Qa’skil groaned as he trudged along, his hands stinging painfully as he tried to tighten the tatty make-shift bandages he had wrapped around them. This doubled with the all too familiar feeling of rapidly approaching withdrawal led him to feel thoroughly unwell and in a very sour mood as he made his way through the snowy landscape that surrounded him.
He started to drag his feet more and more as his mood darkened and occasionally he would lash out and aim a kick against a small pile of snow or other target as he muttered to himself as he often did. His eye darted around the mostly barren landscape time and time again, hoping beyond hope he would stumble upon some lost cache of skooma, but instead only seeing snow, trees or occasionally more snow. He had lost track of how long he had been walking, minutes merging into hours as the chilling wind whipped around him and tore the small amount of warmth he could feel away.
“…Sheggorath take this one, he would dance with Alkosh for a sweet taste… Lorkhaj and I shall frolic forever and he would kiss Mara one-hundred times over for just a sweet taste…” rambled Qa’skil almost verging on incoherence as he begged whichever gods he knew to grant him some respite to his torment. Realistically he was simply being overdramatic, with the exception of his hands his current situation was far from extreme. The extremes would likely come over the next few days once the skooma was actually leaving his system and he really began to feel the effects of withdrawal. Of course he still had the small packet of unrefined moon-sugar somewhere in his bag, but at the moment that fact had escaped his mind and so he continued to fixate on where he would be able to find a supply. Several times during his trek he convinced himself to turn around and head back to Windhelm, intent on asking around the grey-quarter where he was sure something would be found. Each time he had only made it a few strides before he turned back, his inner turmoil spilling out as he ranted and raved to himself about what decision he was going to make. In the end his fear of the Morag Tong and being caught again overrode his more debased urges, and he continued walking southwards.
Turning his attention to the road ahead Qa’skil fell silent mid-rant as he spotted the outskirts of a small town. Suddenly his mood and demeanour changed completely as he naturally became as quiet as Nocturnal’s shadow and his more feline senses engaged. Now paying detailed attention to his surroundings it became clear that the place was some kind of miner’s settlement, thick smoke rising in the distance and a faint smell on the air that gave it away. He continued his approach towards the settlement, taking count of only a few small buildings and one larger in the centre of the area and a farm slightly off in the distance. A sign revealed the town as ‘Kynesgrove’ a name unfamiliar to him, ignorant of the Nordic Pantheon he failed to recognise any connection to the divines. The Braidwood Inn was the name on the large building, the others looked to be houses and what was possibly the entrance to a mine of sorts. As it was getting on to be late evening he figured that the majority of the settlements inhabitants would be either in their homes or in the Inn enjoying that local swill they seemed to love so much, nord mead. It tasted awful to him, but then as with most things it got slowly better the more he consumed, at the very least it would do if there was no alternative. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly to better calm himself Qa’skil made his way towards the door to the tavern, after all it would likely be the best place to find out what was what in this little village, if it could even be called that. He hoped beyond doubt that one or more of the miners would be an addict, or perhaps some house-wife would have her own hidden secret and he would be able to somehow barter or steal a few doses. He knew the chances were very slim this far north, but he had to try if he hoped to make it through the next week comfortably and without having to stop and deal with his condition.
The Inn was warm, heat hitting him and enveloping him like some soft embrace as he closed the door fiercely behind him. Glancing around the interior it was as he expected, simple and homely, a bar at the far side of the room and numerous tables and benches spread through the room centred around a fire-pit that served to heat the building. A dark-haired Nordic woman was stood behind the bar and several Nordic looking individuals were seated as well as a pair of imperial women who were sat together. A dunmer woman who was shrouded within the dark robes she wore sat alone in a corner of the room, initially he didn’t notice her but as she gazed up at his entrance he quickly averted his gaze from her and headed directly towards the bar. The small group of Nordic men eyed him suspiciously as passed before eventually losing their interest and continuing with their drinking, one of them even making some hushed joke which caused the others to laugh loudly.
“Greetings traveller” said the woman at the counter, a small smile of greeting covering her face as she did. “What can I do for you hmm? Don’t get many Khajiit in here these days.” Her gaze lingered a brief moment on his right eye, the scars giving quite the impression he imagined before she looked back to his good eye.
Qa’skil nodded a greeting of his own at the woman, his eye searching over every surface and item within his gaze as he searched for anything of note or interest. Seeing nothing his gaze settled upon her directly and he responded “Yes, it is too cold for this one. He is thankful for the warmth of your establishment here and hopes that a bed may be available for this night and possibly several others”.
