It probably would have left any sailor mortified and aghast if they ever heard what Do’Karth was thinking in that moment; all ships looked alike.

Before him, a dual mast behemoth of treated hardwood and drawn, yet sprawling canvas sails loomed ominously, as if the [I]Courtesan[/I] came back for a second round of oppression upon its passengers. The people spoke of it as the [I]Kyne’s Tear[/I], named after a Nordic goddess that apparently had something to do with the dragon tongue. For the patron of a mostly dead language, she’d probably have a few words about her namesake being a horrific floating death trap that would certainly lose against any icebergs it came across, or submerged anything, really. The winds made it creak and groan like some great mortally wounded beast, and yet it was where Do’Karth was expected to embark.

He resolved that if he ran across Keegan and that damnable lotion box on the ship, it would be overboard before the altmer knew it was no longer in his hands. He could have been safely on land with Sevine and Jorwen where his skills would be of great use; instead he was trapped with the man who probably would try to murder him in his sleep. On the plus side, at least Solveig was going on this particular adventure. That, at least, meant he could keep his oath to Jorwen that he’d watch over her. Miserably enough, if things went like they did during that last blunder to the College of Winterhold, she’d probably be the one looking out for him, provided she did not discover the joys of being bashed into a mast.

Do’Karth turned to look from the cue he stood in to board the ship, seeing Daelin’s group departing, along with the brilliant red mane of Sevine, the sensation of her touch lingering upon his fur like a phantom. A pang of regret filled him, as he knew that each time they parted ways could very well be the last, especially with how things were going in this company.
[I]”Mara keep you safe, and bring you back to me.”[/I] Sevine said, a caress cradling his cheek, committing to a promise through a simple gesture, sealing it with a kiss. Grasping the nape of her neck, Do’Karth gently brought their foreheads together, holding together for a few moments before they broke off, headed to their respective assignments. He noted the straps of the amulet he entrusted to her, feeling a swelling of reassurance that she’d make it back to him. Anything else was inconceivable. 
 Death was something that seemed increasingly common, and less and less familiar faces remained. While the khajiit considered himself fortunate for what little time he’d had with Sevine so far, he pondered on whether or not Sadri, the weathered dunmer that reminded him of a storm atronach that gave the allusion of being worn away from time and hardship like a desert boulder, would find the courage to speak with Solveig about his own affections towards her. She was tough, blunt, and not one to be coddled, and she came across as cold, Do’Karth knew. She also had a rather infamous father with a reputation for violence, so that probably deterred would be suitors. If anything, it would be interesting to see unfold.

Along for the trip was also Sagex and Roze, the two rather chummy friends he had that he felt were somewhat crazy for the risks they were willing to take. Do’Karth was alive because of Sagex, and for that he felt he owed a debt he could never repay, but the Imperial seemed to be quite happy with just being helpful and he was irrepressibly good natured; something that would doubtless make the voyage ahead easier. Do’Karth also remained quite cordial and fond of Roze, although they had spoken all of once; she’d left quite the impression and seemed to be a bright spot on an otherwise dour outfit.

Another among the ranks, of all people, was the damned journalist Madura, the very same who had accosted him and Niernen in Windhelm during the riots, asking inane, prying questions. The khajiit didn’t care for people such as that, forcing people to speak their histories so they could profit off of others’ stories. Others seemed to respect, or even like the dunmer, for whatever reason, but it would take a lot to wipe the memory of his indelicate timing away. The other questionable addition to the team was the bard he’d noticed for the first time the previous night, the Imperial woman, Raylin or something of that nature. She was a member of the company now? Was she even a fighter? It was hard to say, and as someone who was used to being underestimated, he wasn’t about to do the same. The most unassuming people held the biggest surprises. 

Before long, Do’Karth boarded the [I]Tear[/I] and resolving to try and face his fears, stayed on the top deck as long as the weather held out, his resolve buffered by a pair of potions of warmth and a potion of water breathing, which he hoped he’d never need. He couldn’t imagine letting water fill his lungs and not panic since it didn’t matter if magic was manipulating your body into taking water into your lungs like air, the rest of a person would still object vehemently at the prospect. Still, it was the cost of staying alive in the very worst case scenario, and it provided even a small amount of comfort as his padded feet touched the creaking wooden plank that headed up onto the [I]Tear[/I]

