Waltz with the Skooma Cat

One thing that this one has learned over years of aimlessly poring over countless tomes and mystic volumes that were written both centuries ago and more recent, is that you can not hope to begin to fathom the cryptic arts of Illusion by simply training under a master. Zharzo laments the many shiny drakes that he had foolishly spilled out in front of every self-professed mystic sage, all in the vain attempt to learn to make himself invisible to the naked eye or take captive the senses of weaker-minded men. Surely, they all must have laughed quietly to themselves as they graciously accepted Khajiit’s coin, knowing themselves that one must first comprehend the single truth of perception before they wish to toy with it. To manipulate the consciousness of others, you have to understand that consciousness is only but an awareness of the existence of your surroundings. It is not so simple that you understand that, as most people already do, but you first must genuinely ask yourself - if there was no consciousness would anything truly exist? It is a revelation that cannot be taught, only happened upon, only experienced.

This one’s intentions for learning such things was self-serving in nature, true, but it beckoned to his call to break the bonds of all masters. To accomplish this undertaking was in itself a challenge beyond compare, and Zharzo does not take challenges lightly. After this was explained to him by a decrepit old Breton hag living in the swamps of Hjaalmarch, the thought appealed to him. Still, the hag declined to teach him. Weeks after mulling over the matter, Zharzo had been ruminating on what it meant to lose one’s perception of reality, and how one might achieve such an fathomless feat. Although this one had never set foot in the warm sands of his homeland, he had heard tale of the ancient rites of his people, and how they had used Moon Sugar to open their minds, and dare to catch just a glimpse of the vastness of Jode and Jone’s infinite wisdoms. This Khajiit had never been one to spare much thought to the Gods, for he has traveled far and seen a great many different people’s own renditions of the same prattle, with little to show. The Daedric Lords, on the other hand…

Zharzo can recall the tales he was told as a young cub in the Dres slave camp of the Skooma Cat, and how those foolish enough to indulge in the sweet syrups of the blessed Sugars would soon find themselves in a dangerous game, being toyed with by a mad godhead that would drive them to the brink of all certainties. Khajiit was much younger at this time, and had not considered the peril he was tempting when he decided to forego years of meditation and research for a swifter path toward becoming an adept of the shadow arts.

Dear reader, Zharzo begs of you to not try to follow him his paw-prints. While this one may have escaped the Skooma Cat, only partially unscathed, he echoes the voices of campfire tales in telling you that it is truly an impetuous venture, and he would not hesitate to call you a damned fool.

Finding the Moon Sugar was the easiest part of this fool’s quest. The fool in question is not ashamed to say that he had made many friends in the most incriminating underbellies that scattered the ruins of the Empire. No sooner had the Imperial City fallen under siege did the delinquent societies that walked in the shadows of the Empire began to do their business in a more open and brash manner than they would ever have dared before. Secretive tunnel-networks of Skooma dealers and thieves sprang like weeds in the Dominion’s destructive wake, and the absence of the Imperial’s iron law was nothing but good business. Zharzo’s contact, that he will now refer to as the Colovian letter “G”, was quick to remember long forgotten debts and balances and even quicker to pay them in a share of his cargo. This one assumes that a few bridges were being burned for pressuring “G” into sharing some of his enterprise, and this one also assumes that with the quantity that was taken, that “G” could only assume that Zharzo was attempting to start competition in his trade.

“G” no longer talks to Zharzo openly.

It wasn’t as if Khajiit hadn’t partaken in the sugars before, in fact, most Khajiit have a much stronger stomach for the sweet powders. It was for that reason that Zharzo knew that this endeavor would require roughly thrice the amount that is considered reasonable for most seasoned addicts. While procuring the materials required was simple, the first challenge would be to find anyone that would watch over Zharzo while he was dreaming. He hadn’t first considered that the rarely practiced rituals of the Two Moons Path were always guided by Jo-Khajiit practiced in the ceremony as to not let it go awry. Again, Zharzo is not pained to say that he does not have many people he could trust to watch him while he was unconscious, as many of those he knows would likely rob him while he was blinded by the sugar. In this, he would have to go alone.

