[h3]Knight Meets Pawn[/h3]
[i]a collab between [@Peik] and myself[/i]


[hr]
Standing out in the streets of Dawnstar, staring blindly at the sloping street before him that led down to the docks, Narzul fumed with rage. His thoughts (or lack thereof, having been displaced by his emotions) were interrupted when the same old mer that he'd spoken to before called out to him. It took a while for the words to penetrate the fog of Narzul's ire, but when they did, he turned his head to look at their source. It was only then that Narzul noticed he had drawn his sword. He took a moment to feel the comfortable weight of the heavy ebony blade in his hand and calmed his breathing. What had he wanted to do, exactly? Find the nearest Khajiit and disembowel them? With reason and logic worming their way back in the saddle, Narzul slowly sheathed his sword and approached the older Dunmer, who now sat alone on the veranda.

"Both," Narzul replied. "I held command during the sieges. The firestorm at the gate of Stormhold was my sister's handiwork." He grimaced after mentioning her and looked away for a few seconds, working to keep his face under control. While it could be construed as unwise to suddenly divulge his identity to another person in his current predicament, Narzul enjoyed the opportunity for discourse with a fellow Dunmer too much to care. He needed something -- or someone -- familiar. Without asking, Narzul sat down on the chair that Cilo had recently vacated and placed his helmet on the table between them. "You also look familiar, sera."

Much to his rejoicing, Sadri’s plan had worked and the angry Dunmer had taken the bait of bond. The mer’s facial features relaxed, and the glint in his eyes mellowed to a more manageable tone, and he began to approach. Sadri figured that either he was going to be killed by a cold-blooded sociopath as opposed to a maniac barely able to contain his inner flame, or reminisce upon lost time (oh, how he [i]loved[/i] doing that). 
 
The young mer, much better looking than Sadri in terms of appearance, approached, and, having decided to answer Sadri’s question before sitting down, gave the older Dunmer slightly more free reign atop his territory on the table. ‘’Hmm,’’ he thought to himself audibly, and put one of his elbows atop the table to support his head as the Redoran answered, letting Sadri know what he already knew. ‘’Of course I’d look familiar, [i]commander[/i] (Sadri put some sarcasm into that, savoring the fact his once-superior was now sitting at the same table with even footing), we’ve served together. I’m Sadri, Sadri Beleth,’’ he introduced himself, offering his metal hand for a handshake.  
 
‘’I knew your sister from back then, suppose I should also know you. What was the name, uh,’’ Sadri kept thinking out loud, and finally found an answer. ‘’Varzul, was it? Or was it Narzul? You’ll have to excuse me, I’m not very good with names,’’ he continued into proper conversation. 

Narzul felt the all-too familiar flare of annoyance at the sarcasm that Sadri inflected into his usage of the word 'commander', but he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Narzul shook the offered hand with bemusement and used the moment to inspect the prosthetic arm shamelessly. "It is indeed Narzul," he said. "Narzul Venim." He racked his brain, trying to remember Sadri. "Ah, yes. I remember you from the slave pens in Stormhold. You were, if I recall correctly, quite the supplier, no?" Narzul nodded, as if to confirm his own question. "You had a different arm back then. Where did you get this device? It looks... Dwemeri, almost."

Observing the rest of Sadri's appearance, Narzul decided he had seldom seen such a worldly creature. The boots were undoubtedly of Man-make, much like the thick coat, but Narzul did not know enough about them to know which of the races in particular. The old mer's face was an even bigger peculiarity -- the amount of scarring was cause for Narzul to wonder about Sadri's capacity and disposition as a warrior. Was he so disfigured because of a great fondness for combat and had the wounds simply added up over time, or had he sorely lost just one or two fights? The contrast with Sadri's clothing was strong, for the only armor to be seen was a layer of chainmail beneath the padded coat. Then again, it was a moment of leisure. Perhaps Sadri kept a proper suit of armor somewhere else.

