Dervish

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

In addition, he offers cuddles (and other intimate services) as a trained Dibellan clergy, at a bargain price.

@gcold

The most famous Dibellan priest right here:

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUMBLE!

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

A Leif on the Wind

Foxey and I wrote this!

No sooner did the Kyne’s Tear dock did Do’Karth disembark at the earliest possible moment that the ramp was secured and the ropes knotted about the cleats to keep the ship anchored to the dock, being one of the first to leave the ship when cleared. Part of his motivation was to get off of the hated seas as soon as physically permissible, but also that there was a good chance that Daelin’s outfit had returned before the ship, and with it Sevine. His heart raced with uncertainty; until he saw her with his own eyes, there was this lingering fear and doubt that consumed him that he would never see her again. The war had already cost so much, and after Valen’s passing and that of the prisoner, mortality was heavy on Do’Karth’s mind. The Khajiit needed to find Sevine safe; no other outcome was tolerable.

It didn’t take long for confirmation of Daelin’s return to make the rounds, and there was talk about a siege at an inn and Daelin’s burns, but it was enough to know that they had returned. Elated somewhat, Do’Karth walked about Dawnstar, trying to see if he could catch sight of Sevine. Knowing her, she wouldn’t go somewhere too hard for him to find. Conspicuously absent was the ginger giant that was his good friend; Jorwen was usually one of the easiest people to pick out from a crowd, and a part of Do’Karth felt the man was probably resting off the journey and spending a few quiet moments with Halla.

When the Khajiit could not find Sevine in town, his heart began to sink, and he feared the worst when he saw Leif taking off in a hurry towards the outskirts of the town. Feeling that the man likely knew something he did not, Do’Karth followed, keeping a distance as to not provoke a confrontation. Soon, he caught sight of a tent, and a familiar set of crimson locks from beyond the flaps.

It’s her. he realized, elated. His feet almost failed to move with his will, his relief was so profound. This quickly became soured when he heard the commotion and Leif’s body posture suddenly get rigid; it was clear things did not go as he pleased. Hurrying to catch up in case things became violent, Leif turned suddenly as if to leave and looked immediately disgusted to see Do’Karth.

A finger jabbed into the Khajiit’s chest.

“How dare you.”

Do’Karth’s eyes narrowed, his ears pulling back. “Do’Karth cares not for what you think you’re implying, Leif Raven-Stone.” he said, swatting the hand away with the heel of his hand. “This one has done nothing to you.”

Sevine scrambled to her feet as best as she could, sensing that something might happen if these two were allowed to continue their verbal dispute. Personally, she didn’t want to see Leif, and his obsessive attitude over her had put her in a foul mood. She had the idea to put him to the ground herself and beat some sense into him.

“I beg to differ.” In his eyes, a storm brewed, a tempest on the verge of releasing a torrent of fury, “You have taken the one person I cherished most, and you have done it through your deceitful nature as a Khajiit. You are the same as all Khajiit.” He said, pushing Do’Karth in the chest.

“Leif!” Sevine lumbered towards him unsteadily, “Get the hell out of here. I won’t have any fighting over your delusional notions.” She grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him back from Do’Karth.

“How can you say that? That I am the delusional one? Take a good look at yourself. And it’s all because of this damned cat.” He reclaimed his arm and turned back to Do’Karth, “LOOK. Look at her!” His voice climbed an octave as he turned to shouting, “If you so much as cared for her, you lying bastard, you wouldn’t have left her alone! She could have died. And you didn’t give a shit. You weren’t around to protect her. You weren’t around to help her. No, you tucked your tail between your legs and submitted to Ashav’s orders. You didn’t protest, you didn’t ask for a change, you let this happen. You don’t care about her.”

“Leif, I swear to Mara, if you don’t get the hell out of here, I’ll deal with you myself.” She raised her own voice. Damn it to Oblivion! She never felt more helpless than in a time like this, not being at her physical peak skewed her ability to defend herself.

“No.” He turned to glance at her, “No. Someone has to defend your honor. And this mewling cat won’t care to do it. Unless he actually has a backbone.” Leif pushed Do’Karth again.

“Sevine does not need anyone to defend her honour! She is a warrior, we all know the risks!” Do’Karth spat back, stepping forward after the shove. “It was not Do’Karth’s decision to separate with her, but perhaps if you were not so selfish in demanding the world cater to your whims and greed you would realize that we are fighting a war and need to listen to our orders or we’re all dead!”

The Khajiit stepped to the side, attempting to prevent Leif from being between Sevine and himself. “All you have done is act like a child since Sevine and this one chose each other, and this one has attempted to give you space and respect that you were hurt, but do not dare call Do’Karth’s love for Sevine and her well being into question.” he stated, his voice edging on a growl. “This one cares for her like nothing else in his life, and a part of that is knowing that she was her own person before this one arrived. She is a warrior long before Do’Karth came into her life, and this one will not shield her from that part of her life. It is who she is, and it is her calling. She is not to be controlled by the likes of you, a man who claims women like trophies! You only care for her because she is the one woman you could never have and it has driven you to madness!” The Khajiit was shouting now, fists clenched. “She has requested you leave. She does not want you here. Go, now.”

A glob of saliva flew from between his lips and struck Do’Karth’s chest, Leif squared his shoulders in defense, “There you go again, you mangy cat. Do you hear how he speaks his honey-coated lies? I will not go.” He declared, his hands curled into fists as he raised them up, ready to fight. “Fight me cat. On her honor, fight me. Show me the type of a man you truly are, if you are a man at all.”

“More so than you.” Do’Karth replied pointedly. “You wish to solve with fists what your mouth cannot. It is always someone else’s fault, never your own. How do you live with yourself?” He adopted a wide stance, a fist gently guided into an open palm. “This is not something you can hope to win. Walk. Away.”

Sevine’s head spun with anger, how dare he do this! If it weren’t for Do’Karth in her way, she would’ve handled Leif herself, cracked ribs or no. Her stomach twisted in a series of intricate knots as she watched the unfolding scenario. “Leif. Just leave. Please. You’re only going to get hurt.” But her words fell on deaf ears.

“You are not from our land, you do not know our customs, leech. I will not turn my back and run.” With one fist, he lobbed it at Do’Karth’s gut.

Do’Karth’s fist moved down to deflect the blow, bringing it down and out to the side, the momentum away from his body while his open hand came up in a flash and chopped towards Leif’s exposed neck, a hard strike that wasn’t with the violent intent that Do’Karth would have usually put into a fight. Usually, he would seek to end things as quickly and painfully as possible to discourage further violence. He simply needed Leif to come to his senses.

Hopefully.

Stepping back into a slender profile, an open palm closest to Leif facing towards him while a clawed hand curved behind him like a scorpion’s tail. Do’Karth squatted somewhat, giving his muscles a lot of potential energy to spring out and react as need be. “As you do not know Do’Karth’s. You are clumsy, you telegraph your every move. Your anger makes you weak.”

The strike to his neck left him on one knee, blinking away the stars that danced before his eyes. He shook his head to clear them away and staggered to his feet, his upper lip curling into a snarl. “The audacity you have.” He growled. While he set himself in a defensive stance, Leif surveyed the situation. How could he best Do’Karth? By attacking him unexpectedly, that’s how. Several seconds passed before Leif lunged at Do’Karth, his arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him down to the ground. Sevine cleared the area, giving them a wide berth to fight. She could call for help, but what good would that do? Leif would never learn to leave her alone if Do’Karth didn’t teach him a lesson. She watched from a distance, her hands over her mouth. With Do’Karth beneath him, a hand curled around his ear giving it a hard yank while he drove a fist into his face.

The pain was agonizing; having one’s ear yanked was hardly sporting, and it more or less made Do’Karth’s mind up when it came to the question of holding back. Another strike across his muzzle brought the taste of blood to the back of his throat, and Do’Karth forced his rising anger down. Pain is weakness leaving the body… pain is weakness leaving- he chanted mentally, extending his claws on his hand, and as Leif brought his fist up once more, Do’Karth jabbed all four of his fingers tightly together up into the man’s exposed armpit, tearing into the exposed flesh. Taking advantage of the moment that he’d bought himself from the fist, Do’Karth brought the heel of his other hand up into Leif’s throat, ideally stunning him and forcing him to choke. Having bought himself some room, Do’Karth grabbed into Leif’s shirt and pulled him back, enough for Do’Karth to get the weight off of him and break free, scrambling to his feet once more. Standing with more of a wide stance, the Khajiit prepared to dodge incase Leif leapt up into a tackle.

