Za'kiro, The Exile

Haxer

Za'kiro the Exile
Prologue

Za’kiro stepped off the boat and onto the dock. This Khajiit had never spent so many days at sea before. The salt chapped and blistered the skin under his dark fur. Even in the desert badlands of Elsweyr, he had never been so thirsty. As he trudged down the walkway, the strange faces of this new world blurred and swayed like a horizon on the desert sands. They either gave him strange looks or pretended not to see him.

Exhausted, he reached out towards a tall Breton man, draped in purple robes and a shock of golden hair. “Please…you must help Za’kiro” he stammered. This once proud Khajiiti warrior, now clothed only in rags, fell to the ground. The Breton man scoffed indignantly and walked away. Paying him no mind, the bustle of the dock continued. Raucous traders shouted to each other, men unloaded crates of every shape and size, silver mane horses clip-clopped down the cobblestone street with their riders to a stable nearby. And no one seemed to notice one waterlogged Kat.

Suddenly a massive armored hand reached down and lifted Za’kiro to his feet. He squinted as the sun gleamed off the man's steel armor like it had the ocean waters for so many days. As his eyes adjusted, Za’kiro saw the man who had picked him up was no man at all. It was an Orc. Clad in shining steel from head to toe, with a massive war-hammer clutched in one hand, as if it weighed no more than a stick.

“We don’t see too many of your kind here,” the Orc observed studying him. “What brings you to Daggerfall?”

“Please…Najiri….” Za’kiro gasped, words falling from his mouth like a fistful of sand. “This one…must find her…”

“Come then friend,” said the Orc, now visibly concerned, “Tell me everything.”

Rev Rielle

Whilst reading my mind set the scene in Stros M'kai for some reason whilst reading. Glad to see I wasn't too far off.
I find this length of fan fiction fits perfectly my liking; delivered in short, sweet and to the point bite-sized portions. Well done.
I look forward to reading if Za'Kiro can track down Najiri.

Icy

Yes, I like this too! Your "voice" really comes through strongly as I'm reading.

And I agree about the bite-sized portions ^_^.

Haxer

Chapter One

The heavy oak doors to the office creaked and burst open. One of them stormed in, followed by the ever sniveling assistant, Wendel. Of all the high elves in Tamriel… he thought to himself. The sudden outburst had caused the General to splinter his quill into pieces, ink splattering across several parchments strewn about on the desk. If there was one thing he hated more than signing orders, it was signing them twice.

“My l-l-lord,” stammered Wendel bowing nervously and writhing his hands together, “I tried to stop him but he…he insisted.” the General looked over this very unwelcome intruder. Another Khajiit. Another sand covered, flea-ridden mongrel. Nothing had tested his loyalty to the Dominion more than when he received orders to sail to this barren waste and make them our allies in the Great War. He was a High Elf after all, and such things were only considered in the direst of circumstances. He could only imagine what the petition would be this time. Another stolen horse perhaps?

“General Slyvaris,” the Khajiit spat, golden eyes narrowing, “This one is Za’kiro.”

“I see,” the General replied, with all the false courtesy he could muster, “And what can the Dominion do for you…friend…” the word stuck in his throat, but orders were orders.

“Za’kiro’s tribe was attacked by slavers.” Za’kiro seethed, “Men that come here on your ships. Many of our tribe were taken, others killed or scattered to the winds.” The Khatjiit’s piercing gaze softened as he paused for a moment. “This one’s mate was among those taken.” The waning fire again roared up within him, “You must send soldiers to get them back.”

An unfortunate side effect to be sure, the General knew. With all the soldiers, settlers, merchants and opportunists who came on cursed excursions such as this, there were always some bad apples. Still, he thought, can’t let them ruin the whole bunch. He nodded to Wendel, who slunk trembling out of the office and down the hall.

“This is a tragedy of the highest degree,” General Slyvaris stood now, weaving his words, “However, an incident such as this might prove…problematic to the negotiations going on between our two …civilizations,” he wouldn’t bring himself to calling anything of the Khajiit 'great'. “Surely, your tribal leaders might be inclined to reconsider our pending alliance if they heard such a thing. Perhaps we can discuss this matter again once negotiations have concluded.” Slyvaris said, dismissively. He knew there would be no further discussion.

The wildcat in Za’kiro erupted. He roared and whipped a dagger out from under his leather jerkin. In an instant he had plunged it down inches into the desk. Fear flashed over the General’s face, but only for a moment before hardening again. The pleasantries were over.

“Then Za’kiro will tell them all,” the Khajiit growled boldly, still clutching the dagger, “The Dominion are no friend of the Khajiit…” A smile crept over Slyvaris’ face as heavy labored steps came echoing down the hall. Several High Elf sentries appeared in the doorway, swords drawn.

“Most unfortunate indeed,” the General said, words dripping with venom. “Za’kiro, as a traitor to your kind, I hereby exile you from this wretched sand pit, and all Dominion territories…under pain of death.” Za’kiro, now visibly panicked, swung a wild blow at one of the sentries. It glanced off the side of the Elf’s helmet, who promptly cracked the Khajiit in the back with the flat of his blade. Za’kiro sunk to his knees with a groan.

“Get this beast out of my sight. Burn his belongings! Make sure he’s on the next barge off this rock!” rattled off the General, taking his seat at the desk once again. He calmly opened the drawer and withdrew another quill, to the chorus of armored fists falling on his unwelcome guest. Now, he sighed, where was I?

* * * *

Za’kiro paused recounting the events of that ill-fated day and drank another long swig from his tankard. It was bitter, not like the sweet drinks of his home. Former home, he corrected himself. But he didn’t care, his thirst beckoned him to drink deeply anyway. Za’kiro looked across the bar at his companion, who from the looks of it was drinking just as heavily from the account at hand. The Orc looked him over thoughtfully for a moment before draining his own glass.

“We’ll friend,” the Orc said, setting his empty cup down, “The name’s Rok’Nar. And I think you and I can help each other.”

NytLite

Is that a feature I see?