‘’Well, we all did our part in the war. Volunteer regiments weren’t assigned to a lot of roles. Maintenance, skirmishing, raiding, or if unlucky, cannon fodder,’’ he replied upon Narzul’s admiring reply. Was he trying to lift a part of the blame off himself? He was not sure. Of course, it was almost certain that the mer sitting in front of him saw nothing to blame, but Sadri was somewhat conflicted about some of the things he had done during the war, like most veterans. He waited well beyond Narzul’s question about the arm, replying only after he finished his inspection of the prosthetic.
 
‘’I earned it with the help of a journalist a couple of weeks ago, bless him,’’ Sadri answered. ‘’Madura Dalas, he was with us until recently,’’ he continued, pausing upon realizing that the noblemer was immersed in his ‘rugged good looks’. He found no offense in it, or anything negative, but still could not help but question Narzul about it. ‘’Something the matter, young lad?’’ He asked. ‘’Afraid our conditions aren’t the best these days,’’ he said while poking at the bloodied tear underneath his arm. ‘’We had but one tailor in the group, and he fell prisoner, you see,’’ Sadri continued, his voice trailing off slightly. Black humor was not so enjoyable when it afflicted your loved ones.  

"Yes, I read the article he wrote," Narzul said and held up his wrinkled copy of the Tamrielic Gazette. "It was actually what guided me to Dawnstar." He met Sadri's gaze and blinked at the question. "Oh, no. Just observing." Giving Sadri a small smile, Narzul nodded politely when the older Dunmer showed him the tear in the coat. The rest of the mer's comment was cause for Narzul to sit up straighter. It just occurred to him that Sadri had probably faced off against the Kamal before, which meant he knew more about them than Narzul did, and even a Redoran like him was aware that information is power. 

"Taken prisoner by the Kamal, you mean?" Narzul asked tentatively. He wondered how to best approach the subject, for he did not know Sadri's real opinion on the High King's alliance with the creatures -- or if the Dunmer was even aware of this at all. But, since it was a comrade that was missing and Narzul detected the petering off of Sadri's voice well enough, a display of sympathy would be appropriate regardless. "That's rough. I saw the lizard camp outside the gates. It seems they have certainly caused a lot of woe. Have you... seen the Kamal yourself?"

‘’Small world,’’ Sadri muttered upon learning that Narzul had learned of Niernen’s presence thanks to Madura’s articles, which cracked his lips up for a slight smile, but then, Narzul asked about what precisely had happened to Jorwen, which turned his smile to a frown and caused him to let out a sigh.
 
‘’Yes, the Kamal. I wasn’t there with him, I’m afraid; we were on a different mission. I hope we can find him, although, given what we’ve seen, that might be as good as dead,’’ Sadri replied grimly to Narzul’s question. ‘’You’re certainly lucky Niernen survived. From what I understand, their treatment of prisoners is not all that different from a Bosmer’s treatment of a dead relative.’’ It seemed that the Redoran had still not properly adjusted to real life, even though the journey from his ivory towers to here would’ve taken some time.
 
‘’Ah, yeah, about the lizards, they aren’t exactly happy about things. Things have been flaring up, what with the Dunmer collaborating with the Kamal and such, pours salt and piss on already open wounds, and the rest of the races around are kind of off-put by their tendency to migrate back to Black Marsh in the middle of everything else. There have already been a couple of murders and fights. I’m afraid that things may lead to a pogrom, almost did in Windhelm before it fell,’’ he replied.
 
‘’As for the Kamal, yeah, I’ve faced them. Not the hardest fight I’ve been in, but that’s thanks to pure luck, I’d say. Fuckers are the size of trolls, plate armor everywhere, and their carving knifes can be the size of a short sword. Seen one of them grasp onto the leg of a friend of your sister. Mer was a trained Great House bodyguard, yet couldn’t free himself. The damned giant took him to the seas.’’
 
Sadri leaned somewhat further on the table, hands almost reaching Narzul’s helmet. ‘’If you don’t mind me asking, you looked like you were about to kill someone when you first came out of the inn. Reunion don’t go that well?’’ He asked, eyes lining up with the Redoran’s. 