White-hot pain scorched his underarm from the Khajiit’s claws while the palm to his throat forced him to release his hold on Do’Karth. Now that he had the upper hand on him, Leif found himself being tossed to the side. He lay on his back, one hand clutching at his throat while the other put pressure on the wound in his armpit. When he regained the ability to breathe, albeit, still painful, he rolled to his knees. He glowered at Do’Karth, of all things he happened to overlook, he forgot that Khajiit’s had miniature daggers equipped to the end of their fingertips.

“Leif, I’m telling you, you’d better stop before you get hurt.” Sevine warned, seeing a chance to talk some sense into him.

“Shut up! This is between Do’Karth and I.” He shouted as he hoisted himself to his feet. As he did so, he spotted a metal tankard that belonged to her. He snatched it up, and in a second hurled it at Do’Karth’s head. The Khajiit couldn’t react to being assaulted by more than one object, or so he believed. As the tankard sailed through the air, it’s trajectory aimed for his head, Leif lunged forward, one leg slipping behind the cat’s ankle as his hand grabbed the budi to prevent him from going anywhere, while the other leg drove itself towards his groin.

The tankard was easy enough to dodge; it was expected the moment Leif grabbed for it. The grapple came immediately afterwards, and before Do’Karth could break Leif’s grip, he knew what was coming. Do’Karth had been in his share of dirty fights before. His duel a decade prior against Daro’Sahana came to mind; she would have done anything to dismantle Do’Karth completely.

Leif was no Dara’Sahana.

Managing to squeeze his thighs together enough to slow the momentum of the knee down, Do’Karth nevertheless took the hit, but he’d been conditioned against pain in more than one way. The lessened blow didn’t have the impact Leif was hoping for, and instead of staggering Do’Karth, he was rewarded with a headbutt into the temple for his troubles. Bringing both of his arms down against Leif’s wrists to break the Nord’s grip, Do’Karth closed in, unleashing a flurry of pointed clawed jabs into various places along his shoulder joint, chest, and abdomen, claws puncturing skin and tearing muscle tissue along the way. Using his bent knee as a leverage point, Do’Karth planted his one foot firmly against the knee and brought the other into a high kick, striking under the man’s jaw. Like any good cat, Do’Karth landed on his feet and brought some distance, preparing for Leif to grapple and charge again.

Daro’Sahana was defeated by not allowing her to escape. If he grasps you once more, do not let him leave standing. he thought to himself.

“Pathetic. Do’Karth thought you were a warrior.” Do’Karth taunted, scorn oozing from his voice as if rebuking a stubborn pupil instead of a jealous lover.

Crimson liquid painted his billowing tunic, the blow to his jaw left him stunned, and one on knee while the headbutt had him seeing stars again. His chest heaved from a mixture of pain and anger. Do’Karth became the symbol for everything he felt on the inside, the sorrow, jealousy, and anger, he was the physical embodiment on which he could take out his frustration. All the while, Sevine watched from the sidelines, her hands clasped together in worry. Do’Karth held his ground without trouble, yet it was the unexpected attacks from Leif that worried her. If he wanted, Do’Karth could kill Leif, and the last thing she wanted to see was his blood spilled on the ground. She felt torn, but she said nothing.

When he regained his strength, Leif got to his feet, the ground swaying before him. The adrenaline coursing through his veins slowed him down, it made his body heavy like lead. But he would not give up. Not to a cat. While he wanted to say something in return to Do’Karth’s comment, he couldn’t think of anything on the spot. He settled for a grunt. Sweat soaked through the thin fabric of his tunic, it clung to his muscled torso, while his chest heaved with each breath. He had all but ran out of ideas on how to get the cat back to the ground. He had used distractions, tackling, a kick to the groin, there was but one option left. Full on assault, no holding back.

He let loose a roar that tore through the air as he charged Do’Karth, he closed the distance between them in seconds. His fists were flying as he struck at Do’Karth, his rage kept the fire burning in him. All of the hurt he held inside were in those punches. The Khajiit was quicker and either dodged or deflected all but two of his blows. One connected to his ribs, and the other in the chin. Yet Leif continued until his arms tired out. He sprang on Do’Karth with surprising agility, one hand pinned his wrist to the ground while the other recoiled back to strike him.

The Khajiit twisted in the grip, bringing his legs around to grapple Leif’s arm like he was climbing a rope and he forced the man to his back, twisting the arm in his grip while pushing against the man’s torso with his leg, stretching the arm to its natural flexibility limits. Hearing something pop, Do’Karth wasted no time releasing Leif, kicking him in the face with the flat of his foot. “Yield, or this one will start to break you. Every blow will be a new broken limb. How do you plan on fighting if you can’t even take a shit without asking for help?” Do’Karth stated ruefully, wiping an armful of blood from his bleeding mouth.

He gritted his teeth as Do’Karth pulled his arm out of the socket, amongst all the other wounds on his body, this one sent him over the edge. The kick to the face set off a nosebleed, bloodying his lips and teeth. As he lay in the dirt, somewhere deep inside him, he realized something. Part of him had hoped that Sevine would separate the two of them, plead to Do’Karth to stop, but she did not. Did she want him to be beaten this way? Did she truly hate him enough to allow this fight? Roze’s words came dancing back into the forefront of his mind, ”She doesn’t owe you her love.”, and that he realized, was the truth. He had forgotten their conversation after fearing that Sevine had died in assault on Nightgate. His old feelings had resurfaced, and because of his own self-ignorance, he found himself in this situation. While his pride was strong, his body was weak, he couldn’t keep fighting even if he wanted to. As he considered his options, he thought of throwing dirt into Do’Karth’s face, but what good would that do? The Khajiit had bested him. With a painful sigh, he nodded his head in consent. “I yield.”

Stepping back and placing his fist against his hand as he had done at the start of their duel, Do’Karth bowed to his fallen adversary, the fight having left his eyes. “It is done. Find a healer.” he said, stopping short of advising Leif to meditate on the day’s events. What good would that do. Instead, Do’Karth, bloodied but still very much mobile, walked towards Sevine, his old injury in his leg beginning to throb. He knelt before her with a pained grunt, looking up at her with apologetic eyes. “Do’Karth is sorry for what had transpired. He had tried to avoid this. Would it be too much to ask for your forgiveness?” He asked.

Without another blow from Do’Karth, he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes locked with Sevine, shocked to see the Khajiit kneeling before her. She glanced at him for but a fraction of a second before returning her attention to Do’Karth. He watched as she placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed his forehead, just like what he always wanted for himself. He turned away, disgusted with himself, and made the slow walk back into town.

“My love.” She dropped to her knees and embraced Do’Karth, “You do not need my forgiveness, you have done nothing wrong.” All she wanted in life was in right there in her arms, the man she loved was alive and well. And so, she kissed him.

Letting the kiss linger, feeling the doubts and fears wash off of him like a wave purifying a stone, Do’Karth pulled Sevine into a tight embrace, determined to never leave her again without a fight.

Mass Effect: Underworld

A collab between Birb and I.

As a collection of Alliance troops started to clear the tunnel and rescue the failing squadron that was Katabasis, Sicaria lowered her weapon and let them take care of whatever was left in the now sealed off chamber. With little else to do now, she took her captive scientist by the arm and started heading towards the light. There was probably something incredibly symbolic about this action, she disregarded it as a few injuries made themselves known now that the adrenaline was wearing off. "Ugh, can't believe I didn't notice that earlier..." Though she couldn't quite see it, she could feel some kind of wound on her right arm start to pulse.

While she surfaced, she tossed the Cerberus woman into the hands of a couple marines before removing the makeshift mask that had arguably saved her life. She brought the strip of cloth down from her face before turning it over and finding it caked with a mixture of various colors of blood and a consistent earthy brown the whole thing over. "Shit, I'm gonna be coughing this up for a week." She chucked to herself slightly, which broke into a fit of coughing with a small brownish cloud getting pushed out of her mouth with each hack. On top of that, an amount of phlegm was sent out and onto the ground along with the last one in a series of around eight. Following this, she started to pat down her armor to remove whatever grime had accumulated on it from the explosions, including a quick wipe of the hands across her face to show off her tattoos again.