To say that Moon Sugar is sweet would be liken to say that a blade in the gut is an unpleasant experience. In small grains pressed softly against one’s lips, it can be the most delectable of tastes, but to stomach bowl after bowl is not unlike those legendary mead-drinking contests held in famed Nord longhalls. The sweetness was beyond overpowering, it bit your tongue like an asp and you could feel it’s venoms coursing through your veins no matter how many times you had vomited the sludge back up. It would be several grueling attempts before Zharzo would manage to finish a quarter of what he had set out on the table. Not before too long, grasping the sticky clumps would be out of the question entirely, because there were no claws in which to grasp it.

This one could not tell you how long it took for the Moon Sugar’s visions to take effect, because the first period of whatever length of time it might have been was one that you could not observe. At least, not observe in the sense that everyone has come to understand. There were no visions at first, no sense of self. The body was gone; void. You could be conscious in a sense, but have no thoughts. There was only pure awareness of the flux of Magnus as his breath pulsed through the void of your mind, an ecstatic freedom as all your conscious thought coalesced into a single cascading removal from any and all involvement in oneself. These are terms that this one uses to even begin to try and explain the first phase of the journey, although he’s not convinced that he has managed to do it any justice. We will move on, as words fail Zharzo once again. They are static, and can not truly hope to capture the fluid and ever-changing with banal simplification.

The second, much longer period is one that Zharzo can even try to convey in writing. When he awoke from the first epoch, it would seem to him that he was floating among the crags and scattered debris of Nirn, all its glories and corporeal beauty wafting like a mist in the space of this abyss. The abyss was not like the one you imagine when you close your eyes, and see nothing, but rather the void was bursting with hues and shades that this one had never seen before, and again, words neglect to describe. It was the most divine and terrifying thing he had yet to witness. While there were immeasurable islands of somewhat familiar elements to behold, this one could still sense their being. Soon, as if out of the corner of his eye, a new item came into view. A towering and alien cathedral, blackened as the purest ebony, spiraled endlessly with no perceivable entrance in sight. Still, Khajiit found himself in an antechamber of the structure, with his feet somehow finding weight again on its floors. Fueled by awe and curiosity, he had ventured further into the structure, following static noises and tastes that were irresistible. Before he could stop his steps and skid to a halt he found himself falling backwards into an warm marshland that stretched on as far as could be seen. Rising slowly from the sticky unpleasant waters, Zharzo came face to face with a small beast.

“Having fun?” it seemed to say without speaking, but rather echoing in his ears.

“This one supposes…” Khajiit responded very slowly, just realizing that the feeling of ecstasy had gone long ago, before he could try to trace it back to where it was found before, “Although this one does not really know where he is.”

The beast’s maw had opened and twisted backwards, revealing many more mouths with crooked jaws, all echoing with a vaguely alarming cackle “You’re taking a little venture into places you really shouldn’t,” they rang.

It was after this comment that this one had managed to get a more focused glimpse of the creature speaking to him. It’s skin was like smoke, billowing in tightly niched clouds of flesh, with eyes and legs in seemingly each place that it could possible wish to have, or not have them. It was feral looking nonetheless, and ghastly sight to behold.

“Inquiry is dangerous, little cat.” the beast chuckled again, “to be perfectly honest, it will probably kill you...” the playful whimsy of its swaggering dance abruptly paused, “...or worse. Oh, so much worse.” Before Zharzo could raise completely from the waters to flee, the beast was wrapped around his trunk like a serpent, then whispered from it’s many mouths into his ears “Tell me, mortal. What do you even hope to accomplish from this little game we’re playing? I love games, but what I love more than games are listening to what drives you petty creatures.”

