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NOTE: Not all material in this blog will be verbatim what happened during my playthrough. Sometimes, you just have to change things up when the conversations and dialogue are so limited.
Part ONE: We Really Do Have Nine Lives
"To those that lie, cheat, and steal: I commend you"
Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dar'Zhubal. I am a Khajiit from the deserts of Elsweyr. I was born under the sign of the Shadow. If I was over the Argonian race, I would have instantly been named a Shadowscale. Alas, I have fur in place of scales, but that doesn't stop me from living the life of an assassin. I moved to Skyrim some time ago to join the ranks of what was left of the Brotherhood. I quickly earned my spot in their ranks, making even the veterans like old Festus look like amateurs. However, I recently... messed up. I'm now in the company of a group of Stormcloaks and a thief named Lokir. This is an odd group for one like myself to associate, but there's a good reason... We're all captives of the Empire.
I was assigned an assassination on a young Legionaire named Hadvar. The mission seemed simple enough; the Imperials were as smart as a mudcrab in the desert as far as I was concerned. However, I underestimated them and they managed to find and capture me before I could fulfill my mission. So here I am, standing here with these rebels (the horse thief was cut down by arrows when he tried to escape. What did I tell you? Mudcrabs), awaiting execution by beheading. All this time, I thought my death would be at the hands of a vampire or werewolf who had earned a contract and proven to be more powerful than myself, not by some overweight, half-drunken Imperial with an oversized woodaxe.
The next several minutes are all a blur to me. Just as I was about to be taken by Sithis into the Void, a giant, black-scaled wyrm comes out of the clouds and rips the square where the executions were happening to bits. I take off running. I go up a tower, jump thirty feet to nearly my death, duck under the flames of the dragon, missing being burned to a crisp by the hairs on my ears, and take off running for the gates. Unfortunately, they're locked, and my hands are bound, making climbing over a little less than accomplishable. My mind briefly jumps to the Imperial, Hadvar, who I was assigned to kill. However, I have no idea where he is at this point, and I figured that the dragon could send him to the void just as well as any assassin. My quickly jump back to my surroundings to notice that, thankfully, though, the Imperials were so busy with the dragon, they didn't notice the large cat in black and red assassin's armor running among their ranks. I make it into the keep and to safety... For now...
The stripped me of my gloves, boots, and hood, but left me with my armor "out of decency." I think these milk-drinkers are just scared of what I may or may not look like without clothes.
There's no escape from this room. I run from one side to the other, but the gate on side side can only be opened from the other side, and the door on the other side is locked tight. I'm going to die in this gods-forsaken city of death. Just as I'm making my peace with my imminent doom and pleading with the Dread Lord to accept me quickly, one of the Stormcloaks comes running into the keep after me. Though my claws are bound, I prepare to defend myself should he attack. He doesn't though, instead choosing to briefly mourn the death of one of his comrades. He then turns to me and we quickly and silently agree to work together to escape this city.
The next half an hour was occupied by sneaking around the keep, trying to avoid detection by the Legion, and killing whenever we had to. The Stormcloak (Ralof I believe his name was), was surprised by how well I fought with my claws. "They are the only weapon I use," I explained to him. "These and my bow, which those damned Imperials snapped over their knee when they caught me." We finally make it out of the keep, through a small cave, and into the open air outside of the city. I briefly consider permenently silencing the Nord to prevent him from spreading word about my presence in the area to others, but the man just helped me flee a dragon, fight through a score of Imperial soldiers, and gain my freedom. I suspect he earned his life.
I run off, leaving Ralof behind me. I need to find clothing or armor other than the shrouded armor of the Brotherhood. I find a hunter by a nearby river. I take out my longbow (which I had liberated from a Legionaire), and shoot him once in the shoulder. The poor fool tried to defend himself, but he didn't stand much of a chance once I sunk my claws into his face and slammed him into the ground. Removing his hide armor, gloves, hat, and boots, I drag the body into the river and watch it float away.
What do you think? It works on me, no?
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