The sound of a pressure seal breaking emerged from Sicaria's flank, and into view walked a now familiar krogan, battered and bloodied armour dominating his frame and his helmet in hand. It was the first time any of Katabasis would see his face. "I don't know what you're complaining about, I'm fine." he said cheekily, inhaling the relatively clean London air with a deep lungful and letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Hell of a fight. Been too long since I've been in a scrap like that. You?" he asked.

Everything happened in such a blur leading up to this moment. It felt like it had only been minutes ago when the team had reestablished the line after blowing the charges, and now they were relieved by local authorities and Systems Alliance troops that had been stationed semi-permanently in the city since the war. The entire team looked weary; it was quite the unexpected first assignment, no one had expected to see the Reapers again. It had been quite a few months before his own sweeps had unearthed anything. How in the hell did Cerberus wrangle up over two thousand Husks? It would be a rather interesting after-action report, to say the least.

The Turian looked up in time to see one of the Krogan pass by, already taking his helmet off and bearing a few new scars from the conflict they had just muscled through. She had to roll her eyes at the first comment he made, though she pulled back her left mandible in a smirk at the second one. "Last time I got sent into a hellhole like that was that conquest to take back Earth. I would've liked a couple years before reliving that, but, well, here we are." She visibly splayed both the appendages on the side of her face in the equivalent of a shrug before checking her wounded arm. Quite the gash had been opened up in the top of it, probably from when the Infiltration Team had been retreating and a husk had made a grab at her. Turns out it made contact after all. "Wouldn't have any medi-gel on you, by chance?" She gave the Krogan a look that suggested a general lack of urgency for the circumstances.

"'fraid not. I tend to just let my regeneration do the dirty work, others don't usually factor into it. Hang on, I've got something." he said, breaking off to stomp towards a pair of humans wearing paramedic fatigues. While Sicaria was out out earshot, the startled body expressions of the heavily armed and armoured krogan bearing down on the much smaller humans was unmistakable. A few moments later, he returned with a package in hand, offering it over. "Turns out they were going to make the rounds anyways. I guess I just sped things up." he said with a shrug. An empty thermal clip made its way loose from between his armour plating on his arm, it certainly accounted for the burning smell that had been persistent since he took his helmet off. He looked at Sicaria with a somewhat piqued interest. "I fought here in the last few months of the war, for another Specter, as a matter of fact. You and I both know what would have happened if those freaks got out of the tunnels and to the surface."

Sicaria took the gel and nodded her thanks to the Krogan, breaking open the package and slathering some of the cool material on her arm. The bleeding stopped within seconds thanks to it, and she tied off what was left of the medicine in the bag before setting it down. At this point, she noticed the burning smell and the clip that had found its way out of his armor. "...I''m not gonna ask how that got caught in there." She found curb to take a seat on while she listened to the Krogan speak, and let her long legs spill out into the barren street while Anderson was getting in position to address the team. "I was in Vancouver for about two weeks... I'm sure the city was beautiful before the Reapers showed up, but I was surprised that most of the buildings were left standing. It was like they were trying to preserve most of them. But yeah, lotta people would've died if we didn't go down there."

The krogan shrugged, a largely immobile object in a suddenly dynamic environment as bodies fluttered about. "Honestly, everywhere I've lived for any length of time has been destroyed by war. Tuchanka, Anhur, Earth. It all starts to look the same after a while, only difference is the Reapers didn't tend to flatten cities when there was harvesting to be done." he replied to the turian, following the violet lines of her facial tattoos that crossed her carapace. Beside them, Anderson was rounding the team up for a debriefing. "Oh, this will be good." he said, offering a hand to help Sicaria to her feet.

The two joined the others as the Spectres began their speech, the human of the two taking the lead. The standard expected ground was covered, 24 hours to get shit squared away and say goodbye to Earth, this was the last chance to back out, be at the designated coordinates or be left out. Rykarn was only half listening; he was already committed to the mission and didn't have anything worth mentioning to deal with before going off on a potentially dangerous and certainly exciting assignment with the Spectres, who always seemed to find the interesting jobs on account of an utter lack of red tape and accountability. As a krogan, it spelled out a good time.

Less so was the news that the explosion, the one Rykarn had a direct hand in setting off, collapsed an apartment building and potentially killed 11 people. The krogan didn't really react past a slow blink, his amber eyes not betraying any emotion past the usual reptilian-like stare that made all krogan look about as friendly as being held up by a shotgun. It was a damn shame, of course. You don't go through the most deadly and genocidal war in galactic history and expect to die a year later via violent building collapse, but this was on Cerberus. If the Husks got out, things would have been a lot worse, especially since it could be days, if not weeks, before all of the monsters were accounted for. Katabasis were, supposedly, professional soldiers and mercenaries and they'd barely survived the onslaught. Some elderly woman crossing the street wouldn't fare as well trying to get away from the Husks. Or school yards full of children. Anything, really. The really annoying thing about the Reapers' thralls were that they never tired, and seemed to be endless in number. It's why Rykarn was rather fond of explosions. Even if they weren't fully disabled, it was a lot harder to chew your ankles off if you only had one arm to pull yourself along and half a torso.

Even if everyone had been in the building at the time, and if Rykarn knew it, he still would have triggered the explosion. A handful of casualties was the price of a war that didn't have a firm ending date, considering the enemy they faced. As far as Rykarn was concerned, the war probably wouldn't be over until every last Husk was exterminated from the galaxy. Who knew when that would be?

Partinax and Anderson dismissed everyone to go file their report. It certainly killed the spoils of victory.

"Uplifting." he grunted to the turian next to him.

Sicaria had grabbed the Krogan's hand when he offered it, standing back up at the protest of her sore legs. While she had done it for most of her life, there was something about running through a horde of husks that made someone unusually fatigued. "Thanks..." In step with her companion, she joined the others in listening to the Spectres.

For her, there wasn't much shock, Turian culture often demanded sacrifices for the greater good. It was bad enough that civilians had to die, let alone a child, but that's how it was. Just another psychological scar on an already marred mind. Without much ceremony, the two Spectres left to finish their business.

"Something like that... hey, I never got your name. Mine's Sicaria." The Turian crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her left leg, head turning to get a better look at the Krogan beside her. He certainly wasn't ancient, or frankly that old by their standards, though numerous scars coated what she could see that wasn't obstructed by armor. He had been through hell and back like all of them, it seemed.

The large crested head nodded curtly. "Rykarn of Clan Ravanor. I've found with aliens, I need to specify that's my clan name and not my first name. Apparently there's some confusion, or ignorance about krogan no matter where you go." he grinned tersely. "At least it's not a salarian name; pretty sure they name their kids down to the street they were born on and what the mother was eating when she popped out a clutch of eggs."

The distinctive sound of a Turian chuckle followed Rykarn's generalization about Salarians, even though she didn't exactly see it the same way. She did understand that line of thought, though. "Didn't you have half a generation of females named after a certain Salarian biologist?" A mandible was pulled in a smirk once again, though she quickly let it fall back into cover the side of her mouth.

The krogan grunted in exasperation. "Don't remind me. Go to Tuchanka any time in the next decade, and anything adolescent is probably going to be named after that guy. You might be able to convince some people you're clairvoyant if you guess right.", he shook his head, looking at where the emergency crews were working at excavating the collapsed building. "You know, I spent the last year rebuilding this stupid city. Never thought I'd be the one trashing it again. I feel obligated to help."

Sicaria nodded in response, shifting her weight between legs once again. "Yeah, we probably should help out. Make up for the kid we killed, at the very least." Without waiting for a cue, she started off in the direction of the wrecked building, finally remembering to deactivate her tech armor while she went. "Not sure if anyone's brought it up yet, but I wanna thank your people for saving Palaven. None of my higher-ups will admit it, but you really pulled our asses out of the fire." She stated, her hands finding their ways to the top of her head while she walked.

