‘’Mister Beleth, I must congratulate you on your quick thinking. Your innovative way to cover the leak may have saved all our lives,’’ the Breton said with an excited tone, as he accompanied the tired Dunmer leaning on the railing on the ship while watching the coast and the dinghy. The ship was still tilted slightly to one side, courtesy of the damage and the amount of water it had received, but the crew was handling it. The Dunmer seemed nervous nonetheless, and the Breton did not understand why. Almost as if something was bothering the old mer.

‘’I appreciate your remarks, Mister Gawain, but I’m afraid I am tired, could we please talk another time?’’ Sadri replied, with a tired voice. In truth, he was not tired, nor was he nervous, but there was something about this ‘Mister Gawain’ that made him feel off. Like an itching feeling in his brain, or like a dog whistle, Sadri couldn’t stand the guy, even when quiet. Cilo was just young and talkative, and Sadri did not mind Cilo when he was quiet, but there was something about this particular Breton that just made an uncomfortable presence.

‘’Yes, yes, I understand, Mister Beleth. You’ve done much for us, and you deserve a rest… Who are those people?’’ As Marcel’s tone went from kindly to surprised, Sadri turned his head to catch the direction Marcel was voicing his question at, and then realized he was talking about the dinghy. Before he could say that it was just those on the lifeboat, he noticed another boat, a familiar design, and men in alien-looking armor. Sadri had a brainwave and realized this type of armor was not commonly used by men – rather, it was used by mer. Dunmer, to be precise. But what the hell were Dunmer doing here?

‘’Uh, you know, this looks like trouble.’’ Marcel quietly muttered, as he watched the wounded Dunmer from the ship talk to one of the armored warriors.

‘’I’m afraid it does, Mister Gawain. You any good with a blade?’’ Sadri huffed, sighing as he prepared his blade. He couldn’t feel like complaining anymore – they just couldn’t catch a break, and he wasn’t going to waste his breath about it. First, invaders from Akavir, then, an escape from a siege, then a sinking ship, now, bloody raiders. And he had thought of Smokey the Bear was trouble.

‘’I took lessons at college,’’ Marcel replied, not wishing to disclose his familiarity with the more visceral parts of his profession. Well, he did not want to remind himself more so. He preferred eating cake to gutting blood-drinking hags.

‘’Well then, hopefully you won’t need to put your skills to use,’’ Sadri said. ‘’Maybe they’ll handle this peacefully.’’ 

Then Sevine began fighting one of the Armigers and hacked the mer’s hand off. Sadri opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but just huffed out air. ‘’Or maybe not.’’

Following Sevine, the two Khaji’it in the boat also put themselves in action, with the one with the staff (What was his name? Bo’Dark? Go'Kart?) pulling off fancy tricks, which seemed more at home in a circus troupe rather than a mercenary company, but worked nonetheless. The other Khaji’it acted in a manner much more familiar to Sadri, simply hacking at his attackers with axes, and Sadri found himself rooting for that Khaji’it rather than the other one because of the like-mindedness Sadri felt he shared with the fellow.

As the fight raged on, the ship finally reached shore, and Sadri rushed, hoping to stop the fighting. Before he could rappel down, the other Dunmer on the ship attempted to do so, and ended up falling. In the adrenaline rush, Sadri ignored the fellow upon sliding down, and waded through the water for a few steps, and got on shore to see the Altmer, Keegan, bleeding. Sadri had sympathy for the illusionist, so he moved to mend his wound to the best of his ability with magic, but then he noticed a crazed bear in the midst of the fighting, which made him delay his movements for a moment. After a second wasted in surprise, he realized it was Solveig being herself. ‘’You go, girl,’’ the Dunmer mused to himself as he took a fleeting moment to admire the fighting woman. Why did he always go for the psychotic ones? Maybe it was the way they lived out their emotions, free and primal, something Sadri never was good at. 

‘’Hold on, buddy,’’ Sadri muttered to Keegan, as he put his good hand on the wound while the enchanted stump started pulling out the bolt. The Dunmer could feel the Altmer’s skin slowly grow back under his calloused and battered fingers, and gave the mer a chuckle to take the fellow’s mind away from the pain. He huffed and looked away from the wound as his hands worked, then he noticed Solveig being moved by what looked like a gigantic gimp. 

[i]‘’Oh no.’’[/i]

Sadri ripped out the bolt in a hurry, and then rushed away from Keegan before he could tend to the rest of the magician’s wound, running towards the leather-clad brute. As he moved, he realized just how stupid what he was doing was, but Sadri knew that it was better to go with what you’re doing and suffer the consequences rather than stop and make a fool of yourself halfway through. Well, he didn’t [i]know[/i] it was better – in fact, it was likely going to lead to a worse outcome, but nonetheless, the rest of the statement was true, and he wasn’t going to be that doubtful coward, at least, not this time around.

Just as the gargantuan sex slave wannabe threw down Solveig, Sadri made his dynamic entry, jumping at the giant gimp and smashing his forehead against the leather clad hulk’s nose as he came down, with the collision making an almost inaudible ‘[i]crack[/i]’. He moved his head to face the recoiling gimp, and was promptly punched in the face by the said fellow before he could continue with his daring rescue. While he hadn’t lost consciousness, Sadri found the punch as a good warning to stop moving, and just lay on the ground, watching an Imperial, seemingly the young one from the company, come by and offer his hand to Solveig.    

[i]‘’Motherfucker.’’[/i]