[b]A snippet of life in Windhelm, by Peik and the Schaft...[/b]

For a habitual moon sugar smoker, slight alcoholic and a seventy-five year old riddled with scars from various shitty encounters, Sadri ran quite fast. Not even Cilo, who had served in the Imperial Legion, and was at the prime of his youth, could keep up. The skooma pipe jingled ever so slightly with every step of Sadri’s mad dash, making a sound that annoyed Cilo as if it were mocking him for being unable to catch up with this hungover knife-ear. Sadri hadn’t even noticed that the Dunmer looters and the Nord girl he had talked to a day or two back. He had just kept running. But eventually, his lungs gave, and the Dunmer leaned against a wall, catching his breath. Twenty years back he could’ve kept going without a sweat. But, well, no matter how slowly, age was catching up. More likely, though, it was his bad habits. 
 
Sadri saw Cilo with his hands rested against his thighs, huffing, a few meters in front of him. ‘’Oblivion be damned, Dunmer, you run quite fast,’’ he blurted out in between more audible breathing. Sadri didn’t respond. There were some folks running after them. ‘’Look alive,’’ he warned Cilo as his absent hand rested on his sword’s hilt. But after a few moments, he recognized the runners, one of them at least. It was Jorwen’s daughter, the one he had talked to before the siege. Sadri had experienced some bad interruptions to his slow-paced courting in the past, but never before had he been interrupted by a siege planned on another continent. It was almost a compliment. 
 
The Nords looked like they were in pretty bad condition – Solveig, even more so. She looked like she had fallen upon her face or something. Well, during a siege, sad shit could happen. At least she was alive and wasn’t missing any limbs.
 
‘’Fancy meeting you like this,’’ Sadri said as the Nord duo came to a halt near Cilo. ‘’Lizards on your tail?’’
 
"A few knife-wielding Dunmer too." Solveig said. Her head was pounding mercilessly and she put her face in her hands, bowing her head as she sat against the wall. She let herself slide down to the ground and groaned. "You mer have a surprising ability to hate everything that isn't grey and pointy-eared." She gave an airy chuckle, "It'd be damned admirable if it wasn't aimed at me."

"Who is he?" Cleftjaw asked, somewhat suspicious and- if Solveig's senses could be trusted- a bit of jealousy.

"Manners, manners," Solveig rubbed at her temples, trying to calm her pounding headache and the aches in her joints, "Cleftjaw, this is... is... what is your name?" and she tapped at the side of her head, trying to at least bring some humor into the fact that she'd forgotten the mer's name, "Took a bit of a knock."

‘’You wouldn’t imagine the shit I’ve seen Dunmer stab each other over,’’ Sadri said as he watched Solveig fall to a slump. Her caretaker seemed somewhat displeased with Cilo and Sadri. Sadri himself wasn’t really sure why the guy looked so upset. Then again, as said, shit happens during a siege. He couldn’t blame the guy for his long face.
 
‘’Forgotten so easily, eh?’’ Sadri mused as Solveig struggled to remember his name. Then again, she did look like she had been on the wrong end of a mule’s kick, so he didn’t blame her. ‘’It’s Sadri.’’ Cilo suddenly jumped in after Sadri introduced himself, presenting his own introduction. There was a pause, and Sadri decided to save Cilo the embarrassment of being ignored. ‘’And yeah, he’s Cilo. Swell guy,’’ Sadri lied as his eyes darted between Solveig and Cleftjaw. Fucker had been drinking his flin and waking him up, and Sadri was still covering his ass. 

"Cilo, eh? A pleasure, truly." She nodded ever so slightly. The lad looked too clean, but she knew looks were not the make of a man. She turned back to Sadri, "Sadri, then. Ah, we talked some time ago. Odd how every time we meet we're either running to or from something looking to kill us."

"You look like a well enough lot." Cleftjaw said, his eyes going from Cilo to Sadri and back, "Reckon we may as well get comfortable." Cleftjaw's eyes lingered on Sadri as he sat next to Solveig. They seemed to be looking for something, and it might be they found it as Cleftjaw snapped his fingers, "Sadri, you're with the company. Been with us since the Reach. Didn't see you at all on the walls of the Redoubt, though. Can't blame an old man for taking things slow." He smiled and Solveig rolled her eyes. The familiar urge to knock his teeth down his throat was coming on again.

"The lad was kicked in the head by a cow when he was young, it's how he got his Name. Forgive his flapping lips." Solveig said.

