Mo'aksa crouched low to the ground, obscuring himself in the dense brush of the Whiterun plains. He watched as a saber cat, no more than ten or so feet away, feasted on a freshly-killed elk, happily gnawing on the elk's hind legs. Mo'aksa slowly crept in, his ears folded defensively on the back of his head and tail raised slightly from the ground, creating a sort of counter-balance which allowed him to sink his torso further down. He readied the axe at his hip, a humble iron blade affixed to a wooden handle. All was still.

In a burst he leapt from the bushes and landed his axe at the base of the saber cat's skull, pulling the axe back towards him after it had made contact to cleanly sever the muscles in the beast's neck. The saber cat yelped and tried to run in the other direction before Mo'aksa had a chance to lift his blade again, drawing the edge further down along its shoulder. It fell to the ground only a few feet away, and Mo'aksa hurried after it to deliver the finishing blow. He jumped into the air, axe raised above his head, and then swung his weapon into the saber cat's neck, putting all of his body weight into the swing. The cat's head tore away from its body, almost completely severed.

"Look what you've done friend. How is Mo'aksa supposed to sell your pelt when it is stained with so much blood?" He leaned down and examined the saber cat's body, turning it over to see the initial cut he had made. "This won't do… you caused Mo'aksa to hit veins he did not mean to. Now he cannot sell your fur for as much as he wanted," he sighed. He had intended to sever the cat's head cleanly with the first blow, but as he expected, his axe was too short and his swing was too weak. Even his final blow was not enough to completely rend the beast's head from its shoulders. This was why he didn't like these precise jobs, they were really meant for archers who could kill an animal without risking much mess to the rest of its body. He had tried archery before, but he couldn't stand the waiting. No, he felt much more comfortable with his trusty hand axe at his side.

Not one to waste a kill, he began collecting whatever he could from the animal. Its eyes, fangs, and claws were all good to sell to alchemists, so he bottled them and stashed them away. Its fur, though cut in odd places and terribly stained, could perhaps still be worth something if he found the right buyer. The meat could be salted and stored for future consumption.

Mo'aksa brought these things with him to his camp out in eastern Whiterun, which consisted of a little tent with a fire and cooking pot out front and a bedroll inside. It wasn't much, but for the last two months he called it home. He hadn't intended to remain in one spot for so long, but with his new connection in Whiterun proper, this little campsite became less of a temporary lodging and more of a sad little dwelling. He had collected a few barrels which held dried meats and vegetables, and hidden between some nearby rocks was a chest with his more valuable possessions. Over time these things grew, and the longer he stayed the more he dreaded finding a way to carry all of his acquired items on to the next hunting ground.

He set to work cooking some of the saber cat's meat for his meal, throwing in a few greens and some root vegetables he had scavenged. Before long he had his own little bowl of saber cat stew, which he took a bite of and then sighed deeply. Tomorrow would be the day that he could make something that might actually taste good. Tomorrow he would finally have something other than gamey meat and flavorless greens. All he had to do was survive until then.

As he lay in his tent that night, he thought about his life and where it had taken him. Here he was, a khajiit sleeping alone in the freezing cold tundra of Skyrim. He didn't mind where he was too much, but the longer he stayed the more the weather took its toll on him. He was often kept awake at night, worrying about where he would go once the cool summer gave way to the harsh and snowy winters for which Skyrim was famous. Obviously his current situation would not suffice, but he hadn't yet saved enough gold to build himself a proper dwelling. He considered renting a room in some inn along the road, but in his past experiences the nords weren't very welcoming to outsiders. And so he lived adrift in the boundless fields of Whiterun hold, unsure of how long he would be trapped in this cold land. At the very least he was able to earn some coin from Ysolda every now and again, and this was enough to support him in the intervals when the sleeping tree had not yet replenished its sap. Tomorrow he would see her again. He smiled to himself as he imagined her ringing laughter and the many silly questions she brought to him every time he visited. It had been so long since he last found someone who he enjoyed speaking with to such a degree. He began to fantasize about staying in his little camp, carrying on this way until some wild beast finally took him and he was released from the burden of living. If only it were that easy. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts trail off into nothingness. At last, sleep.

