[i]"Oh, not good. Definitely not good."[/i] Those were the best thoughts Roze could collect as she scrambled around in the dark. Her bow - where was her bow?!

She couldn't believe she'd lost it; but the second they'd found the cave, Roze had thrown both herself and all she could carry to the floor in exhaustion. For a small woman like herself, trudging through blizzards and high snow drifts wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, even with Sebastian helping her along. But before she could even close her eyes, the commotion from further in the cave reached her ears, and suddenly everyone was springing to arms once more. Roze's precious bow had gotten away from her somehow, or at least, she failed to see it in the dark corners of the cave.

"Ah, fuck it! Sebastian, light this up for me." Springing to her feet, Roze sprinted forward, getting the attention of her friend, who was currently flinging fireballs at the offending creatures. In her hand was a small pot, filled to nearly the brim with oil.

Ever since leaving home, Roze had attempted to keep something of a flammable nature on her; without fail, she always had her tinderbox, but as often as she could, she kept some kind of oil. It always came in handy, either to use offensively, defensively, or simply to light the way when all but darkness is around you. Now, following the events of Windhelm, she'd misplaced her little pot (A good thing too, really; if she'd had it on her when she and Sagax blew the Kamal ship to Oblivion, she'd be naught but a burned crisp.). However, what with their recent skirmish with the Armigers, the Dunmer had left behind more than enough supplies, including oil for lanterns and such. Naturally, a small girl like herself wasn't going to find use in the heavy bonemold armour or hefty swords - although trying on one of the abandoned bonemold helmets for a laugh, which she received for how the over-sized thing bobbed about on her head comically. So, that was left avoided; what she did pick up however, was oil. And some more alcoholic substances, but no-one would need to hear about that just yet.

Flinging the small pot as hard as she could manage, Roze watched on as it sailed over the heads of her comrades, landing far enough towards the back of the fray to avoid any friendly fire - with Sebastian launching another fireball towards it, one or two Falmer shrieked as the oil ignited on their skin, the rest of them trying to avoid the flames which had spread on the floor. There was not much fire, as there hadn't been much oil - but hopefully it had distracted the foul beasts. As the flickering flames lit up the cave, a familiar glinting caught Roze's eyes; her bow, nestled between two rocks beneath her.

Although sorely tempted to, she did not embrace and kiss her weapon, and instead knocked an arrow; running her fingers along the shaft until the familiar sensation of the fletch hit her fingertips. This would be the first time she'd used the bow since Windhelm; Roze sorely hoped her injury hadn't affected her skill too much. Otherwise, what good would she be? Running forward and finding a sloped outcrop of rock, she steadied herself there; not too far from the injured Leif and Sagax, and the bellowing Sevine, Roze inhaled slowly as she drew back the drawstring.

As she had already anticipated, the muscles in her shoulder were not cooperating fully with her, sending stiff spasms of irritation down her arm as she tensed the joint. Left hand clenched tightly on the grip, the petite thief found her mark - one of the Falmer, the blind bastard knocking it's own arrow and aiming it in her general direction. It could hit any one of her friends, with two of them already injured. Would she allow it?

Would she hell.

Roze exhaled as she loosened her right hand's grip on the string, and the arrow whistled forward, burying itself deep in the throat of the Falmer archer - a sense of mingled relief and satisfaction fled through Roze as her enemy hit the floor with a gurgling screech, choking on it's own filthy blood, bow and arrow lain discarded at it's side. Her foe was dead... and her shoulder was holding up just fine. Darting a quick smile to Sagax and Leif below her, Roze knocked another arrow.

"Don't you boys worry - us women will protect you." She said with a low chuckle, directing a cheeky wink at Sevine before pulling back her bowstring again.


[hr][hr]


While Rhasha'Dar disliked snowstorms and blizzards, he disliked Falmer even more - even though this was the very first time he had even seen the beasts.

Naturally, when travelling through Skyrim, one cannot avoid tales involving the Falmer and their Chaurus. Although the native Nords also told stories of Werebears, Fairies and other ridiculous - and mythical - beasts, the Falmer were all too real and dangerous. More than once his caravan had happened across poor refugees in the roads; innocent farmers, fleeing from the homes after a midnight raid by the creatures, lucky to have their lives; Hunters, peppered with arrows and poison for they stalked their prey too close to a Falmer cave; even children were not safe among the beasts, as it was no secret that bairns went missing among the mountains and hills after straying too far from their parent's encampments.

Yes, they were truly cruel, and their appearance were all the more monstrous than the stories told. Rhasha almost wished he'd left the cave rather than set his eyes upon them.

When the call for aid had gone up, he had been sat at the mouth of the cave, away from the others. The past few days, he'd attempted to avoid contact with everyone, although he himself was unsure why. Was he ashamed of his Sister? Or just ashamed to be related to her? He did not feel this way - consciously, at the very least - but he was most uncomfortable in the knowledge that everyone in the group, including those he considered as friends, knew about La'Dansharr. What it was, after a few days of silent contemplation in the snow helped him realise, was that he thought he had lost trust. While the Cat-Kicker hadn't confronted him about it as Rhasha had fully believed he would (Although, perhaps the man was just occupied with poor Sadri; as far as Rhasha knew, Dumhuvud could have been ready to skin him alive before the Falmer showed up.), the looks of animosity from him and others in the group did not go unnoticed. It was hard, for a Khajiit in Skyrim, to gain any notion of respect. After perhaps a fortnight or so with the mercenary outfit, healing their wounds, giving them potions, fighting alongside them, he believed they could trust him. And now? Perhaps not.

There was also the issue of the the information from the Armigers, the letters the Dark Brotherhood had given him. Rhasha had no idea what to do with it - surely, giving it to Ashav when they got back to Dawnstar was the best option? Or did this "Listener" want him to do something else with it?

Either way, both issues in his mind were forgotten as the battle went underway - war-axes in hand, Rhasha'Dar had joined the others in the fray, hacking at whatever pale, foul skin, or hard scales he could. Regardless of how the group felt about him, or how far they trusted him now, the Khajiit refused to abandon them at the hands of these monsters.

Finding his place beside Keegan, Rhasha launched himself at the Chaurus as the flung torchflames made it rear up in pain. The blade of his axe glided through the soft underbelly of the over-sized insect, unfamiliar and repulsive organs and blood slipping from the wound as it fell onto it's side, writhing in agony before Rhasha landed his killing blow; axe landing with a disgusting [i]"splurch"[/i] noise in what he assumed was it's heart. 

As the writhing came to a stop, Rhasha's nose crinkled in disgust as the foul odour of the blood spattered across his fur made it's way to his smell receptors.

"This one hopes you got your soul - although he is somewhat curious in what you plan to do with it." Rhasha mentioned to Keegan, motioning towards the soul gem with his one of his axes... which definitely needed cleaning. [i]"By Azurah, I've smelt potions less potent than that stench."[/i] He thought to himself, stepping away from the stinking carcass of the Chaurus, and ready his axes for his next foe.