"That is not how I got my fucking Name." Cleftjaw muttered.

Sadri for a moment appreciated the pleasant environment caused by Solveig’s response and Cleftjaw’s seemingly warmer comment. Then the fuck had to go ahead and piss Sadri off with his comment on his age. Sadri knew he was old – but to say he was out of the game, that, that was fucking wrong.
 
‘’Was too busy saving your superior’s ass from a bear back at the Reach,’’ Sadri replied nonchalantly. Then Solveig had to go ahead and give him an opening, and Sadri just couldn’t resist when Cleftjaw refused that it was from a cow that he had earned his name. ‘’Well, how’d you get it, then, tried to throat a cock a tad too thick for your mouth?’’ Sadri asked, with a grinding voice. Fucker wanted war, he had it coming. 

"Any which way, I'm glad to see you haven't died, Sadri. Might be we can catch up over some mead. Or Colovian whiskey. Or anything, really." Solveig said before peering out of the alleyway they were taking refuge in. She could feel Cleftjaw's anger radiating off of him stronger than the mob that was hunting them down for their blood. He should lighten up, it wasn't marriage Solveig was offering earlier. "After this mad business is settled, o'course."

"There's about to be some mad business right here with this mouthy Knife-Ear." Cleftjaw tucked a hand away behind the confines of his cloak. No telling what matter of sharp metal he was grasping for.

Solveig rose half a head taller than Cleftjaw and almost put her nose to the tip of his, she got so close, "Cause any more trouble than the shit we're neck-deep in and there'll be no mad business for you come time I'm feeling some way." And just like any other man to ever walk the many lands of Nirn, the mention of time spent with a woman after any length of time over a day had his anger wilt. Solveig returned to her spot on the ground as she rolled her eyes, the look of disgust on her face was enough to kill, she was sure. "Men."

She ran her tongue along her teeth and sighed, searching for a subject that wouldn't have the two bickering at each other over age and where cocks went and where they wanted their cocks to be and the accusations and insinuations of cocks in orifices. Was everything just cocks and violence with men? "How did you two meet? And what did you do to make so many Argonians want to kill you?"

Sadri had hoped that the situation wouldn’t have been defused by Solveig so he could’ve stuck whatever Cleftjaw would’ve pulled out right back up his ass, but the girl wasn’t the type that would go all ‘Oh please, stop!’ and secretly root for one of them to win the incoming fight. Sadri respected that, and despite his desire to kick this dumb Nord in the throat, backed off. As she rose up, Sadri couldn’t help but admire her broken face – wounded, yet still strong, Sadri couldn’t help but find that attractive. He always had a thing for butch women. Shame most of them turned out to be lesbians.
 
He paused for a moment after the female took over the bickering two and, with that, proved to Sadri once again that the master-slave dialectic was very much true. Thankfully the girl herself seemed not to enjoy the cold environment caused by this sudden lack of hate speech, and changed subjects, asking Sadri how he had met with Cilo and why there was a horde of Argonians chasing them.
 
‘’We met, uh, yesterday,’’ Sadri replied with a tint of confusion in his voice – he didn’t know how long he had fallen asleep for – and then continued. ‘’We met on the docks, actually. Cilo’s with the East Empire Company. Helped me out on the assault,’’ and with that, Cilo took the ball. ‘’Yeah, we took down two of those giants together. Well, one of them just fell down in pain after a face full of salts, but I figure that’s better than nothing. We’re still alive and well.’’
 
The boy’s optimistic, lively and naïve tone was a stark contrast to Sadri, who sounded constantly tired. But the tone had given Sadri the motivation to speak more, too, and put the cold parts behind the group. ‘’As for the Argonians, no idea. They roughed up Cilo after the assault ended, and,’’ Sadri turned to Cilo. ‘’They came for you, you say?’’ Cilo replied immediately. ‘’Yeah, one of them just started asking me questions in Candlehearth, and then the whole thing started outside with the rabble. They say the Argonians are a hive mind, you know. Maybe that one seeing me reminded them again.’’
 
‘’Maybe it’s something else,’’ Sadri replied. ‘’What were up with those Dunmer?’’ He asked Solveig, ignoring Cleftjaw. Best to forget he was even there.
 
