Woo! Finally done!
Dar'Jzo
Male Khajiit | 57 | The Shadow
Profile
§ Birthplace
§ Appearance
§ Personality
§ Background
Senchal, Pelletine (Elsweyr)
§ Appearance
Dar'Jzo was never good at first impressions. People often see the cat before they see the man, and Dar'Jzo is very much a proud cathay. He is covered head to toe in golden blonde fur and marked by subtle shadow striping across his body, and like a cathay, has a head shape that resemble a mountain lion. The face of which is gaunt, but not because he is skinny or malnourished - another look shows that he is quite good condition, if a bit slender and not powerfully built like a true warrior would be (he stands at about 5'10", weighs around 160 lbs) - but because of his age. True, while he may be in great condition for the number of years he has lived, time has taken its toll on the khajiit's body. His skin doesn't cling to his body as tightly as it once did, his claws have gotten a little brittle, and he has to remain active more often than most just to keep his muscle tone. His face is marred by more than just a few wrinkles, and he seems to have formed permanent bags underneath his eyes through a combination of age, countless sleepless nights, and chemical burns from irritating fumes that he was gradually exposed to when he was much younger.
It almost betrays the threatening quality of his presence. Almost.
There's a certain sharpness to him. How his brows hang low over his needle-like green eyes, or how the gauntness of his cheeks trace the faint outline of the array of sharp teeth hiding within his maw. His black mane is dreaded and adorned with a number of colorful, tribal beads and is wrapped up in a bun on top of his head. The long black fur on his chin is braided and similarly decorated with beads. Some patches of his fur is much shorter than the rest, indicating the many different scars he has earned through his life. His ears are short, with one of them shaped like a wide arrow while the other appears to have it's tip missing. He carries himself with poise, but it's not founded out of arrogance so much as it is confidence, subtle a difference though it may be. His face is forever stoic, stern, and serious, rarely breaking a smile that would dismiss the grim air his disposition stifles the atmosphere with.
His choice of wardrobe would make sense if he was still living in Senchal, but not so much in Skyrim. For starters, he doesn't wear a shirt. He just doesn't like to and not for any particular reason, but if he had to come up with one, it feels too constricting while he's pulling back his bowstring. He does though wear a black leather bandolier that goes across his chest and over one of his shoulders, and it looks something like a huge leather belt. With it, he carries a few pouches, bags, and a small pack. It is also this bandolier that he attaches his quiver of arrows to, from which Dar'Jzo hangs his bow.
The only actual garments of clothes he wears are loose-fitting, baggy, and breathable black linen pants which he secures to his person with a blood-red sash, and the bottom of his pants are tucked into black leather riding boots. While his fur would be enough to keep him warm for a short while in one of Skyrim's winters, it alone wouldn't protect him for long. During his time on board the ship that takes him from Senchal to Solitude, he was given a black wool long coat by one of the navy men should he be stuck in Skyrim for a while.
It almost betrays the threatening quality of his presence. Almost.
There's a certain sharpness to him. How his brows hang low over his needle-like green eyes, or how the gauntness of his cheeks trace the faint outline of the array of sharp teeth hiding within his maw. His black mane is dreaded and adorned with a number of colorful, tribal beads and is wrapped up in a bun on top of his head. The long black fur on his chin is braided and similarly decorated with beads. Some patches of his fur is much shorter than the rest, indicating the many different scars he has earned through his life. His ears are short, with one of them shaped like a wide arrow while the other appears to have it's tip missing. He carries himself with poise, but it's not founded out of arrogance so much as it is confidence, subtle a difference though it may be. His face is forever stoic, stern, and serious, rarely breaking a smile that would dismiss the grim air his disposition stifles the atmosphere with.
His choice of wardrobe would make sense if he was still living in Senchal, but not so much in Skyrim. For starters, he doesn't wear a shirt. He just doesn't like to and not for any particular reason, but if he had to come up with one, it feels too constricting while he's pulling back his bowstring. He does though wear a black leather bandolier that goes across his chest and over one of his shoulders, and it looks something like a huge leather belt. With it, he carries a few pouches, bags, and a small pack. It is also this bandolier that he attaches his quiver of arrows to, from which Dar'Jzo hangs his bow.
The only actual garments of clothes he wears are loose-fitting, baggy, and breathable black linen pants which he secures to his person with a blood-red sash, and the bottom of his pants are tucked into black leather riding boots. While his fur would be enough to keep him warm for a short while in one of Skyrim's winters, it alone wouldn't protect him for long. During his time on board the ship that takes him from Senchal to Solitude, he was given a black wool long coat by one of the navy men should he be stuck in Skyrim for a while.
§ Personality
Dar'Jzo doesn't talk much, and because he doesn't talk much, it's kind of hard to tell why he doesn't talk much. It makes him somewhat of a mysterious individual to the people around him, since he seems to simply refuse talking about his life all that much. Every now and again he'll give you a blunt answer like, "I don't want to," or "I'm just an old hunter", but nobody really buys it because he just comes across as if you pressured him into giving you a half-assed answer just to shut you up. On the other hand, you have no choice but to take what you can get, because that was all he was willing to give you. A job or mission may require him to talk, and he will - he'll do whatever it takes without complaining - but he prefers spending his time watching others from a corner or spending some time to himself and meditating until the next job falls into his lap. Honestly, it's kind of creepy the way his smoldering stare just appraises everyone and everything. It's like he doesn't seem to trust anybody.
He is just as serious a cat as he seems. If he's going to get something done, he's going to get it done right. No fooling around, just business. He values hard work and being dutiful, and although he may not acknowledge it when he sees it, that is one of ways to earn his respect - though unspoken it may be. Indeed, he is one extremely jaded cat who has seen too much shit in his time, and though he may come across as unapproachable, that doesn't make him a despicable or foul individual. There is a paternal side to him that makes him protective of others who may be young or vulnerable, and he has a conscious that could quite possibly put him in danger if it meant serving the greater good. He doesn't waste time with making his enemies suffer, preferring instead to get the grisly deed done and over with. That being said, he doesn't close his eyes his to the suffering around him, and there is a delightful potential for cruelty within Dar'Jzo. If he doesn't need his enemy dead, then he's the type would do what it takes until he gets what does need.
Sometimes that cruelty is redirected on others, though not ever without reason. His temper is secure and it takes all of Oblivion for him to lose it and abandoned his cool demeanor, but once he does, he doesn't hold anything back. If you want to know what he thinks, you're going to know what he thinks. He won't sugar-coat anything, beat around the bush, or anything like that - he'll let you know the unadulterated truth and all of the harsh realty which surrounds it. He's not the type to apologize for it either, even if the world turns against him for it. He's old and stubborn and stuck in his ways like that. He's no enemy of reason, but hope that he finds your reasoning more reasonable than his own.
Even when strangers think they know Dar'Jzo, that they've finally gotten a bead on who he is as a person, they don't usually realize how far off they are. By now it's easy to conclude that he is a very private person. All of that privacy and alone time which he treasures so much actually hides a family man full of heart. His personality seems to flip around when he's near his friends and loved ones. His true friends. He might still be as quiet, but nowhere near as reclusive and shut off. He's involved and relaxed around them, and he cares oh so deeply for his family that he would go to the ends of the world in order to keep them safe and protected. Once witnessing that side of him, his coldness seems to make more sense when you realize he's weight down by responsibility and duty. He's only here because he has to, and any distractions could jeopardize everything he's worked so hard for. It's this epiphany that might make someone realize that he is just as much a person as anyone else and is plagued with his own insecurities.
For a long time, Dar'Jzo didn't know who he was or who he was supposed to be. What role he was supposed to play. He spent many years trying to formulate his identity, and for a while he got it right. Now, he's still not so sure, but at least he knows what his role in life his: a grandfather and the protector of his family. That's who he sees himself as at his core. He doesn't go out of his way to be unkind to others, he lends a helping hand when he's able, and he has some practical wisdom at his disposal that he's willing to give as long others ask him for it; he isn't the type to go around giving unsolicited advice. Just... don't expect him to hold up a conversation very well.
He is just as serious a cat as he seems. If he's going to get something done, he's going to get it done right. No fooling around, just business. He values hard work and being dutiful, and although he may not acknowledge it when he sees it, that is one of ways to earn his respect - though unspoken it may be. Indeed, he is one extremely jaded cat who has seen too much shit in his time, and though he may come across as unapproachable, that doesn't make him a despicable or foul individual. There is a paternal side to him that makes him protective of others who may be young or vulnerable, and he has a conscious that could quite possibly put him in danger if it meant serving the greater good. He doesn't waste time with making his enemies suffer, preferring instead to get the grisly deed done and over with. That being said, he doesn't close his eyes his to the suffering around him, and there is a delightful potential for cruelty within Dar'Jzo. If he doesn't need his enemy dead, then he's the type would do what it takes until he gets what does need.
Sometimes that cruelty is redirected on others, though not ever without reason. His temper is secure and it takes all of Oblivion for him to lose it and abandoned his cool demeanor, but once he does, he doesn't hold anything back. If you want to know what he thinks, you're going to know what he thinks. He won't sugar-coat anything, beat around the bush, or anything like that - he'll let you know the unadulterated truth and all of the harsh realty which surrounds it. He's not the type to apologize for it either, even if the world turns against him for it. He's old and stubborn and stuck in his ways like that. He's no enemy of reason, but hope that he finds your reasoning more reasonable than his own.
Even when strangers think they know Dar'Jzo, that they've finally gotten a bead on who he is as a person, they don't usually realize how far off they are. By now it's easy to conclude that he is a very private person. All of that privacy and alone time which he treasures so much actually hides a family man full of heart. His personality seems to flip around when he's near his friends and loved ones. His true friends. He might still be as quiet, but nowhere near as reclusive and shut off. He's involved and relaxed around them, and he cares oh so deeply for his family that he would go to the ends of the world in order to keep them safe and protected. Once witnessing that side of him, his coldness seems to make more sense when you realize he's weight down by responsibility and duty. He's only here because he has to, and any distractions could jeopardize everything he's worked so hard for. It's this epiphany that might make someone realize that he is just as much a person as anyone else and is plagued with his own insecurities.
For a long time, Dar'Jzo didn't know who he was or who he was supposed to be. What role he was supposed to play. He spent many years trying to formulate his identity, and for a while he got it right. Now, he's still not so sure, but at least he knows what his role in life his: a grandfather and the protector of his family. That's who he sees himself as at his core. He doesn't go out of his way to be unkind to others, he lends a helping hand when he's able, and he has some practical wisdom at his disposal that he's willing to give as long others ask him for it; he isn't the type to go around giving unsolicited advice. Just... don't expect him to hold up a conversation very well.
§ Background
Dar'Jzo was not always Dar'Jzo. Whether or not it was a crises of identity, he has gone through many names in his life. Some he has earned, but most were chosen for himself. His first was Kil before he earned his honorific, then Ja'kil in a fit of rebellion when he had finally come of age. S'kil when he fathered a daughter, thinking a mere name change could somehow change the person he was. Then Dro'kil when his daughter bore a child of her own, and he sought to shed the fur of the khajiit he used to be and lay down his tools for the betterment of his daughter's family. Never in his life would he have expected to become Dar'Jzo. Never in his life would he have expected to be Ra'gajal's attack cat.
