The  sudden and brutal skirmish with the Chaurus and Falmer took their toll  on the company, although it was a miracle that more were not slain by  the subterrainian threat. Thanks to the brave actions of a few of the  fighters, the surviving Falmer from the first wave were driven back  deeper into the cave, leaving the entry chamber uncontested.  Unfortunately for some who were pierced by arrows or cut by the blades,  the poison in the weapons had begun to work their way through their  bloodstream, rendering them weak and sick, but otherwise managable.  Those who knew medicine and healing set to work, forced to make a triage  in the cave despite some calls to brave the storm as there was no way  for the sick and wounded to move, especially not in those conditions.  And so, for those who were able, sentries were posted, and fires were  lit; they prepared to wait out the storm.

There  weren't many words to be shared, as all were acutely aware of the  threat below, and scuttling in the dark was met with arrows or spells;  if these made purchase, none were sure, as no one dared venture forward  to confirm the kill, and no further attack followed. Perhaps the Falmer  had decided the group was too dangerous to confront further, as even the  most savage of beasts had some manner of self-preservation in their  blood. Much like wolves cared little for fire, Falmer seemed to find a  large group of armed and talented fighters far too much effort, where  the cost was too great for the reward. It was best to prey on unwitting  travellers in smaller, less hostile groups.

While  some urged the need to chase the creatures down into their lairs and  root them out, most drowned these instincts out as there was no way to  know how big the cavern was, or how many enemy waited below. It could  almost certainly be a trap, and the last thing anyone wanted to do was  discover they were sitting on top of a hidden dwemer under city, filled with Falmer and forgotten abominations. After the losses and utter failure to save the mages from the College, no one was eager to play hero. 

And so, they waited.

Hours passed, and the sun broke through, along with such balmy temperatures that the coats and armour almost seemed to be too hot, even though not long before the cold had threatened to kill those who dared stop. The snow was still deep, uncomfortably so, but the group had their chance to escape, and so after the wounded were tended to and stabilized, the company mobilized again, relieved to be free of the thrice-damned cave and the horrors within.

And so resumed the march back to Dawnstar with a new sense of Vigor, the warm air and sun lifting spirits in considerable fashion. Even when the company bedded down for the night around an assortment of small fires, danger seemed a world away, and when some voices broke into song, no one bothered to tell them they were putting the company in danger. For once, there was a sense of calm and relaxation that had seemed to be forgotten long ago.

When the morning came, the company knew they'd be in Dawnstar before long. As the snowy mountain paths gave way to grassy hills, the rest of the march would not be taxing.

~ ~ ~

There was a weight lifted from Solveig's shoulders as she looked upon Dawnstar. The miserable cluster of buildings huddled up for warmth behind a palisade seemed like the greatest thing to her after all she'd been through. Perhaps this was how Pa felt when he looked on Whiterun after his numerous outings. They shuffled to the gate in a mass and the guards manning the gates rushed to form a line in front of them. "Halt! State your business!"

"We're Ashav's company." Solveig said, her tone that of a woman who wasn't going to be denied a hearth and a good drink.

Only after a few moments of tension, the guards put up their weapons, "You can pass. I heard the [i]Courtesan[/i] was lost."

"The ship is, little man, but we are not." Cat-Kicker snarled as he passed with the others. Solveig followed before standing before the guard who'd stopped her.

"The sea will not take me." Solveig said, and gave a dark chuckle before continuing inside.

What greeted her was a sight unlike the Dawnstar that she'd left behind. Streamers dangled between houses, vendor's stalls lined the streets and children ran to and fro playing while the older folk looked on and talked. The town was bustling, new faces and old faces blending in the crowds. This was the Whaler's Festival, celebrating Dawnstar's pastime of hunting horkers and the giant whales that swam in the Ghost Sea. Various dishes, from chicken, pork and beef were served. For the more adventurous or those who were willing to get into the spirit of the festival, there was horker loaf and whale stew.

What caught Solveig's eye though was something even more beckoning to her heart. Down by the docks, warriors' competitions were being held. Two giants of men were wrestling each other in the circle, in another circle just like it, a mock duel. Archers sat trimming flights for their arrows in preparation for the archery contests and javelins sat on a row of weapon stands for the spear throwing competitions. All around her was color and life she was not used to. She ducked into an alley and found her way to the tavern.

Do'Karth stepped up next to her, staff resting across his shoulders, wrists atop the shaft like he were in a stockade. His eyes were wide as saucers, his nose twitching as he took in the marvelous scents. "Tell Do'Karth, did we die? This looks a lot like that Sovengarde place you Nords are so fond of talking about." he teased, still only half believing what he was witnessing. A band was set up on the docks, singing a folk song he didn't recognize, lanterns with coloured glass gave off colours across the buildings that resembled the auroras that danced across the night skys, and the population was so lively. After being so cold, miserable, and unable to escape the specter of death, this seemed like he stepped through time into someone else's life. After all the atrocities that had happened in just the past few weeks alone, this festival seemed completely out of place.