"Angry for being treated like shit, most like." She sighed, "Can't blame them. Anyone tries to keep me in the shit is asking for me to rub their face in it hard enough to rub it right the fuck off. I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner. No offence." She shrugged with folded arms, "Kill your enemy, is all I'm saying. Better to die angry than live poor and in the gutter."

‘’Well, if dying angry is better off than living poor and in the gutter, I suspect we’re all better off dead right now,’’ Sadri said as he looked at the skies for a moment. ‘’But way things seem, we’re going that way anyway.’’ After all, they were in the middle of a siege with Snow Demons and their steam ships trying to hammer down the walls of Windhelm with ice, and the racial tensions had erupted into a full-scale riot. While Sadri believed he could stay alive the next couple of hours, the situation looked grim in the long term.
 
‘’Well, since the Hall’s overrun, any of you know somewhere else to drink?’’ Sadri asked, looking at Solveig, and even Cleftjaw, despite the previous mutual hostility. Seemed that was the only thing left to do at this point.

"I don't suppose they'd like to see the likes of me in the Gnisis cornerclub." Solveig admitted after a thought. She shrugged, if it kept her from being able to get piss drunk, maybe racism was wrong. Then again, that rabid pack of dock lizards was keeping her from getting drunk. Furthermore, they had worse problems on their doorstep than who lived where and whatever the fuck the Argonians were angry about. "Anybody have a flask?" She looked around, cocking one brow.

Again, Cleftjaw's hand snaked behind his cloak and he brought out a flask, uncorking it and holding it out to the three people around him. He met Sadri's eye and his face was locked in a frown of half-trust, "Peace? Nothing better'n a drink to mend." Solveig raised her brows at Sadri, wondering if the man had the strength to forgive. Or at least forsake hostility for a moment for a drink.

‘’I suppose you’re right,’’ Sadri muttered to himself as Solveig mentioned the fact that Sadri’s current friends wouldn’t be very well accepted in a Dunmer bar. Then again, Dunmer barely tolerated each other’s presence. That’s probably why the Morag Tong had legal stability. Even their own government didn’t want the Dunmer around.
 
Then suddenly, Cleftjaw procured a flask from underneath his cloak. He even offered it to Sadri, who was somewhat taken aback by this sudden display of kindness. Still, a drink was a drink, and Sadri wasn’t the sort of guy who’d refuse a drink.
 
‘’Sure,’’ Sadri said as he uncorked his own skin of flin. He held it out to Cleftjaw with his absent hand as he grabbed the Nord's flask with his good hand. ‘’It’s flin, good stuff,’’ he said before taking a sip of Cleftjaw’s flask and offering it to Cilo, and then Solveig after Cilo’s silent refusal. Thankfully, Cilo was now aware that he couldn’t handle his drink well. Sadri could respect that.

Cleftjaw stared gape-mouthed at the Dunmer's missing hand somehow...grasping? Grasping the skin of whatever it was, flin. Solveig had to admit she was more than a bit surprised at the sight as well. "Wha..." Solveig pointed, "What is that? Is it illusion magic?" Solveig leaned forward to get a view of Sadri's arm, not believing it could hold things without a physical hand. She'd never seen magic, except for a magician that visited Whiterun long ago. He fell off the wall during one of his performances and died. "How do you do that?"

‘’It’s not illusion magic, it’s enchantment,’’ Sadri explained as he viewed Cleftjaw and Solveig’s expressions with mild amusement. ‘’Well, if you insist on calling it magic, then it’d actually be part of the school of Mysticism.’’ He raised the skin a bit further, almost playing with it, and then started rotating it around its own axis to show the capabilities of the arm. ‘’Some Synod back at the Imperial City did it for me, actually, but since then I’ve learned the craft. It was too expensive, you see, and I have no wish of paying that sum again.’’ After finishing the small show, he offered the skin back at Cleftjaw again. ‘’But eh, forget about that. You want to drink, or not?’’ 

"What is it?" Cleftjaw said, eyeing the black opening of the skin.

"Long as it doesn't kill me, who cares?" Solveig said, snatching the skin out of Cleftjaw's hand with a smile one part excitement and one part relief at all the alcohol on hand. She took a swig. She couldn't say it was bad. It had subtle hints that reminded her of Colovian whiskey, but somehow more foreign. But, she could say it tasted like something that would get her drunk and at least able to forget some of the pain in her body. "So, you're well-traveled, eh?" She sucked at her teeth and shook her head at the burn of the dunmer drink. "What's the Imperial City like? Is it all blinding white towers and villas lined up as far as the eye can see?"