It is difficult to pinpoint where exactly it all went wrong. Perhaps it was from the beginning, in 4E 149. He was born on a seafaring vessel by people who were truly no better than pirates - at least he thinks he was. The southeastern-most city of Pelletine was the port-town of Senchal, and it was as ripe with trade as it was with crime. When the ships were coming in steady, guards would watch every rundown nook and cranny, so some thieves got smart and only became active when business was slow, trading less risk for a less lucrative hit. It all depended on how big of a gambler you were. One of the Baandari, a clan of traders and peddlers, thought that she'd be saving a kitten from the big bad pirates and sneaked her way on board to pick him up from off the deck. When the smuggler made it back to the trading post inside town, poor Daro'Rista wasn't met with the praise she hoped for - she was met with scorn. The Baandari didn't deal in people, let alone babies. What started as a good-intentioned, albeit misguided attempt at philanthropy turned into all the reason in the world for an exile, and Daro'Rista became Cast-Cat.
Though this left everyone wondering what to do with the little young khajiit. Put it back on the boat with the pirates? The baby wouldn't survive! What was their intention with the baby anyway? They decided that it might have been best to either find someone willing to take him or raise the child themselves. Then they looked to Daro'Rista. Now a Cast-Cat she may be, but her act was at least done out of concern, yes? They took pity on her, though dare not re-initiate her because her gambling took too many risks. Perhaps too risky even to be taking care of a child, but Daro'Rista stopped them there - she took the child in the first place, so she will take responsibility for him. She only asked that the child could be raised Baandari like she was, and perhaps the child will do better. The Baandari agreed.
So a young cat was named Kil, raised by a trader-thief and a clan of peddlers. His origins were quite unknown to him, though Daro'Rista was no stranger when it came to sharing how he was found, so it was fair to say that Kil wasn't sure how he fit into the community around him. His mother wasn't really his mother and his father was essentially an entire clan that his mother used to be a part of, but she was exiled and yet he's allowed to be Baandari, and he came from a pirate ship where there was no telling if he was born to its crew-mates or if he was stolen away from someplace else. It was doubtless that he felt at least a little lost or had a fractured sense of identity. He just had to stick through it though, and he ended up learning the art of trade, hustling, and hawking, and perhaps the seedier aspects of life through Daro'Rista and some of the Baandari who were actually good at it.
Though in all fairness to Daro'Rista, it was she who taught him how to hunt. Learning to shoot a bow, learning the fox-trot - it was cheaper than buying the meat and the Baandari were nothing if not bargain hunters. The idea of saving money was sometimes more tantalizing than the boars and sand-crabs they were hunting! Kil never cared for trade like most of the Baandari seemed to, but they did instill into him a sort of resentment for government - not that he was your traditional rebel or anarchist, but the Baandari were a free people and he didn't want any pesky officials getting into his business.
It wasn't until his mid-teens did he really start getting into particularly seedy trade. As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as illegal trade. If a customer wanted a particular item, who was anyone to stop them? Moon sugar was no such item, but when it was distilled? Skooma was an ever-present problem across Elsweyr! So popular a drug was it, that it seemed that as much as half of Senchal was addicted to it. Very few of the Baandari in Senchal were willing to handle such hot wares and they warned Kil against it. For a while, he adhered to their wisdom, but when Daro'Rista was caught with sticky-paws and thrown into a cell, Kil went forward with the idea in hopes of raising enough money to spring his godmother free. He was never going to touch the stuff, of course. He knew that it was basically poisonous garbage and he never had any intention of indulging himself in it.
If there were a couple things the Baandari told him about the skooma trade, it was that it was extremely cutthroat, illegal, and each and every dealer was a rival who had it out for you, so it wasn't as easy as finding someone to teach you how to make it. Luckily for him, he was Baandari, and the clan takes care of its own. One of their own people by the name of Saleel - a black Cathay-raht (otherwise known in Cyrodiil as "Smokes-the-Crack"), who was in and of himself of a drug problem who decided that skooma costed too much and decided to learn how to make it himself. Saleel argued that none know how to make skooma better than he, because he's the only one who samples his own wares! That cat was rarely ever sober, and sometimes that made learning how to make skooma a pain-staking task all on its own... but that was how he got into the trade.
If there was anything he learned about the skooma trade, it was that there's no such thing as easing into it. You can't hawk your wares without getting into trouble, and nobody will come to you unless they know who you are. So what does one do? You hunt down as many sugar-tooths as you can find in the city. Catch them while they're shivering with the skooma-shakes, and you... "help them out" by easing their withdrawal with an itty bitty free sample. Then you let them know where they can find you. He chose an old storehouse on the docks. Cats don't like water (him included), but if you were wracked with addiction, wasn't it a small price to pay? Sometimes, though, addicts who are poor and can't afford the skooma will simply see a small, young khajiit and just try to take it from him.
It was as the clan said: skooma dealings were cutthroat and dangerous.
He returned home battered, bruised, and fur soggy with seawater after he was pushed off the side of the docks. He was frustrated and angry that he was seen as nothing more than a child when he was at his seventeenth year. Though his clan felt sorry for the kid, they still laughed and joked about today being the day he became a man, ironically calling him Ja'kil - it became less funny to them when Kil went along with it. He called himself Ja'kil from that point onward, hoping that would make people take him more seriously. The clan tried to explain, it didn't matter how young or how old you were. There are some out there who will simply seek to take advantage of you and a fancy new name wasn't going to change that. It put him down at first, but they continued: what he needed to do was learn how to defend himself, and the Baandari weren't without their warriors.
They taught him moves and self-defense techniques that should allow him to take care of your average drugged-up cat. Anyone with any actual training he should be wary of, but for the most part, the practice did him good. When the same customer from the other day found him again, Ja'kil wasn't the one who was thrown into the water this time.
The next couple of years for Ja'Kil was pretty much spent honing his trade. He wasn't a good merchant by any means, but he learned how to make his business work and he learned how to make better skooma more efficiently, making himself no longer reliant on Saleel's tutelage. On the downside, it was in that amount of time that Ja'kil wasn't able to meet his goal of bailing Daro'Rista out of prison before she got out on good behavior - making a profit off of addicts wasn't exactly as lucrative as he imagined, but now he had the experience so he may as well stick with it. It added to the struggle of coming to terms with his identity, since he didn't feel like this was his calling. Daro'Rista didn't approve of her godson becoming a skooma peddler, but she understood why he turned to it. While she was never a part of the trade, she did move goods from time to time. She offered her aid to him in that regard nonetheless, hoping that she could keep him safe until the time came when he grows tired of this business.
Though it became clear that he didn't spend all of his time messing around while she was in jail; he became kinda good at it. He learned most of the tricks - his first experience hardened him enough to be able to demand respect without scaring away his customers. He learned to use dead drops instead of carrying the goods nearby or on his person. He learned not just the guards' rounds, but their names, and learned credible deniability by allowing himself to be seen at certain times of the day while his customer picked up their prescription - one can't be skulking about at all hours of the day. Even during his meetings, he'd be waiting for his customers at the docks with a basket of fish at his side, a fishing pole in hand, and his feet hanging off the docks.
At nineteen years old, 4E 168, he met the khajiit who would one day bear his child: Lalana, a black-furred Suthay-raht from a family who owned a plantation. Grew things from moon sugarcane to bananas, herded goats, and even owned an elephant which plowed the land for them. The land was protected by pahmar to discourage thieves from poaching what they owned. They made everything from banana rum to traditional Elsweyr Fondue - it was safe to say that she came from a totally different caste than Ja'kil did, but she didn't want to live her life being reliant on her family's wealth. Still, they were smitten by one another. The rustic man of few words giving the bad boy vibe was just as alluring to Lalana as much as her elegance and rebellious side was to Ja'kil. Her family warned against the dangers of running off with street cats like that dastardly Baandari, Ja'kil, but as far as Lalaana was concerned, there was no evidence of him being dangerous. He never told her the truth of what he did for a living.
Of course they were young and stupid and without restraint - but they loved each other. It didn't take long before they were with child, which marked one of the happiest days for Daro'Rista. The young cat she had saved and raised had finally become a father of his own and perhaps that was the day she stopped trying to hold his hand through life. The Baandari rejoiced for his happiness and welcomed both his lover and, months later, their daughter with open arms. For the first time, he felt like he actually had a purpose: to house and protect his new family. So as Lalana suggested that they gave their daughter the name Datta, after the first Mane. Ja'kil let her make the decision - it wouldn't be fair for him to decide two names in the same day, because from that day forward, he wasn't Ja'kil, he was S'kil; for he was no longer the same brat who thought changing his name made him a different person. No, it was the deed - and since the deed of fatherhood made him a different person, the old name no longer reflected him.
Of course, the Baandari clan couldn't help but make fun of him for being so melodramatic, but they respected his wishes.
You would be forgiven for thinking that there would be a drastic change in his lifestyle following that day. How does one explain to their family that they are a skooma dealer? What if that danger finds its way to them? Well, it was all the more reason to not be caught, yes? He figured that if he was good at something, then it would be a waste of ability to not use it - such was one of the ways the Baandari taught him. Of course, he had to get better at it if he was to keep safe. Get smarter. He made his reputation as a fisherman and a hunter apparent to Senchal - it was better to be known for something innocuous than to not be known at all... those sorts were the suspicious types that the guards made a point of keeping their eyes on. Now mindful of all these different things, his job became so much harder. He needed allies and people he could trust to help him do the dirty work when he couldn't do it himself. There was Saleel, but he was more likely to smoke the skooma than not. Within the Baandari in Senchal, there was only one other these days who was willing to move skooma around: Dar'sho, the son of Ra'Mada, one of the Baandari's leaders.
He was a few years older than S'kil, but given how he's been with them since he was a kitten, they've known each other for nearly twenty years. Dar'sho was more than happy to lend a helping hand to him, especially since he was the only other person ballsy enough to handle the drug. For the next sixteen years, they've been business partners, taking on the ups and downs together and battling their rivals. From moving skooma, to selling it - Dar'sho was always the better businessman, but S'kil was better at being discrete and actually knew how to make the stuff - to sabotaging business rivals and even having to bully and collect debts when they needed to. Dar'sho covered for him when he had to spend time with his family and even went as far as to provide an uncle for his daughter. They were partners, plain and simple. Even if the going got rough and certain customers thought that they could take from them, they took care of the problem together. When they came home with a cut or a bruise, the blamed it on a wild boar while on a bad hunting trip, or some other form of wildlife with a particularly nasty temper.
Though there were some close calls that resulted in some of their stock or one of their labs being ransacked by the guard, they made a point of never being caught. Don't gamble and don't take risks. Their lives weren't worth only a couple bottles of skooma. This was the start of a regional meme of a particular skooma dealer in Pelletine called the Senchal Sugar Ghost. The name got around, but nobody knew who it was - it was just used whenever someone stumbled upon an old skooma den or a dead drop with nobody there. It became more of a joke then anything, since it could have been any one of the handful of skooma peddlers in Senchal. What started off as a strategy to hunt down an unknown, wanted criminal ended up backfiring. Literally everyone called each other the ghost. Wanted posters were made for the Senchal Sugar Ghost depicting just the rough outline of a khajiit (because duh, ghosts were invisible) - at its core though, it was mostly a mockery of the guard. Hunting down an "unknown criminal" is like hunting down someone who doesn't exist. It was the Gray Fox all over again.
In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to be asking an entire population of khajiit to share some responsibility for the law.
All the while, his family has been growing as well. Lalana has earned herself a place in the Baandari with her connections to her side of the family and opening trade between them and the clan. She had a good head for mercantilism that the clan has ultimately come to respect, and their daughter Datta was grew up idolizing her and saw the Baandari as something of a huge extended family, many of which were more than happy to entertain her with their sleight of hand tricks and faux prophecies. Datta sought to follow in her mother footsteps, because in her words, "she's the prettiest and smartest person in the whole world!"
