The Cat That Lost It's Tongue-Part One

Summers in Skyrim were much the same as the Winters, Ra'Zhag pondered, dragging the tips of his claws against a frozen boulder. Elsweyr would be sweltering this time of year, the sands burning like a bed of coals beneath your feet, but in the land of snows, you would sooner freeze than be graced with the warmth of the sun. He looked down at his boots, crafted with a sabre cat pelt ringing the edge and a plate of metal at the tip, and thought of the sands sifting through his paws. Warm and teeming with life. He remembered chasing lizards through the dunes when he was a cub. Here, the earth was hard and cold, iced over with the ever churning snows.

There were no lizards here, not a single grain of sand. There were times he ached for home, this time especially, when it should have been a miserably hot day, but instead was so cold it made moving painful.

He let his hand droop from the rock's surface and turned to the warmth of the camp he and his caravan had set up just outside of Winterhold, where the Mage's College loomed over the bones of houses that had been swallowed up by the sea. Omazzir and Sinfer were setting up the small tents of patchwork furs in a circle around the campfire, singing old songs from the sands, while the little cubs in the caravan chased each others tails, and Ri'sien unpacked the many potions and elixirs they carried with them. Even the awkward kitten Yem was working hard setting us casks of strong Nord mead, red wine sweetened with Moon Sugar, and a special blend the meek Khajiit had created himself- Argonian Blood. It wasn't made from the blood of Argonians, of course, rather a special brand of ale with petals of Nightshade that made it sting when it hit the throat, along with honey and fermented fruit from Blackmarsh, which gave it its name.

They never asked, nor did they expect him to help with much. He was strong, that was his one duty, to be strong for his brothers and keep them safe on the roads. Beyond this, he usually ended up hindering their progress more than helping speed it. The last time he had tried to help Ri'sien with his potions, he ended up shattering a bottle of elven glass and hopelessly scattered his supply of bee wings. He spent a week catching a hive's worth of the little bastards to make up for it, even though his hands were bumpy and the skin broke over the many stings he received while carrying out this task. Ri'sien still didn't let him touch their supplies after that.

He sauntered to the fire, pushing back his hood to feel the mixture of the cold summer winds and oak scented warmth against his whiskers. He dropped into the snows, melting at the touch of the campfire, and sat cross legged.

"Ahh, I cannot wait until we make it back south. It is too harsh this far north," Ak'ier sank down next to the fire across from him. Slender and willowy even for a Khajiit, he dressed in lavish reds and blacks-mud stained from the road- that proclaimed him a bard at first glance, a tankard tied at his waist beside a flute, sheathed like a dagger on his hip. His fur was black, almost blue in certain lights, and his face was marred with scars and white patches of fur splashed like paint along his nose.

"The snow freezes the people's purse strings tighter than a miser. We have not sold so much as a pelt since Windhelm."

"Nords are the only ones that can bear the brunt of the northern weather here, and they have little use of Moon Sugar and potions," Ra'Zhag replied, holding the palm of his hands out beside the heat of the flames, "I've told Ri'sien we should invest more in ores for weapon smithing. They'll pay more for steel and armaments than spell books and elixirs. Yem is the only making money with his brews."

"More like his piss water. But our luck may fare better here." He gestured to the shadow of the College, nearly lost through the fog of snow, "We are among learned mages after all. Their thirst for knowledge will no doubt slate our thirst for coin."

Ra'Zhag hugged himself to savor the warmth of his armor, glancing first to the College, then to the guards patrolling the streets, catching one of them shivering violently.

"They might sooner burn the things for warmth," he muttered, "We should sell them as kindling instead."

Ak'ier shrugged, smirking to himself.

"Not a bad idea, really. But who will pay three thousand septims for kindling? Now this-" He unlatched a black dyed leather book holder on his side and produced an old tome, colored a rich purple and sporting a symbol on the cover. Ra'Zhag always thought it looked like a set of curving fangs, the circle in the middle of them being a drop of blood, but Ri'sien always corrected him when he called it the fang marking, saying it was an Oht symbol, "This will bring in more coin than any matter of kindling."