Rykarn walked in pace, eyes darting about has they walked towards the blinking emergency lights and sirens. Situational awareness was something that became hardwired into someone after literal decades of conflict; it wasn't something you just turned off. When Sicaria thanked the krogan, and in extension Rykarn, for their part in liberating Palaven, that caught him off guard. He wasn't used to being thanked for much, and a turian expressing sincere gratitude for help, unprompted no less, was most unexpected. "Your people helped us cure the genophage, it bought a lot of goodwill." the krogan replied, a single eye looking back at Sicaria.

"I'm not like a lot of krogan and blame turians who are alive for unleashing that nightmare on my people, but some of my kin are. You might have been desperate for help to help us do that before we helped you, but it did a lot to build our trust. We were free, for the first time in centuries, and believe me, krogan love killing monsters and being celebrated for it. Killing rachni all over again made me feel connected to my ancestors." Rykarn let out a low, rumbling chuckle, bemused at the connection he'd long ago made as he unleashed hell on Ravagers. "I never expected I'd ever step foot on the turian homeworld, let alone fight alongside your people, but it turns out we both are really good at fighting. All these years being pitted against each other, hell, look at what we did when we were aiming the same way. I respect you turians; you gave us krogan a second chance and you ate your pride enough to ask us for help, no matter the cost. Mighty praise coming from a species renown for considering the inhalation of an entire company a victory if the bad guy dies first." he said, smashing his fist into an open palm. "We even smashed moons, actual moons! Into your colonies and that just made you fight harder. Made me curious about humans, though. Relay 314 incident and the new kid on the block gives you a bloody nose."

At the mention of a bloody nose, Sicaria unconsciously scratched some dried blood from her upper lip, though let out a short laugh otherwise. "Yeah, we underestimated humanity. They're tougher than we thought, whole thing shouldn't've happened." She sighed happily, almost as if she was reliving a fond memory while talking about their first contact with Humans. "You're right about that, though. You hit us, we hit back harder. And it just keeps going until someone's either knocked out or dead on the floor." With a smirk returning, she looked up at the night sky while she walked. After a short moment of silence, jabbed two fingers of her right hand up towards the emptiness overhead. "Reapers learned that the hard way."

"They're dead. We ain't. Superior species, my ass. Only thing that made them worth anything was the billions of lives they harvested. I wouldn't feel bad about the humans taking a hit and dishing one back harder; it was a human that united the galaxy and personally killed off the Reapers. Who would have thought? Been around the galaxy less than four decades and they're the ones that fix everything." Rykarn said, following Sicaria's gesture upwards. It was hard to make out any stars in the glowing noise of the city lights drowned out the sky beyond, but the gesture got the point across. "So, what do you think happens now? Humans have the Citadel parked at their doorstep and they've been pushing their way up the food chain like, well, we tried to. Won't be long until the entire galaxy's back to shooting at each other."

"Now? Now, everyone else gets back to living while we pick up the dirty work." The Turian looked back down as she started to descend into the sizable crater they had managed to create not even an hour ago. Up close, the building they had taken down was still crumbling slowly, bits of dust and rubble falling from what was left standing. She had to hand it to them, Humans could build solid structures, but it would be a matter of time until the last standing walls were bulldozed and replaced. "Doesn't really matter where the Citadel is, though. It was considered Asari space until the Salarians found it. Even then, they ended up with equal influence, not much of a reason for it to change now."

The building looked like an entrapment and deadly hazard if Rykarn had ever seen one. It would be terribly ironic if this was what did him in after everything he'd been through to cause the collapse. "Oh, it matters. Imagine if the Citadel was in the Terminus Systems, or even the Traverse. Everything would start to gravitate around those regions, and all of the bullcrap that comes with it." Rykarn said, shaking his head. "Used to be the Citadel was parked right next door to the original Council races' territory. Everyone had to go to them. Now it's stuck in the Sol system with a few relay jumps through human space to get to it. Add that with the fact that it was humans that saved the Citadel when Sovereign attacked, delaying the Reaper invasion for a few years, and that it was the humans that united the galaxy to crush the Reapers... well, you'd be ignorant to think that someone's not going to try to take advantage of that. Just wait until talks about relocating the station come up. The smiles hide the knives, is all I'm saying."

Sicaria took a moment to think before responding, carefully taking steps towards the rescue team that was already on site. Things were already bad enough here, and she didn't wanna be responsible for destabilizing what foundation there was left. The distinct flanging on her voice broke the silence after a long moment. "Never heard that before, but you've got a point. Humans do have the greatest influence on what's left of the galaxy, but if everyone ends up looking out for themselves like you say, the Council vote's still gonna be three to one." Her mandibles stretched again as the pair got closer to where excavations were taking place. "Yeah, Asari would want it put back for historical reasons, Salarians to take a tactical advantage away. We'd go for it either out of spite since our Councilor was alive during Relay 314, or for the same reason as Salarians. Humans are the only ones that directly benefit from the Citadel being this close, no one else will allow it."

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean everyone's going to play by the rules. Call me paranoid, but being cast as the galaxy's villain for centuries gives us krogan a rather pessimistic outlook on galactic affairs." Rykarn said, zeroing in on an officer who looked like they were coordinating the rescue efforts. "I mean, I'm fine with passing that particular torch off to someone else for a while." he said, approaching the officer. who was going through some blueprints on a table, a pistol and a thermos holding both ends open. Rykarn was surprised; people actually kept paper copies of things still?

The man looked up. "Can I help you?"

"No. But we can help you. I can lift things that you'd need heavy equipment to do, and you don't run the risk of trashing tens of thousands of credits worth of gear if the rubble shifts on me. My companion is equally prepared to lend a hand." The krogan said.

"Mhmm, I'm light enough to not disturb anything and I can get in those hard to reach places. I have some light biotics if they're needed, by the way." Taking a short moment to pause, she sat down on the remains of a block that had gone into the whole of the building. She then leaned forward and clasped her hands together, looking up at the Human that was in charge. "So do we know where the last eleven are? Or are we taking shots in the dark at this point?"

"Shots in the dark, I'm afraid. Different floors, different sides of the buildings. They could be anywhere." The man said, resigned. "Look, I'm not supposed to let just anyone on the site, it's dangerous... but the emergency crews are spread thin. I want to say yes, but..."

Rykarn dug into a compartment on his armour and produced an identification chit. "Official enough? I've been here on contract since the war ended to assist in rebuilding after the war. This is a part of that contract." the krogan said. The officer took the chit, looked it over, and looked visibly relieved.

"Well, at least you know the risks. Go on, then, but please, for the love of god, be careful." the officer said, gesturing towards the entryway in the hastily erected barricade. Rykarn lead Sicaria through and soon enough, they were standing on what was more or less the side of the building. The whole thing looked like the ground tried to swallow it and choked. He gestured at the opposite corner. "There's some loose shit over there that doesn't look too busy. I'd say that's a good place to start."

Now even closer to the site of destruction, Sicaria let out a low whistle in both admiration and guilt. "We really fucked up... but yeah, let's get to work on this. With any luck, they're all holed up in an apartment that didn't collapse in on itself." The Turian cracked her knuckles before heading for the corner indicated by Rykarn, her arms turning a pleasant purple while she started to ready some controlled biotics. She wasn't the strongest with them, but she had the control expected of a Cabal.

Once close enough, she started to clear away and relocate layers of rubble, watching closely for signs of a coming collapse or human-shaped figures. Whichever came first, really.

The duo worked for over half-an hour before speaking again when Rykarn paused moving his pile of rubble by hand without sign of a casualty, just a few picture frames and a pulverized couch thus far. He became curious about Sicaria's biotics; it was rare for a turian to have them. "So, biotics. Don't turians segregate biotics from society? You're one of the few I've ever seen." he said, hurling a torso-sized chunk of wall towards the perimeter of the ruin with a crash.

Just as Sicaria was starting to feel the strain of extended biotic usage on her, Rykarn finally broke the silence. She perked up noticably now that she had someone to talk to, and the slowly growing feelings of fatigue faded just as quick as that had come. "The Heirarchy does for military purposes, but beyond that, no. And you don't really see many since Cabals are essentially the Turian equivalent to Asari Justicars, or Krogan Shamans. Rarely leave our own space, usually keep to ourselves, all that."

She paused a moment as the next layer of wreckage was cleared away, and a pair of boots showed themselves. With a triumphant smirk, she turned to the Krogan that was close by. "You could call me an exception, in that regard. I like getting to know people on more... intimate, levels." She turned away and rushed towards the pair of footwear that was half-buried, then began to carefully push rubble to the side with her clawed hands.

