An Imperial Soldier’s Account of an Encounter with a Tribe of Strange Malevolent Cat Men in the Ancient Moors of Northern High Rock
The Interviewer and interviewee of this account both vanished one year ago in the Imperial Garrison in Camlorn. They have not been found.
There are catfolk in High Rock and they aren’t Khajiit.
I am not a scholar by any means, nor an expert in the many different races that inhabit the provinces, but I can damn well tell the difference between a Khajiit and something that may look like one but isn’t. The scholars in the main cities of High Rock all tell me I’m mistaken and that the existence of a native race of cat people is pure fantasy. I know what I saw, I know these creatures were not any common form of Khajiit, not Khajiit at all.
Background: My name is Tulian Actus, I’m an Imperial, an 18 year veteran of the Imperial army. I’ve toured all nine provinces of the Empire, I’ve seen things no one back home in Cyrodiil could imagine, From 9 foot tall Naga tribesmen in Murkmire who resemble a mix of snake and catfish, to small house cats in Elsweyr who could talk and were quite snarky talkers at that, to Dunmeri mages in Morrowind encased in large and strange insect-like armor who ride giant insects as one would ride a horse. Tamriel has no shortage of strange denizens. When I learned I was being sent to High Rock I expected the mundane, a land of mages, feuding knights, and countless warring barbarian clans, but men more or less like me all the same.
It was day 80 of my tour of High Rock. We were stationed in Camlorn, a rather boring assignment of following around and protecting narcissistic, pompous Breton Nobles with close political connections to Cyrodiil. Our legate, Adian had received word a large patrol of soldiers had vanished without any trace in the North Point region. Northern High Rock was an entire different world to the fancy masquerades, dances and festivities held in the beautifully crafted cities of central and southern High Rock. The Bretons up North were deemed savages by most, brutal in their ways and traditions and while they almost all hated one another over some age old clannish feud, they were all united in their disdain for the “pansy, gluttonous and arrogant” Bretons of the South and us Imperials.
The area we were sent to investigate were the gloomy villages that were a few folds from North point itself. We were sent to ask the local villages if they had seen or heard anything about the missing patrol. Our guide was a fierce local warrior of the Nuad clan called Gurac, he was dotted in yellow and black tattoos, had emerald green eyes and he also wore a finely crafted golden torc and a black cape, but with little other clothing. His hair and beard were long and bright orange.
Gurac had an amicable reputation with the many different clans in the region and for all his fierceness physically, was deemed to be a mediator of the clans. We would need such a mediator if were to be successful in questioning the various villages in order to find any trace of our fellow soldiers. One Northern Breton village could have an entirely different culture and dialect to the one only a few fields over, which is why someone familiar with such diversity was needed.
Our first stop was the village of Yydarc, home to the Ydarc clan, a type of burly and huge Bretons. These Bretons possessed heavy brows, very pale skin, long unkempt black beards, vivid blue eyes, pitch black hair and wore bright white dresses, even the men wore these dresses, oddly. They also wore black torcs and black helmets of an unknown metal fashioned after a crown with strange white inscriptions etched in. They also possessed giant and finely crafted wooden weapons called Shillelaghs, handed down to father to son. A strange, but fascinating looking people, all the same. I was excited as this experience was far more in line with the strangeness I had witnessed in the other provinces.
As we approached the village, Gurac told us not to directly stare into the villagers eyes as this was considered a direct challenge to a fight. Gurac led us through the extremely muddy terrain of the damp, gloomy run down village to the leaders large stone cottage. The Door of the cottage opened and an even larger man than his villagers stepped or rather pounded out, shillelagh in hand. The leaders name was Chieftain Dunclas. Gurac briefly explained the reason for our presence. Dunclas initially hostile to our presence, calmed once Gurac handed him a small gold covered knife. Considered a fine gift and sign of respect among the Northern Breton clans. We were then invited into his cottage. His four wives brought us large mugs of ale and we sat by a warm fire, I could not understand the local language, or dialect Dunclas spoke, so I instead asked Gurac to translate for me. Gurac explained our mission and search for the lost soldiers of the Empire.
The face of Chieftain Dunclas went even paler than his clan’s normal complexion. This monster of a man became visibly frightened. Gurac explained to us that Dunclas stated that the horsemen of the Ballog clan who had come to Yydarc to trade with the Ydarc had heard “vile screams in common and hisses upon the winds of the grasslands just west of Northpoint” not less than a week past. If the screams were common, then this could be our missing patrol. That must have been the exact spot the patrol was originally in in the North, also. Such wind travelling noises are considered an ill-omen among the superstitious clansmen of the North and Dunclas explained that before mer or men and their mixed descendants inhabited the lands that would become High Rock, various kinds of beastfolk inhabited the Northern parts of Tamriel, now just considered by most, especially the pompous educated Bretons of the South to be mere myth. Dunclas explained that the Horsemen went North west only a day ago and we could catch up with them if we hurried.