It's difficult to blame his daughter for picking a favorite. As much as he loved her, he essentially had two full-time jobs and one was required to hide the other, so he was almost as much of a ghost to his daughter as he was to Senchal. He was barely ever around to help raise her and he loathed himself for that. He got the sense that perhaps his daughter resented him too as she grew older. It was difficult to hunt, fish, be a big-time drug dealer, and then wash away all the smells and fumes from his fur after cooking the garbage up all in one day before it was her bedtime. It was difficult, but every time he entertained the thought of leaving the business, Dar'Sho would pull him back in. He couldn't just leave. "You can't waste talent."
4E 184 - sixteen years after Datta was born was the year his life was changed, and the skeletons in his closet that he tried so desperately to hide came storming out of the shadows. Sometimes you think you've tried so hard and made so sure to cover your tracks, anything to prevent the worst from happening, like how S'kil thought he made sure that nobody followed him home. Between he and Dar'sho, surely it was impossible for one of the rivaling skooma dealers to try and eliminate the competition by sending an assassin to kill him in his own home. Just seconds after arriving home one evening as S'kil leaned in to greet his lover with a nuzzle and waving hello at his daughter from across the room, taking in the smell of the wood smoke from the fire place and the smell of freshly cooked food... Lalana's eyes grew wide from a sight she saw from behind him. She threw S'kil aside, inadvertently taking a dagger in the chest with the assailant driving all of his weight behind it mid-leap. Even the assailant seemed shocked by the turn of events, shocked enough to remain frozen long enough for S'kil to process what was happening - his lover on the floor, bleeding out... he was overcome with rage.
With an agonized, ear-splitting scream he lunged at the cat who hurt his wife while drawing a knife from his belt. He grabbed their dagger-wielding paw with his free hand, and used his weight to pin the assailant's shoulders to the ground with his knees.
The assailant struggled as he yelled out loud, "Dark moons take you! You skooma vardariit-"
Nothing was stopping him from plunging his knife into their face. Then again and again, over and over...
Dar'sho was close enough to hear the commotion and sprinted his way to their front door, unable to even get a word out seeing before him the grisly horror of the scene which left him speechless. One khajiit undoubtedly dead, face unrecognizable amidst the gore, and Lalana being cradled in S'kil's arms who was rocking back and forth, trying to talk to her lifeless body through his tears. Their daughter was sobbing into her mother's belly. The family needed to mourn, and as much Dar'sho wanted to mourn too, he felt a responsibility to them to help take care of things while they were vulnerable. He immediately started looking through the pockets of the assailant's body.
"Dar'sho..." S'kil weakly said, "what are you..."
Dar'sho said nothing, but apparently found what he was looking for in the form of a crumpled up note. He quickly read it, his fur becoming increasingly bristled and tail increasingly anxious. He balled the the piece of parchment and threw it into the fireplace, the room glowing brighter for a moment as it lit up like kindling.
"It's Jo'Zhar." Dar'sho growled. "He knows it was us."
S'kil shook his head in shame and pressed his head against his wife's.
"We have to take care of this now, S'kil, before it gets any worse."
"Papa..." Datta whimpered. "What did he mean by skooma...?"
By that point, the sounds of footfalls from neighboring houses and from the clan's residence started storming closer, people calling to each other, asking questions like, "what was that?" S'kil shook his head and looked at his daughter, saying, "I'll explain later."
Datta stared solemnly, long and hard as her mother, as she mumbled, "It's always later..."
The words stung S'kil's heart and he frowned, then looked to Dar'sho with a crestfallen glance. "Go. I'll meet with you."
He nodded and fled the scene as S'kil's neighbors and clan fell upon his home, gasping in shock and mourning with him. Datta would stay with the clan that night, and the Clan-Mother would prep the body for safe passage to the Sands Behind the Stars. Tonight, S'kil would not find sleep, but instead Dar'Sho, who waited for him at the docks where they would begin their search for Jo'Zhar. Though his former hiding place still remained abandoned, they turned to the sugar-tooths on the street for information. It didn't take long, since many of these cats S'kil knew as his buyers, and he always kept himself composed - not tonight. He wasn't hiding a single ounce of his emotions. When he demanded to know the location of one of the former dealers in Senchal - the one who got hit hard by a rival - it didn't take long for them to understand what was happening and they knew better than to stand in the middle of it. They directed S'kil straight to Jo'Zhar, where he sat in a storehouse on the far western end of the outskirts of Senchal. S'kil didn't waste any time in trying to make an example of Jo'Zhar or making him suffer. He just made sure he saw him coming before he put him down like an animal. An arrow through the neck - fwp! His body dropped to the ground. They dragged the body out into the jungle to let the wildlife take care of what was left.
They returned in time for sunrise, exhausted from a night's lack of sleep and the emotional toll the day prior had on them. They did however return in time to prepare for the passing ceremony. Between Lalana's family and the Baandari clan, they afforded enough money to invest in carving out a place in a cave for her to rest instead of a simple burial cairn. Once placed in the cave, they buried Lalana's body in a collection of stones, the first ones to be layed were by her husband and child, then followed by her family. The members of the Baandari clan filled in the rest. It was a day of mourning for a great many people, for Datta especially, but she did not forget what her father had promised her. She confronted him again, wanting to know why her mother died the previous night. Why did the murderer choose them? Why did they call him a skooma sucker?
"Look into this one's eyes, child." S'kil said. "Do they wane like the moons? Or does your father's body shake and shiver like the sugar-tooths along the streets? Worry not, S'kil is well. Clawless coward was about to die. He sought to insult him."
Datta was quite for a moment, apparently not satisfied with the answer.
"Jer do?" S'kil asked.
"Skooma vardariit." She said. "Papa, what have you been up to? Who is Jo'Zhar? Why did mama have to die?"
S'kil sighed and said, "Jo'Zhar was a dealer in skooma. Dar'sho and S'kil put an end to his business."
"You are no dust-faced guard, papa." Datta replied bitingly. "What business is it of yours to get into matters like that? Why did your family not know of it?"
S'Kil was at a loss for words. No explanation for his daughter - the clever girl that she was, she had him cornered. Apparently she was sharper and more observant than he ever realized. Perhaps he would have known this if only he was with her more often.
"This one was hoping you'd come out with it." Datta continued. "She's seen you with baskets of nightshade, she sees your eyes irritated at the end of the day. Smells the sugar clinging to your fur. You and Datta are Baandari! They trade! This one visits the market and hears from fishermen how you are such a favorite customer of theirs. How much fish you buy. You say you fish them yourself!"
S'kil hung his head low wordlessly.
"This one feared you were trading in skooma, this one hoped she was wrong! Ziss, you're the reason mama is dead."
Those were the last words she spoke to him before she stopped talking to him for the next year. The year wasn't easy. Half the time, it seemed that he did nothing besides allowing himself to waste away. The other half, he looked into the mirror and hated what he saw. He wanted to change, change for the better; change for his daughter, even if she refused to talk to him... he wanted to changed for Lalana - bless her memory. He went out looking for his former labs and stockpiles and destroyed them. He destroyed every leftover trace of his skooma production, even letting Dar'sho know that it was over. His partner was slightly disappointed, but not upset. He thought that perhaps S'kil was right in doing so, for he had already lost so much because of it. The whole year, as short as it was, felt like it had gone oh so slowly for S'kil who had nothing to do as he let his home slowly become dilapidated.
It was a year later, 4E 185, when Datta finally visited him again, accompanied by a Cathay-raht.
"Uncle Dar'sho told this one what you have been up to." She spoke softly. "It can't erase what has happened... but I am proud of you."
S'kil bowed his head and flattened his ears, a remorseful frown taking over his face. He said, "S'kil only wishes that he had the clarity of mind to change himself sooner, so that he could be with his family."
"You might not have been there for Datta," she said, "but at least you can be there for the ma'khajiit."
S'kil looked down to see his daughter holding her tummy - apparently she had taken a page out of his own book when it came to early parenthood! His dejected disposition appeared instantly uplifted for the first time since Lalana's passing, though he remained speechless. He looked at Datta's partner with his ears perked.
"Do'garamba." She introduced as S'kil eagerly reached to shake his hand.
Datta continued, "Mama always told this one stories about you when you were younger. The Baandari, too. A fondness for changing your name, yes?" Datta teased, though the modulation in her voice suggested it was endearing.
"This one was never sure of who he was or was supposed to be." S'kil admitted. "Even now, S'kil wishes to be a different person."
"Please then, allow your daughter to do you the honors..." Datta softly said. "...Dro'kil."
That was it then - a name he has actually earned for the first time. Indeed, Dro'kil was rather young for a grandfather now, but his experiences have so far granted him a great deal of insight and wisdom. It's safe to say that a huge chunk of his life was actually normal after that point. He was there for his grandchild as she grew up, and he got to be there for his daughter as well. He got to know Do'garamba, who happened to be the warrior in his family and had the dream of being the Mane's personal guard - an honorable sort, even if it meant enforcing thjizzrini. It seemed that, for the next eighteen years, his life would resemble any normal citizen and he spent most of his free time hunting in the jungles. He put what he already knew of alchemy into crafting different kinds of elixers, mostly antidotes and antivenin - and learned the craft better in order to make other potions that enhanced his natural abilities that allowed him to hunt better. Nighteye, life detection, potions which helped him steady his aging body as he pulled back his bowstring. He made sure that there was never a night that neither his daughter's family nor none of the Baandari went to bed hungry.
For eighteen years, he finally found the role that suited him. He finally felt comfortable with his identity. Grandfather. Hunter. Baandari. He finally had a sense of who he was as a person.
4E 203 - eighteen years is a long time to watch the world pass you by. While Datta might not have noticed it with being preoccupied with her own son, Saddi, and her role and duties within the Baandari. That which had actually earned her the title of Dra'datta for her excellent wit and wisdom in trade agreements. Now, though, the land of Elsweyr was more tumultuous than ever. The khajiit were allied with the empire in order to leave the Dominion, and the price of such freedom was death. The Mane was issuing drafts, and Dro'kil has seen them escorting people from their homes, which he was fortunately spared from, but his grandson... well, he was not so lucky. "For the greater good," he would hear people say. It angered him. The boy was meant for better things - he was intelligent and cunning, had a fascination for prestidigitation and prophecies and sleight of hand. He wanted to learn how to be a mage! Dro'kil wasn't going to let any crown take that away from him. In confrontation with the local recruiter, he was directed to his regional commander who would be the one to decide. Upon talking to him, the commander simply laughed in his face and shoved him off with a warning, suggesting that Dro'kil would get hurt if he kept it up.
So then he met with Dar'sho. The old cat was still up to his usual tricks ever since their business dissolved, but they greeted each other like brothers all the same. He shared with him what was troubling him, and Dar'sho seemed to catch on to what he was implying.
"We are going to kill the Mane then, yes?"
Well, seemed to at least. Assassination attempts seemed to be the running joke around here since three years back, despite everyone's respect for the spiritual and cultural significance the Mane represented. Damnable Renrijra Krin Va'Aneqasa.
"No," Dro'kil said, "this one will be there for his grandson. Dro'kil will take his place. Soul for a soul."
"Your old tail?" Dar'sho retorted in disbelief.
"You and Dro'kil has cultivated their skills over the course of lifetimes!" He defended indignantly. "They will travel to Torval very soon. When they get there, this one needs your cleverness to find out who actually wants the Mane dead. Preferably anyone who is close to the crown."
"What is it you intend to do?" He asked.
Dro'kil looked at his partner in crime with a curious, innocuous expression and simply said, "Show why Dro'kil is more valuable to the Mane than unproven children."
