Mordessa's Journal #1: Places Unbeknownst

My name is Mordessa,
I'll be writing these journals in what I think will be the last of my days, they're to help me remember who I am, who my friends are, and the things I have done. Just in case anything happens to me in this last attempt to regain my sanity.
Please forgive my lack of history in terms of who birthed me and where, I never knew my parents. I could care less about them- they left me to die a few days after birth, or so I'm told, to be devoured by the wolves of Places Unbeknown. If I had any brothers or sisters, I wouldn't even know. Either way, it doesn't matter now.
        This is how my story starts, the lands of Places Unbeknown were blanketed with warm, translucent, orange rays which came from that of a sinking sun. The immensely tall and abundant trees that lived upon the unkempt and vibrant green grass below were under constant attack by the rays, some having been pierced by it, letting the light flood and fill the land. A Khajiit trade caravan, having newly gotten word of new trading opportunities beyond Places Unbeknown, was looking for a place to set up camp, as they still planned to stay a little longer before a final decision was made. One of them was sent out into the woods to gather kindling for the fire, but instead found an abnormally small and dirty kitten with dark brown fur and orange eyes comparable to the dying sun, silently resting next to a stump, as if it had been discarded/abandoned. Having felt guilty if they did not help, they took her, they fed her, kept her well-mannered and gave her her very own bedroll. The last thing they gave the fragile one was a name; Mordessa. I have no idea why they named me that, but I know they only did so because of my complaints about being called "child" at an older age. They didn't talk to me much after that, nor did they teach me anything beyond chores, so I found other ways to learn how to talk, read, and write like I do today.
 When the caravan settled near towns or cities I would make temporary friends with other children, usually by sneaking off into the settlements or meeting them as their parents looked at the wares. Though the latter was often discouraged by both my camp’s leader and the parents. Being small and dressed in sand-colored caravan attire (which I hated with a passion), almost every single one of them made fun of my height and said I didn't belong within the walls. Feeling bad about the other children spitting names at me, my new friends would come to my defense and embraced their new "cat" with open arms. It was a nice feeling really, to have somebody on my side for once, but it did not last. Upon requesting help with speaking, they couldn't provide what I needed, their compassion was false and they only wanted something to pet. Since I didn't know much and they didn't know how to teach words, they only taught me broken-up parts of the alphabet by speaking, meaning I had no clue what a word looked like. One family in specific, the "Catraso" family I think it was, dramatically improved my comprehensions. During the week long period of setting up shop, I continued my sneak-ins into their city. They were a very posh family, their home was found in the higher-class part of the city, and stood as the most powerful of them all. A huge ornate stone house with a tower, an extensive library that always reeked of fancy incents, a distillery, and they had this elegant but serious behavior, just filthy rich people. Word around the city, which I caught from eavesdropping passersby, was that they had received their spoils through the father, a renowned merchant in the land of Places Unbeknown and beyond. On one particular day where I was feeling foolishly bold, I managed to enter the higher-classed section. By weaving through the luscious backyards, and by shimmying behind the damp enclosures of those without them, I was able to avoid the sightlines of most guards, my dark fur keeping me well hidden in the shadows of the walls. As I continued my longing search for new friends amongst the shadows, I was spotted once, but not by a guard.
 The Catraso's Khajiit son, whose name I never learned, was staring blankly out of a window on the upper floor of his house. He looked dreadfully bored, one hand curled in a fist against his cheek, the other laying along the searing-hot window ceil. He was a scrawny thing who dressed in padded and professionally stitched blue clothes that his family forced him to wear, he had a square, white face with black traces and patterns running across it, paired with short dark ears. It was a suspicious face, one that would instantly be accused of a crime, yet he looked younger and more well-preserved than I did, despite him being four to six years older than me. He was just a completely normal child with a family who had spoiled him, but he was unhappy and lacked the comfort of brothers and sisters, like myself.
 When he did spot me, the idea of seeing another Khajiit within the walls was surprising, almost intriguing to him, and he lightly tapped at his window to grab my attention. I looked up to his cold smile, one which carried no emotion, and smiled heartily back before he whisked away from sight and out the front door. Upon first meeting him he was very shy; neither one of us exchanged names in the awkward silence that seemed to last a moon. I tried my best to talk to him with what I'd learned from other children beforehand. Slowly but nervously he corrected me, and I responded in a broken and mixed language, "You know of how this one can speak? Help... please", he silently laughed at my attempt and I hung my head in shame. Suddenly, something sparked in his expression and he said, "Hold on, I think I can help" in a very strong and straightforward voice before starting back towards his house.
