The efforts of the Heroes of Tamriel and their companions did not go unnoticed by the people of Stros M’kai. After a hasty plan of attack, the group had managed to elude the goblins while rescuing the prisoners and killed scores of the goblins with the gas. The last any of the group had seen of Jareth, he was leading a war party of the goblins after the group through the tunnels as Zainat’s expertly placed arrow pierced one of the barrels, shrouding him and the goblins in deadly nerve gas. While they did not manage to complete their task of slaying the goblins, they had left enough of a dent in their numbers and removed their leader. While the roads were somewhat safer, merchants would still run the risk of attack by the now directionless and savage goblin survivors. The people of Stros M’kai, however, were largely grateful for the efforts as most of the prisoners had been brought back alive to their families, and no small amount of the deadly gas was retrieved for future use. Having seen what a small handful of adventurers could do, the Lord of Stros M’kai had decided to divert a contingent of guards meant to protect the city to periodically raid the goblin tunnels and try to reclaim the mines. While these efforts would prove largely ineffective while the dwemer were still a threat, the pressure on the goblins did prevent them from spreading much further. 
Nadeen, the mysterious Redguard insurgent who had tasked the companions with the task, was pleased with the result. Jasalin, or as she was properly known Lady Serah, was quite shaken from her ordeal with Jareth and the goblins and had resolved that she could not hide from her station forever. Upon reaching the mainland, her and Pollux headed North with the assistance of the insurgency to reclaim her standing as a high-born noble of Sentinel to become a figure in the uprising against the dwemer in that city. While Jareth’s death would come hard to Wayrest, the self-proclaimed pirate republic city in an increasingly fractured and strained kingdom of High Rock, Nadeen deemed it to be of no great consequence. After all, High Rock was not making a move to assist Hammerfell. She was hardly concerned for their feelings. How this would affect the overall war effort against the dwemer remained to be seen, but the already strained relationships between High Rock and Hammerfell were starting to become more widely seen. Without an obvious threat from High Rock, the dwemer forces in Hammerfell were free to delegate more division to quelling uprisings in Rihad, Gilane, Skaven, and with Lady Serah’s return, Sentinel. This pressure led to higher casualties amongst the insurgents, including more safe houses raided and slaughtered by better informed dwemer by collaborators and traitors. However, despite these setbacks, the insurgency grows and has seen some startling successes in these early days of the uprising; indeed, for all the dwemer’s technological prowess, they cannot be everywhere at once, and as more of their shipments go “missing”, the playing field in certain regions are becoming surprisingly more level. However, as the insurgency grows bolder, the dwemer grow more severe and ruthless; examples are being made of civilian populations in many regions in an effort to discourage the insurgents. 

Despite their good fortunes and growing reputations, the companions have had to temper their jubilation of victory with the loss of comrades, Ibran and Vurwe, both slain by the goblins. They eventually reunited with Gorzath’s group, who had thwarted the necromancer’s plot. The united group stayed at the Haraden Inn near the docks for a couple of nights, resting from their ordeals before Nadeen had arrived in the dead of night, telling them that the time to move was now; their services were needed. The companions loaded onto the [I]Sea Wisp[/I] for a final time, taking the relatively short trip to the mainland, to the Western coast of Hammerfell. A mage aboard the [I]Sea Wisp[/I] was instructed to launch a mage light towards the mast as it dropped anchor within a kilometer of the shore, and another magelight launched into the air in response. Two hours later, the companions were taken to shore via row boats, and the [I]Sea Wisp[/I], under command by Drinks-Many-Rivers, headed South again, to join the growing alliance of pirates, privateers, and smugglers that had volunteered their services against both the dwemer and the Thalmor; a victory by either would prove to be rather dangerous to those who called the sea home. 