The next day, the pair headed out toward Torvald. Not without explaining to the Baandari clan leaders first, of course. What basically entailed rescuing one of their own was enough to receive their approval and loan them the services of two senche (who were promised large piles of food upon their return), so that they could travel through the jungle of Pelletine in decent time. It costed them one or two sleepless nights in the jungle as they stayed awake and alert for any of the vicious predators that lurked behind every bush, but between a rogue, a hunter, and two vicious tigers, there were few things that the four of them couldn't handle.
When they did finally make it to Torval, they were amazed by the number of soldiers and guards stationed within the city. It was little wonder there was a draft if they were both fighting a war and worrying about assassinations within their own state. Dro'kil looked to Dar'sho, and the latter went to work collecting information, assuring his friend that they'd have everything they'd need the next day. Meanwhile, Dro'kil spent his time in an inn's private room with the company of an alchemy set consisting of a morter and pestle, alembic, retort, and calcinator, all working together in order to separate the properties of the alchemical ingredients being distilled. Nightshade, the other ingredient in making skooma was the easiest for him to get his hands on. Antlers, which were carved off one of his kills in the past and he kept as a trophy - he destroyed them and reduced them to powder, mixing it with the nightshade.
Finally, the jarrin root. Rare and hard to come by since it only grew on Stros M'Kai - but for a Baandari in Senchal? There were one or two from his own clan who had a sprig that they were holding on to for a while, and all it takes is a little extra money to compensate for what it takes to get a hold of one. The price didn't matter to Dro'kil. It would be worth every septim.
The end result was basically a pure and undiluted poison.
The next day came sooner than they expected, and both khajiit were quite tired from working throughout the night. They were not as young as they used to be and they could feel it, but they both have been through too much in their lives to let one sleepless night slow them down. They made their preparations: the poison was prepped. They put Dar'sho into some new, fresh clothes befitting of the palace's kitchen staff. Yesterday, he asked about any dissent among the leadership in Torval and he came back with quite a few names who were apparently displeased with the Mane and his ideas, most of whom were northern representatives from Anequina who had a distaste for the seat of power. He investigated their homes and half of the names he was given had written evidence for plots against the crown - correspondence between one another - which constituted as treason.
Ra'ssran. Ra'vada-dro. Dra'vansi. Dro'kil remembered these names. Less important it was for him, perhaps - more importantly it was for Dar'sho to know, but he wanted to know which lives had to pay for the betterment of his own family.
It took the rest of the day for him to get an audience with the Mane. Dar'sho went on ahead to assimilate with the servants inside while spent all day waiting in a long line of people asking for medicine or money or to do something about the law - but Dro'kil was patient. It wasn't until supper time was he able to meet with the court, at which point he was subjected to watch the Mane, all of his servants, trusted advisers, and other khajiiti leaders stuff their faces while he stood there on an empty stomach, but he was nonetheless grateful. It only made their plan easier for them.
"My Mane, this one seeks audience with you," Dro'kil began, "for the purpose of rescinding the draft order on my grandson, Saddi."
"By Alkosh, you look terrible." One cat commented, apparently ignoring his request.
"Dro'kil has spent many sleepless nights travelling from Senchal in order to beseech this of you." Dro'kil explained.
"Then I am afraid you should have spent that time sleeping, instead." The Mane said plainly. "If I agreed to rescind the draft on every person who asked, we would not have enough warriors to fight the Dominion to secure the freedom we khajiit deserve."
Dro'kil sighed. This was nothing he did not anticipate. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dar'sho hanging in the doorway watching them. It looked like it was time to proceed with the plan.
"Then perhaps we can come to an agreement--"
"This is no bargain you can win, Baandari." The Mane interrupted, looking at him knowingly. He tapped the side of his head with finger. Dro'kil was somewhat unsettled by his knowledge, but he regained his composure. The Mane only thought he knew enough about him. The truth was that if he did, then there was no way Dro'kil would even be allowed in this room.
Dro'kil pressed on, his face stoic and serious, "It is a fair trade: a life for a life. A soul for a soul. I will take the place of my grandson."
The whole room seemed to erupt in laughter, and Dro'kil could have sworn he even felt the air around him shift, but he remained still and stern.
"Don't take this the wrong way," the Mane began, "but don't you think we could get more use out of a young khajiit, easily molded and better able, than what we could out of his grandfather?"
"What is a child with sticks and stones compared to a lifetime of experience?" Dro'kil asserted confidently. "This one can be far more useful to you in the coming years than Saddi. Leaders cannot be formed overnight, no?"
"And you have proof that you are as competent as you suggest?"
Dro'kil smiled. Dro'kil rarely ever smiled - and that was the cue for Dar'sho to get ready. He saw from his periphery that he had begun moving.
"That is a most excellent idea, my Mane!" He said. He looked around the room at all the leaders and officials of Torval. "How about we all toast? To the Mane, and to proving Dro'kil worthy of his trust! He shall make a show of it!"
This prompted laughter from the Mane, which seemed to permit laughter from the rest of the court. "You're a mad cat," the Mane said, "but I like you. Very well - a toast then!"
Everyone in the room seemed to be finishing what little remained in their cups, so that - as per the custom - they may give their toast with full cups. Dar'sho came out of the kitchen with a platter in hand with fresh goblets of wine. Very few payed him little mind as he was very particular in which goblet he handed to whom. After he went around and handed out all the fresh cups of wine, he served Dro'kil last - the two averted eye contact - and he returned to the kitchen, his tail twitching in anticipation.
"To the old cat making a fool of himself!" The Mane declared.
"To the fool!" The room repeated in unison.
Everyone in the room took a drink from their cups except for Dro'kil. That was the moment he felt something cold and sharp on his neck, but nothing was there.
Then followed the sounds of three bodies hitting the floor. Ra'ssran, Ra'vada-dro, and Dra'vansi, with foam at their mouths, were dead in mere seconds. The Mane and the dozen other khajiit looked shocked, the personal guard were brandishing their own weapons but were unsure of what to do - the Mane was fine. Most of the people in the room were fine... but the unmoving, calm expression on Dro'kil's face was telling.
"What is the meaning of this?!" The Mane demanded.
Suddenly a knife apparated before Dro'kil, along with the wielder's hand - the veil of an invisibility spell was immediately dropped, revealing a tattooed ohmes woman much shorter than Dro'kil, holding the knife to his throat. Suddenly the the strange cold feeling at his neck and the shifting air around him made sense. She must have been there the entire time! But Dro'kil kept his composure, dropping the goblet of wine onto the floor and slowly raising his hands in the air.
He made sure to speak slowly and calmly while he was at the mercy of the ohmes woman, "Search Dro'kil's pouch. Right hip."
They hesitantly followed his direction as Dro'kil continued, "Dro'kil is proving himself, his Mane. Those renrij were traitors who plotted against you under your nose. Beneath the roof of your own home."
The ohmes whipped out the pieces of parchment from his pouch and began reading through the documents, her wild eyes unchanging and her knife still pressed against Dro'kil. It recorded much of the correspondence between the three khajiit and their plots to betray the Mane with their own handwriting. The ohmes looked up at the Mane unflinchingly and said, "What he says is true."
There were a few moments of silence as the Mane seemed to come to grips with this information, a solemn and mournful air overtaking him before he regained his composure. "At ease. Dro'kil, my apologies to you for not being more hospitable. This is Ra'gajal, my spymaster. Ra'gajal, did you foresee this coming?"
The ohmes took her knife away from Dro'kil and sheathed it, then stood at attention before the Mane. "They were but a few of the suspects I had identified. I did not yet have the evidence to act on my suspicions."
"Tell me Dro'kil," the Mane said, leaning forward in his chair, "how does an outsider such as yourself beat my spymaster to finding the evidence?"
"A fresh new perspective, this one supposes." He humbly lied. The truth was that he dared not let Dar'sho get mixed up in this mess.
"Indeed..." Ra'gajal muttered to herself as she inspected him inquisitively.
"Well, as sad as I am to lose friends this day..." the Man began with a sigh, "I am glad to earn at least one more friend. You have saved my life this day and have proven yourself, so I will agree to your request to rescind the order on your grandson. Saddi, from the Baandari clan in Senchal, yes?"
The Mane motioned for his guards to take care of the three dead bodies within the room, then looked back at Dro'kil. "Your... talents will be useful, yes. Warriors and conscripts are easy to come by, but Agents of the Mane... less so. I shall appoint you to Ra'gajal. She will inform you of your duties and assign you your missions. I will permit you time to return to Senchal and say your goodbyes to your family. When you return, your training will begin."
That was that. Dar'sho had gone on ahead without him - it was best to not be acquainted with this whole operation. Dro'kil would return at least a day after him to give the bittersweet news. Dra'datta was upset that her father would be leaving again, but ever so grateful that her own son would be spared from the horrors of war. She could never thank him enough. After saying goodbye to the rest of the clan, and giving his deepest thanks to Dar'sho for his help, Dro'kil returned to Torval to begin this new chapter of his life; but before doing so, he decided to meet with the regional commander near Senchal so that he could rub it in his face. That no good, rotted, slow-pawed, short-tail...
The first order of business, as far as Ra'gajal was concerned, was to suggest to Dro'kil to change his name if he wanted to protect his family. She of course did no such thing, for she had no family to protect. Dro'kil faced this issue with reluctance at first, but eventually conceded. He had struggled with a fractured identity for so much of his life... what were another few years? From that point on, they agreed to call him Dar'Jzo. Now the training begins.
The next two years was spent as an Agent of the Mane, the spymaster's very own executioner. They honed the skills he already knew and taught him actual techniques to use over what he taught himself, but otherwise he required very little work and turned out to be in better shape than his age indicated. Missions either required him to simply sit and watch a person or location for a certain amount of time, infiltrating a group or building, or taking out their enemies. Something changed within Dar'Jzo during this time that made him shut himself off to the rest of the world. He was still the same person as before, but he was less open with himself now. It became clear that Dar'Jzo was not the most charming individual, so they learned to keep him on missions where he wasn't supposed to be seen. Those missions he particularly excelled at, and they took him as far as the Summerset Isles to aid the coup in Alinor.
When the Mane was assassinated in 4E 205, everything was not so clear-cut. He was killed by jarrin root, the main component in Dar'Jzo's own concoction. Ra'gajal was never very trusting of Dar'Jzo, always suspecting that there was something more to him the day he approached the Mane than what he let on, but he was on a mission that was nowhere near Torval. As far as she was concerned, Dar'Jzo was the only one she could trust. This was unfortunate for him, because he thought that since the Mane died, that would be his chance at freedom and that he could finally return to his family. But the spymaster was stringent, even more stern than Dar'Jzo was, and possessed unwavering devotion to the throne which seated the Mane. As long as she was alive, she would see that Torval remained protected for the good of Elsweyr. That also meant getting Dar'Jzo involved in the civil war that followed, taking out members on both sides if they posed a great enough threat.
But something has been bothering Ra'gajal lately, and not just the fact that the cause of the Mane's death leads her to suspect that it was imperial treachery, but the movements going around the world. Word reached Elsweyr that the dunmer of Morrowind aligned themselves with Akaviri monsters and moved on Skyrim. She had agents all over Tamriel and half as many within Elsweyr, but she didn't have anyone up north. Khajiits had the bad habit of being turned into cloaks or carpets by the nords after the Stormcloaks took over. All of Elsweyr was vulnerable at the moment, and she didn't want another party taking advantage of that and entering the fray. So she directed Dar'Jzo toward the far end of Tamriel with the logic that his ability to stay hidden in the shadows should protect them from the most unruly of them. There, he'd also be far, far away from his family.
He almost told her no.
