Common

For months Khajiit had kept himself under the radar. Like a serpent he’d slithered, unseen, unheard, around the other inhabitants of the Lost Islands; his pale white body darted through the shadows, little more than a flash of something in the edges of one’s vision. A spectre, a mirage, gone into the abyss before one had the chance to turn and look upon him clearly. A dream, perhaps - or, to some, a nightmare, a portent of great fortune and terrible consequence, violent delights and violent ends.

Well, not anymore. He’d gotten a taste of chaos, dipped his hoof into the bloody red waters and found it just the right temperature, and like everything good he finds for himself he wants more. Forming connections with his brothers in the Lagoon had been nice; wooing their mares was even better. But his swamp-infested home only had so many options, and he couldn’t upset all of his comrades for the sake of a jolt of adrenaline. No, if Khajiit wanted more excitement, he needed to seek it elsewhere.

This is what brings him outside the boundaries of the bachelor lands. He can tell when he’s free of them from the influx of mares’ scents, winding like so many delicate threads around him and all but begging for pursuit. Something about this part of the Crossing Isle feels… wilder, less restrained. He watches for a few moments as men and women both place claiming nips upon their chosen targets, black ears cupped and blue eyes shifting from pair to pair. Khajiit stands vigil like that for hours, tucked away in the undergrowth, getting a feel for things before jumping into the fray.

Only when a mare - clad in shades of shimmering gold and flecked throughout with white - strides determinedly across an empty patch of meadow does he consider leaving his hiding spot. Her rich coat shines like a jewel, wet with seawater and dripping, and the look on her elegant face all but screams Do Not Disturb, a sharp contrast to the brazen, unabashed desire rising like steam from the rest of the souls he’d been observing. Khajiit’s attention locks onto her, intrigued, and he might have stayed that way, studying from afar, were it not for the creamy young upstart barrelling his way to her.

Seeing an opening, the Marwari bursts from the cover of the trees, hot on the buckskin’s heels.

Quickly he catches up to them. Khajiit isn’t fast enough to block the other man from touching her at all, and his ears fold back in mild, mocking irritation at the sight of his blunt yellow teeth marking her flawless figure. The bachelor’s own head drops low, snaking towards the buckskin’s own hips, and reaches to pinch his flesh in the same fashion, shifting his weight to his hind legs and leaping out of striking range. “Not so fast, youngblood,” he chides, flickers of impishness dancing behind the icy glint of his forget-me-not irises. Khajiit snorts, drawing his chin to his ink-splattered breast so that his muscled neck forms a tight bow.

“Look at her,” he continues, waving his muzzle in the mare’s direction. “Still wet from her journey, and you would force her back into the sea so soon after.” His tail cracks, whiplike, in the late-summer air, and the scolding notes sharpening the edges of his words fade to something more like velvet as he settles his attention upon her. “A gem so bright and sparkling deserves more respect than that,” he says, “and a home befitting such rare and vibrant beauty.”

Khajiit balances one hind hoof on his edge, projecting a quiet confidence even as one ear swivels to track the other stallion’s reaction. “Luckily,” he quips, “I know of such a place, just south of here.” He tips his head in the direction of the Lagoon, allowing himself a small smile. “You don’t even have to swim to reach it.” Perhaps she was just in a sour mood, and beneath the tough exterior lurked a wilting flower - but something told him she was stronger than that, plenty capable of handling herself in the bachelor herd’s rough-and-tumble environment.

His eyes slide to meet the buckskin’s, indifferent to any anger simmering in his opponent’s expression, and when he speaks his words come aloof and detached. “There is room for you, too, boy,” Khajiit adds, throwing him a bone. “You have much to learn about the ways of men, and you could stand to benefit from our teachings.”

Case made, the Marwari settles, leveling his stare on the mare once more. “My lady, I am Khajiit. Come,” he beckons, half-lidded eyes glimmering in the afternoon sun. “See for yourself what my home has to offer you, and make your choice from there.” Never mind that the laws of the land meant she was property of the Lagoon the second she crossed over the threshold. He would burn that bridge when he came to it. First, he had to get her out from under the tawny man’s clutches.