Sadri, like most of the other mercenaries, hated Dumhvuud’s guts. Bastard just had to go around and put people off, right? He would get back at him, but unfortunately, he was in a mercenary group, and had a contract to uphold. And said contract kept him from accidentally stabbing him during the thick of combat, from conveniently forgetting the guy about to stab him, and from accidentally burning his tent down or from accidentally pissing all over his bed while he was away and burning his tent down at night. ‘’[i]Once the job’s done,[/i]’’ he thought to himself, trying to calm down his bad side. Sadri did not like the fact that he had principles. Without them, he probably would’ve been in a much better position. He envied people who could forget their oaths. He also absolutely hated them. Such is obsession – like having a crush on that girl who rejected you.

But Sadri had much bigger problems. Ashav had chosen him alongside others to be part of the flanking group in the assault that was to come in about four hours. His group was to go through an abandoned tunnel – obviously cramped quarters. He had fought in cramped quarters before, back when he was in Valenwood, and by Anu, he had hated every single second of it. Swinging anything would be almost impossible, and then there was the fact that the damn thing could come down on you. As if Ashav had wanted this to happen, his group was armed with magical charges. He wasn’t actively bothered, his professionalism was too strong to let that happen, but nonetheless, tunnel rat duty was one duty he didn’t like.

At least he wouldn’t have to push that ram prepared for the Forsworn defenses, and he decided to console himself with that. Sure, caves were shitty, but having to push that thing was probably even shittier. ‘’Enough pondering,’’ he said to himself. He had preparation to do for the upcoming attack. Perhaps talk with some of his to-be-comrades about tactics. Perhaps offer them some flin to better their relationship. They had four hours. Sadri felt like he had to do something, and for once, smoking his pipe to spend time didn't come off as very productive.

He went over his belongings to better prepare for the upcoming attack. His padded coat, while flexible, was too bulky, and he didn’t want it in the way in case they had to spelunk. ‘’[i]I should remove it before we go, and put on the rest,[/i]’’ he made a mental note, and hoped that the rest of his armor could protect him. Sadri knew he’d be pissed off if he lost another arm. The damn prosthetic was expensive. You could buy an ebony sword with that amount of Septims, and Sadri would rather not beg his parents for money again. Speaking of his parents, he made a mental note to send them a letter about his life and how he's faring. Ask about their situation. Perhaps tell them he met the Nerevarine. That could lighten their mood.  

‘’[i]Where’s that woman when you need her?[/i]’’ Sadri left his spot and began walking through the camp, looking for Edith. He could talk tactics, learn details, in other words prepare – and perhaps even get himself some better toys through clever wordplay. Maybe a sword better suited for thrusting, or some chainmail.