Instead, he obeyed. He remembered why he was doing this. If he went back on the oath he swore to the last Mane, then his grandson would be free picking. He couldn't subject him to the kinds of horrors he has seen and the sins he's committed. He was to take a ship that would circle around the west and be destined to dock in Solitude. As much as Dar'Jzo thought boats were bad luck, that was ironically the safest way to get there. There was one perk to it though: the boat was docked in Senchal. Before he'd leave, he'd get to visit his family. Except one thing was missing... Saddi had left two months ago to pursue mage training at the College of Winterhold. Winterhold was supposedly destroyed last month.
Despite his disdain for ships and water, Dar'Jzo boarded the vessel with the greatest of haste and convinced the captain to proceed with utmost urgency. Tracing along the south and western coast of Tamriel, stopping from port to port only to replenish their supplies. They zipped between Valenwood and the Summerset Isles with great caution, stopped by Hammerfell for one more replenishment, and went around High Rock to finally make anchor at the port just outside of Solitude. From there, Dar'Jzo's mission begins. Not just to keep an eye on the Akivir situation, but also to find any trace of his grandson. When he finds him - and come Oblivion or high water, he will find him - there was nothing or no one in this world that could make him turn his back on his family ever again. Not even Ra'gajal.
Word had it that there were some mercenaries who recently rolled into town and had a personal encounter with the Akavir. That would be as good a place as any to start.
It is difficult to pinpoint where exactly it all went wrong. Perhaps it was from the beginning, in 4E 149. He was born on a seafaring vessel by people who were truly no better than pirates - at least he thinks he was. The southeastern-most city of Pelletine was the port-town of Senchal, and it was as ripe with trade as it was with crime. When the ships were coming in steady, guards would watch every rundown nook and cranny, so some thieves got smart and only became active when business was slow, trading less risk for a less lucrative hit. It all depended on how big of a gambler you were. One of the Baandari, a clan of traders and peddlers, thought that she'd be saving a kitten from the big bad pirates and sneaked her way on board to pick him up from off the deck. When the smuggler made it back to the trading post inside town, poor Daro'Rista wasn't met with the praise she hoped for - she was met with scorn. The Baandari didn't deal in people, let alone babies. What started as a good-intentioned, albeit misguided attempt at philanthropy turned into all the reason in the world for an exile, and Daro'Rista became Cast-Cat.
Though this left everyone wondering what to do with the little young khajiit. Put it back on the boat with the pirates? The baby wouldn't survive! What was their intention with the baby anyway? They decided that it might have been best to either find someone willing to take him or raise the child themselves. Then they looked to Daro'Rista. Now a Cast-Cat she may be, but her act was at least done out of concern, yes? They took pity on her, though dare not re-initiate her because her gambling took too many risks. Perhaps too risky even to be taking care of a child, but Daro'Rista stopped them there - she took the child in the first place, so she will take responsibility for him. She only asked that the child could be raised Baandari like she was, and perhaps the child will do better. The Baandari agreed.
So a young cat was named Kil, raised by a trader-thief and a clan of peddlers. His origins were quite unknown to him, though Daro'Rista was no stranger when it came to sharing how he was found, so it was fair to say that Kil wasn't sure how he fit into the community around him. His mother wasn't really his mother and his father was essentially an entire clan that his mother used to be a part of, but she was exiled and yet he's allowed to be Baandari, and he came from a pirate ship where there was no telling if he was born to its crew-mates or if he was stolen away from someplace else. It was doubtless that he felt at least a little lost or had a fractured sense of identity. He just had to stick through it though, and he ended up learning the art of trade, hustling, and hawking, and perhaps the seedier aspects of life through Daro'Rista and some of the Baandari who were actually good at it.
Though in all fairness to Daro'Rista, it was she who taught him how to hunt. Learning to shoot a bow, learning the fox-trot - it was cheaper than buying the meat and the Baandari were nothing if not bargain hunters. The idea of saving money was sometimes more tantalizing than the boars and sand-crabs they were hunting! Kil never cared for trade like most of the Baandari seemed to, but they did instill into him a sort of resentment for government - not that he was your traditional rebel or anarchist, but the Baandari were a free people and he didn't want any pesky officials getting into his business.
It wasn't until his mid-teens did he really start getting into particularly seedy trade. As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as illegal trade. If a customer wanted a particular item, who was anyone to stop them? Moon sugar was no such item, but when it was distilled? Skooma was an ever-present problem across Elsweyr! So popular a drug was it, that it seemed that as much as half of Senchal was addicted to it. Very few of the Baandari in Senchal were willing to handle such hot wares and they warned Kil against it. For a while, he adhered to their wisdom, but when Daro'Rista was caught with sticky-paws and thrown into a cell, Kil went forward with the idea in hopes of raising enough money to spring his godmother free. He was never going to touch the stuff, of course. He knew that it was basically poisonous garbage and he never had any intention of indulging himself in it.
If there were a couple things the Baandari told him about the skooma trade, it was that it was extremely cutthroat, illegal, and each and every dealer was a rival who had it out for you, so it wasn't as easy as finding someone to teach you how to make it. Luckily for him, he was Baandari, and the clan takes care of its own. One of their own people by the name of Saleel - a black Cathay-raht (otherwise known in Cyrodiil as "Smokes-the-Crack"), who was in and of himself of a drug problem who decided that skooma costed too much and decided to learn how to make it himself. Saleel argued that none know how to make skooma better than he, because he's the only one who samples his own wares! That cat was rarely ever sober, and sometimes that made learning how to make skooma a pain-staking task all on its own... but that was how he got into the trade.
If there was anything he learned about the skooma trade, it was that there's no such thing as easing into it. You can't hawk your wares without getting into trouble, and nobody will come to you unless they know who you are. So what does one do? You hunt down as many sugar-tooths as you can find in the city. Catch them while they're shivering with the skooma-shakes, and you... "help them out" by easing their withdrawal with an itty bitty free sample. Then you let them know where they can find you. He chose an old storehouse on the docks. Cats don't like water (him included), but if you were wracked with addiction, wasn't it a small price to pay? Sometimes, though, addicts who are poor and can't afford the skooma will simply see a small, young khajiit and just try to take it from him.
It was as the clan said: skooma dealings were cutthroat and dangerous.
He returned home battered, bruised, and fur soggy with seawater after he was pushed off the side of the docks. He was frustrated and angry that he was seen as nothing more than a child when he was at his seventeenth year. Though his clan felt sorry for the kid, they still laughed and joked about today being the day he became a man, ironically calling him Ja'kil - it became less funny to them when Kil went along with it. He called himself Ja'kil from that point onward, hoping that would make people take him more seriously. The clan tried to explain, it didn't matter how young or how old you were. There are some out there who will simply seek to take advantage of you and a fancy new name wasn't going to change that. It put him down at first, but they continued: what he needed to do was learn how to defend himself, and the Baandari weren't without their warriors.
They taught him moves and self-defense techniques that should allow him to take care of your average drugged-up cat. Anyone with any actual training he should be wary of, but for the most part, the practice did him good. When the same customer from the other day found him again, Ja'kil wasn't the one who was thrown into the water this time.
The next couple of years for Ja'Kil was pretty much spent honing his trade. He wasn't a good merchant by any means, but he learned how to make his business work and he learned how to make better skooma more efficiently, making himself no longer reliant on Saleel's tutelage. On the downside, it was in that amount of time that Ja'kil wasn't able to meet his goal of bailing Daro'Rista out of prison before she got out on good behavior - making a profit off of addicts wasn't exactly as lucrative as he imagined, but now he had the experience so he may as well stick with it. It added to the struggle of coming to terms with his identity, since he didn't feel like this was his calling. Daro'Rista didn't approve of her godson becoming a skooma peddler, but she understood why he turned to it. While she was never a part of the trade, she did move goods from time to time. She offered her aid to him in that regard nonetheless, hoping that she could keep him safe until the time came when he grows tired of this business.
Though it became clear that he didn't spend all of his time messing around while she was in jail; he became kinda good at it. He learned most of the tricks - his first experience hardened him enough to be able to demand respect without scaring away his customers. He learned to use dead drops instead of carrying the goods nearby or on his person. He learned not just the guards' rounds, but their names, and learned credible deniability by allowing himself to be seen at certain times of the day while his customer picked up their prescription - one can't be skulking about at all hours of the day. Even during his meetings, he'd be waiting for his customers at the docks with a basket of fish at his side, a fishing pole in hand, and his feet hanging off the docks.
At nineteen years old, 4E 168, he met the khajiit who would one day bear his child: Lalana, a black-furred Suthay-raht from a family who owned a plantation. Grew things from moon sugarcane to bananas, herded goats, and even owned an elephant which plowed the land for them. The land was protected by pahmar to discourage thieves from poaching what they owned. They made everything from banana rum to traditional Elsweyr Fondue - it was safe to say that she came from a totally different caste than Ja'kil did, but she didn't want to live her life being reliant on her family's wealth. Still, they were smitten by one another. The rustic man of few words giving the bad boy vibe was just as alluring to Lalana as much as her elegance and rebellious side was to Ja'kil. Her family warned against the dangers of running off with street cats like that dastardly Baandari, Ja'kil, but as far as Lalaana was concerned, there was no evidence of him being dangerous. He never told her the truth of what he did for a living.
Of course they were young and stupid and without restraint - but they loved each other. It didn't take long before they were with child, which marked one of the happiest days for Daro'Rista. The young cat she had saved and raised had finally become a father of his own and perhaps that was the day she stopped trying to hold his hand through life. The Baandari rejoiced for his happiness and welcomed both his lover and, months later, their daughter with open arms. For the first time, he felt like he actually had a purpose: to house and protect his new family. So as Lalana suggested that they gave their daughter the name Datta, after the first Mane. Ja'kil let her make the decision - it wouldn't be fair for him to decide two names in the same day, because from that day forward, he wasn't Ja'kil, he was S'kil; for he was no longer the same brat who thought changing his name made him a different person. No, it was the deed - and since the deed of fatherhood made him a different person, the old name no longer reflected him.
Of course, the Baandari clan couldn't help but make fun of him for being so melodramatic, but they respected his wishes.
You would be forgiven for thinking that there would be a drastic change in his lifestyle following that day. How does one explain to their family that they are a skooma dealer? What if that danger finds its way to them? Well, it was all the more reason to not be caught, yes? He figured that if he was good at something, then it would be a waste of ability to not use it - such was one of the ways the Baandari taught him. Of course, he had to get better at it if he was to keep safe. Get smarter. He made his reputation as a fisherman and a hunter apparent to Senchal - it was better to be known for something innocuous than to not be known at all... those sorts were the suspicious types that the guards made a point of keeping their eyes on. Now mindful of all these different things, his job became so much harder. He needed allies and people he could trust to help him do the dirty work when he couldn't do it himself. There was Saleel, but he was more likely to smoke the skooma than not. Within the Baandari in Senchal, there was only one other these days who was willing to move skooma around: Dar'sho, the son of Ra'Mada, one of the Baandari's leaders.
He was a few years older than S'kil, but given how he's been with them since he was a kitten, they've known each other for nearly twenty years. Dar'sho was more than happy to lend a helping hand to him, especially since he was the only other person ballsy enough to handle the drug. For the next sixteen years, they've been business partners, taking on the ups and downs together and battling their rivals. From moving skooma, to selling it - Dar'sho was always the better businessman, but S'kil was better at being discrete and actually knew how to make the stuff - to sabotaging business rivals and even having to bully and collect debts when they needed to. Dar'sho covered for him when he had to spend time with his family and even went as far as to provide an uncle for his daughter. They were partners, plain and simple. Even if the going got rough and certain customers thought that they could take from them, they took care of the problem together. When they came home with a cut or a bruise, the blamed it on a wild boar while on a bad hunting trip, or some other form of wildlife with a particularly nasty temper.