Our horses exhausted, and the entire company having not rested for almost a day, we finally caught up to the Ballog, the Ballog were a clan of horse-riders and nomads who migrated with their hairy large cattle among seasonal routes across Northern High Rock. They were tall, not as tall or as big as the Ydarc. They wore large fur hats which concealed their elongated heads. A custom some clans of Northern Bretons practiced, although it was dying out among the settled clans. Like Gurac, the Ballog had vivid orange-red hair and beards and possessed emerald green eyes and light skin. They dressed almost completely in red and also possessed similiar tattoos. Their appearance made me question whether Gurac and his people were a settled variety of these horse riding nomads.
The Ballog were slightly friendlier than the Ydarc, and were easier to understand and I believe my suspicions about a connection between Gurac’s people and the Ballog was confirmed when the accent they uttered sounded quite similar to his. As we approached their leader, who was a man called Cilian, he appeared to know Gurac well and embraced him in a a firm handshake. Again, Gurac explained our mission. However, no golden knives would suffice this time, instead Cilian requested we give one of our fine Colovian horses in exchange for the information we sought. Time was pressing and any chance of finding the patrol still alive diminished with every second spent. I ordered my men to hand over our finest Colovian female horse to the Ballog. Cilian appeared content and explained to us that they saw our patrol as Dunclas said, only less than a week ago near the eastern moors directly west of North point and later that day, they heard horrid screams of pain and anguish carried by the winds, followed by inhuman screeching and hissing that rebounded across much of Northern region.
Cilian explained the patrol were likely killed and eaten by the Casith, a race native to High Rock and one of the old races of the northern beastfolk of Tamriel. Cilian, like Dunclas was adamant in his belief that the beastfolk of the North were indeed real. I remained skeptical, although, I have seen the fantastical side of Tamriel, I found it strange there was no record of these Northern Catmen, or rather why the Khajiit never mentioned there was a Northern population, unless these catmen were not Khajiit at all, but something entirely different. I proceeded to ask Cilian were these Catmen Khajiit? he did not know what a Khajiit was. Although there was Khajiit traders in Daggerfall and Wayrest, they did not venture this far north it appears.
Cilian directed us to the North Western Moors and told us to visit the stone Ring Fort village of Kilbeg that was located next to the moors that were supposedly home to these mysterious High Rock “Catmen”.
As we rode further north and then west, I asked Gurac did he actually believe if these Catmen could be real. He stated he was not sure, but believed it was possible as he claimed his Grandfather who was called Ardoc had claimed to have fought a clan of terrifying beastfolk who were Goat men and who dwelled in a dark wooden hillfort located on the ancient green hill of black head, just south east of Northpoint. Gurac stated he believed his grandfather’s tale as his Grandfather was an honest man who scoffed at his children and grandchildren if they told any sort of untruth.
Two days later and we reached the ancient stone ring fort of Kilbeg. The Bretons here were rugged and matched the ancient harsh stone that comprised the structure of their ringfort, They were definitely fiercer and more ancient than the previous two clans we had encountered. We were truly not welcome. Even Gurac was unknown to this clan and they appeared to hurl insults at him. Gurac retained his calm demeanor, despite what was clearly insults aimed at him for guiding Imperial soldiers. As we got closer to the Ringfort village, I could see these Bretons had much narrower faces and had slightly pointed ears, although definitely still men, their warriors wore a rugged sharp pinkish colored metal helmet, not unlike that of the Ydarc in texture and shape, and their hair was anything from black, red, and blonde, their eyes milky ghostly blue, they wore long dyed wool clothing that covered their bodies like a sleeping bag. Gurac confirmed he had not met this clan before but had heard of them, they were called the Kilbarac and had significant Direnni ancestry. Indeed Ring Forts as told by Gurac were actually a Direnni Elvish design. Like the Bretons themselves, the Direnni aristocracy had a North-South Divide, and the Northern Direnni came to resemble the harsh native Nedes and eventually the two interbred resulting in the Bretons. Though the Nedic aspect of the Breton population was mare more prominent today in most.
We were not allowed into the ring fort itself, but the rugged, unfriendly narrow faced pink helmeted soldiers who like Dunclas were fierce, became uneasy and nervous once Gurac and myself mentioned we were looking for an imperial patrol who were reportedly taken by the catmen known as the Casith. These men clearly understood what we were saying, even if refusing to speak common. The Kilbarac men simply pointed in fear to the right of the Ringfort, it was quite foggy, but we could make out the shapes of rugged moors in the distance.
With time against us for any chance to find members of the patrol alive, we rushed off towards the Foggy Moors. An hour later we reached our destination. Our company was well and truly exhausted at this point. But we knew we had to see our objective to the end. I thanked Gurac for sticking with us throughout the past few days and he nodded in thanks of our appreciation.
These moors were truly ancient, we all felt an uneasy feeling in our guts, even Gurac. It was that instinctual feeling that tells you what you are doing or what you are near is dangerous, is wrong and not meant for you.
As we moved further across the Moors, we began to hear hisses and screeching, carried by the wind. The sounds started low and became louder the further we pressed. It was almost sing-song-like in a terrifying and haunting manner. Finally, half an hour into our journey across the foggy moors, we could see a large black colored ring fort just about half a mile away. I knew in my heart our answers to the patrols fate were located in this fort.