Even inside the tavern seemed to be suitably uplifted, and the barkeep seemed to break out the fancy stock of ales, meads, and brandy. Whale meats were roasting over the central floor flames, and several drunkards were singing loudly, off key, but utterly enthralled with the revelry that it hardly mattered. A smile creased Do'Karth's lips. "It would seem wrong to not join in the celebration, would it not?"

"Reckon we'd be out of place if we didn't." Solveig felt cooped in with cacophonous crowds about her, but she tried to find some stability in Karth. She took a deep breath and tried to find her way to the bar, dodging and dancing around passing barmaids and flailing drunks. She kept her head down and tried to get past a man in the crowd but he stepped in front of her. She swallowed, her fingers inching towards her knife.

"You know who stands before you, woman?" A deep voice growled. Her brow cocked, a pang of familiarity was what she felt in the voice and before she realized who it was, she was wrapped in big arms and nearly squeezed to death.

"Pa?" She wheezed, then she was put down on her feet and her father's big hands were left on her shoulders, the man looking down at her, "Pa?" There was a lump in her throat and she couldn't talk, for she did not trust her voice not to shake.

"So you took care of her well enough." Jorwen smiled to Do'Karth, "And took care of yourself, for that I am also happy."

The big Nord lifted one hand from his daughter's shoulder and placed it on the Khajiit's, squeezing his shoulder, "It's the Whaler's Festival, my friend. Music, food, competitions for young adventurers to go at each other. You lot picked a fine day to return."

"Yes, this one is a man of his word, as it were. Solveig does make it hard, but she takes care of herself. She'd make a good khajiit." He chuckled, reaching out and clasping Jorwen's extended wrist reaffirmingly. "Perhaps the gods decided we deserved a break? Do'Karth wants to eat himself stupid, but first... this one has not thrown a javelin in some time, but he thinks he can show the Nords how it is done." he glanced around the room. "Things were fine here, this one trusts?"

Jorwen shrugged and his smile dropped slightly, "Trouble with the Lizardfolk. Anyhow," and his smile returned in force, "You thinking of competing, eh? I never took you for the type. I spared a thought, but I'm still not sure. Flaunting and posturing like that down by the docks is a young man's game, maybe."

"You know how to throw a spear?" Solveig smiled, "Maybe I know how to throw one better." She challenged, good-naturedly.


"Do'Karth does, when the mood strikes him. He usually prefers the wait-and-see approach to people. Besides, there's a certain charm to being underestimated." he smiled, looking over to Solveig. "Do'Karth was one of the best of his clan, it was an essential part of some of the martial arts, such as Goutfang. Along with unarmed combat, of course. We do like our claws." he said,  neglecting to mention one of the reasons he was chosen to assassinate a head of state was because he was extremely talented with a javelin. "But perhaps Solveig can show Do'Karth a thing or two, a wager perhaps?"

"Cup of Colovian whiskey." Solveig grinned, "Let's go."

The three of them made their way towards the competition grounds. A menagerie of young warriors amassed themselves about the different areas, as well as curious onlookers. There were big men and women, small ones, but all of them stood with their chests puffed and wearing their most grim faces. Jorwen would be lying if he didn't feel some urge to compete, but he would let younger Names shine today. Finally, they'd made it to the javelin contest. There were a few still jutting from the dirt many paces away and a few warriors stood holding their spears, talking amongst each other. Solveig grabbed two of the spears still on the racks and handed one to Do'Karth. "As the challenged, it's tradition that you go first."

"Do'Karth will endeavor not to set the bar high, then." He replied cheekily, taking the offered weapon in hand and testing its balance. It had been quite a few years since he'd used a weapon such as this; not since he left his old life behind, anyways. He said as much, "It has been some time since this one has handled such a weapon. Perhaps best of five throws?" he asked.

Solveig chuckled, "Why not."

She was sure of herself. She'd faced some big Names in Markarth Side and beat them all. Do'Karth was a man of many talents, she was sure, but she was also sure that there was no one here that could best her with a spear. "Are we waiting for sun-up?" She teased.

"Ah good, the restless are prone to mistakes. Do'Karth will cherish that whiskey." he grinned, stepping up to the line. The target was about twenty paces away, a throw that was challenging, but certainly an easy mark for most experienced throwers. Stepping back a few paces, Do'Karth held the weapon up, alongside his head and other arm outstretched. With a quick dash forward, he released the javelin, which struck just to the right of the target, skidding along the sand harmlessly. He grunted. "How do you Nords tolerate such unbalanced weapons?" he joked, taking the sting of his miss out. It was the oldest excuse in the book; blame your inadequaces on your tools. 

Gesturing for Solveig to step up, the khajiit stepped aside, arms crossed. "By default, you appear to be in the lead." he chuckled. 