As always, he arose with the dawn. He ate some dried meat from his supply and washed his face and hands in a nearby creek. He spent the morning idling by his campfire, watching the sun rise over the fields. Waiting was agony, but he had to wait until their agreed upon time. Slowly, the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. At some point he dozed off, the cool breeze gently caressing him as he lay in the open plains.

He was snapped awake by the sound of wolves in the distance. He jumped to his feet and instinctively reached for his axe. After a quick scan, it seemed the wolves were far off and uninterested in him, so he allowed himself to relax once more. He checked the time, and upon realizing that it was already time for the much-anticipated meeting, he sprang back to his feet and sprinted in the direction of the city. Before leaving he grabbed a blue robe which Ysolda had given him on the night of their last meeting. The robe was adjustable, which meant it could accommodate his stature. The looseness would comfortably conceal his tail, and with the hood raised he could pass for an extremely tall nord from a distance. It was rather uncomfortable to hide his ears under the cloth though, and his diminished sense of hearing was unpleasant. But if this disguise could get him into the city, and at last to his most beloved moon sugar, he'd bear it.

He followed the path up to the city, but as he approached he did not see Ysolda in their usual meeting place. He took in a deep breath to see if he could smell her nearby, but she was nowhere to be found. Ysolda said she'd meet him outside, so why wasn't she there yet? Perhaps she was waiting inside the walls? Did she forget? He meandered around the front gate, unsure of whether or not he should enter the city, when a voice suddenly called out to him.

"Welcome stranger. Khajiit has wares if you have coin," it called. Mo'aksa turned his head just slightly to see an older Khajiit man, dressed rather sharply, sitting in front of a tent. Around him a khajiiti woman and two armed guards were sitting by a fire, watching the road. He grabbed his hood and pulled it closer around his face, briskly walking away.

"Well that settles it. We wait inside the walls," he thought. The gates were open that day to allow crowds of travelers inside, and though he felt greatly anxious entering the walls, he seemed to blend in well enough. Once inside, he kept his head low and began searching for Ysolda.

He went up to her market stall where he was able to catch the faintest scent, but it was stale. The counter had a layer of dust and dirt on it, and when he leaned over to see the back of the stall, there were no wares at all. Usually she was here peddling whatever goods she had every day, so why did it seem as though she hadn't been there in weeks?

He racked his brain thinking about their past conversations and where else she could have gone. Would it be presumptuous to show up at her home? He looked around and spied the Bannered Mare not too far away and remembered the night they first met. Having no better ideas, he decided to continue his search there.

Thanks to his hooded garb he received fewer stares when he entered this time. He approached the innkeeper over at the bar, who seemed rather distracted. He cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, what can I get for you?" she asked. She smiled politely, but her tapping fingers suggested she was still thinking about something else.

"I have come to meet with Ysolda, but she is nowhere to be found. Have you seen her?" he asked, keeping his voice low. At this, the innkeeper's smile faded, and she put her head in her hands.

"You must be that khajiit man she said she was working with," she said with a sigh. "So you don't know where she is either?" Mo'aksa's expression tensed.

"What do you mean? Has she gone off somewhere?" he asked.

"Maybe? No one has seen her for over a week now. Gods, what has she gotten herself into this time?" said the woman furrowing her brow and looking off into the distance.

"Ysolda is… missing?" The woman nodded, and Mo'aksa's eyes widened. "When did this happen?"

"Didn't you hear me? About a week ago. Someone found her door left open, and when they went inside she was nowhere to be seen," she said. "All they found was a spilled bowl of moon sugar on the counter. I pray she hasn't been taken by some drug-crazed lunatic… or that Skuli character." Mo'aksa leaned in closer and cocked an eyebrow.

