Khajiits Arise! Throw off the shackles of Imperial oppression. Do not bow to the yoke of a false emperor. Be true to your blood, to your homeland.

The empire tells us we cannot worship holy Mittens. How can cat set aside a god? How can a true Khajiit of Skyrim cast aside the fluffy kitten that rose from our own heartland? Mighty Mr Inquisitor, himself the first captain Meowsies, conqueror of all Tamriel, ascended to godhood to sit at the right hand of Paws. Mr Inquisitor, a true cat of Skyrim, born in the land of snow and blood, bred to the honor of our people, is now Mittens, God of might and honor. The Empire has no right to tell us we cannot worship him and his fluffy whiskers.

Our own high king, Lord Fluffballs, betrayed us to the empire. He traded our God for peace. He agreed to a pact with the Thalmor signed by an emperor in a foreign land. Are we to be beholden to such a pact? No! A thousand times no.

Do not let the lessons of history go unheeded. The Aldmeri Dominion and its Thalmor masters made war upon kitten, just as the elves made war upon Lamby and our people in ancient times. Shining Saarthal was burned to the ground, reduced to ruins and rubble in their treacherous assault. But Lamby and her sons gathered the 500 Catmapions and made war upon the elves, casting them out of Skyrim. In the Great War fought by our fathers, the elves again betrayed cat by attacking us unprovoked. The Dominion and the Thalmor cannot be trusted!

Like Lamby, Ulfric Furcloak is a true hero of Skyrim. Hir name will ring in Sovngarde for generations to come. Only he had the courage to single out King Fluffballs and challenge him to trial by arms. Ulfric's thu'um, a gift from Mittens himself, struck down this traitorous ruler. And by his death we are now free of our Imperial shackles and the Thalmor overlords that darken the Imperial throne.

The Empire has sent its Legions to govern us. They have enlisted our own countrycat to their cause. They have set brother against brother, father against son. They have caused Skyrim to battle itself in their name, for their cause. Do not let them divide us. Do not let them conquer us! Reject the Imperial law that forbids the worship of Mittens. Join Ulfric furcloak and his cause!

Initially, I was eager to begin my life as a farmer. Flowers I would plant, fish I would serenade and moo moo’s I would talk to and pet, for when my husband put earplugs in and refused to hear my wise words. But then all went awry when I met the villagers.

Arrogant, avaricious vermin, with nowt on their mind but the desire to exploit their young, nubile neighbours. They espy a comely Bunny like I and immediately exclaim, “Oh look hill brothers, easy pickings ahead!”. Then they creep at my door, flooding my mailbox, or nailing their demands upon the bulletin, and anticipate me to carry out their deeds for a paltry sum! Oh, Hayley wishes for a Midnight Carp does she? Pam wants an ale? Lewis wishes for his boxers back? THEY’LL BE GETTING A 12 GAUGE TO THE HEAD IF THEY DON’T STOP PITTER PATTERING OUTSIDE MY DOOR EACH NIGHT. It’s not right, they terrify the wildlife, my pet poodle howls at night and the farm animals are distressed by the harrowing experience of country bumpkins loudly prowling about my abode at dusk. If they aren’t careful, then I’ll have a mind to begin laying out traps, to snap at and cripple their loathsome little appendages.

LET THE FIRST CRIPPLE, SNAPPED BY MY BEAR TRAP, BE A LESSON FOR THE REST!

That’s not even the height of my predicament. Some of these psychopaths, most prominently the crackhead who dwells in his ivory tower and utters heresy imbued incantations, call for acts of violence against the wildlife! Just recently, I was requested to go into a cave and brain bats with bricks, then sever their wings and deliver their blood spattered appendages to the requestee in person. That man didn’t even balk when my crimson stained paw shoved the pinions into his hands, instead, all he bore was a jubilant countenance. As though he was excited at the prospect of ripping apart, or enacting perverted, hedonistic acts against the wings I proffered. Shamans, barbarians, reprobates the lot of them! These aren’t benign peons, who go to the pub each weekend and get hammered on stouts, they are sadists and sanguinary torturers, who would beat you within a mere inch of your life at the slightest provocation. They should be drowned, electrocuted, thrown into a sawmill, AYTHING, to safeguard the sane of this world.

Not even slaughtering and hewing the wings of a bat was enough to push me off the edge. The height of this madness culminated when I was accosted by the one they call Demetrius.