Though there were some close calls that resulted in some of their stock or one of their labs being ransacked by the guard, they made a point of never being caught. Don't gamble and don't take risks. Their lives weren't worth only a couple bottles of skooma. This was the start of a regional meme of a particular skooma dealer in Pelletine called the Senchal Sugar Ghost. The name got around, but nobody knew who it was - it was just used whenever someone stumbled upon an old skooma den or a dead drop with nobody there. It became more of a joke then anything, since it could have been any one of the handful of skooma peddlers in Senchal. What started off as a strategy to hunt down an unknown, wanted criminal ended up backfiring. Literally everyone called each other the ghost. Wanted posters were made for the Senchal Sugar Ghost depicting just the rough outline of a khajiit (because duh, ghosts were invisible) - at its core though, it was mostly a mockery of the guard. Hunting down an "unknown criminal" is like hunting down someone who doesn't exist. It was the Gray Fox all over again.
In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to be asking an entire population of khajiit to share some responsibility for the law.
All the while, his family has been growing as well. Lalana has earned herself a place in the Baandari with her connections to her side of the family and opening trade between them and the clan. She had a good head for mercantilism that the clan has ultimately come to respect, and their daughter Datta was grew up idolizing her and saw the Baandari as something of a huge extended family, many of which were more than happy to entertain her with their sleight of hand tricks and faux prophecies. Datta sought to follow in her mother footsteps, because in her words, "she's the prettiest and smartest person in the whole world!"
It's difficult to blame his daughter for picking a favorite. As much as he loved her, he essentially had two full-time jobs and one was required to hide the other, so he was almost as much of a ghost to his daughter as he was to Senchal. He was barely ever around to help raise her and he loathed himself for that. He got the sense that perhaps his daughter resented him too as she grew older. It was difficult to hunt, fish, be a big-time drug dealer, and then wash away all the smells and fumes from his fur after cooking the garbage up all in one day before it was her bedtime. It was difficult, but every time he entertained the thought of leaving the business, Dar'Sho would pull him back in. He couldn't just leave. "You can't waste talent."
4E 184 - sixteen years after Datta was born was the year his life was changed, and the skeletons in his closet that he tried so desperately to hide came storming out of the shadows. Sometimes you think you've tried so hard and made so sure to cover your tracks, anything to prevent the worst from happening, like how S'kil thought he made sure that nobody followed him home. Between he and Dar'sho, surely it was impossible for one of the rivaling skooma dealers to try and eliminate the competition by sending an assassin to kill him in his own home. Just seconds after arriving home one evening as S'kil leaned in to greet his lover with a nuzzle and waving hello at his daughter from across the room, taking in the smell of the wood smoke from the fire place and the smell of freshly cooked food... Lalana's eyes grew wide from a sight she saw from behind him. She threw S'kil aside, inadvertently taking a dagger in the chest with the assailant driving all of his weight behind it mid-leap. Even the assailant seemed shocked by the turn of events, shocked enough to remain frozen long enough for S'kil to process what was happening - his lover on the floor, bleeding out... he was overcome with rage.
With an agonized, ear-splitting scream he lunged at the cat who hurt his wife while drawing a knife from his belt. He grabbed their dagger-wielding paw with his free hand, and used his weight to pin the assailant's shoulders to the ground with his knees.
The assailant struggled as he yelled out loud, "Dark moons take you! You skooma vardariit-"
Nothing was stopping him from plunging his knife into their face. Then again and again, over and over...
Dar'sho was close enough to hear the commotion and sprinted his way to their front door, unable to even get a word out seeing before him the grisly horror of the scene which left him speechless. One khajiit undoubtedly dead, face unrecognizable amidst the gore, and Lalana being cradled in S'kil's arms who was rocking back and forth, trying to talk to her lifeless body through his tears. Their daughter was sobbing into her mother's belly. The family needed to mourn, and as much Dar'sho wanted to mourn too, he felt a responsibility to them to help take care of things while they were vulnerable. He immediately started looking through the pockets of the assailant's body.
"Dar'sho..." S'kil weakly said, "what are you..."
Dar'sho said nothing, but apparently found what he was looking for in the form of a crumpled up note. He quickly read it, his fur becoming increasingly bristled and tail increasingly anxious. He balled the the piece of parchment and threw it into the fireplace, the room glowing brighter for a moment as it lit up like kindling.
"It's Jo'Zhar." Dar'sho growled. "He knows it was us."
S'kil shook his head in shame and pressed his head against his wife's.
"We have to take care of this now, S'kil, before it gets any worse."
"Papa..." Datta whimpered. "What did he mean by skooma...?"
By that point, the sounds of footfalls from neighboring houses and from the clan's residence started storming closer, people calling to each other, asking questions like, "what was that?" S'kil shook his head and looked at his daughter, saying, "I'll explain later."
Datta stared solemnly, long and hard as her mother, as she mumbled, "It's always later..."
The words stung S'kil's heart and he frowned, then looked to Dar'sho with a crestfallen glance. "Go. I'll meet with you."
He nodded and fled the scene as S'kil's neighbors and clan fell upon his home, gasping in shock and mourning with him. Datta would stay with the clan that night, and the Clan-Mother would prep the body for safe passage to the Sands Behind the Stars. Tonight, S'kil would not find sleep, but instead Dar'Sho, who waited for him at the docks where they would begin their search for Jo'Zhar. Though his former hiding place still remained abandoned, they turned to the sugar-tooths on the street for information. It didn't take long, since many of these cats S'kil knew as his buyers, and he always kept himself composed - not tonight. He wasn't hiding a single ounce of his emotions. When he demanded to know the location of one of the former dealers in Senchal - the one who got hit hard by a rival - it didn't take long for them to understand what was happening and they knew better than to stand in the middle of it. They directed S'kil straight to Jo'Zhar, where he sat in a storehouse on the far western end of the outskirts of Senchal. S'kil didn't waste any time in trying to make an example of Jo'Zhar or making him suffer. He just made sure he saw him coming before he put him down like an animal. An arrow through the neck - fwp! His body dropped to the ground. They dragged the body out into the jungle to let the wildlife take care of what was left.
They returned in time for sunrise, exhausted from a night's lack of sleep and the emotional toll the day prior had on them. They did however return in time to prepare for the passing ceremony. Between Lalana's family and the Baandari clan, they afforded enough money to invest in carving out a place in a cave for her to rest instead of a simple burial cairn. Once placed in the cave, they buried Lalana's body in a collection of stones, the first ones to be layed were by her husband and child, then followed by her family. The members of the Baandari clan filled in the rest. It was a day of mourning for a great many people, for Datta especially, but she did not forget what her father had promised her. She confronted him again, wanting to know why her mother died the previous night. Why did the murderer choose them? Why did they call him a skooma sucker?
"Look into this one's eyes, child." S'kil said. "Do they wane like the moons? Or does your father's body shake and shiver like the sugar-tooths along the streets? Worry not, S'kil is well. Clawless coward was about to die. He sought to insult him."
Datta was quite for a moment, apparently not satisfied with the answer.
"Jer do?" S'kil asked.
"Skooma vardariit." She said. "Papa, what have you been up to? Who is Jo'Zhar? Why did mama have to die?"
S'kil sighed and said, "Jo'Zhar was a dealer in skooma. Dar'sho and S'kil put an end to his business."
"You are no dust-faced guard, papa." Datta replied bitingly. "What business is it of yours to get into matters like that? Why did your family not know of it?"
S'Kil was at a loss for words. No explanation for his daughter - the clever girl that she was, she had him cornered. Apparently she was sharper and more observant than he ever realized. Perhaps he would have known this if only he was with her more often.
"This one was hoping you'd come out with it." Datta continued. "She's seen you with baskets of nightshade, she sees your eyes irritated at the end of the day. Smells the sugar clinging to your fur. You and Datta are Baandari! They trade! This one visits the market and hears from fishermen how you are such a favorite customer of theirs. How much fish you buy. You say you fish them yourself!"
S'kil hung his head low wordlessly.
"This one feared you were trading in skooma, this one hoped she was wrong! Ziss, you're the reason mama is dead."
Those were the last words she spoke to him before she stopped talking to him for the next year. The year wasn't easy. Half the time, it seemed that he did nothing besides allowing himself to waste away. The other half, he looked into the mirror and hated what he saw. He wanted to change, change for the better; change for his daughter, even if she refused to talk to him... he wanted to changed for Lalana - bless her memory. He went out looking for his former labs and stockpiles and destroyed them. He destroyed every leftover trace of his skooma production, even letting Dar'sho know that it was over. His partner was slightly disappointed, but not upset. He thought that perhaps S'kil was right in doing so, for he had already lost so much because of it. The whole year, as short as it was, felt like it had gone oh so slowly for S'kil who had nothing to do as he let his home slowly become dilapidated.
It was a year later, 4E 185, when Datta finally visited him again, accompanied by a Cathay-raht.
"Uncle Dar'sho told this one what you have been up to." She spoke softly. "It can't erase what has happened... but I am proud of you."
S'kil bowed his head and flattened his ears, a remorseful frown taking over his face. He said, "S'kil only wishes that he had the clarity of mind to change himself sooner, so that he could be with his family."
"You might not have been there for Datta," she said, "but at least you can be there for the ma'khajiit."
S'kil looked down to see his daughter holding her tummy - apparently she had taken a page out of his own book when it came to early parenthood! His dejected disposition appeared instantly uplifted for the first time since Lalana's passing, though he remained speechless. He looked at Datta's partner with his ears perked.
"Do'garamba." She introduced as S'kil eagerly reached to shake his hand.
Datta continued, "Mama always told this one stories about you when you were younger. The Baandari, too. A fondness for changing your name, yes?" Datta teased, though the modulation in her voice suggested it was endearing.
"This one was never sure of who he was or was supposed to be." S'kil admitted. "Even now, S'kil wishes to be a different person."
"Please then, allow your daughter to do you the honors..." Datta softly said. "...Dro'kil."
That was it then - a name he has actually earned for the first time. Indeed, Dro'kil was rather young for a grandfather now, but his experiences have so far granted him a great deal of insight and wisdom. It's safe to say that a huge chunk of his life was actually normal after that point. He was there for his grandchild as she grew up, and he got to be there for his daughter as well. He got to know Do'garamba, who happened to be the warrior in his family and had the dream of being the Mane's personal guard - an honorable sort, even if it meant enforcing thjizzrini. It seemed that, for the next eighteen years, his life would resemble any normal citizen and he spent most of his free time hunting in the jungles. He put what he already knew of alchemy into crafting different kinds of elixers, mostly antidotes and antivenin - and learned the craft better in order to make other potions that enhanced his natural abilities that allowed him to hunt better. Nighteye, life detection, potions which helped him steady his aging body as he pulled back his bowstring. He made sure that there was never a night that neither his daughter's family nor none of the Baandari went to bed hungry.
For eighteen years, he finally found the role that suited him. He finally felt comfortable with his identity. Grandfather. Hunter. Baandari. He finally had a sense of who he was as a person.
4E 203 - eighteen years is a long time to watch the world pass you by. While Datta might not have noticed it with being preoccupied with her own son, Saddi, and her role and duties within the Baandari. That which had actually earned her the title of Dra'datta for her excellent wit and wisdom in trade agreements. Now, though, the land of Elsweyr was more tumultuous than ever. The khajiit were allied with the empire in order to leave the Dominion, and the price of such freedom was death. The Mane was issuing drafts, and Dro'kil has seen them escorting people from their homes, which he was fortunately spared from, but his grandson... well, he was not so lucky. "For the greater good," he would hear people say. It angered him. The boy was meant for better things - he was intelligent and cunning, had a fascination for prestidigitation and prophecies and sleight of hand. He wanted to learn how to be a mage! Dro'kil wasn't going to let any crown take that away from him. In confrontation with the local recruiter, he was directed to his regional commander who would be the one to decide. Upon talking to him, the commander simply laughed in his face and shoved him off with a warning, suggesting that Dro'kil would get hurt if he kept it up.
