Heat pooled, Urzoth had noticed, in vastly different areas than where cold pooled on her body. She had encountered hot summers and icy winters in equal measure, but in Morshum or Whiterun, she simply combated the cold with a few furs and let her work warm her. For summer, the women of her home dressed as the men, naked backs baking in the sun, a fur about their waists secured by a belt, a pair of sandals or hide slippers covering their feet, going about the sweltering day without an ounce of shame. Her first summers away from home had been filled with quite a few stern talks from both her fellow combatants in the arena and the guards of the Imperial City, and despite the discomfort of the situation now, she smirked at her younger self.

There had only been a tiny slot of time through which Urzoth could squeeze her and her companions in order to reach their destination without draining their purses, a day or two later and they would have been forced to march across conflict-stricken countryside in order to reach Hegathe and seek out her old friends for the answers they assuredly had hidden away. Of course, as she rocked along in the heated hold of one Captain Alaire, eating nothing but potatoes and jerky and drinking nothing but rum and the sweat that beaded on her upper lip, she almost yearned to be wading through seas of insurgents and bandits about now. At least she would be sweaty and feel good about it. And have a better excuse to keep her armor on.

“You’ll break through the floorboards eventually, General,” Ushtur had said from her pile of straw across from Urzoth, twiddling each little brown stalk into a woven bracelet. Bored, she let it flutter apart and fall back into the rest of the bedding. Long archer’s fingers plucked up another batch, twisting them into another weaving. “Don’t you think your armor would serve a dis—“

“No.” She peered over at Ushtur through the tusks of her helmet. “If this boat sunk, I’d be dead anyway. Can’t swim.” She knocked a couple knuckles against her breastplate, and it gave a greeting vibration that spread all the way into her ribcage. “I’ll just have to hope you bastards would be enough to keep it afloat, huh?” Passively, she glanced down and swiped her tongue over her upper lip, wiping away the sweat there for the tenth time. 

Bulag rose up from his spot on top of a crate, as if just now realizing Ushtur’s grave offense. There was a bit of drool attaching his cheek to the wood below him, and his words slurred just a little, like he’d been napping. “Watch your tone with your superior, woman! The Champion--“

Urzoth tilted her head up to level a stare at him as best she could.

“…Is…Hrm.” He plucked at a few grey strands of his beard. “Apologies, Champion.” With that, he stood, picked his way across the line of his traveling companions’ boots, and went above deck to join Durb, whom did not at all share his allies’ lack of enthusiasm for the sea. Urzoth watched Bulag slink into the blinding sunlight and grumbled, squinting against what white-yellow beams shot through the ajar trapdoor and directly into her eyes. She returned to Ushtur, staring at her wordlessly long enough to make her a little uncomfortable.

“General,” She began, not speaking much at all like an Orc. Her inflections marked her lineage, though her combat prowess suffered about as much as the combat prowess of a boar and a sabercat mixed together. “You were awake all night. You should rest.”

Urzoth answered her with a noncommittal growl, going from licking her upper lip to wiping at it obsessively with the side of her finger. Everywhere else, she was swimming in her armor, but something about a dripping feeling over her mouth irritated her the worst. “I’m fine.” Truth be told, something felt off about the crew of the ship she found herself on. She would sooner take her armor off in an unfamiliar place as she would strip naked and dance above deck for all the sailors. After a brief glance up at Ushtur’s face, however, she relented and tugged away her helmet, setting the beastly head down by her hip, within easy reach. By Mauloch, she felt like she had flown from Elsweyr straight into Skyrim.

The ship gave a little tilt, and it seemed they were turning. Urzoth quickly stuffed her hair back into her helmet and slipped it on, clamoring above deck. They’d been following the shoreline just out of sight since a few minutes after leaving Sentinel, if only to keep from being spotted by anyone looking from the beaches, but now she could see a little poking of greenery along the horizon. A few sailors were moving about, messing with the roping, and Urzoth steered clear of them as she came up to where Durb and Bulag stood at the handrail, watching the horizon go by.

Durb very quickly lost interest in the unfamiliar beauty that meandered along, and he inched aside to let Ushtur, freshly out of the stifling hold, breathe in the Hammerfell air. She seemed to capture some essence of her father in it, breathing out with a determined look. She smirked at Durb, who wasn’t looking up to see it, picking at some loose leather on his shield. He stopped with a jolt when Urzoth swatted at his hand. “I wonder how Bulag will address all the Champions we’re gonna be meeting.”

Durb shrugged like a child, giving her a rumbling little chuckle. How did Urzoth select this bunch as her most elite personal force? From her range of fighters from all corners of nearly every stronghold and outpost in Tamriel? She felt like a damned mother sometimes. Well, this was probably as close as she’d get. The shoreline was beginning to drift away again. Was it the wind? Were they not yet there and the sailors had simply failed to keep them far enough offshore for the turn? She looked to a sailor, being careful to only get his attention by tapping his back with an open palm. Some of the sailors, while she couldn’t pick them from the rest just by looking, distrusted the band of Orcs, and she didn’t want to risk a drawn sword from a jumpy little recruit making them distrust her lot even more.

“Hey, how much longer will this voyage last?” She said, watching him turn and flinch when he saw to whom he was speaking. 

“Not much longer,” He said, hesitating slightly as he struggled with what title to refer to her as. She was oblivious, and merely sighed and waved a hand in affirmation at him as she stepped back over to her group.

“We’re close.” Urzoth glanced over at Durb as he relaxed by a degree. “But this region is in turmoil. Act as if we will arrive and face all the forces of the Ashpit itself.” Durb began to perpetually flex again. Her lips tightened together thinly and she wiped at her upper lip. Her mind drifted to Zaveed, to Cub and Marassa and all her other companions, fighting to remember their faces through the sea of time spent away. She lingered on Marassa. By Malacath, they’d wanted to strangle each other in the beginning. Or crush. Or stab. How odd friendships were. As the horizon approached, her heart pulsed under her layers of metal at the thought of any of her old companions coming to harm. Why were they in Hegathe? Of all places? Well, she’d soon find out, she supposed. Or prayed.