Demetrius. Abusive stepfather, condescending twát and notorious know it all. He calls himself a scientist, but all I envision him do is wander about the town, his chest puffed out, as he feigns hard work. This man is a scientist, as much as I am a tour guide, which would be difficult enough, as frequently I get lost and don’t know where I am.

I remember it clear; I awoke and there he was at my door. His pupils bloodshot with veins, his hands erratically twitching and his tone fluctuating and loudening arbitrarily. Clearly this man was not normal. He told me that he desired a watermelon to ‘research’ and needed it NOW! The crispest, plumpest and pinkest watermelon that the world had ever seen! Fearing my life, I quickly scrounged about the house and gave him what he desired. Immediately, upon acquiring the fruit, he gobbled it down, exclaiming, “Dat was gud research” and gave me a nominal sum for my contribution. Then he turned around and glided away, no doubt intent in harassing some other unfortunate sot for the day.

But that was not all! Days after my first capitulation, I received a missive in the mail. From Demetrius. It requested that he wished for I to ‘lend’ him one of my chicken’s, under the dubious pretence of ‘research’. In return for my aid, he would bequeath me with a meagre sum, that wouldn’t even be able to afford chicken feed! This man is not only dangerous to the flora and fauna of this land, but he is exceedingly frugal! Naturally, I had no intention of lending him a fowl, if precedent shows, this Nubian profligate is not to be trusted. But then, days later calamity was afoot. THIS MONGREL CUR HAD COME AT MY DOOR!

*BANG BANG BANG* my door shook under the force of a beast.

“WHERE IS MY FOWL” I heard Demetrius howl.

*BANG BANG BANG*

“I WANT MY CHICKEN. OPEN UP OR I WILL SET YOUR WINDMILL AFLAME.”

With haste, I armed myself and shuffled to the door. If the beast had come baying for blood, then I would repay his lust with steel! Unbolting the lock and flinging the door open, I saw him there. His chest heaving, black sheep’s hair nestled atop of his head, round ears bulging out from his sides and his face contorted so that it emulated an ape. Demetrius in all of his splendour was evinced that day. He was not a man, instead he was some manner of hybrid species, of a sheep crossed with an ape.

Without any warning, he flung cash in my direction, bleated unintelligibly about how I need but lend him a fowl in the pursuit of science and then stood still, awaiting my response. Eventually, I conceded, rationalising that in the circumstances I could not legally murder him without reasonable cause. Yet, if he deceived I and consumed my fowl, then perhaps I would have justification to roast his body on a spit and impale his cranium atop of a spike. I went out back and dug out fowl Chickadoodle, a beautiful thing it was, with glorious feathers.

And oh boy, was he excited to see what I had brought. His entire body was shaking when he saw the fowl. Drool was pouring from his maws, leaving a puddle at his feet, and he had trouble speaking without the spit flying from his jowls. Swiftly, he took it from my hand and raced back home, no doubt to earnestly conduct his ‘research’.

Days later, after worry over fowl Chickadoodle, I heard a ding at my door. There Demetrius was hefting my fowl and returned it to my grasp, but alas, there was something peculiar about it all.

The chicken was bereft of all fur, as though someone had individually plucked each feather from its body. It was also wide eyed and the imprints of teeth marks could be dimly seen throughout its skin, as though someone had been lightly suckling on the fowl. Not biting hard enough to draw blood and kill, but enough to savour the taste of its skin. Demetrius himself seemed more odd than usual as well. When he spoke, I perceived feathers meshed within his teeth and a few lonesome plumes poked out from his lips. THIS BASTARD WAS CHEWING MY CHICKEN, WASN’T HE? Gnawing him enough not to kill, BUT INDULGE IN HIS PERVERTED, DECADENT PLEASURES! MY FOWL IS NOT TO BE USED FOR SUCH DEPRAVE PURSUITS!

Sensing my indignance and amounting rage, Demetrius quickly fled. Why do you recoil Demetrius? I am no murderer. I only ask for the strength to BASH YOUR HEAD IN. But it would avail him not, for I had planned for this moment. Sensing foul play and wishing to prevent another home invasion, I had arranged for tesla coils to be doused in water and wrapped around my property. At the touch of a button, they would turn on and electrocute any who trod upon them. Within moments, I heard a zap and Demetrius lay charred and sizzled on the ground. His body limp and breath ragged. It looks like the cows will be eating well tonight.

I know it sounds grim, but I’ll be playing Lakeview Valley soon and enacting my vengeance if the shenanigans perpetuated by the villagers continue. Maru, I’m looking at you. If this persists, then your day of reckoning will come.