The woman nodded and gestured towards one of the several doors that lined a walls in the inn before saying “We do have a room available, for only ten septims its yours and I will even throw in an evening meal.”
Surprised by the woman’s hospitality he lowered his gaze and opened his coin-purse. Fortunately it was filled with the gold of the man he had killed in Windhelm, before his demise he was obviously a rich man – which Qa’skil could also have been given the time to properly loot his house. Placing several of the golden coins on the counter he considered what he wanted to eat, realising suddenly that he was very hungry after his failed attempt to make stew all those hours ago.
After asking her what food and drink she stocked he listened as she listed through each item. Once she had finished he grinned and asked “If it would be no trouble a sweet-roll and bottle of your alto wine would please this one”. Once he had paid and turned to face the room he rolled his eye at how polite and ‘nice’ the conversation had been. Such pleasantries were generally below him, however if he was looking to stay here and endure the next week or so without skooma then he would need to behave himself… mostly. Again looking at the inhabitants of the room he decided that it was indeed unlikely that any of them shared the same habits as he did, and so he gloomily made his way towards an empty table away from any of the others. As he did one of the Nordic men turned, a tall strong looking brute with lengthy blond hair knotted into braids as was their custom, and he drunkenly shouted “Hey you, kah-jeet! You with the one eye and the pretty face!”
His companions looked amused, whilst the other inhabitants of the inn seemed to look up and watch the situation, with only the inn-keeper seeming to be distressed by what was happening as all eyes fell to Qa’skil.
Glancing to the left of him and then to the right in over exaggerated gestures as if he was looking to see who the nord was really talking to Qa’skil then met his gaze and responded “Yes, nord with the girlish hair?” his gaze piercing into the man’s deep blue eyes as he did.
The man’s buffoonish grin and happy demeanour faulted at Qa’skil’s retort, and he frowned as if trying to figure out just how offended he should be. A few moments later he obviously decided that he should indeed be offended and so stood, stumbling a little as he did so before aggressively saying “Watch yourself here house-cat, this is our town and you’d do well to remember that”.
His gaze continued to bore into the man, his eye keeping contact with the man’s own as he nodded “Of course…” his voice trailing into a hiss as he continued to stare. The man looked slightly unnerved for a moment, obviously expecting his comment to have had more of an effect on the Khajiit. Turning away from Qa’skil he exhaled loudly before he went back to speaking loudly with his companions about ‘damn foreigners’ and the like.
Continuing to the seat he had chosen Qa’skil sat before he un-corked the wine with a clawed finger and started to take several large gulps from the bottle as he set the sweet-roll on the plate before him. After what was relatively a very short amount of time he again overheard the bawdy nords, this time the one with the braided hair and beard stood as he exclaimed “Watch this!” to those he was sat with. One of the men attempted to place a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but the man was determined as he staggered over to Qa’skil’s table and again slurring “Hey kah-jeet, think you’re so tough?” before with the buffoonish grin once more on his face he pounded his clenched fist into the sweet-roll on the table several times, reducing it to little more than a mashed pile of pastry and icing.
Qa’skil’s jaw dropped slightly as he stared at the mess, his temper flaring as he wondered what on Nirn had inspired this drunken lout to do such a thing, and to him of all people.
“My sweet-roll…” he murmured to himself before his hand instinctively shot down to his glass dagger concealed just below the table, intent on plunging it into his skull a moment later. Just before he did the woman behind the counter shouted across at the nord, clearly upset with his actions.
“Roggi! What in oblivion are you doing!” her face was reddening and she was clearly angry “Bothering my patrons when you already owe me so much in bar-debt! Sit down this instant and I will deal with you later.”
She turned to the man who had attempted to stop Roggi and added “Kjeld, if he bothers anyone again take him home, and you better dock his pay as well.” With that she brought another sweet-roll across to Qa’skils table, and placing it down she apologised several times, before also offering him a bottle of the wine on the house, should he want it. Still staring at Roggi the Khajiit released the hilt of his dagger as the nord made his way back to his table, now looking thoroughly embarrassed at his actions and the scolding he had received.
“It is no worry” Qa’skil purred turning his gaze back to the woman before flatly adding “but I would advise him not to speak with me again”. His threat was clear and he hoped it would be enough to prevent any more incidents from occurring.
Dismissing the woman he turned his attention back to his plate, the new sweet-roll sat beside the now thoroughly smooshed one. Qa’skil’s thoughts turned to what he was going to do to this ‘Roggi’ to exact his revenge, all the while picking small pieces from the crushed sweet-roll and eating them as he starred off into space, his quest for skooma forgotten for the moment, and his quest to avenge his sweet-roll began.