Ra'Zhag rolled his eyes incredulously. Ak'ier was always hoarding "treasures" and rare finds he came across on the road, stolen from keeps they sometimes went exploring in when Ri'sien allowed them. The only way he would pay that much gold for a book was if it was gem encrusted and summoned a busty tavern maid to his command, and even then the price could do with haggling. But Ak'ier was absolutely sure of himself, launching headfirst into an explanation of the spell and its uses in terms Ra'Zhag only vaguely recognized as words. When Ak'ier got this way, there was no stopping him until he was through, so he looked back to the icy streets of Winterhold to wait until his explanation came to an end, where the students from the college, dressed in parchment and sky colored robes, huddled together in a tight knit group. The small figure at the heart of the huddle was holding a book and reading it aloud to the others who surrounded her, the others peeking over her shoulders easily being that she was a few inches shorter than everyone. Behind the students were the guards, sharpened and shined like an old battle-ax by the frozen city, not quite so bright faced and bushy tailed as the College mages from the years of service to the hold. Ra'Zhag was never very fond of city guards, he would catch them sneering from under their helms when he left the caravan to buy supplies as they would not allow them beyond the walls, and many treated he and his brothers like common criminals. But the guards of Winterhold were rarely concerned about Khajiit as much as they were elves, so he had more patience for them.

His gaze flickered back to the students for a moment as they were slowly encroaching on their camp, the short one making a beeline for the campfire while the others scattered to talk with the others of the caravan. A part of the group went to Ri'sien, who was hurriedly setting out his most expensive and hard to acquire alchemy items for them to see; wisp wrappings, ice wraith fangs, an uprooted nirnroot, a giant's toe. The others, journals in hand, went to talk to the young cubs and the more chatty members of the caravan, jotting down notes every now and again when the traders told a story.

The petite mage, also clutching a journal tied up with strings, sat with her knees tucked under her, scooting a little closer to Ak'ier. Only then did they realize how vigorously he was waving his treasure, and that she had noticed the symbol. She smiled widely, most of her face was hidden from her forehead to her nose, but her plump pink lips were still visible. She pointed almost hesitantly to it.

"Is that a spell book of expel daedra?"

"Ah, a good catch m'lady. You know your spells," he replied. He tapped the tip of his claws against the cover, that smug look on his face exuding a sense of control he didn't possess, as if he really thought he could make the young mage do and pay whatever he wanted, "Have you got an eye for it?"

The short mage was already hastily untying her coin purse.

"Three thousand septims ought to do."

She stopped. Her mouth set in a thin line.

"Three thousand? ...Not that I do not trust your bartering skill I...don't think I can spare that much," she said quietly. She still brought the purse forward and peeked inside, shifting aside gold coins to tally up the cost, "In truth, I've never come across a banish daedra spell book for more than five hundred septims. I can pay you six, if you have trouble parting with it."

A sour expression came across Ak'ier's face.

"M'lady, I do not think you quite understand the powerful nature of this spell, it-"

"Banishes Storm, Flame, and Lightning Daedra and any other Dremora to the Oblivion realm," the mage finished for him, "My skill in Conjuration is only surpassed by my skill as a healer, I'm quite aware of the spells uses. And I'm quite aware it isn't worth even a thousand septims."

She held out the coin purse, gold pieces jingling. It was a hefty bag, as big as Ra'Zhag's fists, large and bulging from all sides with lumps of gold ribbing the outside. The corners of the Khajiit's mouth curled downward with distaste as he stared at the bag. Not quite the treasure chest packed with gems and coins he had expected. Still, he begrudgingly snaked his hand out and snatched the purse, throwing the book in the mage's lap like it pained him to hold onto it a moment longer. Ra'Zhag watched as the short mage snatched it up and shot quickly to her feet, going to speak with her fellow students, a certain excitement in her steps. He turned to Ak'ier, stifling the biggest grin.

"Oh shut up, pommel-head."

"I did not say a word," Ra'Zhag defended, allowing himself a smirk,"But you did deserve that blow and more for your greed."

"My greed keeps your axe polished and your belly full." Ak'ier gripped tightly to the capped vials of the bandolier looped around his waist. A backup plan he had made in the 'unlikely' event he did not sell his book for a High King's ransom, elixirs of sure-shot and antidotes to Frostspider venom and potions to replenish magicka. "The next time you pollute yourself with fine mead and warm meat, you ought to thank me and my greed. Chances are we supplied you with it."

"I will do that the next time you thank me for your waking up in the morning. Chances are me and my axe allowed you to live through the night."

Ak'ier sneered at him and stormed off, presumably to hawk his wares to the other students. He was never left in a good mood when someone called him out. Ra'Zhag sniggered quietly to himself and watched the students make their rounds. He could hear them chattering to some of the cubs of the caravan, asking about their experiences and what they remember of Elsweyr.

Infinitely curious things, he thought. They moved to and from each member of the caravan collecting stories and jotting down in their little journals. What information they would get from a small caravan like his, he had no idea. True they had seen the road beyond where many of these young students could venture, but what stories had they to tell? Stories that would be of any interest to mages anyway.