So then he met with Dar'sho. The old cat was still up to his usual tricks ever since their business dissolved, but they greeted each other like brothers all the same. He shared with him what was troubling him, and Dar'sho seemed to catch on to what he was implying.
"We are going to kill the Mane then, yes?"
Well, seemed to at least. Assassination attempts seemed to be the running joke around here since three years back, despite everyone's respect for the spiritual and cultural significance the Mane represented. Damnable Renrijra Krin Va'Aneqasa.
"No," Dro'kil said, "this one will be there for his grandson. Dro'kil will take his place. Soul for a soul."
"Your old tail?" Dar'sho retorted in disbelief.
"You and Dro'kil has cultivated their skills over the course of lifetimes!" He defended indignantly. "They will travel to Torval very soon. When they get there, this one needs your cleverness to find out who actually wants the Mane dead. Preferably anyone who is close to the crown."
"What is it you intend to do?" He asked.
Dro'kil looked at his partner in crime with a curious, innocuous expression and simply said, "Show why Dro'kil is more valuable to the Mane than unproven children."
The next day, the pair headed out toward Torvald. Not without explaining to the Baandari clan leaders first, of course. What basically entailed rescuing one of their own was enough to receive their approval and loan them the services of two senche (who were promised large piles of food upon their return), so that they could travel through the jungle of Pelletine in decent time. It costed them one or two sleepless nights in the jungle as they stayed awake and alert for any of the vicious predators that lurked behind every bush, but between a rogue, a hunter, and two vicious tigers, there were few things that the four of them couldn't handle.
When they did finally make it to Torval, they were amazed by the number of soldiers and guards stationed within the city. It was little wonder there was a draft if they were both fighting a war and worrying about assassinations within their own state. Dro'kil looked to Dar'sho, and the latter went to work collecting information, assuring his friend that they'd have everything they'd need the next day. Meanwhile, Dro'kil spent his time in an inn's private room with the company of an alchemy set consisting of a morter and pestle, alembic, retort, and calcinator, all working together in order to separate the properties of the alchemical ingredients being distilled. Nightshade, the other ingredient in making skooma was the easiest for him to get his hands on. Antlers, which were carved off one of his kills in the past and he kept as a trophy - he destroyed them and reduced them to powder, mixing it with the nightshade.
Finally, the jarrin root. Rare and hard to come by since it only grew on Stros M'Kai - but for a Baandari in Senchal? There were one or two from his own clan who had a sprig that they were holding on to for a while, and all it takes is a little extra money to compensate for what it takes to get a hold of one. The price didn't matter to Dro'kil. It would be worth every septim.
The end result was basically a pure and undiluted poison.
The next day came sooner than they expected, and both khajiit were quite tired from working throughout the night. They were not as young as they used to be and they could feel it, but they both have been through too much in their lives to let one sleepless night slow them down. They made their preparations: the poison was prepped. They put Dar'sho into some new, fresh clothes befitting of the palace's kitchen staff. Yesterday, he asked about any dissent among the leadership in Torval and he came back with quite a few names who were apparently displeased with the Mane and his ideas, most of whom were northern representatives from Anequina who had a distaste for the seat of power. He investigated their homes and half of the names he was given had written evidence for plots against the crown - correspondence between one another - which constituted as treason.
Ra'ssran. Ra'vada-dro. Dra'vansi. Dro'kil remembered these names. Less important it was for him, perhaps - more importantly it was for Dar'sho to know, but he wanted to know which lives had to pay for the betterment of his own family.
It took the rest of the day for him to get an audience with the Mane. Dar'sho went on ahead to assimilate with the servants inside while spent all day waiting in a long line of people asking for medicine or money or to do something about the law - but Dro'kil was patient. It wasn't until supper time was he able to meet with the court, at which point he was subjected to watch the Mane, all of his servants, trusted advisers, and other khajiiti leaders stuff their faces while he stood there on an empty stomach, but he was nonetheless grateful. It only made their plan easier for them.
"My Mane, this one seeks audience with you," Dro'kil began, "for the purpose of rescinding the draft order on my grandson, Saddi."
"By Alkosh, you look terrible." One cat commented, apparently ignoring his request.
"Dro'kil has spent many sleepless nights travelling from Senchal in order to beseech this of you." Dro'kil explained.
"Then I am afraid you should have spent that time sleeping, instead." The Mane said plainly. "If I agreed to rescind the draft on every person who asked, we would not have enough warriors to fight the Dominion to secure the freedom we khajiit deserve."
Dro'kil sighed. This was nothing he did not anticipate. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dar'sho hanging in the doorway watching them. It looked like it was time to proceed with the plan.
"Then perhaps we can come to an agreement--"
"This is no bargain you can win, Baandari." The Mane interrupted, looking at him knowingly. He tapped the side of his head with finger. Dro'kil was somewhat unsettled by his knowledge, but he regained his composure. The Mane only thought he knew enough about him. The truth was that if he did, then there was no way Dro'kil would even be allowed in this room.
Dro'kil pressed on, his face stoic and serious, "It is a fair trade: a life for a life. A soul for a soul. I will take the place of my grandson."
The whole room seemed to erupt in laughter, and Dro'kil could have sworn he even felt the air around him shift, but he remained still and stern.
"Don't take this the wrong way," the Mane began, "but don't you think we could get more use out of a young khajiit, easily molded and better able, than what we could out of his grandfather?"
"What is a child with sticks and stones compared to a lifetime of experience?" Dro'kil asserted confidently. "This one can be far more useful to you in the coming years than Saddi. Leaders cannot be formed overnight, no?"
"And you have proof that you are as competent as you suggest?"
Dro'kil smiled. Dro'kil rarely ever smiled - and that was the cue for Dar'sho to get ready. He saw from his periphery that he had begun moving.
"That is a most excellent idea, my Mane!" He said. He looked around the room at all the leaders and officials of Torval. "How about we all toast? To the Mane, and to proving Dro'kil worthy of his trust! He shall make a show of it!"
This prompted laughter from the Mane, which seemed to permit laughter from the rest of the court. "You're a mad cat," the Mane said, "but I like you. Very well - a toast then!"
Everyone in the room seemed to be finishing what little remained in their cups, so that - as per the custom - they may give their toast with full cups. Dar'sho came out of the kitchen with a platter in hand with fresh goblets of wine. Very few payed him little mind as he was very particular in which goblet he handed to whom. After he went around and handed out all the fresh cups of wine, he served Dro'kil last - the two averted eye contact - and he returned to the kitchen, his tail twitching in anticipation.
"To the old cat making a fool of himself!" The Mane declared.
"To the fool!" The room repeated in unison.
Everyone in the room took a drink from their cups except for Dro'kil. That was the moment he felt something cold and sharp on his neck, but nothing was there.
Then followed the sounds of three bodies hitting the floor. Ra'ssran, Ra'vada-dro, and Dra'vansi, with foam at their mouths, were dead in mere seconds. The Mane and the dozen other khajiit looked shocked, the personal guard were brandishing their own weapons but were unsure of what to do - the Mane was fine. Most of the people in the room were fine... but the unmoving, calm expression on Dro'kil's face was telling.
"What is the meaning of this?!" The Mane demanded.
Suddenly a knife apparated before Dro'kil, along with the wielder's hand - the veil of an invisibility spell was immediately dropped, revealing a tattooed ohmes woman much shorter than Dro'kil, holding the knife to his throat. Suddenly the the strange cold feeling at his neck and the shifting air around him made sense. She must have been there the entire time! But Dro'kil kept his composure, dropping the goblet of wine onto the floor and slowly raising his hands in the air.
He made sure to speak slowly and calmly while he was at the mercy of the ohmes woman, "Search Dro'kil's pouch. Right hip."
They hesitantly followed his direction as Dro'kil continued, "Dro'kil is proving himself, his Mane. Those renrij were traitors who plotted against you under your nose. Beneath the roof of your own home."
The ohmes whipped out the pieces of parchment from his pouch and began reading through the documents, her wild eyes unchanging and her knife still pressed against Dro'kil. It recorded much of the correspondence between the three khajiit and their plots to betray the Mane with their own handwriting. The ohmes looked up at the Mane unflinchingly and said, "What he says is true."
There were a few moments of silence as the Mane seemed to come to grips with this information, a solemn and mournful air overtaking him before he regained his composure. "At ease. Dro'kil, my apologies to you for not being more hospitable. This is Ra'gajal, my spymaster. Ra'gajal, did you foresee this coming?"
The ohmes took her knife away from Dro'kil and sheathed it, then stood at attention before the Mane. "They were but a few of the suspects I had identified. I did not yet have the evidence to act on my suspicions."
"Tell me Dro'kil," the Mane said, leaning forward in his chair, "how does an outsider such as yourself beat my spymaster to finding the evidence?"
"A fresh new perspective, this one supposes." He humbly lied. The truth was that he dared not let Dar'sho get mixed up in this mess.
"Indeed..." Ra'gajal muttered to herself as she inspected him inquisitively.
"Well, as sad as I am to lose friends this day..." the Man began with a sigh, "I am glad to earn at least one more friend. You have saved my life this day and have proven yourself, so I will agree to your request to rescind the order on your grandson. Saddi, from the Baandari clan in Senchal, yes?"
The Mane motioned for his guards to take care of the three dead bodies within the room, then looked back at Dro'kil. "Your... talents will be useful, yes. Warriors and conscripts are easy to come by, but Agents of the Mane... less so. I shall appoint you to Ra'gajal. She will inform you of your duties and assign you your missions. I will permit you time to return to Senchal and say your goodbyes to your family. When you return, your training will begin."
That was that. Dar'sho had gone on ahead without him - it was best to not be acquainted with this whole operation. Dro'kil would return at least a day after him to give the bittersweet news. Dra'datta was upset that her father would be leaving again, but ever so grateful that her own son would be spared from the horrors of war. She could never thank him enough. After saying goodbye to the rest of the clan, and giving his deepest thanks to Dar'sho for his help, Dro'kil returned to Torval to begin this new chapter of his life; but before doing so, he decided to meet with the regional commander near Senchal so that he could rub it in his face. That no good, rotted, slow-pawed, short-tail...
The first order of business, as far as Ra'gajal was concerned, was to suggest to Dro'kil to change his name if he wanted to protect his family. She of course did no such thing, for she had no family to protect. Dro'kil faced this issue with reluctance at first, but eventually conceded. He had struggled with a fractured identity for so much of his life... what were another few years? From that point on, they agreed to call him Dar'Jzo. Now the training begins.
The next two years was spent as an Agent of the Mane, the spymaster's very own executioner. They honed the skills he already knew and taught him actual techniques to use over what he taught himself, but otherwise he required very little work and turned out to be in better shape than his age indicated. Missions either required him to simply sit and watch a person or location for a certain amount of time, infiltrating a group or building, or taking out their enemies. Something changed within Dar'Jzo during this time that made him shut himself off to the rest of the world. He was still the same person as before, but he was less open with himself now. It became clear that Dar'Jzo was not the most charming individual, so they learned to keep him on missions where he wasn't supposed to be seen. Those missions he particularly excelled at, and they took him as far as the Summerset Isles to aid the coup in Alinor.
