Chapter Text
You hear singing above you. One of the many damn shanties that seamlessly play on loop. What's so great about singing anyway? Can hardly get a wink of sleep with the notes rattling around through your head. It pisses you off, but you attribute the crankiness to being out at sea.
Now, If you could choose between any form of transportation, sea would be your least favourite. As far as you're concerned, feet were created to be on the ground, bathed in the dirt soaking in the sun. But no, boat. Of course it's by boat; everyone is so obsessed with the damn boats. You've said countless times to countless people that the Telavanni should use all their fancy magic to make levitating boats but they just don't understand the genius of it.
And there you are, below in a cabin as alone as everyone around you. Some spend their time reading, others sleeping; you prefer to stare straight forward at a wall, spending all your energy and willpower on not expunging the contents of your stomach.
"...Wait... Who is that?" You silently speak to yourself. Eyebrow raised. This inquisitive nature is quite unlike you-
"Stop that!"
I'm you.
"You're me?"
I'm me.
"Me be?"
It's an inner-thought process. Ever heard of it?
(...Right... Anything to pass the time.)
You realise that may have developed an odd coping mechanism along your time at sea. Maybe thinking in the second person makes you feel like you have someone in your corner, as if no matter what happens you'll always have a friend to talk with by the end of the day, or maybe it's due to the boredom that swallowed you whole the second you set sail for Cyrodiil. You're a little confused on why you're just starting to question it now, but you appreciate the company in the end.
The ship violently lurches alongside your stomach. Why must the Gods send such erratic waves towards your direction? Endless storms, dry food, a few bouts of brawling from the restless sailors and fellow passengers. If there's one thing you learned from this trip, it's that the sailors life isn't for you. Far from it. You rest your head against the ships wooden hull, passing the time in dreamland.
You get jolted awake from your dreamless-dreamland. A fellow Khajiit passenger such as yourself jerks your shoulder before moving to the main deck. Considering everything isn't constantly shaking, the ship must've finally docked. You've never ran so fast.
Your unclothed feet get to finally taste the sweet, sweet taste of land once more. You give a much needed stretch of your stiff joints as the sun warms your brown fur. Nothing has ever felt as divine.
Stepping off the boat and onto the small wooden dock, It doesn't take long for a heavily-armoured guard to snap you back to reality, handing you an immigration form with a whole lot of boxes to fill. Better crack to it.
Name:
Race: Khajiit.
Sex: Female.
Birthsign: The Tower.
Class: Lower.
Hmm.. a name... Of course, you know what your name is, but it rolls off the tongue as well as sandpaper is a good remedy for an open wound. Even a simple name is an important start into the world. While Cyrodiil is no Skyrim, there's no doubt that prejudice doesn't rest. Did you know that people with traditional Redguard names have a 38% higher chance to get denied for a job? Entirely based on name alone!
Either way, this is your chance for a new beginning. A new name in a new province for a new woman. All that's left is to come up with one..... After violently throwing up.