 I sat out on the sides of the grey square-stoned streets waiting for him to return, forgetting that I wasn't supposed to be seen within the walls. Thankfully, it was still early in the morning, the streets were cold and abandoned. I've yet to figure out why he was helping me without anything in return, perhaps he just wanted to feel pride in himself, to feel like the best of them all and wanted to make it known. He eventually reappeared with a stack of books piled well over his head and his legs wobbly. I rushed over to help the thoughtful guy, jumping up to grab a couple large books off the top and leaving two-thirds the weight, enough to see his silly white cheeks and whiskers again where a brush of thankfulness had appeared. A booming yell from inside his house suddenly made his ears go flat, his eyes stretch wide with worry, and his dark-grey tail tuck between his legs. He dropped the neatly-stacked books in the crisp grass for me and said to begin reading them, and if I had any questions that we were to meet in his garden around the same time. The frightened little scholar then skittered away back inside for the rest of the day before I could thank him. His parents apparently didn't like the idea of their son taking the books out to another Khajiit or really visiting other children at all, deeming me as "filth and a thief". As I walked away to return back to camp, an argument had broken out within the Catraso's home. I could hear the boy wailing back in defiance, and the monstrous yell of the father sounded off once more, followed by a loud yelp that ended the previous voice's words abruptly. The next day, the Khajiit boy was waiting for me with a pronounced, black and purple, swollen bruise upon the left side of his face that stretched from the lower part of his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. At first he shied away from my attempts to examine it, saying that I shouldn't worry, and he continued on as if nothing had ever happened. Though I knew what went on, I’d experienced it many times, and understood his unspoken reasoning. Disobeying the heavy-handed merchant, nearly every day I'd sneak out from my dingy camp, he'd sneak out of his huge guarded house and into his beautiful garden out back, where we would have these little study sessions. His garden was a large, round, clearing with neatly-sorted sections for each type of plant that grew in Place Unbeknown along with some that are still foreign to me, consisting mostly of grapes for wine-making, but also these pretty purple flowers that always seemed to catch the light just right; day or night.
 As each day passed, his approach altered from his nervous hand-cupping to a prideful stride breaming with swagger by day four. When he first told me to begin reading the books, I had no clue what they meant, what a "letter" was, or how to form the sounds of extraordinarily large words, so we began with this book called "ABCs For Barbarians"; the easiest book of them all. I spent nearly eighteen hours of everyday just reading- the stories, the people, the places, fantasy or not, were fascinating to me and I liked reading them. The Catraso child was very fluent in his language; he spoke with such proudness and clarity that it always made me sound dumb by comparison, and best of all, he could teach me with his understanding and vernacular writing. Needless to say, I learned very quickly. I had to.
 Six days after our first encounter, Ma'dran, my caravan leader, called off the encampment early, saying that business was no good there because of the famous merchant, and I never saw the scholar Khajiit boy again. It was upon the fifth day that we had just begun writing practice, so I do apologize if my handwriting is unreadable at times… or if my writing ability isn't too great, I just wish I had more time with him. I do feel bad about having left precipitately, he was so nice to me, even though he shared little emotion, and we'd yet to do anything fun- like adventuring, I owe a lot for his edifying of me.
 Wait, that's not entirely true. We did do something fun, well The Catraso boy had fun with it, but I did not. He called it "Fencing". He first introduced me to it on the third day. It was a silly little game that I partook in, one that we played when he wanted a break from teaching, and he absolutely adored the idea of it. When I first agreed, he shook uncontrollably at the scratchy word clambering from my parted lips, he bolted back into his house and not a minute had passed before he came back with two wooden swords bundled in his arms. He was constantly looking over his shoulder to check if anybody had seen him, I suppose that this game was a forbidden practice in the Catraso household too, hugging and hunching over the swords in an attempt to conceal them. When he made it back to me, behind the purple wall of flowers, he tossed me a sword, extended the arm wielding his, stiffened his legs, and a fire was kindled in his cold eyes. He produced a wicked air in his stance, and crawling from his white muzzle came the word "Begin". The rules were simple; whoever was hit first lost the game. The Catraso boy, initially, didn't tell me the rules. He immediately lunged forward at an impeccable speed, shoving the wooden tip into my ribs, firm enough to part the bristles beneath my clothing and punch my flesh, but not enough to break the skin. I stumbled over in surprise, landing back on my hands and having lost the sword he gave me, wondering why he was trying to hurt me and betraying my thoughts of happiness. He leaned over, stepping between my legs with a smirk and explained the rules mentioned before to me. He offered me his hand, and I took it, laughing. I lost at this game more times than I can really remember. His flurry of pokes never failed to make me feel bedridden, leaving me sore and with a grimaced face the subsequent morning, which complicated my duties and chores back in the caravan, but they were certainly something to fantasize about. He was good, very good.