When the Mane was assassinated in 4E 205, everything was not so clear-cut. He was killed by jarrin root, the main component in Dar'Jzo's own concoction. Ra'gajal was never very trusting of Dar'Jzo, always suspecting that there was something more to him the day he approached the Mane than what he let on, but he was on a mission that was nowhere near Torval. As far as she was concerned, Dar'Jzo was the only one she could trust. This was unfortunate for him, because he thought that since the Mane died, that would be his chance at freedom and that he could finally return to his family. But the spymaster was stringent, even more stern than Dar'Jzo was, and possessed unwavering devotion to the throne which seated the Mane. As long as she was alive, she would see that Torval remained protected for the good of Elsweyr. That also meant getting Dar'Jzo involved in the civil war that followed, taking out members on both sides if they posed a great enough threat.
But something has been bothering Ra'gajal lately, and not just the fact that the cause of the Mane's death leads her to suspect that it was imperial treachery, but the movements going around the world. Word reached Elsweyr that the dunmer of Morrowind aligned themselves with Akaviri monsters and moved on Skyrim. She had agents all over Tamriel and half as many within Elsweyr, but she didn't have anyone up north. Khajiits had the bad habit of being turned into cloaks or carpets by the nords after the Stormcloaks took over. All of Elsweyr was vulnerable at the moment, and she didn't want another party taking advantage of that and entering the fray. So she directed Dar'Jzo toward the far end of Tamriel with the logic that his ability to stay hidden in the shadows should protect them from the most unruly of them. There, he'd also be far, far away from his family.
He almost told her no.
Instead, he obeyed. He remembered why he was doing this. If he went back on the oath he swore to the last Mane, then his grandson would be free picking. He couldn't subject him to the kinds of horrors he has seen and the sins he's committed. He was to take a ship that would circle around the west and be destined to dock in Solitude. As much as Dar'Jzo thought boats were bad luck, that was ironically the safest way to get there. There was one perk to it though: the boat was docked in Senchal. Before he'd leave, he'd get to visit his family. Except one thing was missing... Saddi had left two months ago to pursue mage training at the College of Winterhold. Winterhold was supposedly destroyed last month.
Despite his disdain for ships and water, Dar'Jzo boarded the vessel with the greatest of haste and convinced the captain to proceed with utmost urgency. Tracing along the south and western coast of Tamriel, stopping from port to port only to replenish their supplies. They zipped between Valenwood and the Summerset Isles with great caution, stopped by Hammerfell for one more replenishment, and went around High Rock to finally make anchor at the port just outside of Solitude. From there, Dar'Jzo's mission begins. Not just to keep an eye on the Akivir situation, but also to find any trace of his grandson. When he finds him - and come Oblivion or high water, he will find him - there was nothing or no one in this world that could make him turn his back on his family ever again. Not even Ra'gajal.
Word had it that there were some mercenaries who recently rolled into town and had a personal encounter with the Akavir. That would be as good a place as any to start.
Capabilities
§ Attributes
§ Skills
§ Weaknesses
§ Spells
§ Tactics
§ Relations & Affiliations
§ Opinions
§ Other
Major Agility, Minor Intelligence
§ Skills
Expert: Sneak – (“This one has history in not being seen. As a broker, as a hunter, and as one of death's couriers. Consider this opportunity a privilege.”)
Adept: Marksman – (“After years of practice, masters can take aim and spread doom's wings as fast as this one blinks. All Dar'Jzo has to do is take his time. There is no hurry. Death is patient.”)
Adept: Alchemy – (“Many years were spent distilling moon sugar. There rests a fine line between sweet brain candy and deadly poison. Other reagents are no different.”)
Adept: Lockpicking – (“If this one wants to go somewhere, then who's to say he can't? Hmph, dustfaced renrij knows not of the Three Promises: Gods fight. Mortals die. Dar'Jzo goes where he likes. Laws are useless in stopping these.”)
Apprentice: Hand to hand – (“Many customers think they can take khajiit's product from him. There was reason this one is still alive to see so many moons.”)
Novice: Mercantile – (“Dar'Jzo may be Baandari, but he did not have to be a good trader to deal skooma. Skooma sells itself. Addiction is good for brand loyalty.”)
Novice: One-handed (Blade) – (“Skill with blade matters less when they don't see the blade, yes?”)
Novice: Ta'agra – (“Dar'Jzo knows how to read and write his own language. What else matters?”)
Adept: Marksman – (“After years of practice, masters can take aim and spread doom's wings as fast as this one blinks. All Dar'Jzo has to do is take his time. There is no hurry. Death is patient.”)
Adept: Alchemy – (“Many years were spent distilling moon sugar. There rests a fine line between sweet brain candy and deadly poison. Other reagents are no different.”)
Adept: Lockpicking – (“If this one wants to go somewhere, then who's to say he can't? Hmph, dustfaced renrij knows not of the Three Promises: Gods fight. Mortals die. Dar'Jzo goes where he likes. Laws are useless in stopping these.”)
Apprentice: Hand to hand – (“Many customers think they can take khajiit's product from him. There was reason this one is still alive to see so many moons.”)
Novice: Mercantile – (“Dar'Jzo may be Baandari, but he did not have to be a good trader to deal skooma. Skooma sells itself. Addiction is good for brand loyalty.”)
Novice: One-handed (Blade) – (“Skill with blade matters less when they don't see the blade, yes?”)
Novice: Ta'agra – (“Dar'Jzo knows how to read and write his own language. What else matters?”)
§ Weaknesses
Age: Time is the greatest, oldest enemy of mortalkind. We simply cannot have enough of it, and a long life is a lot to afford. Dar'Jzo is not as agile, as strong, or as durable as he was in the past. True, he's still capable of outpacing quite a few of these youngsters out here, he can't keep it up as long as he used to. To compensate for it, he now mostly saves his energy for when he really needs it and lies in waiting.
Lone... Cat?: Lone wolf would've been weird for a khajiit. Anyways, there are only a few people in Dar'Jzo's life that he could actually work well with. In other words, his teamwork isn't all that great. He prefers to get in, get the job done himself, and get out. He can trust in his own experience and ability to carry him through, but he is not as quick to rely on others to get their parts done except for his brother and his master.
Inhospitable: Let's face it, he doesn't exactly have a winning personality. He can't make friends very easily.
Foreigner: Dar'Jzo has spent most of his entire life within Pellentine. What could he possibly know of the world outside of Elsweyr?
Lone... Cat?: Lone wolf would've been weird for a khajiit. Anyways, there are only a few people in Dar'Jzo's life that he could actually work well with. In other words, his teamwork isn't all that great. He prefers to get in, get the job done himself, and get out. He can trust in his own experience and ability to carry him through, but he is not as quick to rely on others to get their parts done except for his brother and his master.
Inhospitable: Let's face it, he doesn't exactly have a winning personality. He can't make friends very easily.
Foreigner: Dar'Jzo has spent most of his entire life within Pellentine. What could he possibly know of the world outside of Elsweyr?
§ Spells
N/A
§ Tactics
Now you see me, now you don't. Dar'Jzo's strategy almost entirely depends on him not being seen by the enemy while he takes his time lining up his shots. If he really wants them dead, he'll even lace his arrows with poison and take extra care that his shot fly true. That isn't to say that he doesn't have a back up plan in case he gets caught off-guard. He has his own fair share of practice in hand-to-hand combat, and knows techniques that will allow him to use his enemy's own weight and inertia against them. He's not against using his own bow as a melee weapon as well, one which he utilizes with great finesse as he uses its curvature to trip his enemies, and then uses a dagger to put them down for good. If his dagger doesn't happen to be at the ready, well, then he has the quiver full of arrows at his disposal which should do the job just as well.
§ Relations & Affiliations
Lalana - Wife (61) - Deceased (39)
Dra'datta - Daughter (37) - Alive
Do'garamba - Son-in-law (40) - Alive
Saddi - Grandson (20) - ???
Daro'Rista - Godmother (81) - ??? (Presumably deceased)
Dar'sho - Stepbrother (61) - Alive
Baandari Clan (Active)
Dra'datta - Daughter (37) - Alive
Do'garamba - Son-in-law (40) - Alive
Saddi - Grandson (20) - ???
Daro'Rista - Godmother (81) - ??? (Presumably deceased)
Dar'sho - Stepbrother (61) - Alive
Baandari Clan (Active)
§ Opinions
N/A
§ Other
- Dar'Jzo can't catch fish worth a damn, but that won't stop him from trying.
- Remarkably decent at swimming considering how he hates both boats and water.
- No, seriously. Dar'Jzo hates water. He thinks it tastes awful, too. He splashes a bit of rum in his canteen to make it more palatable.
Inventory
§ Cash
§ Keys & Lockpicks
§ Tools & Crafting Materials
§ Clothing & Armor
§ Weapon & Ammo
§ Potion & Arcane Supplies
§ Jewelry & Valuables
§ Books & Documents
§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients
§ Load Bearing Equipment
§ Other
70 septims
§ Keys & Lockpicks
15 lockpicks, which he keeps stored in different locations. Different pouches, pockets, boots, et cetera. There's one in his bun that's basically serving as a hairpin and keeping it all together.
§ Tools & Crafting Materials
He has a knapsack that he carries around which carries an entire alchemy kit. Morter and pestle, calcinator, alembic, and retort. It requires some assembly, though.
§ Clothing & Armor
(Taken from appearance:) His choice of wardrobe would make sense if he was still living in Senchal, but not so much in Skyrim. For starters, he doesn't wear a shirt. He just doesn't like to and not for any particular reason, but if he had to come up with one, it feels too constricting while he's pulling back his bowstring. He does though wear a black leather bandolier that goes across his chest and over one of his shoulders, and it looks something like a huge leather belt. With it, he carries a few pouches, bags, and a small pack. It is also this bandolier that he attaches his quiver of arrows to, from which Dar'Jzo hangs his bow.
The only actual garments of clothes he wears are loose-fitting, baggy, and breathable black linen pants which he secures to his person with a blood-red sash, and the bottom of his pants are tucked into black leather riding boots. While his fur would be enough to keep him warm for a short while in one of Skyrim's winters, it alone wouldn't protect him for long. During his time on board the ship that takes him from Senchal to Solitude, he was given a black wool long coat by one of the navy men should he be stuck in Skyrim for a while.
The only actual garments of clothes he wears are loose-fitting, baggy, and breathable black linen pants which he secures to his person with a blood-red sash, and the bottom of his pants are tucked into black leather riding boots. While his fur would be enough to keep him warm for a short while in one of Skyrim's winters, it alone wouldn't protect him for long. During his time on board the ship that takes him from Senchal to Solitude, he was given a black wool long coat by one of the navy men should he be stuck in Skyrim for a while.
§ Weapon & Ammo
- A well made bow made from Valenwood timber, intricately decorated with traditional khajiiti design.
- 30 steel arrows - Dar'Jzo filled his quiver to the brim before heading out to Skyrim.
- A curved skinning knife with a gutting hook.
§ Potion & Arcane Supplies
- 1 Elixer of Keenshot
- 1 Potion of Detect Life
- 1 Potion of Cure Poison
- 1 Potion of Healing
- 3 Vials of deadly poison
§ Jewelry & Valuables
A wedding band on one of his fingers and that's about it.
§ Books & Documents
N/A. Don't leave paper trails.
§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients
- 10 strips of dried meat
- 5 smoked sardines
- Half a bottle of banana rum
- 2 sweetrolls
- 5 teaspoons of moon sugar
- 3 sprigs of Nightshade
§ Load Bearing Equipment
- Bandolier with 4 pouches and a brick-sized pack, carrying potions, poison, and alchemical ingredients.
- A knapsack, carrying his alchemy kit.
- A bindle, carrying his food.
§ Other
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