[h2][I][b]Outer City Gates, Shornhelm, High Rock…[/b][/I][/h2]

“Lord Raimes’ banner, open the gates!” Cried the sentry as he caught sight of the dozens of riders approaching the gates, proudly flying a standard of a Minotaur on a blue and white field. The riders, garbed in sky-blue dyed brigandines and leather-encased paultdrons covering both shoulders, were led by Lord Egerton Raimes, clad in thigh-length hauberk mail with riding slits with a tabard overtop in his house’s colours and a bascinet with a blue and white feather plume, who led his troops through the thick protective walls of Shornhelm as curious onlookers came to witness the arrival of their lord and his retainers. Being that the arrival was unscheduled, but not unexpected, there was not much in the way of fanfare; just the way Lord Raimes preferred. 
 
The riders rode through the streets towards the castle grounds, the sounds of hooves clopping upon the cobblestone paths with houses and shops on either side. A woman in a tawdry dress ran up to him with a few apples wrapped in a cloth, offering them excitedly to Lord Raimes, who smiled graciously as he accepted the gift from the commoner and waved good-naturedly to her family, who were bunched together outside the door of their modest shop. Before long and without incident, the riders crossed the keep walls and the horses were steered towards the stables by well-practiced stable hands. Raimes dismounted his horse, a powerful destrier with an illustrious grey coat with a coal black mane and tail, and he offered the beast one of the apples, which it accepted indelicately with a chomp before allowing itself to be taken to its stable. Moments later, he was approached by the captain of his guards, standing resplendent in similar attire to himself, minus the helm and wearing a white tabard. The captain was remarkable in the sense that she was not only a woman, but a khajiit was well.

“Your ride was uneventful, I trust?” she asked, forgoing the usual formalities one would express when speaking to the lord of a great city. Raimes regarded her fondly, as she was his oldest and truest friend. Her coat was dark brown that graduated to a lighter shade with striking black stripes across her arms, legs, torso and face where they formed an almost curious M shape upon her brow. Her eyes were a brilliant amber shade with the usual cat-slit pupils one would expect from a khajiit, and her mane was kept neck length, but braided into dreadlocks. Rounding out her appearance were a pair of golden earrings upon both elongated, elf-like ears.

 In her early 40s, the khajiit had a hard expression that made her utterly unnerving for many people to approach, if her Skyforge steel greatsword that had been her constant companion since as long as he had known her, and according to her, for about seven years before even that, didn’t do that job already. She was an unorthodox appointment, but one that had been proven time and time again over nearly two decades of service. The initial nay-sayers who found a khajiit holding such a lofty position soon learned to shut their damn mouths on account of how much more efficient the city guard had become, and how some of the most fierce fighters in the realm had challenged her right to her station had found themselves utterly discarded in single combat without much of an effort. Without word of exaggeration, Captain Marassa was the finest warrior he’d ever met in his travels, and that was not light praise by any means. She was the reason he was able to return to Shornhelm to claim his seat at all.

“Most of it was, yes, but Meir Thorvale is going to be somewhere that people avoid for some time.” Raimes replied, taking a bite of an apple and offering another to Marassa, who politely refused. The pair walked in step as they returned to the castle. He caught her look. “Usually you rather disapprove of such actions. I can tell when you’re indifferent,” he stated.

“I’ve seen my share of atrocities, and the innocent usually get caught at the end of someone’s blade. What happens outside this city is none of my concern.” She answered truthfully in a surprisingly articulate and clipped manner that would be more expected of a member of a Breton court than a khajiit. “That aside, even if I protested, I know that wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“Quite so. You know the worst part of it all? I haven’t been able to look at commoners as people for quite some time.” Raimes admitted, as casually as if he were confessing he despised children. “They’re assets, and the ones in Meir Thorvale were simply the assets of Count Fleuren. It’s no different than the foot soldiers one throws into battle. You go in expecting losses, measuring your odds by comparing numbers. Regardless, they served their purpose, and dead men tell no tales.”

“And yet the people of Shornhelm seem rather fond of you.” Marassa remarked. “Quite an achievement for a man who admits to being unable to distinguish between the value of a man’s life and that of a tool shed.”

Most people would not dare speak so flippantly to a lord, but Marassa was unique in the sense that she was friends with Raimes far before she even knew he was destined to become the lord of Shornhelm. Even after that revelation and his eventual succession, she did not balk from her usual disposition, and her candid opinions and perspective was something Raimes had long valued. In a world of yes men who would say anything to gain favour, it was invaluable to have a friend who was willing to speak against you when it was called for. He snorted in amusement.

“When you put it that way, I sound like quite the bastard. It’s like anything, take care of something, and it takes care of you. Polish and sharpen your blade, feed and groom your horse, pay tribute and respect to your allies, keep the populace happy. Past Shornhelm’s walls, High Rock is quite a nasty mess and people die at such a frequent interval one becomes rather numb to it. I’d rather be offered apples than have them thrown at me.” He said with a grin, taking a bite out of the fruit and chewing thoughtfully.

