[center][i]A collab post between [@gcold] and [@Peik][/i][/center]

Out in the darkness of Dawnstar bay, a lone Dunmer waded halfway in the waves. He stood far from the wharfs, out of the reach of lanterns and ship lights. Only the scarlet moons shone his part of the water, so Madura assumed to be at the most private location possible without risks slaughterfish bites to soft spots. His pants and shoes were left on the beach, and armed with naught but a stiff brush (found on someone’s canoe), the journalist set to scrub his rear in saltwater. 

“Saltwater’s good for my skin, my ass.” Madura fumed to himself. The scene was silent enough to hear his own voice carry off into the distance. “Heh, [i]ass[/i].” He smirked at his own cleverness. 

“Ouch! f-” Scrubbing too hard with rough bristles, Madura opened a small gap in his behind. Salt immediate flooded into the wound, literally. More curses edged but Madura froze in place. His eyes froze on a moving shape from the town’s direction; wait, is that someone coming?

‘’[i]I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.[/i]’’
 
For Sadri, the cold waters biting and nibbling at his bare legs like icy needles was not actually very unfamiliar – for a sailor, it was practically part of everyday life, but for a shipwreck survivor, it also surfaced many unpleasant memories. The cold raised the hairs on Sadri’s skin – and for a moment, he felt his lost arm also tingling with the cold, which was not a very nice feeling. But he had no right to complain; he had asked for this. After all, trying to scam someone you don’t know could lead to bad things, and Sadri had already fucked up the first part. Now he hoped he could make sure nothing would reach him.
 
And as he waded further into the waters, he saw the magic man, in all his half-naked glory, trying to wipe shit off his ass. While the situation wasn’t very unfamiliar for Sadri, the water meant that whatever Madura’s bowels contained could be a lot more far-reaching, and Sadri preferred his clothes clean. His absent hand keeping the scabbard above the water, Sadri walked closer and closer to the journalist, and eventually stopped at a distance that he found appropriate.
 
‘’Fancy meeting you here, kinsman. Must’ve had a very [i]shitty[/i] day to end up in these waters,’’ Sadri said, with the hint of a grin on the side of his mouth. He just couldn’t help it.

“Holy periwinkle bull netch stingers!” Madura nearly jumped out of the water when he saw Sadri drawing close. However, the journalist had neither the energy or the indecency to hoist up his clothless lower half. “Ahem, hi? It’s, you know, shitty indeed.” The water was near freezing, but being tortured by diarrhea the entire day, Madura could no longer care about this kind of thing. Carefully backing away, he barely stammered anything out. “Did—did Ashav sent you out too? Damn fool.” In the process of retreating, Madura stepped on some hard object on the seafloor, almost tripping him. He spun to find himself retreating into oncoming waves. That was not the direction anyone wanted to head to on a creepy “bloodmoon” night. 

“Well uh, water’s all yours.” Madura waved weakly. “If you don’t mind, I need to go dress myself.” He began walking up to where his pants were. Before Sadri interrupted, Madura got in a couple of solid scrubs on hard to reach nooks. With this crappy brush, this was as clean as he will get.

‘’Now, now, Madura, we’ve got to talk,’’ Sadri replied to the rightfully scared journalist as he raised his sword’s scabbard to halt Madura’s return to the shore. ‘’You like to talk, don’t you?’’ Without expecting a response, Sadri waited for only a moment, and continued, with a much more serious tone.
 
‘’Now, my friend, I should let you know that our leader’s employer is a very keen fan of your works, but he has some things mistaken about you. Namely, he thinks you’ve lost one of your arms, and also, he thinks you kind of look like me.’’

Sadri gave Madura a moment to realize the implications of his statement, and continued once again.

“What? Are you kidding me?” Madura stared blankly at nothing, trying his hardest to avoid the other Dunmer. When Sadri’s face did pass, Madura saw complete seriousness, if not a little annoyed. “Oh no, this can’t be true; what did you get yourself into?” The gravity of this ridiculous situation sunk in bit by bit. Once again, Madura found his knees too weak to move.
 
‘’Now, I took advantage of this man’s ignorance in more than a couple of ways, and now, it seems that he thinks you are not actually you, but an Ashlander who goes by the name of Renym. For the sake of our employer, and for the sake of our safety, I would suggest that we keep up the façade. Or you could simply try to fit in with what the man thinks you look like now, but you wouldn’t want to lose that arm of yours now, would you? And that left ear, too. They don’t grow back, you know.’’