"Oh? That why you're hanging around me? And here I thought you were just in it to help make amends." Rykarn replied, grinning as he followed along to see what Sicaria found. "I guess we'll found out soon enough of those are still attached to their owners." he remarked, taking a knee to help the turian clear away the crap that covered the boots and their potential owner.

It took a few breathless moments of pulling debris away by hand, but soon enough a body that was connected to the boots was uncovered. The Human was caked in a thick layer of dust and dirt, though from gentle rising and falling of his chest, he was in better shape than most. "Stay right here, I'll be back with a couple medics." With a light pat on Rykarn's shoulder, she was off and running for the command post.

Not even five minutes later, she was back with the promised paramedics. While the pair set to work, the Turian took the chance to rest for a moment by crouching down beside the Krogan. "Don't know about you, but I need some sleep after this." She paused in the line of dialog, dialog, mouth hanging open with a sigh. "If I don't have any new nightmares from this, that is."

Rykarn let out a deep, slow chuckle. "There'll be time to sleep on the bloody ship. I intend to claim what's left on my bar tab. Hell, I'll even be nice and buy you a round or three. Nothing like getting inebriated and tearing up a bar as a send off for a planet. I'm banned from drinking in..." he drummed his fingers. "Fifteen establishment! Want to make it sixteen? Besides, you can't get nightmares if you don't sleep. Makes sense to me."

"Heh, I wouldn't mind getting plastered after this. I'll take you up on that offer, if you can find anything that won't make me sick right away, that is." Sicaria set her hands on her knees and pushed herself up to stand, her omni-tool flashing to life about halfway up. Without much thought, she looked down and noticed she had a list of messages piled up, all from the same person: Vetia.

She silently cursed at herself for not checking sooner, though under the circumstances, it would've made sense for her not to. Well... what's a few more hours of radio silence? "Ready whenever you are, Rykarn." She spun around on her right foot to face him, awaiting his movement.

"We saved one person. Totally makes up for bringing their house down on their head." he replied with a shrug. "I know just the place, and it ain't far from here." he said, navigating his way down the rubble. Moments later, they were out in the streets again, more rescue workers arriving as they were departing, and heading down the street.

True to his word, within the next fifteen minutes, a familiar building loomed in front of them, the double wooden doors, while old-style and perhaps a bit tacky, were inviting to certain sensibilities. The man puking into a trashcan, the very same one Rykarn had deposited his assailant from earlier, was less inviting. "Welcome to Regent Park Pub. It's one of the first things us city restoration types got up and running after the war because nothing makes a person want to drink away their problems like galactic genocide. There's a few turian regulars, so don't worry about the menu." he said, leading Sicaria through the doors into the dimly lit establishment, most of the illumination coming from several large vid screens, and to the bar, where Rykarn handed the barkeep his ID. A frothy beer was soon deposited infront of him.

The krogan grunted. "And there goes my ration limit. Think the Spectres will sponsor an open bar on the ship, or are we stuck eating freeze dried paste for weeks at a time?" he said, tossing the drink back in a single gulp.

Sicaria followed her Krogan companion into the pub, not really paying attention to him for a brief moment. Even if it had been recently rebuilt, it still felt as musty as it probably was three-hundred years ago, though this wasn't an unwelcome feeling. Up on the vid screens was what anyone would expect of an establishment like this; sporting events, galactic news, and not much else.

She clued back into the conversation as she sat down at the bar, handing over her ID a short second after Rykarn had. In return, she recieved an oddly colored beverage that would clearly have a similar effect as Ryncol on a Human. "You've had to ration alcohol planetside? There's too much of the stuff on the Citadel, clubs can't sell enough of it." Wanting to make the first drink of the night last awhile, she took and experimental sip of hers.

"Kind of. Supply is always hit and miss, the rations were more for the workers. One a day, as long as you show your card. I took a new job, so I'm cut off from the perks of unfucking a city. So you've been living on the Citadel, then? I always found there to be something... off about that place, and I don't mean the fact it was a Reaper death trap in disguise." Rykarn said, his second drink, this one smelling strongly enough to be confused with medical disinfectant, sliding up. "Everything on the station just feels fake, and some of those wards are less pleasant than some corners of Omega. I like the air planetside, the weather. I also like the idea of not paying for a room only to have the entire thing rearranged by a Keeper when you're sleeping. I hate those things."

Taking a much smaller drink this time around, he looked at the turian square on, leaning against the bar. "So, what is it about you that makes Spectres feel you're special compared to all the other suckers currently looking for work who know what end of a gun is the dangerous end?" he asked.

The Turian paused for a second, eyes flicking to the left corner to watch the Krogan turn to her while she sipped her drink. She set it down as he finished asking his question, taking a moment to come up with a valid response. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm technically still wanted by the Hierarchy for desertion, maybe it has to do with that." She drummed on the counter with her left hand for a brief second, trying to think deeper in the matter. "I'm a weak biotic by comparison, might be my record during the Invasion that pulled me into this. Spent most of it in close quarters with the Reapers, clearing buildings and tunnels. I think the term Humans use is a tunnel mouse, or something like that."

"Tunnel rat. Heard that term thrown around a lot when I was clearing out the metro from Husks the past few months" Rykarn confirmed with a couple short nods. "I'm sure you had your reasons for deserting. Just proves you're one of the few turians who aren't a tightass. So, what exactly did you do during the war?" Rykarn asked, resting both elbows on the bar counter. "When the war broke out, I returned to Tuchanka to find my brother. Figured if the world's gonna end, might as well be doing it with my own people. I joined my brother's krantt and fought the Reapers there until the genophage was cured, and since you turians helped us out, I'd return the favour so I volunteered to go fight on Palaven, and then off here to London. Been here ever since, worked with a Spectre during the war. Guess he put in a good word for me. That's the long and short of why I'm here, ass deep in Husk corpses and wondering how long it'll be before the asari gets us all killed." he concluded, his tone bemused.

Sicaria listened to Rykarn's story in silence, nodding and occasionally taking sips of her drink. When he finished his tale, she intertwined her fingers and let her hands drop onto the bar. "Can't say I moved around that much overall, but I was on vacation in the Caribbean when this started. I swear, my heart never beat so fast in my life, but I got off world and went straight for Palaven. I got stationed in Cipritine and I got one order: Hold the city. If we found a tunnel they'd carved out to get behind our lines, I went in with two others to clear it. Someone always died down there, lost some good friends... then you got sent in and our capital's still in one piece after all that. With Palaven locked down, I got sent to Vacouver for a couple weeks, and it was pretty much the same thing there. Just with buildings." She looked down into her half-finished beverage, falling totally silent while she remembered the faces of those that died beside her.

Rykarn held up his glass. "To the ones we lost along the way." he toasted, downing the drink. Considering how strong it was, he didn't react much. It was probably an indication of both the strength of what krogan brewed on Tuchanka and how undiscriminating they were when it came to what they consumed. "Sorry about your friends. I've lost a lot of people along the way, too, but I guess it's different for krogan. We've existed for so long with the genophage that most of us gave up on hope for a future, and death's about as common as Aralah rising and setting each day. None of us expect to die of old age... there's some debate whether or not that's even possible for us. Some krogan have been around since the Krogan Rebellions, to give you an idea. We're built to last, but it doesn't mean we do." he said, pulling a bowl of crunchy stale peanuts towards him.

"So, I fully expect to die violently and wouldn't have it any other way. Rather not have my four hearts slowly give out or some shit. I don't really know how you non-krogan or asari aliens get anything done in the short lives you have. I'd be a senior citizen if I were a turian, but I'm still in the early stretch of centuries of being in my prime. Plenty of time to work things out... I probably won't even remember this whole Reaper ordeal in a century or two."

"To those we lost along the way." She threw her head back and downed the rest of her drink in a couple gulps, the glass getting set on the counter immediately afterwards with a distinct, empty clack. "And I swear, if you somehow forget all this happened, my spirit will be there to smack the memories back into you." Rather than speak in a light-hearted tone, she seemed deathly serious now. She leaned forward and waved the bartender over, who promptly replaced her drink.

"Y'know when I said I was gonna get plastered I meant it, right?"

