Unsurprisingly, Shavie remained silent. The braying, the chomping, such unnecessary indulgences replaced with stoic calm. It was the same freedom Cub sought, freedom from thought, from choice. And here it was in his grasp, as close the hairs on the Moon Shadow's head. He would test him. Break him if need be. The Moon Shadow would take him to Zhaveed, in open arms or open wounds. Raising from his vigil in the bowels of the ship, Cub creaked across the wavering boards, jostled by the sea and his stride alike. Removing his gauntlets, Cub rested them on a nearby crate which acted as a rudimentary nightstand. His fingers free from such metallic constraints, Cub began the task of loosening his Dwemer fangs, easing the misshapen metal from his large form. Crevices of deep red covered his green chest, reminders of a battle over a lifetime ago and the slaying of Nirn's last dragon.

Unarmored, he would meet the Moon Shadow on equal terms. Cub turned once more to Shavie. "Watch my things, I'll need them when we land. Zhaveed will need us." With a final breath to steel himself, Cub ascended the many stairs toward the deck.

Meanwhile, Hralvar had been in the mess, nursing a pint of grog. Not long after they had boarded the ship, Marassa had told him of Cub's sudden change in personality, as well as some kind of nonsense he had spouted about a Moon Shadow to that Breton they'd met back in the Imperial City. And that idiot Burkswallow had even encouraged this lunacy, claiming that he was whatever in Oblivion Cub thought he was. If it weren't for the fact that Cub's mule had been changed as well, Hralvar would probably have no clue what was going on.

As it was, though, Hralvar had snuck into the hold once when Cub had left to inspect Shavie, who had rapidly changed in temperament ever since the bandit camp, much like Cub himself. Under ordinary circumstances, the old Nord would have thought that the mule was only gelded, but that wouldn't explain Cub's change. The problem was that the old mage could feel unnatural Daedric magic influencing Shavie. After all, how could he not, when he was so familiar with summoning atronachs, which were Daedra themselves? Hralvar had searched Cub's things for any Daedric artifacts that he suspected the lad possessed, but he could find none. So either Cub had managed to hide one of the smaller artifacts on his person, or he somehow didn't possess one. Malacath was the most likely Daedric Lord that Cub could have possibly communed with, being an Orc, but Cub's warhammer was definitely not Volendrung. 

Decades ago, Hralvar had researched into the Daedra and their artifacts while he had been studying the art of Conjuration, and he was quite familiar with the descriptions of the known Daedric artifacts. In fact, the old Nord would swear to his dying day that he had seen Emperor Titus Mede II wielding Goldbrand back in the Battle of the Red Ring during the Great War. But Malacath's only known artifact was Volendrung, so it had to be one of the other Daedra. Cub wielded no other weapons besides his warhammer, so the larger weapon artifacts were out of the question. That only left a number of possibilities. Thankfully, a number of them could be ruled out on account of Cub being Cub. Hermaeus Mora would have no interest in a simple, brutish lad like Cub. Unfortunately, though, most of the more benign artifacts were out of the question as well. It was out of the question for Azura to favor an Orc over a Dunmer. Mephala? Nocturnal? Also just as unlikely. That only left two artifacts that Cub could possibly keep on his person at all times. The Ring of Namira and Mehrunes' Razor. 

"...Shit." Hralvar groaned, taking a large swig of his grog. He didn't know what would be the worse one: Cub being a cannibal or being under the influence of Mehrunes Dagon. And just then, as if to curse Hralvar, Cub walked into the mess hall. Looking him over, Hralvar saw no ring on his fingers, so that only left Mehrunes' Razor. 

"Boy, where in Oblivion are you going?" Hralvar called out to Cub before drinking some more grog. The young Orc looked like he was going to murder someone, and considering all of his bullshit about the Moon Shadow, Hralvar could very easily guess who. 

Cub had marched up several flights of stairs by the time he had reached the mess hall with several more to go before he reached the deck. If he had bothered to ask her name, Cub would have complimented their captor's attention to detail.

Startled from his determined pace, Cub was greeted by the oft inebriated mage. Cub regarded his friend warmly but quickly resumed his march. Now wasn't the time for pleasantries, they had a ship to steal.

"We're going home."

Havlar had proven himself many times and Cub had no reason to test him this day. Still, he had a mission and stopping to chat wasn't it. 

"Going home?" Hralvar raised an eyebrow. "You realize we're on a ship, right? There's nowhere to go to until we make landfall, lad. Now stop talking in riddles. The bloody fuck are you doing?" He asked, utterly exasperated at how obtuse Cub was being. Hralvar was determined to delay Cub until he figured out exactly what the Orc was doing. 

Cub's eyes narrowed at his old friend. Did he not understand the danger they were in? No, how could he? A Nord could never know the will of Malacath as a true Orc could. Cub was a true Orc. No matter what the others thought, Malacath had chosen him specifically! Cub would be forgiven, his crimes wiped clean in the eyes of his brothers and Zhaveed would welcome him back with open arms.

