Sarel was visibly annoyed at Sharee’s trepidation, and over lowly scum no less. Wasn’t she a Shadowscale of legend?[i] By Boeth[/i], Sarel thought to himself, [i]if she’s afraid of going up against a dozen bandits, how will she fare in a sea battle against a frigate? Or a village raid?[/i] 

Sarel caught his anger, his sudden viciousness. Other people, mortals, might not have such foresight to allow them this level of consciousness, but Dunmers were different, and they always would be. He was agitated because he hadn’t had any herba, and certainly no Blue, for a few days. It was a frustration to say the least, and he wondered now what that meant for him personally. Did this mean that he was a better person while high? Or was it that the drug did not change him, but simply highlighted a different part of him, hidden somewhere within at all times. Sarel felt a little confused by this; if it were true, what did it mean for him? It was an opportunity for a decision, Sarel noticed, as life tends to present a person with so often. And as so many decisions, it was not something to be taken lightly, and not something to be spurred into without proper consideration. Sarel decided he’d wait till later. 

But, his convictions stayed the same, nonetheless. Sharee was appearing weak, something dangerous. Sarel wondered if any of this would ever be seen by the sailors. If so, it could spell the end of Sharee; that is to say, if she does not escape beforehand, probably leaving a bomb in the boat, or something. That seemed her style. Malaukas was done speaking by the time Sarel was ready to speak, reawakened by the inanity of the caution taken here. 

“We are not run-of-the-mill pirates, damnit.” Sarel had his hands on his hips, his helmet hung off of his belt. “We are soldiers, and assassins, and swordsmen, and berserkers, and sorcerers. We are killers, our skills and resilience tempered in the heat of blood and battle.” The Dunmer spoke in an almost mocking tone, though it was clear he was serious about the words he spoke. “And here we are, worrying about logistics against brigidens and fucking malcontents. I’ve slayed beasts and monsters with more power in their left bollock than the men and women who await us.” His voice was raised now, but only slightly, only enough to get his point across. “I will smoke them out. I will scorch them where they lay, and force them to come out. It’s the simplest trick in the book. What Malakaus says is clear, we all know it to be true. We will lead them to the slaughter just as easily as we did several dozen imperial sailors, and we’ll do it without losing anyone. That I can assure you, captain. So why are we wasting time? Let’s chameleon people to ease the approach and then launch the distraction. If they charge me, I fall back to the ambush. If they don’t, I go in there with a hand full of fire balls, and force them out.” Sarel finished, a little humor resurfacing at the end. Sarel hated indecision, this was instilled in him from his decades of training with Beilin. He had no choice in the matter, it was ingrained. But he would not even question it now, it’d served him well so far. So he voiced his predilections and laid them bare, for all to see. It may seem as disloyalty to Sharee, but Sarel viewed it as a warning, a show of his solidarity and a friendly reminder to remain strong and judicious. Besides, Sarel wasn’t a young Breton girl, he wasn’t one to take so harsh a punishment so easily.