"Do you remember what happened when you were 12? How about twenty years from now?" Rykarn asked rhetorically. "To be blunt, the war just put other planets on a similar playing field as Tuchanka has been on since we made the goddamn atomic bomb. Ever since I hatched, all I've known is war-torn hellscapes and survival. Our population never grew, it only decreased. Krogan were always killing each other, and most would be mothers never had a single egg hatch. There were literally hundreds of eggs in my clutch; only my brother and I hatched. If I do remember the Reaper war in a few hundred years out of the countless wars to come, it'll be because the genophage ended." he said, signalling for another glass. "Guess that's up to you to make an impression that lasts longer than any of you turians are going to be alive, huh? Maybe leave me a tape. I like movies."

"But that's hundreds of years from now, why worry about it? What matters now is you fulfill your duty for the greater good and drink with me until my credit account hurts." He grinned, holding his glass out to cheers.

"I will say Rykarn, you make a good point. I'll make sure to leave you a momento before I die." Without much more to say, the odd pair of a Turian and Krogan clinked glasses. "Cheers."

Mass Effect: Borealis

Clinical Precision and Messy Memories

Drono Loyalty Mission Prologue

Tanya, Hanger Bay…

The call over the intercom erupted suddenly, startling Tanya as she was cleaning one of her paint brushes off in the water pot. Already going off of entirely too little sleep thanks to a combination of alcohol and a series of reoccurring nightmare, the engineer counted her blessings that she wasn’t applying brush to canvas when Drono boomed over the intercom. Considering how seldom it was used for anything serious, since most people just crossed the short distance to speak with people directly, about as serious of a use as the intercom got was to announce meals for the most part.

Catching Serena’s eye, who was busy behind Old Nancy running some diagnostics, the two women shared a look conveying that neither were entirely certain what the hell was going on. Drono wasn’t an angry guy, so this did not bode well. Scaling the ladder to head up to the bridge, Tanya wondered exactly what the hell was about to go down.

Settling against a wall near Tonka and Dex, she listened to Drono go over his less-than-ideal circumstances and Tanya felt she was way under-caffeinated for this, so much so that she realized she was still holding onto the same paint brush as earlier and was idly twirling it like a drumstick between her fingers. There wasn’t really much she had to add; she’d never fought against Eclipse before, but she’d be able to chew into tech without much of an issue. The lack of intel concerning Drono’s proposition was a bit concerning, however.

”Look, Drono…” she began, trying to pick her words carefully. ”We all want to fix you, and you know we’re on board for getting you the help you need, but you’re in a lot of pain, do you actually have an idea of how we’re going to do this? It’s a huge risk going in half-cocked, and nobody’s going to be able to help you if we all get killed. Eclipse is one of the big kids on the block; we aren’t going to be able to match them in a straight-on firefight if it turns out there’s more than two of them. They’ve the manpower and finances that we could only dream about… I mean, look at this heap of ship that we call home. I can’t even hang up a picture without worrying about causing a hull breach. How do we know the thugs aren’t just plainclothes Eclipse so they don’t draw attention?”

Tonka jetted a thumb towards Tanya. ”I’m with her. As fun as it is watching us all bumble around like a bunch of inbred pyjaks who’ve been eating nothing but fermented fruits, I’d rather our colossal fuck-ups be something we walk away from. After Virmire, this team needs a win, or I don’t see us lasting out there because the galaxy will chew us apart and shit us out with a thought. We can’t afford to have Eclipse know who the hell we are. Couldn’t we just sneak you into the clinic and run a diversion if they start getting nosey?”

.:: ℤ𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕒 - 𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℕ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ::.

@The 42nd Gecko@Dervish well gents,anyone want to offer making the collab-pad or shall we use the old one? Im certain Noi has much to say. Most of it being confused babble.

@jasonwolf

Feel free to get us started! I'm playing catch up on other games but I'll make time for this.

Mass Effect: Underworld

<Snipped quote by MrDidact>

DA2: Hey I know a great idea. Let's have them all in basically one location and just turn the map around for different quests! Perfect!

@Silver Fox

Know who were the real winners of DA2?

The real estate moguls who kept selling the same five warehouses and properties to literally dozens of different people and factions over the course of the game when the old tenants died.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

And the collab Hank and I have been working on is a go!

Also, welcome back to Dawnstar, ship people. Go have a party or something. Here's your chance to unwind, socialize, and generally do the stuff that being in two months of perpetual combat stopped you from doing.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Turning of the Tide

The Sea of Ghosts

What had initially began as a sure thing for the Kamals had quickly turned sour as their vessel had come up against the unexpected weaponry in the form of the Dwemer ballista. Unable to maneuver and at the mercy of the mercenaries’ powerful advantage, what was supposed to be another routined skirmish and prisoner grab had turned into a fight for their lives and then a desperate resignation that the entire ship was scuttled; the waves would claim the vessel and everyone on it soon.

The daring prison break had paid off, and most of the prisoners who had not been killed in the initial blast, succumbed to the smoke and flames, or lost their footing and plummeted through the gaps on the capsizing ship were escorted to Kyne’s Tear by the remaining mercenaries and sailors who realized that there wasn’t much time left to disembark. With the Kamal captain, Kghergitz, felled by Tsleeixth, Leif, and Sadri, the remaining Kamal were much less certain of their chances of fighting. Those bold enough to wear the heavy armour were largely losing their footing and beginning to slide down the deck in the more severely tilted areas. Of the Tamrielic individuals still present on the frigate, Do’Karth and Niernen decided to do one last sweep to make sure no one was left behind, or worse, trapped. In the chaos of the battle, it was easy to lose track of people. The Khajiit felt safe from harm with Niernen at his side; her magic was easily powerful enough to immolate even the most brutish of the Kamal. With his night eye, he could make out details in the dark below decks, and with what few minutes they had, it was becoming clear time had run out. Do’Karth did not exactly have sea legs, and his balance was severely skewed to the side in order to remain upright. Looking at his Dunmer companion, he shook his head. “We’ve done all we can. Let us get off of this damned ship.” he said, looking at the light streaming from the top access hatch. Through it lay salvation, safety, and a firm deck. The sea had tried to claim him far too many times; today would not be the day it did so.

The duo found their way topside into the impossibly bright daylight and began to head towards the Tear. Niernen winced as her injured leg had to carry more of her weight than was comfortable while the ship lilted even further to the side. “By Azura,” the Dunmer whispered at the carnage that was visible on the top deck. Its metal surface was scorched, dented and torn in many places and blood (both Akaviri and Tamrielic) clung to… well, everything. The exhaustion of the past few days threatened to overtake her again and she grabbed hold of Do’Karth’s shoulder to steady herself. “Sorry,” Niernen muttered, aware of the extra weight she was putting on the Khajiit. “Yes, let’s get out here,” she added in agreement. The Khajiit helped brace Niernen, offering a supportive smile. “Fear not; this one won’t lose you again. We will make it.” he said, helping her move forward once more. The Tear was visible over the edge of the railing. Fortunately for them, most of the boarding ladders were still attached to the ship. Clambering down to the Tear wouldn’t be too difficult.

At the sound of someone calling her name, Niernen turned around and saw Valen stumbling towards them across the tilting deck, the arm of a wounded prisoner draped around his shoulders. It was an uphill battle and he looked to be struggling with the prisoner’s weight. “Hold on!” Niernen said and tentatively inched towards her fellow Dunmer, desperate not to loose her footing and slide down. Valen called out her name again, more urgently this time. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Niernen retorted, but her eyes were downcast on the deck beneath her feet and she did not immediately notice the reason for Valen’s urgency.

And then she felt like she was about to tip over. Panicking, Niernen threw her weight back and reached behind her to grab something -- anything -- to hold on to. Her grasping hands found Do’Karth again. He always seemed to be there. “Thanks,” Niernen gasped before looking down at Valen and the prisoner. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped at the sight -- a Kamal they had all believed to be dead had wrapped its hand around Valen’s ankle and trapped him there. Valen struggled to release himself and stabbed the Kamal with his spear using his free hand, but the Akaviri creature seemed unshakable in its desire to drag the Dunmer down with it.