"The Moon Shadow must be tested before we follow him to Zhaveed. I'll not trust another empty lead, Havlar. We've been in that desert for months because of it... Sevari is gone, Rihad is in ashes, every thing we've done has ended in death and delay." Cub softened his gaze. "We need him to steal the ship. We need to find Zhaveed."

"Cub, you realize that this ship is literally taking us to Zaveed, right? Zaveed hired this ship to transport us to where he is so we could reunite." Hralvar sighed, setting down his grog. It was like talking to a child. Except that this child had a warhammer and was possibly being influenced by Mehrunes Dagon. Fucking wonderful. "Just relax. You want some grog?" 

Cub eyed the old Nord cautiously. "We're not...we're not hostages?" Cub took an uneasy step toward his friend. "Where have we gone in the past six months that we weren't in chains?" Moving closer still to Havlar's swooning table, the waves moving beneath the ship in time to his puzzled steps, Cub denied the invitation. "You know Zhaveed doesn't like it when I drink." Still, even without grog in his belly, Cub felt...different. No, the same. The same as before. Before he'd received the Dagger.

"And Zaveed doesn't have to know." Hralvar smirked, passing his mug of grog to Cub. "Besides, do you see any chains on us right now? You heard Captain Harding. Zaveed sent her to pick us up." 

This was good. Cub seemed calmer already. Maybe now Hralvar could get some answers. 

"Anyways, boy. You find any good loot back at the bandit camp? I know you thought that staff you got was mine, but it wasn't. Kept it anyway." Hralvar asked offhandedly. Cub had given it a staff when they'd gotten on the ship, thinking that it had been taken from him by the bandits. Hralvar had no idea who the staff belonged to, but he wasn't about to turn it down. And he became even more loath to give it up when he'd realized what spell was stored in the staff. Oh, he would have fun with that. His skill in the Illusion school wasn't the best, and this staff would be very useful in bolstering that. 

It was true, Cub didn't particularly [i]feel[/i] like a prisoner. There were no chains, or rather no [i]new[/i] chains as he had opted to keep his memento from the murderous Sevari. Regarding with the enchanted links on his wrist, Cub eyed the Nord once more. "And you're certain this ship will take us to Zhaveed?"

Had Cub misunderstood? No, Malacath had specifically said hunt the Moon Shadow. Why would Cub need to hunt him if he already planned to take them to Zhaveed? Was he not to be tested? Was THIS a test? Did Cub need to figure out for himself? Or was he to follow Malacath's words no matter what? Cub's mind whirled.

"I think I will have a drink actually," he said finally, sitting across from his old friend. Taking a deep simmer of the vile liquid, Cub grimaced and returned the mug. "I thought, ugh, I thought all mages carried a staff?"

"Cub, did I carry a staff two years ago? No? There's your answer. Anyways, you find anything good?" Hralvar leaned back, taking the mug of grog back for himself as he took a swig. "I got one of those dwemer longswords from those damn mercenaries. Saw a few with good daggers too. Should've gotten one of those for yourself. Always need a good sidearm." 

Cub hoped his reaction was masked by that of the booze. Did Havlar know of the Dagger? Did he hear the Voice as well? He was a mage maybe, maybe they were more in tuned to that sort of thing...No. No, that's it, Havlar was a mage! How many Mages had Cub fought that used a dagger when their Magicka ran out? Cub chuckled a bit. "Yes, a good mage weapon. I was always taught bigger is better! I don't care much for loot. I have my armour, I have my hammer. I might keep an eye out though now with Shavie by my side. Have you met my mule?" Cub cleared his throat, a memory flashing behind his eyes. Shavie was no longer his mule, he served Malacath. "Er, have you seen him? Strong as an ox."

"Aye." Hralvar nodded, raising an eyebrow at Cub's sudden joviality. Boy really couldn't hold his alcohol, could he? "I have. He seems different now, though. Much calmer. You finally get around to gelding him?" He asked, already knowing the answer. The fact still remained that the mule felt as magically unnatural as a Daedra did. 

"Yeah. Something like that." Cub clacked his tongue against his tusks, the last remnant of the Nord's swill dying as he did. "He's just better trained is all. The stable hands in Rihad knew nothing of obedience. Sometimes all you need is a heavy hand." Cub splayed his paw of a hand on the table between them as if to illustrate his point. "Like I said, bigger is better."

Hoping the Nord swallowed his dismissives as readily as that bile in his mug, Cub shifted the conversation. "And what of you, Havlar? What became of you when I left to find my...weapon?" It wasn't technically a lie, the Dagger WAS a weapon though it was also so much more! A tool, a symbol, a token, it denoted Cub as Malacath's Chosen and he would keep it safe from prying eyes and nimble fingers.

"What do you make of all this, friend?"