...the Dragonborn is a Cat

Myow had never been special. Not personally, anyway.

One of two cubs born to a single mother, she’d made her way to the frigid planes of Skyrim the same way many khajiit did, by illegally crossing the border. Myow had never truly known mother, while her earliest memories were warm and pleasant, they were also vague and all but forgotten things. Her mother had only been halfway successful in her endeavor. While she had succeeded in smuggling her young into the nation, in a stroke of bad luck imperial soldiers had also caught her. Fearing the worst and being in a foreign land with no one to trust, she’d abandoned her two daughters, only a few years old at the time, in hopes that they might escape before resigning herself to her fate.

That was what Myow had pieced together over the years. She couldn’t recall how she and her sibling had survived those first few seasons. In truth, she couldn’t even remember her name, or if she’d ever even been given one. The khajiit and her nearly identical sibling had been more or less feral, surviving off scraps and living in the shadows. Skyrim wasn’t a particularly hospitable country to even its natives, and was downright unforgiving to outsiders- particularly so to the khajiit and argonians, the ‘beast races’. As they’d grown the inseparable pair of cubs became incredibly tactful, using their wit to fool the unsuspecting and steal what they could. No one was aware that there were two of them, if they’d paid attention perhaps they would have noticed that Myow was daintier than her sister, and that Myow two (for lack of a true given name) always had a mean turn to her eyes.  

The pair had developed a mutual distrust for the people of Skyrim but had still observed them closely, closely enough to pick up on the most commonly spoken languages. In spite of this seldom spoke in Cyrodiilic or Nordic tongue. Growing up so closely and relying on one another completely meant that words were rarely needed to understand one another, but they sometimes communicated in a sort of arbitrary feline manner, chirping and meowing at one another.

Over time they’d grown into capable survivors; still they loathed the bleak tundra of Skyrim, and longed to make their way Elsweyr, a land they’d only heard about through the sweet reminiscing of the khajiit caravans that they sometimes followed.  Over time Myow and her sister had begun migrating toward the southern border where they would cross into Cyrodil and travel to Elsweyr, always travelling light and garnering information about their venture when and where they could.

For several days they’d known they were near the border of Skyrim and Cyrodil. They realized they must have nearly made it they day they heard the soldier’s voice.


On instinct they had both dropped to into the grass. Myow Two had somehow missed the sound of a bow being drawn and was prepared to sprint, but Myow hadn’t missed the danger. Myowtwo had watched in confusion when her sister stood from the grass, raising her hands in surrender.  She waited helplessly as the soldiers apprehended Myow, carelessly tossing insults and accusations as they loaded her onto a carriage with other prisoners. Myowtwo desperately wanted to attack, but she was horribly aware of her disadvantage- she would only get them both killed. Reluctantly she stayed behind, stalking the carriage only when she knew she could do so safely.

As she was bound and wheeled away, Myow considered her predicament as a fellow captive frantically noted that they shared their carriage with Ulfric Stormcloak, who at the time was apparently the most wanted criminal in the whole of the country. It figured.

“You’re name isn’t even on this list.” they’d told her. Of course not, she’d thought wryly. She was going to die as unspectacularly as she’d lived: a nameless, faceless cat amongst men.

She’d been too preoccupied with her own bitter thoughts as the executioner lifted the axe above her neck to even pay mind to the deafening roar that shook the very land beneath them.


Unfortunately Myowtwo’s careful stalking had created quite a delay between the time the carriage carrying her sister had actually arrived at it’s destination and when she did. She had no idea what had happened, but by the time she’d arrived, the city was a burning rubble pit and her sister was nowhere to be found.

It took all of her effort to make her way past the flames and the few panicked survivors who’s managed to hang on, and she tried to convince herself when she found no khajiit in the town’s visible remains that there had to be at least a chance that Myow had made it out. Perhaps she’d even been the one to set this town ablaze! Myowtwo thought desperately.

When she left the cinders of Helgen, she was alone for the first time in her life. It would be over a week before she wearily made her way to the gates of Whiterun.