mage.
Letting his curiosity get the best of him, the Khajiit followed the man into the alley and saw him stare down at what seemed to be a tall, bulky cabinet on the wall. It was made of metal, painted black, with a series of small ventilation slits at the sides. Its front was of a bright orange alien material, save for the large window, which appeared to be made of glass. Behind the window, bottles of all different colors were lined up like in the shelves of a store. Za'ir-jo marveled at the new machine.
He watched the man push what seemed to be a button near the side of the cabinet. Then, the man took a handful of coins out of his pocket and inserted them at a slot next to the rows of buttons. Za'ir-jo watched as a metal arm rose from the bottom of the machine, still behind the window, and reached for a clear bottle near the top. It gently lifted the bottle down, then he heard a soft thud. The man bent down and stuck his hand in a slot near the bottom of the machine.
As he watched, Za'ir-jo smiled like the Mad-Cat in excitement. He had not yet seen such a construct in his dreams.
Then, the man pulled the bottle out of the slot. He twisted off its cap and brought the glass-like, alien bottle up to his lips for a drink.
Amazing, Za'ir-jo thought. The machine is like a merchant.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by another string of words floating at the corner of his field of vision.
「 POWER ADDED: 『AN ALFIQ'S CHARM』 」
He focused on the words.
「 『AN ALFIQ'S CHARM』 TEMPORARILY INCREASES THE TARGET'S DISPOSITION TOWARDS THE CASTER.」
Za'ir-Jo squinted at the lines that he had read. Then, Sheggorath's Mirror suddenly flashed away as he felt a strange energy gently pulse behind his ears.
The Khajiit looked at the man's sleepless eyes through his spectacles, and the man looked back.
He approached the Khajiit, and without a word, the man squatted down near his level. The weary Breton poured water from the bottle into the palm of his cupped hand and offered it to Za'ir-jo without hesitation.
Za'ir-jo cringed in annoyance. He did not want to face the indignity of drinking out of a human's hand, but he was thirsty. And this human had no qualms with approaching what appeared to be a feral housecat. The man simply maintained eye contact with the Khajiit, not uttering a word, nor looking away for even a second.
The Khajiit swallowed his pride, and he washed it down with a refreshing drink. The water was crisp and sweet, like from the springs back home in Pa'alatiin. Somehow, the people of that realm had managed to capture such essence in a bottle, transport it to a faraway city, and trade it for coin through a strange machine.
Before he noticed it, the Khajiit had drank all the water from the human's hand. If he were a shaven-skin, he would be visibly flushed in embarrassment. Slowly, he was unwittingly embracing the role of a housecat.
Za'ir-jo averted the scrawny Breton's gaze, but the human gently pet the back of his head before walking away. Oddly, the Khajiit didn't want to kill him as hard as he would have thought. After all, the Breton did save him from his thirst. But there was still the issue of his wounds, not to mention his nakedness.
The Khajiit winced as the effects of his calming spell wore off, mildly shivering to the wind against his fur. With the wind growing colder, he needed to find shelter, on top of his growing list of needs. Away from the prying eyes of humans, he cast another calming spell on himself to stave off the sharp, burning sensation on his hind leg. It did no good in terms of healing, but it was better than limping through the pain.
The bustling crowd began to die down as midnight approached. The occasional automaton passed by, cruising down the road every now and then, and the Khajiit had to weave through a dwindling number shoes kicking up dirt.
His legs were tired, and the cold began to nibble at his ears. Za'ir-jo crossed an empty road and found a vast expanse of concrete before him, like a plaza of sorts. There were two wagon-like automatons adjacent one another, resting in front of a one-story building. Its walls were not of the typical red brick of the city, but some kind of white plaster.
Large windows lined the front of the building, emitting sharp, white light from the inside. They were all covered in colorful posters with various images of food the Khajiit had never seen before—one looked like bread stuffed with grilled meat and vegetables, with yellow sticks piled up on its side. But, it was the familiar image of cake that caught Za'ir-jo's attention. He imagined how sweet the fluffy, cream-colored cake and its smooth, white frosting and colorful adornments would taste, wondering if it's just as delectable as the cakes back home in Elsweyr.
The tables and chairs of painted iron were set up near the walls, but no people were sitting outside. At the side of the building was a garbage shed, similar to what the Khajiit had found in the alleyway. He could smell the food piled up inside among the filth, but he would never consider eating out of the trash. Za'ir-jo would have to wait until he could beg—he meant, ask humans for more food.
The lights began to dim.
He stood by the door, but no people came, and the wind grew colder.
As this chapter comes to a close, let's have a look at Sheggorath's Mirror at this point in Za'ir-jo's adventure.
『 Za'ir-jo - Level 1 』
「 Race: Housecat 」
「 Class: Dreamstrider 」
「 Sign: The Serpent 」
「 Health: 70 Magicka: 100 Stamina: 70 」
『 Attributes 』
「 Strength: 30 」 「 Intelligence: 50 」
「 Willpower: 40 」 「 Agility: 50 」
「 Speed: 40 」 「 Endurance: 30
「 Personality: 40 」 「 Luck: 50 」
『 Major Skills 』
「 Illusion: 36 」 「 Alchemy: 35 」
「 Mysticism: 36」 「 Alteration: 36 」
「 Acrobatics: 46 」
『 Minor Skills 』
「 Unarmored: 16 」 「 Hand-to-Hand: 16 」
「 Sneak: 20 」 「 Destruction: 20 」
「 Speechcraft: 20 」
『 Active Effects 』
「 『 Stubborn Kitty 』 (10 Willpower) 」
[NEW] 「 『 You're Going To Need It 』 (10 Luck) 」
[NEW] 「 『 Cat Scratch Disease 』 (- 30 Health) 」
[NEW] 「 『 Susceptibility To Cold 』 (- 30 Stamina) 」
『 Powers 』
[NEW] 「 『 Sheggorath's Mirror 』 Allows the caster to visualize intangible attributes, skills, and effects as visible points. Can be used unlimited times. 」
[NEW] 「 『 An Alfiq's Charm 』 Temporarily increases the target's Disposition towards the caster. Can only be used once a day. 」
[Locked] 「 Varmiina's Cat Nap 」
[Locked] 「 The Serpent's Gambit 」
つづくTo be continued...