[center][h2]The Beast Within[/h2][/center] 
[hr] 

The last week had not been kind to Dax, and those who would stray near him upon the Steelhead most likely would swiftly turn away for fear of incurring the silent wrath he held openly for all to see. Yes, often times Dax would keep silent. Controlled anger, patience, discipline, these skills made him invaluable as a hunter and as a teammate of the crew. However, ever since he had been released from prison, he has taken his brooding nature to a level not even he thought possible. 

If anyone spoke to him directly, he simply looked at them and went on his way, if he even acknowledged them at all. He would help the raising of the ships sails silently, as was his duty, and then disappear from sight like a vengeful wraith that had retreated back into the nether. His claws fists clenched often, and he hissed dangerously more than he had in years. True, most of his companions did not get too close to him for sympathy of his wanting to be alone, but he was not certain what he would do if they did. He felt as if he could not trust himself anymore, and some demon within him asked the most terrible question. [i]Is that so wrong[/i]? [i]To give in to rage[/i]? 

"Yes," he whispered, gripping the pendant his father had given him at an early age. The Hist only knows how he had not attacked the guards that had...[i]chained[/i] him. He still shuddered at the thought of when they had placed the manacles on his wrists. He had bared his teeth and shouldered a sneering guard, but caught himself and calmed as best he could. He would not endanger his crew, nor Tsleeixth any more than he he could help it. He did actually appreciate some of the guardsmen letting him privvy to their thinking he was innocent, and the well-cooked steaks they would give him. He knew deep down they were only doing their duties, and he apologized to the guard he had shouldered. Though that particular one happened to think he was guilty, he found out later. 

He did not do well in chains. He did not do well being judged by his race. Nor did he take it well when the Jarl, a man whom he had worked for personally, accused him of murder. It was just after Ashav had him and Elmera investigate the abandoned warehouses after Ashav had been attacked. The next day, he and his fellow Argonian had been imprisoned. Just thinking about it brought a low growl from deep within his throat, and he felt it rousing once again. 

The beast within. 

The want to rend and tear. The desire for solitude, and the rage boiling underneath, threatening to overwhelm if he did not find it soon. He had dealt with his anger all of his life, and had no desire to take it out on his companions. Or more accurately, he had no desire to have desire to take it out on his companions. The promise of hunting rogue Dunmer had helped keep him calm for now, and he sighed as the ship lolled along the ocean current.

[i]The night of the landing...[/i] 

Daixanos had his bow strung and in his hands, his eyes steeled for the hunt of what was to come. He had spoken to no one since they had landed, and had already begun to wade deeper into the island as the others tried to organize themselves to do just that. He did not go far, however, forcibly making himself play the role of scout and vanguard, instead of splintering off from the group entirely. 

"Hist," he whispered. "Guide my hand, and my blade..."