As we approached the fort, the 15 men and women who had journeyed with myself and Gurac became unnaturally overwhelmed with fear, the horses became fearful as well and despite my pleas, my company and their horses save for Gurac fled in terror. My Colovian Horse who had served me faithfully and well for these past couple of months of my tour of duty, and Gurac’s Northern Pony became unsettled and fled too as the hissing and screeching became even louder. Gurac looked determined none the less and nodded for for us to continue on. We approached the eerie black ring fort on foot. Our weapons unsheathed. There was no gate to this fort, just fog covering its entrance. As we entered the fort, the fog vanished and the hissing and screeching stopped.
The Fort was empty, it had no dwellings, unlike the stone ring fort of the Kilbarac clan, save for a large black painted Dolmen in the middle of the fort. This dolmen radiated malevolence . It takes a lot to scare me, after all I have seen and experienced during my 18 years of service. My stomach turned as I saw the heads of my fellow soldiers, the patrol we searched day and night for by this Dolmen. The skin of their faces was torn off and their red exposed eyes wide as if they were still alive in torment, what remained of their teeth and mouths was unnaturally forced into a horrifying smile. How did I know this was our patrol? their helmets and armor formed a mounded pile across from the Dolmen. The soldiers heads were presented in a strange spiral pattern around the Dolmen. Suddenly we heard a cry for help, a weak painful voice cried out, there was a young Nord woman, a surviving soldier, she was still alive, even if just barely. I knew it was a trap and so did Gurac, but we had to try and save her, otherwise what was the point of this entire bloody accursed mission.
We hurried towards the Dolmen, swords at the ready. Behind the Dolmen the young Nord woman was sloped, naked, her body covered in painful scratch marks. She looked up at myself and Gurac with relieved eyes, Gurac offered her water, which she gulped down painfully. She was very weak, we had to get her out of this damned place and fast. With what little strength she had left, she told us her name was Helga and she was the youngest recruit of the massacred patrol, we also explained who were were and that we would do everything in our power to get her to safety. Helga’s relieved eyes soon turned to terror as they widened with fear, her eyes going pink-red with stress and fear. She pointed beyond myself and Gurac, towards the Ring Forts entrance, we both got up and turned to face the entrance, there before us, they were real, the Casith.
In front of us were three figures, all three were lanky, and tall, with long black matted and unkempt fur. The one in the middle held a long sickle, not unlike the ones Breton Druids that could be found among the clans possessed. The three also wore long white robes, tattered and ancient. Their eyes vivid blue, but unmistakably cat-like. They certainly resembled the Khajiit, but I knew they were not Khajiit, at least not any kind of modern Khajiit. Soon the fog returned behind the three Casith, and dozens more of these white robed Cat-men arrived. Some were half shaved and like the Breton Clans had exotic tattoos, spiral tattoos, Some of their white robes were covered in the blood, making for a horrifying sight. You know when you see a stray street cat that has been in the rain? and is malnourished, wild and vicious. well imagine that, five times the size and upright.
The hissing and screeching started again, this time among the crowd of the new arrivals and was almost chant-like. One of the three Casith pulled out a swathe of skin, it was a face and clearly belonged to one of the Imperial soldiers, the Casith smiled at us in a malevolent manner and placed the face-skin across his own.
We knew we were outnumbered, but if this was to be our end, by damned Oblivion, we would go out fighting.
As we readied, the apparent leader with the sickle then spoke in common to our surprise and in a harsh, raspy tone. The chanting, hissing and screeching suddenly stopped.
“This Eche, this Eche, ours, theirs, nobodies, but ours always in this time, across all, ours we will make it.”
“Be like we were, we need to be, (hiss) undo, gone, rebirth, for if we do not, it will come, it will come.”
“This is it,” we thought. But then the fog behind the Casith quickly overcame us and the Casith themselves, and seconds later it vanished, along with all the Casith. No hisses, no screeching, no catmen. Bewildered, we quickly helped Helga up and carried her out of the fort as quickly as possible and back to the nearest friendly village. Forward several weeks and Helga recovered in time and was given commendation, a pension and discharged due to her severe injuries. Last I heard she is back home in Whiterun with her parents. The official story is the patrol was taken and killed by a witch-cult of barbarian Bretons. However, I know damn well what I saw and what I saw were not Bretons, not any kind of man, mer and not even remotely like the Khajiit forms I have encountered. They were beastfolk, alright.. perhaps once related to the Khajiit in ages long past, but now something different and utterly malevolent. What haunts me to this day, is not only the sight of their insane ritual and the savage murder of good men and women of the legion. But what did their apparent leader mean by his strange words. Eche? Did it mean land? Theirs? Across all? Be like we were? Rebirth? It will COME? I know I will never understand what their ritual was for, nor what they meant by their cryptic words and this will bother me for the remainder of my days.
I now sit here in this damned room ready to tell my story for the seventh bloody time. Wait. If you don’t believe it, why the constant interviews? Wait. You’re not from the Legion or any guild? You’re not Imperials or Bretons, two Altmer? Who in Oblivion are you? Psijic order, what?