He met eyes with one, a Breton he guessed by his olive complexion. The young man lit up after seeing the axe on his back-it was almost as tall as him after all, hard to miss- and quickly moved to approach him. The mage would want to talk, Ra'Zhag was no good at talking, he'd want to talk about things Ra'Zhag didn't know about and use words the caravan guard didn't understand, oh no he would not be a part of this conversation, let them speak to Ak'ier.

Ra'Zhag ducked his head immediately and stood up, walking briskly to the wagon resting beside the camp. The thin layer of gold paint gave the caravan wagon a gilded look in certain lights, and it housed almost all their merchandise when they took to the road, as well as Ak'ier and Ra'Zhag's sleeping quarters. Only they were less 'quarters' and more like cots to be placed under a tarp held up by poles, but still they fastened to the side of the wagon along with the materials for a cooking spit and barrels of preserved meat and fruit. He unlocked the door at the rear of the caravan and leapt up the steps to avoid the conversation with the mage and shuttered it closed when he was inside. The inside was brightly lit with candles and the light bounced off the polished floors and the bits of jewelry they kept on cloth pillars. Everything felt slight slanted being that he'd parked the thing on an uneven hill, but their supplies were still in their proper place. He rested against the alchemy table Ri'sien had built into the counters and stared at the door, waiting for the eager student to come after him. A knock of the door, a Dwarven contraption he and Ak'ier had found in a ruin, made him jump. He frowned hard, not wanting to open to the Breton vying for his attention.

"Open the door, Ra'Zhag." It was Ri'sien's exasperated voice. By his tone, Ra'Zhag was sure he would rather speak with the Breton. But still, he carefully peeked out. The gray furred and deeply lined face of his boss scowled at him. He gripped to the edge of the door, ears flattening out against his head.

"Ra'Zhag is not here," he said in a high pitched attempt at a woman's voice, "Also he did not break anything and he is staying away from the customers so you don't need to-"

"I am not going to scold you," Ri'sien sighed heavily, "We're running low on Vampire Dust."

Ra'Zhag made a face. This was an alchemy run. He hated gathering alchemy supplies, but he especially hated finding Vampire Dust. It meant you had to find a group of the walking corpses and kill them before they kill you and scoop their ashes out of the dirt. They smelled like pickled cabbages. And they were so bitey.

"These students are telling me there is a nest of them in a keep nearby, only a few miles," Ri'sien continued, "Think you can ride there before nightfall?"

Knowing this wasn't a question, Ra'Zhag reluctantly nodded and stepped out of the door. Ri'sien didn't give him a second glance and returned to his tent to tend to the inexperienced mages poking around his wares.

Ra'Zhag gathered a few weapons and emergency supplies and saddled his horse, the only horse in the camp besides the one used to pull the caravan and Ak'ier's prized pinto. The mages thankfully left him alone, perhaps because he made sure to brandish his knife in their sight, putting on a stern face to drive home the point he was going to be hunting and they wouldn't want to disturb him. He wouldn't actually hurt any of them but he certainly looked like he would.

After sliding into the saddle of his steed -a bulky silver he had traded for a cave bear pelt and some pieces of Dwarven steel work in Markarth, it was the only horse that was swift even with Ra'Zhag's armor on- he started on the snow dusted road to the east of Winterhold. Out of sight of the camp, he drew a broadsword he had brought specifically for dealing with Vampires. It had always been one of his favorite swords, it was heavy enough to crack a dragon's skull just by dropping it and fit nicely in his palm, but it was only recently that it had begun to glow. Ri'sien had taken the initiative to supply his guards with enchanted weapons and armor when they had gathered a small chest of crystals which turned from white to purple after he cast a spell on fallen enemies. Ra'Zhag wasn't entirely sure how it worked, all he knew was his boots fit more comfortably after they had been enchanted. Which seemed like a waste of magic to him at the time.

Ak'ier insisted everything remotely sharp from his crossbow to his razor be enchanted, but this broadsword was the only thing Ra'Zhag trusted to lay an enchantment on. Ever since Ri'sien had imbued it with a fire spell, it glowed like it was fresh from a forge and it was warm to the touch. He didn't even need to dull the edges anymore, a simple bash with the flat of the sword could set anything ablaze. He smirked to himself and flipped it over the back of his hand, twirling it in a circle at his side, then catching it. Vampires were like soft butter when it came to a flame enchanted weapon. It would make the arduous task a little less of a pain in the ass.

He slid it back into its sheath when he was done admiring it and flipped his cowl over his bundle of white dreads.