For a moment, standing on the deck, Do’Karth got his bearing and decided that the only way he was going to tolerate future expeditions on a ship, which he realized he’d never know if his contract stipulated they would be a presence in his duties or not on account of his lack of ability to read. He suddenly felt the need to confront Keegan about those children’s books he professed to have, as insulting as the implication was. It did not help matters that at that moment, he looked over and met eyes with Leif, the Nord who had quickly come to despise him over their mutual affections for Sevine. Leif broke the gaze quickly, looking rather as uncomfortable as Do’Karth felt. The khajiit shook his head, stepping away from the gangplank to both put some distance between himself and the gunwale and to let the rest of the company board. Their whole rivalry was stupid, Do’Karth decided. He would not allow himself to forget that Leif took him into his home during the siege of Windhelm, even if it was a gesture mainly meant to make Sevine happy. Under any other circumstances, had the matter of the heart not intervened, they could have been fine friends. It made the prospect of fighting him later that much worse. Do’Karth was all too familiar with the Nordic custom of solving petty disputes, be it over love or improperly milking one’s cow, was often done with fists in mind. They were such a violent, severe people. Under other circumstances, it would almost be amusing.

Soon, the ship departed from the harbour, and taking place nearer to the bow of the ship and out of the way by resting against one of the masts Do’Karth decided to remain for much of the voyage, trying urgently to forget that below just a few layers of wood were dozens, if not hundreds, of meters of frigid, murky death, water one could not drink. Everything about the sea was hostile, and for a fleeting moment, he pictured those stupid mages who tried to flee in the storm being pulled under to their deaths, and what manner of creatures would soon dine upon their bloated cadavers. Do’Karth shuddered at the thought, and pulled his coat tighter. If every ship was a death trap, no one would sail… would they?

It was worrying that he didn’t come to a satisfactory answer for that line of thought.

For the next two days, the khajiit grew more accustomed to the sea, the pleasant summer weather and lack of storms making this voyage more pleasant than the one aboard the courtesan. The sun was warm, and the air brought in a scent of salt and brine that was familiar, but unlike anything he took the time to notice before, and a part of Do’Karth finally understood the appeal of sailing, although he was far from agreeing with the sentiment. He helped tend to minor wounds brought about from sailing, such as rope burn and scrapes, and he even volunteered his services cleaning the cookware after a few of the meals, given his expertise in manning a ship were negligible, at best. In his down time, he spoke with friends or napped, finally getting used to the heavy but gentle movements of the ship, and before long, Do’Karth decided he rather enjoyed hammocks. 

As with most things, the pleasantries  came to an end as the island came into sight, and soon him and the others were put into the damnable dinghies once more. Clutching the sides for dear life, his staff secured beneath the bench, Do’Karth didn’t even dare utter a reply to the Hagjorn sailor as he jokingly, or not, implored him to not fall out, as if that were something he intended to do.

 Mercifully soon, land was beneath his feet, the cool, wet rocks seeming like a blessing that made Do’Karth want to burst out in relieved laughter as he gathered his weapon and helped pull the small boat ashore. Bthamz, as it turned out, was a mystifying ruin that was utterly captivating for someone like Do’Karth who had not seen the dwemer ruins before. It was a portal into another world, another time.

The group fell into formation as they entered the catacomb-like confines of the structure, and while looking out for dangers, Do’Karth was mesmerized by the beautiful and ornate details of the carvings and infrastructure, so ancient yet unlike anything the world had to offer. He wondered why no one had ever attempted to reclaim these dwemer ruins and inhabit them once more, until he recalled that a city in Western Skyrim called Markarth was such a place. Perhaps he would have a chance to visit there?

His ponderings of why no one tried to inhabit the ruins after so long were soon answered by the discovery of two dead bodies of soldiers who had tried to make camp. Apparently something was not fond of their habitation, and that something was approaching, fast. Hissing steam and the rumbling of alloys filled the hall and the group had not even step foot off of the lift before they came under attack by the strangest constructs Do’Karth had ever witnessed. Small arachnid like drones quickly took down Leif before he could react, and the new dunmer to the company, Elmera. Do’Karth was too far to help either of them, and despite his misgivings towards Leif, he did not wish to see the man meet his end. Trying to reach his companions, Do’Karth was immediately accosted by one of the humanoid-sphere contraptions, which tried to hew him down with a sinister looking and curious rotary blade, ever sharp and polished after Alkosh-knows how many years, that whizzed past his chest as he leaned back with limber flexibility, giving him room to jam the steel-plated end of his quarter staff between the thing’s joints, immobilizing the arm. The join screeched and grinded in protest as Do’Karth applied leverage against the limb, and soon it popped loose, hanging loosely from a few struts as the khajiit freed his staff and jammed it under the thing’s ‘chin’ with enough force that it dislodged the head from its position, making the thing move around aimlessly, whatever magic or compulsion it had weakened. Another hard whack cleared the head clean from the metallic frame and the sphere dropped to the floor with a deafening clang.

[i]“LEIF!”[/i] Do’Karth shouted, tense and horrified that he was still too far to stop the soon-to be fatal display before him.