Solveig grinned at Do'Karth, keeping it towards him as she walked to the line. She drew in a breath, judging just how much strength to put into the throw, hopefully not falling pitifully short or being over-eager and having it sail over the painted bale of hay. She took in another breath, raising the spear in-hand near her cheek, outstretching an arm and then letting loose the spear. She watched as it sailed through the air, a good trajectory, but it stuck in near the rim of the target, the end bouncing on the dirt while the head stayed buried. She frowned, then regained her smile, "Still closer than yours." She gestured for him to step up.

"This one simply wanted to lure you into a false sense of security." He said, stepping up and grabbing another spear. Already the weapon felt more comfortable in his hand, his muscles becoming accustomed to something that had once been as routine to him as eating. Giving it a quick few spins in his hand, Do'Karth set up as he did before, only with much more fluid and aggressive motion. The spear flew confidently, buring itself low on the target, its point undoubtably piecing through the bottom. "Do'Karth can taste victory already." he grinned, stepping aside.

"C'mon, Solveig, kick the cat's ass!" Someone in the crowd jeered.  There was always one, although the murmors of agreement suggested it wasn't unpopular.

"They know your name?" Jorwen whispered, genuine confusion. Perhaps the return of the Company was the talk of the town amongst the young warriors who were not yet part of a Band or a Company. He remembered how it first felt when men he didn't know the faces of treated him with respect. It was a dangerous feeling, that much was true.

"Why would they not?" Solveig said with a cheeky grin, taking another spear in hand. She didn't like how close Karth's spear hand landed to hers and how much better a posture it had as it landed. Already, a crowd was forming around the two, and she caught sight of a few of them exchanging bets. She readied her spear, her face the picture of single-minded concentration. She pulled back, she threw, watched it fly and had to keep herself from pumping her fist in celebration as it landed a few precious inches above Do'Karth's.

The khajiit was amused. It was turning into a contest, after all. As opposed to Solveig's intense concentration, Do'Karth allowed himself to loosen up, letting the distractions flow past him like water. Battle meditation was something he had become quite proficient with, and as it turned out, it worked rather well for a simple feat of arms such as this. His leg was throbbing, but he could ignore it, for now. Twirling the weapon theatrically and bringing it around his back, he grasped it when it came into reach of his dominant hand, the khajiit hurled the weapon, it sailed with considerable velocity, striking level with the bullseye, but a fair deal to the left. The khajiit looked at Solveig and Jorwen and shrugged. "It's like a staff, only you want to let go of it." he grinned.

Solveig frowned, rolling her eyes, "Pah!" She crossed her arms, "I'll buy, then."

Jorwen chuckled, he hadn't seen his daughter look so defeated. She pointed to the circle in which two men fought a mock duel. Just as she lifted her hand towards it, one of the men was brought down by the other, yielding with the wooden sword's tip at his chest. "First to yield."

"Perhaps tomorrow." Jorwen raised a hand, "We'll drink to a good contest. You've proven yourself as a worthy opponent today."

Solveig grunted, wasting no time in making her way back towards town. Jorwen and Do'Karth watched her go. A small silence grew between the two. "You throw a spear too well for a man who professes to be one of peace." Jorwen noted with a cocked brow, "A soldier?"

The khajiit let out a low sigh, his whiskers twitch and tail swaying uneasily. "It was another life. Do'Karth wasn't always the khajiit you know, but that khajiit has been buried in the sands long ago. He was no soldier, this one never had a taste for uniform or wars... which sounds hilarious now he speaks those words in light of all that occured." He smiled sadly, his eyes tired. "You know, Jorwen, Do'Karth had fully expected to have left to preserve himself long ago. Khajiit are notorious for letting others do the difficult things and watching out for themselves and their kin. He never expected to feel like a group of mercenaries was home."

"The soldier's life is all I've known. You speak like you've done deeds worth forgetting, my friend. If only mine were a world away like you speak of yours." Jorwen felt his age come pressing down on him of a sudden, the weight of his sins, but did his best to perk up, "This is a festival though, words like these are best suited to different places, eh?"

"This one agrees. Apologies, Red-Bear." Do'Karth said, grinning at the awkward use of his earned-name. "Do'Karth still doesn't understand the fixation with names you Nords have. Perhaps some drinks will make sense of it. Besides," he said, nodding towards Solveig's back. "This one can think of at least one deed of yours that is worth celebrating. Family, no?"

Jorwen looked towards his daughter as she walked away. So different from the little girl holding a stick like a mighty sword who greeted him every visit with a stubborn frown. How much she'd grown. He always wondered what kind of woman she'd grow to be and the one she is now perhaps isn't far off. Jorwen nodded at Do'Karth's words, "Aye, not all in my life's dark, I reckon."

With that, they followed the sullen woman back to the tavern, the festival still lively around them, and the drink still flowing readily.