"Skuli character?"

"Aye, Skuli the Shameless. A bandit who the Jarl's men have been after for years now, but they can't seem to find him. They say he's hiding in some ancient nordic ruin, but with the war going on the Jarl can't afford to send any extra men after him." Mo'aksa clenched his fists and turned his head to the side.

"Do you know in which ruin he hides?" he asked.

"If they knew that they'd have caught him by now, don't you think?" the woman crossed her arms and rubbed her forehead. "Look, there's nothing we can do. I'm sorry, but whatever business you had with Ysolda will just have to wait. Can I help you with anything else?"

Mo'aksa shook his head and got up from the bar. He stood still for a moment, looking around the hearth at the center of the inn. Though it was early in the day there were still a few patrons sitting around and enjoying themselves, carrying on with their lives as though someone hadn't gone missing from under their noses. Mo'aksa felt a nostalgic sort of disgust from somewhere deep inside himself, and angrily stomped out of the inn.

He stepped out and took a deep breath to calm himself. Whatever was happening, it wasn't his problem, so he shouldn't get involved. But as he inhaled, he caught a faint whiff of Ysolda and instinctively turned his head in the scent's direction. He followed it down a few feet to find a tiny little house nestled between the Bannered Mare and a city wall. Ysolda's smell was dense here, so Mo'aksa surmised that this must be her house. Just as the innkeep had said, though the door had been closed as much as was possible, the hinges were damaged, preventing it from fully shutting. When he approached it and gave it a push, the door swung open and fell crooked without any effort at all. Inside he found a quaint setting with only the bare essentials: a bed, a table, a kitchen, and a small shelf against the wall. On the counter by a window was a tiny wooden bowl with gleaming white powder inside, spilt out on the surface. Though he knew from the smell, he stuck a finger in the pile and gave it a taste. Moon sugar, exactly as the innkeeper said, though in his case he knew that this was meant for him, not some drug addict. Mo'aksa put his face in his hands.

Obviously someone had taken her. No blood, so they likely didn't kill her. But it had been so long that by now that could have changed. He could try to find her, but he didn't know where to start. If she had gone missing more than a week ago, that would mean it happened not long after they last met. She had time to buy moon sugar, which he surmised could only have come from the khajiit trading caravans. Could they be the ones to have taken her?

He began to make his way outside the house, walking along the city walls, deep in thought. He was interrupted by a small nord man who stepped in front of him.

"Hey, I know you. You're that cat man that Ysolda's been hanging around. What did you do with her, beast?" the man asked aggressively.

"Mo'aksa did nothing with her. He only just learned that she had disappeared," said Mo'aksa, crossing his arms. He looked down at the man, studying his face. "You know Mo'aksa? He does not remember you," he said.

"W-what? You don't remember me?" the man put his hands on his hips, puffing his chest out. "We met a while back! On the street over there!" Mo'aksa thought for a moment, puzzled.

"Ah, you are the one from that time. The little cub that put his hands on Ysolda that night, yes?" The man nodded. "The one who ran away crying when Mo'aksa appeared, yes yes?" The man nodded again, this time with some reservation.

"The name's Mikael. Now listen here cat, I don't know what you did with Ysolda, but you get her back right now or I'll turn you in to the guards!"

"I already told you, I did not do anything with Ysolda. In fact, Mo'aksa is trying to figure out where she went." He let down his hood and glared at Mikael, who froze at his look. Mo'aksa's eyes were pale but bore a certain intensity that could pierce glaciers. "Do you know anything?"

Mikael shuffled uncomfortably and crossed his arms. "I know she was in the business of selling drugs to lowlifes like you," he said quietly.

"Haha, oh boy. Mo'aksa was the one who sold the drugs to her, not the one who bought them." Mo'aksa leaned down, putting his face near Mikael's. "But since you know so much, maybe you will tell Mo'aksa more about these 'lowlifes'" he said with a mischievous grin. Mikael gulped.