“Valen!” Niernen screamed. He looked up at her and Niernen could see fear in his eyes for the first time. For Do’Karth’s part, he guided Niernen’s hand to a beam for support and he scrambled down as carefully as he could move towards Valen, knowing that the only way to save the Dunmer was to break the Kamal’s grasp. The prisoner, a female Imperial, was kicking ineffectively at the Kamal, trying to make it lose its grasp. The Akaviri didn’t budge; Do’Karth could tell that its final effort in consciousness was to grab for Valen, either out of vengeance or a final attempt at saving itself. It died, and with it, rigor mortis caused its joints to lock in place, making it difficult to pry the thick fingers from Valen’s ankle. “Hang on! Do’Karth will reach you. Grab the-” the Khajiit called, interrupted by a sudden lurch of the ship. The deck tilted enough that the Kamal began to slide down the deck, with Valen helplessly in his grasp. The Dunmer looked around pleadingly with saucer-sized crimson eyes, fingers clawing at the deck for purchase, bloodying them as skin and nails alike tore in desperation. The prisoner also wasn’t able to stop herself, and with a scream, she slid down the deck, and towards the waves.

“No, nono- please! By Azura, help! Gods, HELP!” Valen screamed, his face petrified with terror. His eyes met with Do’Karth’s, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still, the features of the Dunmer’s face etched in the Khajiit’s mind before the Kamal’s body hit the gunwale hard, causing a sizable dent before momentum carried the Snow Demon’s corpse over, and with it, Valen. His screams filled the air before they hit the surface, and Valen’s voice was cut out forever.

Do’Karth stared unbelieving, for a moment forgetting that he himself was still in peril. His eyes locked on the Imperial woman, who by the way she clutched her leg must have had it broken in the slide. There was no way to safely make it to her, but they had to try, didn’t they? “We need to save her! If we don’t, Valen died for nothing!” Do’Karth cried, looking frantically for a way down as the ship lurched again.

Niernen felt like she’d been punched in her gut. It was difficult to breathe and, as tears filled her eyes, difficult to see. “Valen,” she stammered weakly. She hadn’t known him for very long, admittedly, but bonds are quickly forged in the crucibles of war and shared suffering, and she owed him her life. And now he was dead. Her useless body, permanently weakened by poisoned Argonian warblades in Black Marsh years ago, had abandoned her yet again. It took a few seconds for Do’Karth’s words to register but Niernen realized he was right. Valen died to save this woman. She had to finish his work.

An idea suddenly struck her. Why would she even use her body? Niernen took a deep breath and steadied herself as much as she could against the lurching of the ship, one hand grasping the railing tight, the other extended in front of her. She was no more than an adept when it came to the school of Alteration. This would be one of the most difficult pieces of magic she’d ever attempted, but by Azura, it had to work. “Hold on to something, I’ve got this!” Niernen yelled at Do’Karth.

With a grunt of effort and veins visibly pulsing in her temples, Niernen used Telekinesis to lift the Imperial woman in the air. The prisoner initially screamed in blind terror, afraid another Kamal had grabbed her, until she realised she was suspended in mid-air by an invisible force. “Come on,” Niernen hissed through clenched teeth, the fingers of her casting hand trembling, and pulled the woman up and towards Do’Karth. Without access to magicka potions her reserves still hadn’t fully recovered after the fireballs she’d used to slay the Kamal earlier, so time was against her. She estimated she only had a few more seconds before her hold on the prisoner would break and the woman would plummet down -- a fall she surely wouldn’t survive. “Reach!” Niernen blurted at both her Khajiit companion and the prisoner that slowly, but surely, floated towards him.

Do’Karth supported himself the best he could, anchoring his feet on whatever firm surface he could reach, and he reached out with his staff, trying to reach the woman who was just out of reach. “A bit further, you can do it!” He called encouragingly, looking towards the woman but thinking of Niernen; she had to be tiring out. To his surprise and relief, a hand managed to grasp the end of the quarterstaff right as Niernen’s telekinetic grasp dropped, and the woman hit the deck, still holding onto the staff. Do’Karth jolted, glad he braced himself before offering his weapon for the Imperial prisoner, otherwise he would have lost his balance and slid as well.

His eyes widened as he noticed the woman’s hand slipping down the smooth steel cap at the end of the staff. “No, no… hold on! Take this one’s hand!” He cried, pulling against screaming muscles to bring the staff closer to him, and in extension, the prisoner, whose hand trembled as she reached for his fingers. Only half a meter to go, and inching ever closer…

And in an instant, it was over. Her hand gave out and with a harrowing scream the woman plummeted, tumbling head over heels towards a watery grave, her head cracking against the gunwale, ending her misery before she hit the water. It was a small, awful mercy that left a deep pit in Do’Karth’s gut. He was speechless, his throat clenching as he fought off a sob. It was all so damned senseless, wasn’t it? “We… we tried.” he managed, looking back at Niernen. He could at least save her. “We did all we could.”

Niernen averted her gaze with a strangled cry when the woman’s grasp slipped and she fell to her death. The elf grabbed the railing with both hands and slid down onto the deck. She wept openly, tears mingling with sweat and salty seawater on her cheeks. Do’Karth’s words, while true, did nothing to soothe the immense and crushing feeling of powerlessness and loss. It was, indeed, all so damned senseless. During the few precious moments of rest that Valen and Niernen had shared on this very frigate, less than a week ago, Niernen had learned a few things about the Dunmer -- not much, but enough to know that he hadn’t been living the best life before the Armigers took him. Their escape was the turning point. He’d saved Niernen’s life, joined up with the mercenaries, and courageously fought his tormentors with everything he had to give. This should have been his salvation. Instead, the rage of the waves had claimed him and Niernen couldn’t even save the woman Valen died to rescue. If only she’d had a few more seconds, if only she’d studied Alteration more back home, if only she’d been better… it was the running theme throughout her life. Always coming up short when it really mattered.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Niernen managed to squeeze out in between choking sobs. “I can’t do this, Do’Karth.” She looked down at the Khajiit, her copper eyes filled with pain.

“Niernen,” Do’Karth replied, carefully plotting his way back to her. She was hurting, they both were, but there wasn’t time to dwell. “No one should be here, but staying put will not help anyone. Just another push, we need to get to safety. Please do not give up on Do’Karth; he does not wish to lose you a second time.” He forced a smile to look brave, reassuring, anything. “Look at me. Things will be fine, the road to get there is hard, but it will work out in the end. Please, come with Do’Karth. Just a bit further,” he said, reaching Niernen and offering a hand for her to take.

Having calmed down a little, Niernen silently took Do’Karth’s hand and climbed to her feet. She nodded once to acknowledge his words but couldn't find the strength to muster a proper reply. She wasn't even sure if she believed him. Would things ever be fine again? Niernen thought of her old life; peaceful and quiet study with her Redoran family and mentors. Since going to war she'd been stabbed, poisoned, bludgeoned, captured, beaten and broken. Her so-called High King had betrayed her and now she couldn't even see her family. Maybe they were all dead too, just like Valen. All she had left now was the company… and Do'Karth. “Let's go,” she whispered and squeezed his hand.

The pair made it back to the Kyne’s Tear, climbing down the ladder and onto a relatively level deck, safety. A deck officer was checking a scroll, containing the names of everyone aboard, and he shook his head. “Those were the last ones. Twenty three dead.” he said somberly.

“And my goddamn ship.” Another voice growled. Sure enough, the allied vessel was well below the waves now. The figurehead at the bow was still vaguely visible but vanishing fast. With the ship went two of the ballistas and all of the provisions, along with a handful of lives who had died in the skirmish.

With the ladders retracted, the survivors stood in silence as they watched the frigate begin to slip beneath the waves on its side, on the odd chance that maybe, just maybe, another survivor beat the odds. As the last of the monstrous metal hull was swallowed by the sea, it became quite clear that if anyone was going to survive, they were already here. A brief non-denominal sermon was held for the fallen, wishing them peace and happiness wherever the afterlife took them, and that was the end of it. Hargjorn cursed to himself, sharing a look with Edith, before he bellowed to the helmsman, “Set course for Dawnstar!” with that, the Nord marched to the stern of the ship to attend to the numerous metaphorical fires that needed to be put out.

Do’Karth found an unoccupied section of the starboard gunwale and he slumped down, staring back where the battle had just taken place, where so many had died- but many more yet lived. When was there going to be a clear victory that didn’t cost so much blood and suffering?