The knowledge that the Argonians had begun an exodus to Black Marsh was cause for Narzul to ponder the potential ramifications for Morrowind. He knew that others believed the Argonians were, for all of their flaws and inferiorities, one of the most dangerous races in Tamriel whenever they were united by their tree-gods. He had heard the stories of how the Daedra of Mehrunes Dagon had been forced to close the Gates during the Oblivion Crisis when the Argonians swarmed [i]into[/i] the portals, though he wasn't sure he actually believed any of it. The Altmer of Alinor had seen their Crystal Tower topple at the hands of the Daedra. Surely a horde of scaled beasts were no more capable.

This line of thinking was quickly cut short by Sadri's description of the Kamal and his anecdote about Niernen's friend. Narzul furrowed his brow at this, wondering just how reliable of a narrator Sadri was. He was, after all, an outlander, and thus a fondness for embellishment fell entirely within the realm of possibilities. Narzul knew just how capable the Great House bodyguards were and the idea of one being dragged to his doom by a giant ice-demon was... discomforting. What good was martial prowess when faced with such brute strength? 

It wasn't until Sadri's last comment and question that Narzul felt the need to respond. He had treated Sadri with respect initially but now he was armed with the knowledge that the older Dunmer was, and always had been, Narzul's inferior, and an outlander to boot. Feeling that Sadri had overstepped his bounds, the younger Dunmer glared at him with an acidic glint to his eyes. "I [i]do[/i] mind you asking," Narzul hissed and looked away, clearly not accepting any further prying remarks.

After a few seconds, Narzul sighed and turned back to face Sadri, the venom having left his gaze. "Since you seem fond of personal questions, let me ask you one first. Why do you fight with this... mercenary company against the Kamal?" Narzul was aware that the tone of his voice and the way he phrased his question was, in and of itself, a partial answer to Sadri's inquiry, but did not care enough to hide it.

‘’Fair’s fair, young mer. I know better than to push people – but do understand. I have few kinsmen here, Niernen’s one of them, and now there’s you. We Dunmer have only each other in these foreign lands,’’ Sadri replied in a much more amiable tone upon Narzul’s answer. It was obvious that his feelings were still fresh, and Sadri had dealt with nobility before. It was best to warm them up to some sort of kinship first. Plus, this lad seemed far too young to get completely lost in the rituals and prejudices of nobility – they did say that the tree grew as the twig was bent.
 
‘’As for your question – let me answer,’’ Sadri remarked in a slightly more serious tone. ‘’I’ve wandered all my life. Only time I ever fought willingly for a country, it was for Morrowind. Figured I needed a home.’’ He breathed out loudly. ‘’You’ve done your part. So did I, and with valor. I’ve been congratulated by the Nerevarine in person for capturing one of the lizard elders along with his entourage.’’ He dazed away for a moment, in nostalgia. The loss of conviction brought on by having a goal seemed hurtful still.
 
‘’I set out with money to start a business. These damn Nords can whale, so can we. Yet my very own friends from the war betrayed me. Tried to take away my money,’’ he sighed. ‘’They got justice, but my earnings from the war were lost with them. I’ve done many jobs, but foremost I have been a mer of labor. I’m not one to lament for losses. I decided to earn my coin back.’’
 
Cilo appeared far away behind Narzul, seemingly hesitant, and holding the two bottles that Sadri had requested. He beckoned him over, grabbed the bottles, and silently shooed him away, insistently glaring at him to leave when he attempted to protest vocally. He put the drink and the cranberry juice in the middle of the table, by Narzul’s helmet. ‘’The men here can’t brew anything like flin, just so you know,’’ Sadri said as he put the bottles. ‘’And the Kamal killed my supplier back in Windhelm.’’ 
 