An insurgent encampment was set up within the forests, a subtropical region with broad leaved trees and crippling humidity from the sea. The companions were directed to two long tents, one for the men, the other for the women, to set up until their next move. They were given leave to move about the camp, and each of the Heroes of Tamriel and the companions were issued Redguard-style clothing, weapons, and armour to help them blend in with the local population of Helgathe, as well as a personal chest to store their equipment in. Weary from the long journey at sea, they were given the evening to rest, as well as prepare themselves for the briefing that would occur in the morning. All amenities were available, including a hastily erected tavern (and brothel) run by a small crew of pirates, a smithy with a variety of ingots and crafting tools, an alchemy station, and in one fairly neglected area, an enchantment table. Various warriors had training classes set up, and more industrious and ambitious insurgents had tournaments set up for a prize pool for entertainment. Bards and other performers, including snake charmers and fire breathers, were present to entertain the camp. 

After the companions parted ways to deal with time their own respective ways, Zaveed reluctantly placed both of his axes in the chest, although he kept his dagger on him, as he was certain he could conceal that. More than that, it had a lot of personal meaning behind it. Grabbing a whetstone and a small tankard of oil, the khajiit walked to one of the many fires that were made, concealed under the thick canopy of damp trees. The men and women around the fire looked to him and offered an accepting nod. One man strummed a lute absent mindedly, playing a few simple chords in repetition. A few others were roasting small rodents on sticks, while others simply were enjoying the warmth of the flames. Zaveed lowered himself onto a laid out log of palm and applied a thin coat of oil to the stone, letting the liquid soak into the pores of the soft grey stone. As he waited, he observed the moonstone blade shining vibrantly in the red-orange flames of the fire, the cackling of wood mingling with the lute. It was a little known fact that much of the moonstone came from Elsweyr, hence its name. Khajiit had been crafting with it for thousands of years, perhaps even before the elves came. It was a part of the appeal of the blade; it may have been of altmer craftsmanship, but the stone almost certainly came from the sands of Elsweyr, glistening in the intense sun of the Southernmost province when it was uncovered much like it did now, honed and sharpened into a lethal killing instrument, one that had tasted the blood of countless foes, including those whose craftsmanship could be claimed to have forged it. He cut into the stone, the gentle scraping noise indicating the slow removal of imperfections and damage to the blade from use. 

Combat was not a gentle thing for neither body nor weapon; both had to be maintained if they were to perform, and even a slight knick in the sleek, sharp edge could lead to a larger chip or even a fracture if left uncared for. As he worked, he looked into the sapphire pommel, the blue stone glowing faintly as it captured the light. He smiled. He was given the blade as a sign of his becoming a man, and the actions leading up to that were hardly anything that could resemble care or delicacy, dignity or grace. The first kill is always the hardest, and it was possible that Zaveed could have died that night had his clumsy aim not been true, or his opponent but a few moments faster. The boy of but 12 years of age was but a pale shadow of the man Zaveed had come, the fine instrument of battle and the leader of misfits and free people alike. One thing was for sure; when this whole situation was over, he’d have one hell of a story to tell.

He looked up to see Reigenleif speaking to one of the guards, he stopped what he was doing for a moment to take her in, feeling an elation as he continued his relaxing labour of love for his weapon. He sincerely hoped she would consider his proposition he made back at the inn. After all, both of them had walked their respective roads alone for long enough. Zaveed, for one, felt that it was almost time to change course. He’d been a ruthless brigand for most of his life, something he greatly enjoyed, but the past two and a half years really gave him pause to consider the fact that he’d finally been forced to look out for people other than himself and go above and beyond what a self-centered killer and thief wanted. It was a life that had, after all, been thrust upon him without much in the way of choice; it was either embrace it or die. As he looked around the camp, he caught most of the people he had journeyed this far with and contemplated the host of others who had joined him on his journey two years ago, a lot that selflessly followed him and believed in him, when they had no reason to do so. A pang struck his chest, not unlike a cheap shot in a tavern brawl; he missed those people, people he actually considered friends. It was a startling revelation; he’d always had a crew, people he fought, fucked, plundered and killed alongside but never anyone he really knew on a personal capacity, people outside of his rather skewed perception and upbringing in the world. The people in the camp were the closest things he had to friends and family, a humbling and depressing, yet somewhat reassuring thought. Regardless, one thing was for certain;

He was glad he wasn’t walking this road alone.