Sarel nodded at Malakaus, glared at the chest as he left. It was, indeed, bound to be heavy, that was fairly obvious, but it needed to be taken; it’d be wasted if left here. Sarel leaned cooly against the cavernous wall, adjusting his swords and armor to be more comfortable. Sarel dipped into his rucksack and retrieved one of his magic potions. He downed it and the bottle disappeared; sent to the inventory void, to be used again later. It tasted a little like blueberry, a recipe of Beilin himself. The man was so practical, so rational, yet he held such a high esteem for aesthetics. He taught Sarel of the beauty and elegance of the red sash. It was both inspiring to allies, and demeaning to enemies. It flowed about his form as easily as his sword, and that was the point, to draw the comparison clearly, and eloquently. 

Sarel felt a pang of nostalgia as he waited for his magicka reserves to be filled once again. He missed his master so much, and there was nothing he could do about it. Sarel almost felt that he could weep right there, if he wanted to. Fortunately he had other things to do. 

Serge passed him by carrying an armband crossbow. He plucked at it’s bows and smiled as he began fitting it on himself. “I’m going to like being a pirate, Sarel. How about you?” He called behind him as he continued on.

“I’m not quite sure,” The Dunmer said to himself more than to his friend. 

With confidence Sarel rose from the wall, lifted his hands slightly above his waist and closed his eyes. His hands glowed a bright yellow and twinkling powder fizzed from somewhere on his skin. It fell to the floor and disappeared, it was physical magicka. The top to the chest slammed shut, locked itself. Sarel breathed deeply, his tattoo seemed to drip from his skin and into his eyes; he opened them, now an inky black. “By your grace, Boeth.” Sarel whispered to himself. A yellow outline appeared around the chest and it was lifted slightly, fell back down. Sarel lifted his hands forcefully and the case levitated to chest height immediately. Sarel moved it forward, walking behind it at a brisk pace. Once out of the cave Sarel stood still, moved the chest gently over the boat, and then slowly into it. The boat dipped a little further into the water and Sarel leaned in exhaustion against the outside wall, falling onto a nearby chair. Serge jogged up to his friend and tapped his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Brother?” Serge asked, worry lingering on his words. 

“Yes, I think I will be.” Sarel said as he lifted his head. His eyes were still black, he blinked at the darkness receded back to his skin. 

“Would you like a stammy?” Serge asked, referencing his Armyman origins. 

“No, I’m alright.”

Sarel sat there for a little while as Serge went to the boat to speak with Sharee. 

“Sarel is tired right now. He should rest a while, but he’ll be fit in no time. So, since we can’t all be in the boat, I might as well stay with him while you all head back. We can take care of ourselves, as long as we’re together anyway.”

As Sharee answered Noelle appeared from the cave, followed by her companion. She asked about the garden. Sarel put on a little smile, remembering his intent. 

“Ah, yes. It’s not that I know something you don’t, but rather, I can do things you cant.” Sarel began. “I can find the space for it somewhere on the ship, I assure you. I oversee all maintenance and construction on the ship. I can give it a push, you see. All I ask, my dear, are two small plots for myself. Nothing more, nothing less. I’ve realized I need to grow my own [i]herba[/i]. That’s assuming you are the one maintaining it.”