Dominion Cat - 3. Mistral

It took nearly half the day to reach Mistral, Sinjaro winding his way through the island. His feet were bleeding from numerous small cuts, his tail hanging low. Why was he doing this again? Jimila had given him enough gold to get by for at least the next week. He could probably find a ship to take him back to Auridon, maybe set up camp as a hunter.

The Khajiit nearly cried as he spied the bridge heading into the city. Finally he could sit, get some food, sleep. And then buy some boots for his poor feet.

“You made it! Good!”

His head snapped up. That voice. He hated that voice.

Razum Dar stood leaning on a post, staring at Sinjaro with that twinkle in his eye again.

“You. Do you know how much trouble this one went through for you and your Dominion?”

“Raz was confident you could handle everything,” the other Khajiit smirked. “Step carefully in Mistral my new friend. Serpents wander through the tall houses.”

“What are you talking about?”

Raz flipped a coin toward Sinjaro, the Khajiit catching it in confusion.

“This one speaks of the ambassadors. The Dominion is trying to aid Mistral, yet the Maomer seem to have designs on the city for themselves. Perhaps you could talk to the Silvenar in the Chancery about the negotiations; show him that token. Raz thinks you might be just what we need.”

“And what is in it for Sinjaro? This one is waiting on your last reward.”

“Don’t worry. Raz never forgets his friends.”

A clawed finger ran down his cheek, the scent of the Khajiit nearly unleashing Sinjaro’s wolf. He stepped back quickly. His body yearned for the Khajiit’s touch, but he was not giving in.

“Fine. But this one has things he needs to do in Mistral first.”

Starting past the Dominion Khajiit, Sinjaro paused.

“This one must ask, who are you exactly?”

Razum Dar smiled as one would at a ma’khajiit.

“Raz is a simple Khajiit. He seeks only to do what is best for all of Tamriel. Also a saddle that won’t pinch the tail. One day…”

Sinjaro continued on his way, still unsatisfied. There was something more to Raz, he just knew it. But for now his aching feet and grumbling stomach reminded him of his tasks.

The stilted homes of Mistral stood over him as he walked, Khajiit and Mer using the areas below for trade. Ma’khajiit chased guar and chickens through the city, yelling at their play. A woodworker gave Sinjaro a once over, shaking her head at the sight of the Khajiit’s bow.

Sinjaro approached the Altmer, removing the shield and the staff from his bag.

“This one would like to sell these,” he said.

“A mage’s staff, and a rather nice looking shield. Where would you find such rarities?” the elf questioned.

“Sinjaro is not someone to be taken lightly,” the Khajiit shrugged as an answer.

The Mer ran a hand down the staff.

“Lightning imbued with ice. Very dangerous combination..” she said. “It is well crafted, for an apprentice mage.

“Sinjaro is no mage.”

“That is obvious,” the Mer smirked. “Yet you do have some magic. You managed to summon a familiar at the least.”

She motioned to Zephron, who had gained a strange, almost calico pattern to her fur. Sinjaro was uncertain how that had happened, or when.

“I suggest you visit a Mages’ Guildhall, and have them teach you to better harness your energies. But, as for the wood… I can offer forty gold for the staff and the shield together.”

Forty gold. Sinjaro didn’t even think about it. That would be plenty for a nice hot meal.

“Done,” he said.

Taking the gold, the Khajiit left the weapons behind, smiling as he spied a leatherworker nearby.

“One hundred eighty gold?!”

“That is correct,” the leatherworker said, holding up the boots. “These boots are of the finest quality and will never become worn.”

They were cheap boots, plain boots. Sinjaro could see another three pairs that each looked fancier than the one before.

Muttering quietly, Sinjaro paid for the boots. He couldn’t go without any longer. Sitting down, he began pulling the boots on, wincing in pain as they scraped over his battered feet.

Zephron tensed suddenly, energy flowing from Sinjaro, and the pain in his feet vanished.

“Oh, you’re a healer now?” he said, staring at the familiar.

Zephron sat and began licking her paw. Shaking his head, Sinjaro stood. He still had a little money left over. It was time to find something to eat.