“This one does not think he was made to be a mercenary.” he said to Niernen quietly, sighing. “No amount of coin is worth this.”

Not missing a chance to give her legs some rest, Niernen awkwardly sat herself down next to the Khajiit and let out a long sigh of relief and fatigue. “Mmmh,” she mumbled at first and closed her eyes. It had been a terribly long week. The idea of setting foot on the mainland at Dawnstar and finding a bath was such a pleasant daydream that she was loath to pull herself back to the misery of the moment, but she realised that Do’Karth needed someone to talk to right now -- and it was probably better for her not to suppress the emotions of the day either.

Turning her head so she could see Do’Karth, Niernen said: “You’re pretty good at it, though. Your actions saved many lives today. It was your idea to rescue the prisoners. Losing Valen and the others like that is… terrible.” Niernen fell silent for a few seconds and swallowed hard. “But you were right. We did everything we could. Besides, you know as well as I do that you’re not in it for the septims. I’m sure that we will all look back on these times one day and be proud of our choice to fight back,” she added.

After a few more seconds, she laughed mirthlessly, and the optimism of her consoling words faded away. “What else are we going to do?” the she-elf asked rhetorically, her tone suddenly flanged with bitterness. “Neither of us have anywhere else to go.” Niernen grit her teeth and clenched her fists. No matter how much she wanted to cheer Do’Karth up, she couldn’t deny her own pain and fear and anger. The tears came back (which only frustrated her more) and Niernen looked away.

“I’m not crying,” she whispered.

Do’Karth reached over and placed a hand on Niernen’s arm. He smiled, although his eyes betrayed his own exhaustion, both physically and emotionally. “There are plenty of places to be, but there’s a certain responsibility that needs to be met. Leaving now wouldn’t make the war stop, it would just mean that the support we have here would not longer be there. This one does not care to find out how he fares against a run in with Kamal by his lonesome. He is glad to have you at his side.” He said, taking his hand back, interlacing his fingers on his lap and resting his head against the wood behind him. The Khajiit closed his eyes and just let the rocking of the ship soothe him. There were some things about sailing that were nice; Do’Karth would take what he could get.

“Do’Karth does not kill. It is not a mistake he wishes to repeat, but he wonders if that bit of ethics is going to cost someone else their lives. Not all who are shown mercy walk a more enlightened path.” he said after a few short moments, his eyes half opening and staring straight ahead. “So Do’Karth tries to make up for that potential and redeem himself by trying to help others, regardless of what it costs him. The gods kept him alive for a reason, but they refuse to say why. How does one remain virtuous when one sees so much wrong with the world?”

He looked down, exhaling before looking directly towards Niernen. “This one wishes to profess that until he joined this company, he did not form personal attachments to people or places, and kept moving when things became difficult. Do’Karth is unsure of why he remains, but for the first time in many, many years, there are people he cares for that matter more than he does. Valen’s loss hurt, yes, but this one asks himself if he would have done things differently had it been Sevine, Jorwen, Solveig… you. Do’Karth does not have these answers, and that frightens him.”

Niernen kept her stare fixed on the horizon while Do’Karth talked. As he did, she felt her most recent outburst of emotions recede and a gentle calm came over her. It wasn’t even what he was saying -- just the sound of his voice and his strange, sing-song accent was enough to banish her worst thoughts. When he said that he was glad to have Niernen by his side, she looked at him fondly. While the salty wind tussled her tangled, dirty hair and a substantial layer of grime and dirt was caked on her face, the way the silver light danced in her eyes and her smile played around her lips brought out some of Niernen’s beauty regardless.

She leaned her shoulder against the wooden gunwale and placed her hand on Do’Karth’s knee. Her heart started beating faster. “That’s love,” Niernen said softly. “It’s nothing to be scared of.”

The way Niernen said ‘love’ made Do’Karth blink; there was a familiar affection in the tone he recognized in Sevine’s voice. Was Niernen implying… no, couldn’t be. The Khajiit was somewhat perplexed; he’d gone from being an utter loner without looking for love and affection to suddenly having it drawn to him the moment he’d allowed himself to open up to the idea of friendship. And now, this worn, beaten, but still fighting Dunmer woman next to him was starting to sound like there was something more in her voice than the annuls of friendship. Her voice was higher when she spoke to him, more receptive, than when she spoke with others.

What on Nirn was this? Mara liked her jokes, that much was becoming rather transparent. He looked down at the hand on his knee, and back at Niernen, his voice caught in the back of his throat. What could he possibly say?

“Oh, Do’Karth disagrees.” He said, chuckling nervously, clenching his fingers tighter together. “There’s loss, and confusion, and hurting people one cares for. Do’Karth does not wish to lose Sevine or see her hurt, for instance. She’s all he has. Jorwen is the best friend this one has ever had, and Do’Karth swore that he would keep Solveig safe, since Jorwen couldn’t be everywhere at once. Do’Karth lost you once, and it hurt, and now you’re back. He… is unsure of your intentions.” he admitted, fidging uncomfortably.

Suddenly acutely aware of herself, Niernen pulled her hand back and averted her gaze. “My intentions?” she said, a little too fast, and cleared her throat. Her heart was thundering in her ears now and the way Do’Karth spoke of Sevine stabbed in her chest like a hundred little daggers. “I didn’t… you know, mean anything by it,” she continued. Mustering the courage to look up at Do’Karth’s eyes again, Niernen shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Just that you should let yourself feel these things. And that you should stay, definitely. No more running,” Niernen said and laughed timidly.

Well, this was about as awkward as someone walking in when you were using the privy. “Oh… Do’Karth isn’t going anywhere. He is far too tired for running.” he joked, dancing around the more serious implication of what Niernen was saying. “Understand that this one has had quite a few years of not truly understanding who he is or what he wants, so it’s a difficult road ahead. He trusts you will help keep him going the right way.” he smiled, hopefully letting the tense and uncomfortable moment pass. “For what it is worth, Do’Karth is sorry you cannot return home. He… understands what that is like.”

Niernen nodded slowly and faked a yawn -- though she was so tired that it almost immediately became a real one. She had to gather her thoughts and rest or she’d do something stupid again. “You’ll have to tell me that story another time,” the elf said and got to her feet. “I need to go find somewhere to sleep. See you in a week,” she quipped, managed a smile, and hobbled away towards the hatch that would take her below deck, giving Do’Karth no further opportunity to respond. Idiot, Niernen chided herself. What were you thinking?

Dawnstar, two days later…

It was early afternoon when the town became visible to the sailor up in the crow’s nest, who bellowed down at the faces below of his finding. The weary crew and passengers might have well sighed a collective sigh of relief; even those with permanent sea legs that couldn’t stand being on solid ground for any length of time seemed to be eager to get off of the sea for a while. After what felt like weeks, even though reality came up much shorter, and several high-stakes confrontations against the enemy in a Dwemer ruin and against the prison frigate later, which had resulted in no small amount of damage to the Kyne’s Tear. The loss of the escort vessel and two of the ballista was a heavy blow for anyone to take, and it was clear that everyone about the ship was well out of fight at this point. All wars involved revolving your front line forces to keep them fresh and the morale up; this latest assignment began to push that and a number of the crew were at the end of their ropes, especially those who had lost friends in the battles. On top of that, they couldn’t very well take a bunch of former prisoners into battle; basic decency dictated that they were returned to the mainland in good order. It was unlikely any of them would be eager to take to the sea again for quite some time after their stay on the Kamal frigate.

Ashav and Edith agreed that while time was of the essence, there needed to be at least a one day leave, if not two. However, Daelin’s company would be due to return within the week, perhaps even beating the Tear, and it would be paramount to find the results of the Bosmer’s mission. While it was easy to think of the war as being entirely in the East and to the North via the sea, the reports of Kamal activity moving further inland was disconcerting, to say the least. While the next assignment was going to go forward as scheduled, for intelligence would be needed before knowing who and what they needed to commit.

And so the crew was dismissed and the company was assigned to light duties and forced rest while the commanders planned their next move. The Innkeeper, for his part, tapped yet another barrel of mead. From the looks of the faces coming off the ship, it was needed.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Scout, now.

@MacabreFox, first; "I saw".

@gcold

"I saw mommy Frenching Santa Claus, so I grabbed the bat."