"Ysolda was involved with some shady characters, alright? I always saw her meeting with these big tough guys at her market stall. A while back she was telling me about how her customers were getting on her about her prices. Said one guy in particular was giving her trouble," Mikael explained, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Mo'aksa leaned in an inch closer, just enough to prompt Mikael to continue with his story. "She said that the guy never buys from her directly so she figured he wouldn't do anything. But his delivery boys were starting to show up outside of business hours to ask for different prices. She asked me if I'd keep an eye on her place until things cooled down."

"And? Did you see anything?"

"No, I thought she was joking! I told her she'd be just as safe in my arms instead and then she rolled her eyes at me and didn't say anything else." Mo'aksa groaned and Mikael smirked. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I know Ysolda's got it for me, she just won't admit it. I'll have her yet, I swear it!" Mikael said, getting a strangely proud look in his eyes. Mo'aksa turned and began to walk off.

"This is a waste of time," he said under his breath. But as he turned away, Mikael took after him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Wait, if you really want to find her, I have one more thing to tell you." Mo'aksa turned around and looked at Mikael from out of the corner of his eye. "Those tough guys who she said she was scared of? They're here today, I saw them at the market stocking up on mead. They're the guys with the purple war paint across their noses." Mo'aksa's eyes widened.

"Why did you not mention this sooner?" he shouted before he ran off in the direction of the tavern. Mikael bit his lip and watched as Mo'aksa ran off, looking back at Ysolda's house after he had exited from view. The door left ajar and the emptiness gave him unease, and he looked back in the direction Mo'aksa had fled to. "Talos guide you…" he said quietly.

Mo'aksa looked around the market, which was incredibly crowded. He scanned quickly, jumping from person to person in search of the purple war paint.

There!

At the edge of the crowd, leaning against the stone walls by the main gate, stood two men with purple stripes painted on their faces. One which looked rather gruff with beard stubble gracing his jawline, and a younger one who was holding on to a large case of wine. The gruff man tapped a long tobacco pipe against the wall and then tucked it away in his pockets before lifting two more cases of alcohol and strolling together with his partner towards the gate.

Mo'aksa followed after them.

They walked right out the front gate, hardly noticing any of their surroundings. Mo'aksa followed, slowly getting closer until he could just make out their conversation.

"Ain't no ale in the world strong enough to satisfy the boss's craving, I tell ya," called the older of the two. Though his face was rough, his body was rather meek looking. He wore armor of hide and carried a small dagger on the opposite hip as his pipe. The other nodded, adjusting the case on his shoulder.

"Aye, ever since he stopped getting that sleepy sap, we've been going through mead like crazy. I'm sick of breaking my back hauling this shit all the way back, can't the man get it himself?" the other responded, again adjusting the cases to better hold them. Indeed, this one was smaller than the other and seemed to struggle to carry the many bottles in his arms.

"Well hopefully this will tide him over until we finally figure out where to find that stuff. I sure hope we get the info before boss gets frustrated and offs the dealer. If we don't figure out where it comes from then we'll be stuck hauling mead around forever," said the first, groaning.

Mo'aksa grimaced as he followed them. They cut off from the road and began to pass through a dirt path in the plains, and from here Mo'aksa decided to continue after the two from afar. He was beginning to feel somewhat responsible for the position Ysolda was in now, but from the bits of the conversation he overheard, he figured that if he was quick he could still make amends. He crouched down, sticking to the bushes and keeping his body low as he stalked. The two bandits, none the wiser, walked quite a ways to a little cart just out of view from the city walls. They loaded up the booze and began taking turns pulling the cart up into the mountains to the Northwest. Mo'aksa crept along, shedding the blue robe to allow for more ease of movement. Underneath he wore the same cobbled-together pelts and leather bands which made up what could be called armor that he always wore, along with his trusted axe at his side.

He decided a long time ago that his axe would never again meet a human's flesh, but it would seem that fate had other plans for him on this day.

~Chapter 5 END~