Upon turning away from the creature, Zharzo realized that he was now sitting on the back of a massive golden scarab as it walked lazily among fields of hands, reaching up towards a bleak purple sky. “Leave this one be! He is here to unlearn reality!” this one yelled in no direction in particular.

“Now that is curious.” The beast was much less grotesque now, looking something like a small house cat without a face, but instead a large ear in place. “Do you really think that you can do something like that so quizzically? Oh dear…” at this point Khajiit was feeling rather annoyed with the animal, “and here I thought that I was the deluded one. This is somewhat embarrassing, I must confess.” There was a long eerie silence as the scarab settled peacefully upon the crest of an immense sword. “May I ask you a question?” the beast finally spoke after eons of ear-ringing stillness, “Of course, being a god, and one concerning the workings of the deranged mind, I already know your answer.”

“Why even ask, then?” Zharzo was becoming weary of the cat.

This warranted a long uneven laughter from the beast “I love to hear how you twisted little mortals reason with themselves. It’s not often one would be so demented as to poison himself to the precipice of breaking, and I think once you get acquainted with me, you'll learn that I tend to get bored rather easily… You ought to be eternally grateful that a god asked you nicely…”

Zharzo, in a shocking point of clarity, had remembered the stories of how the Skooma Cat had driven many a Khajiit mad with a simple question, and how they now roamed the sands searching hopelessly for an answer. This one was paralyzed in fear, knowing that he was easily a slave to a being more powerful than he could ever escape. Khajiit thought very hard, as distracting as existing was, to think of a proper response, “This one will answer your question,” Zharzo decided to say, “But only if you answer a question first.”

The world vibrated with giddy anticipation at the very notion, “Ha! I really, really, do love games!” the Skooma Cat echoed. “Very well, but let’s make it worth your time, it’s not like you have an entirety of it. Yet.”

Conceiving time made Zharzo’s mind spin, but this one chose to ignore it for the time at hand, whatever that meant at the time, “This one has met many grand masters of Illusion, and they say that in order to master others perception, you have to unlearn your own reality, yes?” Khajiit paused for a moment, “How does one even do such a thing?”

The cat sighed, and shook it’s ear-shaped head “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Of all the outcomes you chose one of the most boring ones… Well, you can’t. Not really. Not entirely. Not as you. Not as a rabbit. Or a finely crafted sweet roll, baked with love.” at this point, both of us were slowly being threaded through the eye of a very small needle, through Zharzo tried not to let this distract him either. “Oh, please. Don’t look so confused. One of my favorite playthings, does in fact believe himself to be sweetroll.” the beast laughs triumphantly, “That’s his reality. If you didn’t have one, you couldn’t be anything.”

Zharzo let out an exasperated cry, anger was boiling over his eyes in the form of tongues, “You cheat! You make no sense! You speak complete nonsense!”

“You’re really not that bright, are you?” the cat replied with a hallowing spite “You make sense, only if you make that sense, to make sense with! The only sense you make out of making sense, is to make that sense, to make sense in the first place… Point being, decide to be a sweetroll. Make sense?”

This one drifted in the weightless waters of the clouds for a moment, and answered softly. “No, it doesn’t really make any true sense, though this one supposes that’s the point. There’s no such a thing. You’ve asked your question now, and I’ve answered.”

“...Sneaky,” the cat mewled as Mundus was sieved through a small hole in the side of the void, and all color left. All was black, and the emptiness was cold. Zharzo awoke four days later, completely naked and slathered in all manner of filth, wallowing in a goat trough. It was fortunate that he awoke when he did, or else he’d have to pay for many goats. If this one could have, he would not have attempted such a hunt, and that’s why he can not recommend the same for anyone else thinking of doing the same. Scars are still felt on the softest parts of Zharzo’s brain, and the gambol with the Skooma Cat could have cost him much more.

Zharzo knows now how to make others perceive him as unobservable, and how to believe in things that do not exist. He dances in shadow, slips through the cracks of the conceivable, and slinks out of memory. It is simply a matter of teaching others to make sense of nonsense.