Before Sadri could begin, Cilo jumped in at the opportunity to talk about the Imperial City. Despite having spent most of his life in Bruma in an Imperialized Nord family, Cilo felt as Imperial as a Septim, and thus saw himself as having the right to talk about the Jewel of the Empire. ‘’Why, the City’s lost a lot of its splendor, but nonetheless it’s still a shining light, an example to all other cities out there. Certainly a marvel of architecture.’’ Sadri wanted to refuse, but truth be told, Cilo was right – the city was damn well made, and despite the horrors it had gone through during the Great War, it was still holding up. ‘’Well, somewhat,’’ Sadri decided to take the ball from Cilo, ‘’it’s quite nice, but the Great War has left its mark upon the city, its people. I would’ve liked to see it before it was sacked and profaned.’’
 
Sadri took another sip of Cleftjaw’s flask, and then handed it back to him. ‘’I really liked Anvil. Anvil was quite nice, the Abecean Sea. At least it was forty-something years ago. I’ve no idea what it’s like now.’’
 
Sadri sighed. It had been more than forty years since his time in Anvil. That Orsimer woman he had enjoyed a stint with, Rabul, was probably dead by now. A strong sense of melancholia overwhelmed him – for a moment, time felt like pouring down like water from his brows. He took the skin of flin from Solveig’s hands and took a long gulp out of it.
 
‘’Time flows quickly,’’ he muttered, to no one in particular – maybe it was just a reminder to himself. 

Solveig snorted, "If you say so." She sighed, "You sound like my fucking father. Maybe every old arse sounds like the other." Truth be told, there was something in Sadri's eyes that pierced the thin veneer of sarcasm and cynicism that the mer seemed to cloak himself with. It made her feel something for him. "Have you always been in the business? The thing with all the swords, you know? My mother used to tell me all about my father every time he ran off to go fight and sell his sword. Said it was for Skyrim when Ulfric's war reared its ugly head. Funny thing, being for Skyrim... Skyrim's the only place left scarred and half-dead for it."

At that, Solveig got to thinking about her father and all the stories drunk old men used to tell around the fire about him during the Great War where he killed elves and Khajiit. Then they told stories about him from the Reach, where he killed Reachmen. Then the Civil War, when he killed legionnaires. Her father had done a lot of killing and fighting in his time. She had to wonder why, then her mind flashed to the duels she fought against some of Markarth Side's hardest names. The cheer of the crowd, the fear, the excitement, the feeling of victory snatched a hair's breadth from defeat. Then the feeling of facing a monster that truly wanted her dead. She grimaced and Cleftjaw's offered flask, gulping down a mouthful and wiping her lips on the back of her hand. "It pays well, I hear."

‘’I don’t expect you to understand,’’ Sadri said after Solveig finished her youthful, energetic outburst of half-assed anger and drunk rambling. ‘’Not yet.’’ He took a sip of his flin and offered it to Cilo again, having forgotten that he had refused previously. Oddly enough, the kid accepted this time, perhaps moved by Sadri’s melancholy.
 
‘’As for the business, that depends, to be honest. Nearly all of my professions had sword wielding as part of them, though I haven’t spent much of a time as mercenary. Maybe a few years in Valenwood, that’d count. I used to work for the Morrowind Government, I’m not sure if that counts. And now here I am. But really, I’ve had to resort to the sword in nearly all my professions.’’ He licked his lips. ‘’Maybe except being a librarian.’’

"Is it odd that in all those things, I'm most surprised that you were ever a librarian?" Solveig asked. You don't see many men that looked like him in the book business. She wondered what had come first, the mercenary work or being a librarian. "Do you ever miss being a librarian? Reading of other peoples'  adventures made you want to make your own?"

Before Sadri could answer, Cleftjaw peered out from the alley and returned, "Looks like the lizards are gone."

Solveig looked back at Sadri, "Perhaps we'll talk more, Librarian."

The wind whipped through the alley with its keening, bringing the smell of rain with it and making her clothes billow. She could hear the flapping of Cleftjaw's cloak and felt the first cold sprinkles of rain. Years of being in the business of selling his sword with naught to show for it but scars as he was hiding from a mob in an alleyway painted Sadri in a much different light than what she first saw in Candlehearth. Her mind wandered to her father and the memory of their argument a few nights before came back fresh. The wind must have dried out her eyes, they were starting to water.

And with that, they parted ways.