To make a long story short, I was once a great hero. I helped Martin Septim, Priest of Akatosh and heir to the Emperor’s throne, defeat Mehrunes Dagon and end the Oblivion Crisis. I was known through the land as a fierce fighter, powerful mage, and the trickiest thief since the Gray Fox. In fact, about the Gray Fox… well, that would make the short story long. I may also have been a mass-murderer, but only in the most holy and Sithis-approved of ways.

Why do I summarize? Because none of that matters when you’ve been turned into a cat by a Mad God and chucked into the future, unrecognizable and without any of your previous skills.

That’s me. Mu, apparently a Khajiit, about to be beheaded at the Skyrim border because these lousy Imperials don’t know who I am and can’t be bothered to recheck the list. It’s all, “She goes to the block” anyway.

Sucks to be me.

No, he’s behiiind you.

Oh, now what. Is that a dragon? Last time I saw one of those… Well, it ended badly for Martin. Happily this time there’s no Daedric Prince to fight so I can tuck my tail (I can’t believe I have a tail) between my legs and get out of here.

One of the Imperials seems pretty determined to keep me close, but since he was ready to kill me I’m not sure he’s a good bet. One of the rebels is also keen, but come on. He’s a rebel. Not going to be the best company if we get caught.

Heck with it. At least the Imperial has a sword. We get into the keep and he cuts me lose. Now he insists I pick up a sword too, which sounds pretty stupid. Why would I? With these spindly cat arms? My claws are probably better, but only if I have no other choice. I let him go first. I also put on the tunic and boots he gives me, though I drop the hat. It crushes my ears.

Today Mu is wearing an ill-fitting Imperial tunic and just a hint of facial tattooing. Okay, more than a hint. Don’t call her “Spot.”

The first thing that happens is we run into Stormcloaks, except now that we’re inside they’re determined to kill us. I’m glad I didn’t side with that other guy. My first reaction is to hide, but I feel guilty watching Hadvar get his butt handed to him, so I finally stand up and go to work with my claws.

I’ll have to be careful. This “winning” stuff is addictive, and the last thing I want is to get the attention of Sheogorath again. Chances are in the last few hundred years he’s been distracted from his ire by something shiny, but you never know.

Not bad for a cat! Me-ow. Ow ow ow.

The next hour is a blur of hiding, sneaking, slashing, and wincing, as we make our way through the keep. I snag as much food as I can in the storeroom, and use Hadvar as a body shield as often as possible. At one point he actually asks me to pick a lock, so it seems the Empire has changed a bit since I was in the world. I’ve been extremely respectful to the dead so far, but if he dies I won’t feel guilty looting his corpse for a few coins.

Break in? To that thing there? You sure? Er… okay. You’re the lawmaker here, after all.

But he doesn’t die, and neither do I. Everyone else does, though, which is depressing. At one point Hadvar tries to instruct me how to sneak, which is funny considering my feet are powder puffs and he’s a monkey in armor, but I let it go because he means well. He also gives me a bow to fight a bear, which is beyond hilarious, but I’m used to his stupidity by then. And I’m glad to have the bow, since it will deter mean things from running up and stabbing me.

When we finally emerge in the sun I give him my thanks and agree that we should split up. I also change out of my Imperial outfit, not wanting to get stabbed by the first rebel I see, because it sounds like there are a lot of them.

He tells me good luck, and says he wouldn’t have made it without my help. I start to wonder if he isn’t actually stupid but the best comedian in Skyrim.

Great poker face, Hadvar.

So that’s it then. I’m on my own, running from a Mad God and fighting the urge to bathe with my own tongue. This adventure might not be exciting, or interesting, or even an adventure, but it’s sure going to be some kind of disgusting.

Is that a hairball coming on? Fighting it. Fighting it.