As Urzoth reluctantly removed her armour with Marassa’s help, the khajiit listened to her justifications for her actions. She let the orc finish the final steps as she began work on her face, her hands glowing with a healing aura as Marassa concentrated on the restoration spells that had saved her own life on more than a few occasions in the past. The swelling and lacerations on Urzoth’s face began to fade as the spell augmented the orc’s own natural healing process, accelerating it remarkably. “Nobody plans to die.” Marassa said, focusing on a large gash under the orc’s eye. The bleeding stopped shortly after. “They just end up doing it regardless when they don’t plan ahead.” When Urzoth bade the argonian her version of a compliment, Marassa snorted. “I make a point of not being pummeled by people, especially when they are particularly inclined to stab me. And I don’t presume to know what goes through any stranger’s mind; it’s harder to be surprised that way. I should point out that he was walking away to calm himself; you should know, anger makes people have outbursts and exposes glimpses of themselves through their defenses. It’s how I determined Sevari was more than just a typical assassin, it’s how I’ll find out if Coin Purse is going to be an effective alley or a disposable berserker. Given his reputation, I’m rather surprised he harbours any loyalty to people, especially when he barely knows them.” She said, finishing up with the face before working on the wounds on the orc’s torso. It was her way of keeping a distance from people, and by tripping them up verbally, she could figure out if she needed to be concerned about companions. If they couldn’t handle a few verbal barbs, then what’s to say they could handle prolonged emotional turmoil? By causing reactions, she learned bits and pieces about strangers that could mean everything or nothing at all. It was not something that engendered her to having friends, but she didn’t need friends. She needed to know who she could depend on to make decisions based on logic and long-term foresight, not emotional impulses. 

“Look, we’re in uncertain territory without a leader and most of the people here have little motivation to push on, or to follow their own agendas. Two years ago, the lot of you that followed Zaveed had a common cause and someone who gave you a conduit to pour your anger. We don’t have that right now, and the only thing these people have in common is my brother convinced them to get involved in something very stupid. He’s gone now, and we’re starting to see the ropes of this union fraying. You, Cub, and myself need to be able to support one another while figuring out how to engender some form of union with these people. I’m no leader, Urzoth; people don’t listen to me unless I force them to. You’ve commanded your own people for long enough to know how to force loyalty. Use that. If nobody steps up to the mantle of leadership, it might fall to you if you like it or not. That means don’t try to beat people down because I provoke them, instead try to guide that anger towards something useful. None of us are Zaveed, and that’s a good thing; we’re not going to try to pull these people to an early death because it seems like the glorious thing to do.” She said, observing her handiwork over the orc’s rough and scarred flesh. “I’m going to find a stream to collect some water to clean off the blood.” She said, rising to her feet and returning to the keep for a moment, finding an old bucket and some old tattered clothes in a chest before heading out into the rain again. 

Following her sensitive ears and smell, it wasn’t long before she found a stream of water cascading over some rocks. Slipping the bucket under the stream, she looked around, sensing something off. Dagger in hand, Marassa walked carefully down the bank, searching for… what, exactly? She caught sight of it shortly after, drawing a low hiss from the khajiit when she realized it was a body slumped against a tree. It smelled [I]wrong[/I], somehow. Carefully approaching, Marassa looked around before crouching next to the cavader, who unnervingly was dressed in similar Alik’r armour as the men they had travelled with to Skyrim. Investigating the corpse in the low light, she felt the warmth drain from her body as her eyes widened in surprise and fear.

A pair of circular bite marks in the jugular. Vampires.

People went missing unexpectedly over the flight from Hammerfell, their bodies never found and no sign of battle or struggle was ever apparent. There was a lingering feeling of being hunted the entire way, and while few voiced their concerns given the ultimate fear of the dwemer, there was certainly something unnerving going on. The body was left here as a calling card, Marassa was certain of it. A scrap of paper was evident in the Redguard man’s breast pocket. The khajiit gingerly pulled it out and read the note, written crudely in what was either ink or, as its faint iron scent implied, dried blood. 

[I]Darkness falls tonight.[/I]

Marassa fled from the corpse, note in hand, as she raced back to the camp. Looking at the others, she held the note out. “We need to leave. Now.” She said.