‘’In any case, I’ve worked with these folks since. Even the cats and the lizards have proven their worth, and I don’t say this lightly,’’ he continued. ‘’For some time, I had my doubts and fears. What had the Kamal done to Morrowind, if they were able to take Windhelm so effortlessly? Hate built up. Fear built up. It was only when we were attacked by Armigers that we found out,’’ Sadri said, a tinge of lamenting in his voice. 
 
‘’By that time it was too late. I’d lost comrades and kinsmen to the bastards, and they showed no intention of mercy to us. It was a battle, I can understand that, but, ask anyone, if you wish. We saved your sister and his late friend just recently. The Kamal treat nobody like what they’re worth. They hold us Moriche, and some labor from Argonia, in same contempt.
 
Your sister, she is nobility, like you. Her friend, Valen was his name I think, he was also part of high society. Me, I’ve drifted in between both scum and nobility, I would understand if the Kamal threw me into the grinder if they found me,’’ Sadri said, ‘’but even they were shown treatment worse than a Telvanni would show to a beggar. And I will not betray common merit and the honor of my race by collaborating with such backstabbing and brutish scum.’’ 
 
Sadri’s voice actually held some hate by the end of his speech. He opened the bottle of the distillate after stopping.
 
‘’Fancy some?’’ 

Narzul came to the conclusion that he did not like Sadri very much. His naïveté was off-putting and the mer's insight into the current war was decidedly short-sighted. Though the Redoran accepted the offered drink, he scoffed and shook his head slightly when he brought the cup to his lips and said: "You cannot fight a worthy enemy and expect to be treated properly when captured. Niernen said many of the same things you did. Hypocritical, when one remembers how we treat the lizards and the cats you appear to have a weakness for. Do neither of you understand that?"

After taking a sip, Narzul grimaced and put the cup back on the table. "Ayem's mercy, that is foul." He cleared his throat and put his elbow on the arm rest with a soft, metal [i]clink[/i], using his hand to articulate his words. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I will readily admit that, but what I do not understand are your actions afterwards. Windhelm is besieged and you see fit to take up arms... in defense of a [i]Nord[/i] city? Are you a common soldier that whores himself out to other races? Never mind," Narzul growled irritably and waved dismissively. "You are a mercenary, so clearly you are. The sensible thing to do would have been to go back to Morrowind immediately. It is what I expected my sister to do, but apparently she has lost sight of her values."

He paused for a second, as if to gather his thoughts, and continued. "But, alas, here you both are, having betrayed your honor and fought to defend Skyrim -- [i]of all places[/i]. Does it really surprise you that the Kamal would treat anyone they capture here as an ordinary slave? An enemy is an enemy. I would have my soldiers do the same if I were in the position of the Kamal. Now, of course... I regret that this happened to my sister, but only because it's her -- if it were any other Dunmer of [i]'high society'[/i], as you put it, I would not be sympathetic in the slightest. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, master Beleth," Narzul said and finished his own monologue with an insincere smile.

Sadri pushed forward the bottle of cranberry juice for Narzul to distill his drink with after the Redoran rightfully complained about the drink’s awful taste. ‘’Try watering it down with this, makes it more bearable,’’ he said in a very out-of-context, helpful tone, as if the two were not arguing but simply trying to enjoy a drink to the best of their abilities. In truth, despite a growing dislike for the Redoran, Sadri seemed to hold some degree of respect for him. For Sadri, there was something to be envied and admired in people who kept to their ideals – perhaps out of a benign jealousy, for Sadri himself was mostly a drifter without a cause.  
 
‘’I will admit that you raise a fair point on their treatment, but at the very least, I tried to spare those I captured their afterlives,’’ Sadri replied, pouring some cranberry juice in his cup. ‘’Never gave my prisoners to the Telvanni, feared they would burn their souls away in their experiments. You may look down upon me for this, but I say this as a mer of almost eighty years, it is best to spare a thinking soul its own duty beyond this coil. I would not wish to lie, for I have not seen it with my own eyes, but I have heard from my comrades that went down to the lower decks that the Kamal used the souls of their prisoners to fuel their ironclads. Their ships are gem-powered, from what I understand.’’
 