 The Catraso boy was surprisingly light on his toes, rarely ever when we played did I see his heels touch the ground, he moved quick, struck unfathomably and relentlessly, and mocked me with confidence as we danced. His tip prodded my ribs, my shoulder, my collarbone, my belly, and on one occasion, which he apologized for, my premature breast. I did not use the tip of my sword to strike at him, I always swung in long, slow, broad sweeps that he either hopped over or ducked under. One time, somehow, I hit him. He got angry, so enraged that his ears began to twitch with rage and became scorching hot, he said that my hit didn't count, that it was not following "proper fencing etiquette", and that I had to strike with the tip. Not long after trying to convert my technique, I gave up. He struck me once more, letting out a teasing scoff before doing so. Without thinking, I playfully leapt into him and we bowled each other over in his large garden. We tossed and turned in the blades, our claws unsheathed, but only enough to grip and cling to one another in the tumble, and our tails twined. Though I was light, I could still manage to pin him down by pinching and grabbing his ears with all fours pressed upon him.
 I did not like the game, but I liked his presence, it was warm and comforting in a way that I can't explain, and I persisted in making him happy by continuing to play. He was my first friend.
 Never did I have any intention of hurting him in the sprawl, but unfortunately he had taken it slightly too seriously and gripped much deeper than needed. His claws were much bigger than mine, resulting in a flood of blood to drool out of the fresh streaks in my arms. Funnily enough, I believe I still bear the scars from the roughhousing; four small slashes and one circle of white, discolored flesh that hides beneath my dense fur. I bit back the pain, not wanting to worry him, and paid no heed to it. We smiled and panted at each other merrily once more as he retracted his blood-seeped claws, which he thankfully hadn't noticed. I released his ears then sat back upon his hips heavily as he lay splayed out, which made his face turn silly and his legs curl up. I sat straight in triumph with my fists curled at my sides whilst looking skywards, then lost it in glee. We laughed at each other and bathed together in the sunlight of Places Unbeknown once more before my time of leave came, and that was the last experience I shared with the Catraso boy.
 Maybe one day I'll meet him again, I'd show him how much I've improved at the game, and we could practice writing once more and read more stories, and maybe go on an adventure, and we could eat alchemy ingredients and so much more!
...But I have no clue as to where Places Unbeknown is, hence the "Unbeknown" part, and I don't even know his first name… so the chances of any of those things happening are fairly thin. It may also be best that he doesn't see me again either, he'd be furious.
 Before and after the caravan's departure, I took every single one of his books back to the caravan to keep until I learned what "borrow" meant. I had amassed twenty-three of the Catraso's books in total, and had read all of them, then reread them three more times. Eventually the caravan members caught on to what I was doing and had the books sent back in fear that we would be hunted down by the child's parents. I kept a couple of them hidden, and would read them in secret when I told them I had to "make dirt". Eventually they noticed I stopped using "this one" when referring to myself and used "I" or "me" then they searched my bedroll and took the rest of what I had, followed by a beating. With no affection, no stories, and nobody to really talk to other than the reincarnations of the Catraso boy in my dreams, I grew up fairly miserable in the caravan. I'm surprised they didn't kick me off to an orphanage, their care was just as equitable.
 As time went on and I grew older, we eventually reached Skyrim in hopes of making coin off the civil war happening there, the decision to follow the highly-controversial "greater" trading opportunities mentioned before. I had almost fully matured up to that point, having grown to a grand 4'9", and sprouted an unusual, very mangy, drawn back head of black shaggy hair. I had been told the truth about my parents by then, and thought none of it, the caravan was all I had- or so I thought.
 The second night after arriving in Skyrim was a peaceful, quiet night.  With the moon shining bright as ever, providing a light coat of blue to the frost-burned trees, it was almost serene and freeing opposed to the always sunny environment of Places Unbeknown. None of the guards stood watch, as they were all too tired from the trip, sore and smarting, and most retired to their respective tents whilst I was to sleep outside. I too, was still very tired from the trip to get there, having been given the heaviest load to carry upon my back, the caravan said that I'd get milk in the morning for keeping up with the group. I just love milk, the taste, the smell... it just makes me feel so warm, fuzzier even-
...sorry.
Anyways, just as I was to succumb to my not-so cozy, flea-infested bedroll that smelled heavily of use and a dirt-making stain from moons past, I saw her. Nisrrina, the only other She-Khajiit I'd seen outside of the caravan group, half-nakedly dressed in black, carrying a dark bow on her back and two daggers on either side of her wide hips, moving swiftly and silently through the forest behind our camp. I only saw her for at most a second and I couldn't stop myself from getting up. Not because the bedroll was uncomfortable, but because this mysterious and new Khajiit with leather-colored fur just amazed me. It was almost as if she were one of the book’s stories come to life. Completely drunk with excitement and be rid of any sign of tiredness, weighing my options of not getting milk versus potentially living an exciting life, I blindly chose to follow her into the freezing moonlit woods.