“So that was why you three were huddled together.” Madura’s cheeks flushed with red, the humiliation of letting three grown men see him in his, undignified state, was unpleasant to say the least.
 
Sadri took a breath. He had to cut to the chase.
 
‘’You’ve got three options here. One of them is that you pretend that you’re Renym the Ashlander for the foreseeable future around our Nordic patron. And as for the others… I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear about them.’’

“Are you threatening me?” The journalist dropped his jaw in disbelief. “You talked trash for your own gains, now you are forcing me to play along?” He shook his head. “No way, Ashav will have your hide for this.”

‘’Ashav also played along,’’ Sadri cut in right after Madura finished speaking. That card would be important – he was the authority, after all.
 
‘’There’s a reason he told you to go to the sea when you came in, you know. Look, if you go in, introduce yourself as Madura Dalas, that guy’ll think that Ashav screwed him over on that ordeal, it’s going to put him in a bad situation. It’s going to put me in a bad situation. In that case, you’re the one who’ll cause Ashav trouble, and in that case he’ll have your hide for not cooperating.’’
 
Sadri sighed. If only people would just cooperate.
 
‘’Now, I’m giving you options. You can play along until this blows over, or you can go ahead and fuck Ashav over. Guess which one of them is likely to end bad for you.’’

“This is outrageous.” Madura threw up his hands. Walking away was tempting, but the more he considered Sadri’s words, the more sense they made, surprisingly. This was turning out to be a lose-lose choice, he would screw himself and others over whatever he does. “Fine.” Madura resigned. “I will play along, only when I’m asked. You need to get the rest onboard, if it comes to that. And you better stop demanding more from Ashav’s employer, on my name, that is.” Hanging his head in bitterness, Madura dragged himself towards the beach.

‘’It might already be too late for that,’’ Sadri quipped in with a somewhat more joking tone after Madura finished speaking. ‘’The guy really wanted to get Madura Dalas a new arm, you see,’’ he said, moving his bonemold stump for Madura to notice. Then Sadri’s voice suddenly dropped to a serious low tone again. ‘’But I’m not stupid enough to keep asking for favors in your name. The sooner the whole event’s forgotten, the better, so just try to stay out of that guy’s sight – I know I will.’’

“Frigging Oblivion…” Madura groaned.
 
Sadri paused. That could be kind of hard, now that he thought of it. The guy was a die-hard fan after all.
 
‘’You keep your past writings handy?’’ Sadri asked, with a tone that made his question sound almost unrelated.

“Why yes, some of it.” Sadri’s tone caught Madura off guard momentarily. Obviously, this question was no way out of curiosity. “You want them for your ruse, don’t you?” Madura pointed a finger at Sadri. “You tell him that I, you, [i]Madura[/i], no longer have any on [i]hand[/i].” He made sure to emphasize the word “hand”. After all, this elf relentlessly mocked him for his stomach troubles, it was only fair Madura gets the final laugh.

‘’You sure like keeping your [i]shit[/i] to yourself, eh?’’ Sadri countered after Madura’s remark. He didn’t exactly want to make the situation any worse, but eh, it was already pretty shitty, in nearly every sense of the word. ‘’I’m just asking in case the guy starts asking about you, uh, me again. I may have made some remarks contradictory to your writings,’’ Sadri confessed. He wasn’t really good at being a conman, but then again, he had spent his entire life doing things he probably wasn’t meant to do. It was in the blood, he guessed.

“How would he even know? You're supposed to be the writer, the authority.” Madura raised an eyebrow. 

‘’Guy called out my leech because you apparently ‘expressed a distaste for oligochaeta in your journal of Stormhold’. Can’t be much of an authority there.’’ Sadri rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, that man is obsessed.” Madura sighed. He began to shiver now, as the cold water drained out more and more heat. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” The journalist rubbed against some of goosebumps. “It is in my pack, over there beside my clothing. You do not give any to that man, and do not do anything to [i]my[/i] work, understood?”

‘’Right. Keep the books clean and return them when due,’’ Sadri replied to Madura’s request dryly as the dull memories of the Bergama Library sent a tinge of nostalgia through his limbs. Back when he had four limbs, a sense of excitement, and all the time in Mundus. ‘’[i]Just like old times,[/i]’’ Sadri thought to himself as he walked towards the shore alongside Madura. There was some reading to do before sleep.

“How did I get myself in this?” Madura mumbled. “If only I did not eat that spoiled turkey. Thrice damned turkey.”