He took a sip of his own, and he could feel the tasteless bitterness of the potato distillate creep through the cranberry – no doubt he had it better than Narzul, however, who had taken his drink dry. He gathered his mind; Narzul had proven to be a stable opponent, he needed to mantle his inner librarian, articulate his thoughts and words. 
 
‘’I think our problem is a matter of perspective, truth be told,’’ Sadri continued in a diplomatic tone. ‘’We have differing opinions on loyalty. I am a mer of labor, serjo Venim, I always have been, and I find my comrades in my labor. Be they esteemed like us mer, or savages like cats or the lizards, my allies are those I work with – it is a matter of ethic to not betray them. I suppose you could call my work for Morrowind an attempt to change that, but surely you understand, getting betrayed leaves you cynical and with a rather sour taste, not unlike this thing,’’ Sadri said as he pointed at the bottle of distillate.
 
‘’You are of different birth and status than I – you’ve grown in a completely different environment, and from what I infer we do not share much in character aside from respect to a job well done. Thus, it doesn’t surprise me that your views and dogmas are completely different than those of mine. I may quit once my job is done with this company, but until then, my word binds me. I will not sell my sword and my comrades for status. And thus, fate has put me on this side.’’ 
 
Sadri lined his eyes up with Narzul’s again. ‘’I expect you will disagree. I wouldn’t dare judge you for it. But it will make me happy if I can make you see my perspective, at least,’’ he said softly and blankly, disregarding Narzul’s tangentially hostile remarks and gestures. 

"Thank you," Narzul said politely in response to Sadri's suggestion to use the cranberry juice and promptly did as suggested. He had to admit to himself that the drink tasted better afterwards. If nothing else, Sadri knew his way around booze.

As for the rest of Sadri's words, Narzul felt his esteem of the mer grow slightly when he managed to convey his point articulately and with respect. That said, Sadri was right, of course -- Narzul disagreed with the notion that binding loyalty could be found among a multi-racial rabble like the mercenary company. He was firmly of the opinion that it was the duty of all Dunmer to serve the interests of their race and nation, first and foremost. Family and (if applicable) House came second. One's co-workers were rather far down on Narzul's list. 

But for a drifter like Sadri, Narzul began to understand the attachment to his current allies and he could find no fault with his logic, other than that it was extrapolated from a fundamentally incorrect position. The Redoran suspected that their status and birth indeed had something to do with that, but that only raised the question of why Niernen had so forcefully thrown in her lot with these people. She was much closer to being Narzul's equal than Sadri's.

"Then be happy, for you have," Narzul said at last, brooding over his cup. He swilled the mixed drink and took another gulp. "You're right, I don't agree with you, but I understand where your convictions come from. Riddle me this, master Beleth, if you can; why has [i]my sister[/i] done the same as you?" Narzul felt no need to further explain his question. If his estimate of Sadri was right, the Dunmer was smart enough to understand what Narzul was implying. If he was not, the conversation was over.

Sadri smiled visibly and contently upon hearing Narzul’s acceptance of his argument, and listened even more intently as he continued, enthused by the fact that the young mer was accepting of compromise and coexistence (this always implied to an open mind in Sadri’s point of view – even though one could argue Narzul was anything but open minded). Then, the Redoran asked the question that Sadri had been expectant of in one form or another, yet eluded so far by his drinking companion. Sadri nodded enthusiastically – he believed that a proper reply to this question would not only help him understand Narzul further, but also possibly defuse the young mer’s negative feelings.
 
‘’I see, I see,’’ Sadri mulled out loud as he scratched his beard. ‘’Truth be told, serjo, there are too many factors for that, but I shall try to explain to the best of my ability.’’ He took a faint breath before continuing. ‘’Your sister and you are different characters – you may have grown up in the same society, but you have had different roles, from birth, as your sexes, and from then on. I have seen that she’s a talented mage – you show yourself to be a talented warrior, and House Redoran’s always had a preference for wristwork compared to magic. I assume you are older, given your protective nature, and this also shapes the dynamics within family. Already your paths have diverged so.’’
 