Walking past the Chancery, Sinjaro noticed a box tucked in some bushes. Scanning the area, he stooped next to the small container, opening it.

Inside were a pair of simple looking rings. They looked old, like they had been sitting in the box for years. Shrugging, Sinjaro snatched them out of the container, no one trying to stop him.

As the Khajiit slid a ring on each hand, he felt a feeling of vigor rush over him, as though he was healthier than before. Magic rings…

Sinjaro smiled, walking away. He would get his food, and then there was one more stop he wanted to make before he went on Razum Dar’s errand.

Sitting at a bar near the Chancery, the Khajiit watched the chef at work, chopping vegetables while a cauldron bubbled beside her.

“What is your request?” she asked, pausing in her work.

“What do you have?”

“Guar breast, boiled radish, filleted trout. Prices vary, but the radish is cheapest.”

Sinjaro frowned.

“This one will take the radish then,” he said, pulling out his gold. “Sinjaro is also out of je’m’ath.”

“This one has much je’m’ath. You may have a sack of it.”

Sinjaro smiled happily. He had been without the sugar for far too long. Now it seemed his drought was over.

The chef passed him a bowl of boiled radishes, the Khajiit devouring them quickly. He needed to remember how to cook meat, and fast, or he would never survive on a hunt.

A Khajiit sat beside Sinjaro, the hunter glancing over.

“Draskay, trevan,” Lieutenant K’radel said.

“Sala kha’jay,” Sinjaro greeted her. “What brings you to Mistral?”

“I’ve been reassigned. I’m here searching for a ship.”

“This one recommends the Prowler. Their captain is very friendly.”

“Friendly with isozeva?”

Sinjaro laughed.

“This one would not know. Sinjaro never asked. That Razum Dar, though… He is isozeva if this one has ever seen one.”

“That one certainly has a way with words,” K’radel agreed. “Oh, I should mention the Dominion has decided to make Eagle Strand their forward base for the moment. Unfortunately it is unlikely you will be getting your… home… back.”

“That is a shame. This one always liked the knowledge there was something waiting back home. But Sinjaro did expect this outcome.”

“I have a few recipes. I know they won’t make up for the loss of your sleeping area, but at least you can learn some variety in your meals, yes?”

Sinjaro shrugged.

“This one would be grateful to learn how to cook again. Sinjaro has suffered a rather… unusual setback in that.”

K’radel pulled a small sheaf of papers from her pocket, scanning through them before sliding them over. Sinjaro looked through them, finding a recipe for chicken breast among a couple other notes.

“Thank you. Bright Moons guide your path,” he said.

“Warm sands, my friend,” K’radel replied as Sinjaro stood.

The chef slid a sizable bag toward him, Sinjaro smiling in thanks as he fitted it into his own bag. He was unsure of how long the moon sugar would last, but he was grateful to have some carried with him. Maybe it would bring him back to the Riddle’thar. In any case, he had work to do.

The Khajiit approached the wayshrine of Mistral, a large statue of a regal senche-lion sitting within the open structure. He felt strange in this place. His body was thrumming with energy, not unlike it did when he collected the power from skyshards.

Khajiit and Mer walked past Sinjaro with purpose in their strides, none looking at the lone Khajiit. He sat in front of the shrine, studying it as the power within him ebbed and flowed.

The eyes of the senche-lion suddenly erupted in a bright blue glow, and Sinjaro gasped. His body felt more calm, almost connected with this place of power.

He didn’t understand it. Sinjaro had been to this wayshrine several times. It was his favourite spot in Mistral. But the statue had never done anything like this before.

Maybe he would go to the Mages’ Guild. There was no doubt that something strange was going on with him. The shrine made him feel warm though, safe from the ills of the world. Maybe he would make this his new home. It was certainly no worse than the other places he had slept.

He moved to sit between the statue’s feet, the stone radiating warmth through him. He would rest here a while, then continue his journey.

Removing the papers K’radel had given him, the Khajiit began reading, memorising ingredients he had known once before.

Due to unforseen circumstances having to do with a game update that will force me to redownload the entire ESO game, this story will be placed on a temporary hold, hopefully for no longer than three months. But hey, that means I have more time for my other stories