“I trust outside of your men, I’m the only one who knows what you did?” Marassa asked.

Raimes nodded. “I told you years ago; no secrets between us. Besides, it’s not as if you are unfamiliar with killing. Criminals, peasant revolts, quite a number people on our adventures… Honestly, it’s remarkable you’re still in one piece.” He said, walking with Marassa through the large double doors that led into the castle proper. Castle Shornhelm was a modest-sized keep with thick walls, numerous fortifications, and a sizable garrison, and the lords of generations past took great effort to make the place feel regal and comfortable, but pragmatic. They ascended to the upper floor and the sizable chambers the Raimes nobles set aside for themselves, kept rustic with polished wood furniture and hardwood floors and no small amount of candles. His own personal chambers had a large semi-circular balcony that was kept open when the weather was pleasant. Stripping himself of the weight of his armour and placing it on a stand, Raimes poured a pair of wine goblets from a table and took a seat in a soft reading chair with a relieved sigh. Marassa kept standing, and Raimes knew better than to invite her to sit; she never did. 

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, swishing his drink slowly in a circular motion. “Prepare your rangers to depart in a fortnight.” Marassa crooked her head in curiosity, but said nothing, waiting for Raimes to continue. “I will transcribe the descriptions of a number of individuals I have charged in retrieving my brother for you and your men to track down and observe. If they are in possession of him before the third week is out, make sure they return to Shornhelm… discretely, of course. If they do not have Callen with them, and unharmed, in that time period, ensure they never walk Mundus again.”

The khajiit nodded, drinking a measured sip. “It will be done.”

“I know it will. You tend to have a very singular focus when you set your mind to something, I appreciate that.” He said, pausing for a moment of reflection. “Which is peculiar, I’d almost forgotten your search for your brother. It's been years since you mentioned it. That was your whole reason for adventuring, was it not?”

Marassa did not reply for a few moments, instead electing to stare out towards the open balcony. For most it would have been hard to get a read on her expression, but Raimes knew he had inadvertently touched a nerve. He knew all too well what she’d given up to serve him, and things like this reminded her that she never fulfilled her oath, instead coming down with a sense of resignation that it was a lost cause. Over two decades gone and with no real idea what he looked like save what her family had spoken of the few instances where they mentioned him had sealed the idea in her mind that she could not spend her life searching for a man who may or may not still be alive- and that maybe she didn’t owe the family that scorned her a damn thing. Still, when Marassa decided something needed to be done, there were few people in Tamriel who were more intensely focused on seeing it through. Were it not for their friendship, Marassa likely would have still been travelling Tamriel, searching without much hope of finding what she was looking for. Instead, she found herself an honourable position serving one of the few people in her life who actually appreciated her unconditionally.

“I found other obligations.” She replied at last, setting her glass down. “Other than marrying Callen off to princess Antoinette for political gain with the King, do you actually miss your own brother for sentimental reasons? You two were never close.”

“Truth be told?” Raimes said, leaning into his fist, “Barely. I know it probably makes your blood boil to hear me be so trivial about my relationship with my brother after you sacrificed gods-know-what to search for your own, but after father died, it was me who did everything to try and carry on his legacy while he fucked around and shirked responsibility.” 

Marassa raised a brow to Raimes, a bemused smirk crossing her features. “Forgive me if my memory is somewhat fuzzy, but I seem to recall a certain someone wandering the wilderness in Skyrim pretending to be anything but the next in line for lordship, quite literally running from that responsibility when I found him.”

Raimes chuckled, polishing off his glass. “Perhaps it runs in the family. I tried, but you know what Callen’s like. After I brought you back with me, and the rotten shit he said about you…”

Marassa shrugged. “I’m used to it, and I’m past caring, to be blunt. He came around, and he knows I can beat his pampered ass without effort… and that you wouldn’t stop me. If you’ll excuse me, I have to rally up the rangers. I know the argonians in particular are eager to have a deployment that isn’t patrolling the canals for smugglers.” 
Raimes nodded, rising up from his seat. Offering a hand, Marassa clasped his wrist and the two embraced. “You best make yourself available for supper. I am not suffering another one of Rowland’s tall tales without help.”

“So long as supper isn’t Count Fleuren’s corpse, I’d be pleased.” Marassa said mischievously, grinning at Raimes’ plea for company in the presence of the court mage, Rowland, who was an incredibly resourceful mage who fulfilled his duties without complaint or struggle, but was prone to rather exaggerated tales that had become something of a joke between them. Once, Marassa had convinced him that his ale was spiced with moon sugar, and the man acted as if he were under the influence of the potent spice, when in reality it was simply typical cane sugar from Hammerfell. 

Stepping away from her friend, the khajiit dismissed herself to fulfill her duty, as she said she would. Raimes headed to his balcony, grabbing the khajiit’s half-empty glass along the way and he surveyed the countryside, staring Southwest, wondering how his company of convicts was performing.