Sadri took a small sip from the cup to refresh his mouth before continuing. ‘’I would delve into matters such as birth year and birth sign, but that’s far too esoteric and subtle for us to consider at this point, although I do not think you would disagree if I claimed that people have differing tendencies within their very own nature, and some just take after differing ancestors. May be possible that you grew to resemble, let’s say your grandfather, while she took after someone else, but let us carry on.
 
There plays in a part of prowess as well, and, in my opinion most importantly, experiences. I remember hearing talk of her getting wounded back during the War. Some experiences can twist one’s very being, for better or worse. You speak with conviction and self-assuredness that she lacks in her voice. This would make her more malleable. 
 
And more importantly, she has been with us for longer than you have - they do say that if you lay down with dogs, you will rise up with fleas. We are shaped by base emotions as much as we are shaped by ideals, sometimes, they even merge together, and one emotion or experience leaves its influence, its taint, on a whole chain of thoughts. I remember her having to fight side by side with a cat back on Windhelm, for instance. To face against certain death with one you would normally detest, that is bound to dissolve one’s feelings of prejudice, out of the sheer memory you would remember whenever you saw the person or, to a lesser degree, anything that resembles such things. This would also explain our different ideas of loyalty – I am an expatriate, I’ve lived most of my life outside Morrowind, fought alongside people of different nationalities. You’re of the Great Houses, all your allies have been Dunmer.
 
It is also because of these experiences that I believe you will find her hard to coerce – she’s the only live person that I know who has been captured by the Kamal, and she has survived thanks to having stumbled upon us once again – bound to strengthen her familiarity and sympathy. She was also there, amongst us, when we fought Armigers who wished to harm us for the Nerevarine’s cause.
 
All this should provide compelling evidence, and I will cite again different temperaments. Add all this together, and you should understand.’’
 
Sadri leaned on the back of his chair, having concluded his observation. ‘’I believe talking any further would be just elaborating and repeating my points. You don’t strike me as the type that needs that,’’ the Dunmer said, looking at Narzul’s face. 

That was not what Narzul had expected. He sat silently after Sadri had finished talking and rubbed his chin, mulling over this analysis of his sister with mixed feelings. On one hand, he appreciated the insight, if it was true, but he also felt like Sadri made an audacious amount of assumptions about his sister's life based on details that Narzul was not entirely pleased the older Dunmer seemed to have perceived. It also sat wrong with him that he implied she was malleable, and the idea of Niernen having to fight for her life with a Khajiit as her only ally made that thought even worse. That meant that, if Sadri was right, Niernen's mind had been poisoned by her experiences to the point of believing untruths about things like the beast-races and the worth of her assocation with the mercenaries, instead of by some trickery at the hands of the Khajiit -- his initial assumption. Narzul did not relish the idea of having to rectify that kind of psychological damage. It would not be easy, like Sadri had said. And if Sadri was wrong, Narzul had learned nothing. Either way, he did not like what he had just been told.

Another thought, insidious and insistent, began to argue a different point of view. Ignoring the topics of loyalty and race, what if Niernen and Sadri were right about the Nerevarine? He had not forgotten that the Hortator had slain his ancestor, Bolvyn Venim, to claim the title of Redoran Archmaster. Narzul had never seen much of a problem with this (unlike their father and, to a lesser extent, Niernen) as the Nerevarine's victory over Dagoth Ur had justified his actions, but maybe -- just maybe -- it was indicative of a deeper capacity for betrayal that Narzul had ignored thus far. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, that won't be necessary." He drained the rest of his drink and got to his feet, scarlet eyes moving up and down the dark street (the sun had disappeared behind the mountains while they had talked). "You have given me much to think about. Goodnight."

And with that, the Redoran left, helmet in hand, and made way for the inn. He would rent a room for himself and assess the situation again tomorrow. In any case, one thing he was sure of; something had to be done about Niernen's mistaken fondness for the wrong sort of friends.