[center][code]Six of One Thousand Steps: The Hunt Begins[/code][hr][b]26th of Sun's Height, Late Afternoon[/b][/center][hr]

The news of Ashlander magic did not take long to spread. From those surrounding the mouth of the mine, the mutterings spread like wildfire. Through the town, through the docks, the taverns and shoppes, amongst the guard, and when the mutterings spreads amongst the guards, they’re inevitably carried to the Saxhleel camps just outside the gates by the patrols. While the tensions weren’t easy, that information was not shared with the lizard men of Black Marsh through love. No, the nords seemed to revel in taunting the refugees - perhaps if they are lucky, the argonians were next - perhaps their dunmeri masters would finally take them off their hands - perhaps, perhaps, [i]perhaps[/i]. [i]‘Perhaps if everyone were lucky, the Ashlanders would kill every racist in Dawnstar,’[/i] Wylendriel thought, but then she closed shut her eyes in shame. When will these intrusive thoughts finally end?

She sat alone with a few of the refugees in a tent, among whom was the Saxhleel warrior she had saved just the day prior, Vija-Nim. A raj-deelith, an elder or teacher, who was introduced as Wuska and was particularly grieving for [i]Pakseech[/i] Tzinasha. She was with a third; a mother, named Inan. All four surrounded Tzinasha’s lifeless body, who lay on hay and soft mud. Like, the others, Wylendriel had the feather Tzinasha had given him laid out in front of her as she sat on her knees. Before, she was ignorant of the feather’s true meaning, but now she could see how significant to the Saxhleel it was. 

Everyone who was present had one. Vija-Nim, a great warrior who had apparently saved his life on many occasions. Wuska, his best friend and closest confidant for many years. Inan, his daughter and mother to his granddaughter. Then herself… the savior. She had inspected the cuts on his body and hadn’t found any traces of residue. It had to have been done by a thin metal blade. The murderer aimed for vital spots that had soft scales, so they knew where in an argonian to stick the blade. They had to be well acquainted with their physiology, especially to assassinate one adorned with robes. The rest seemed convinced it had to have been a dark elf slaver, or at least they were a slaver at one time. It was only more damning when one of the lowliest of the Saxhleel claimed to have seen the glint of red eyes escaping the scene, but there was no proof otherwise.

For a while now, the four had sat in silence in honor of the saxhleel who had so much love and wisdom to give, but soon that silence would have to be broken if they were to ever find out who was responsible for Tzinasha’s murder.

“Wuska, my sweet Wuska, there is no need to cry,” said Inan, “Tzinasha was my father, and your egg-brother, xhu? He had the marsh in his veins, surely he has rejoined the one.”

“That is not the problem we face.” Vija-Nim said, looking to Wuska knowingly. “We all rejoin the one in the end, that is a clear river. But Tzinasha was swept away by dark currents run with poison - [i]murdered,[/i] and more will follow if we let the murderer go unpunished.”

“It is not the death he deserved.” Wuska sobbed.

“We will bring the wrongdoer to justice, this I promise.” Vija-Nim assured solemnly. “Our sun-blessed friend is here to help us. She has once before, she promised she will again.”

Wylendriel bowed her head before the others once more like she had when she first saw them upon entering the tent earlier ago. She raised her head and gave Tzinasha’s cold body an endearing look with reddened eyes that were long dried of tears before even today. She hid the burning seething she felt inside her chest well, but those well familiar with it could find it leaking out through the piercing gaze. Her lips moved, with at first nothing coming out, but managed to contribute to the conversation after some hesitation.

“He was a soft old leaf, to be sure.” The priestess agreed, facing Wuska. Then she looked to Vija-Nim and nodded to him brusquely, saying, “Let us get to the matter at hand. The ash shells the guards were speaking of, do they mean anything to you?”

Vija-Nim shook his head. “Perhaps not to me, but to Wuska…”

Wuska followed up on the warrior’s cue, “Ashlander magic. I have seen it many a time in Morrowind.”

Then Inan spoke, “My father was not found with any ash shells. What does that mean?”

“It could mean two things.” Vija-Nim suggested. “One, there is more than one of them, which would mean the dark elves have followed us here. Or two, the enemy didn’t use magic for your father, they stabbed him in his softest scales. Many dunmer know where to kill us.”

Wuska hissed, “They killed him from behind, xuth, like a reeking [i]thin-scale.[/i]”

“There’s a third possibility.” Wylendriel added, prompting looks from the other three. “There could be a murderer among us and a dunmer taking advantage of it.”

Vija-Nim held his chin for a moment, absorbed in thought. He looked back and nodded, “That too is possible. The deaths began with an elf girl, then Tzinasha. The nords make no effort to hide their hatred for us. No reason for an Armiger to target them, but the iron mine? That’s where weapons and armor are made. Indiscriminate slaughter by a trained warrior. A Thane was also killed, part of Dawnstar's leadership.”

“But the girl and my father… if an Armiger is here, couldn’t they have also taken them, spin the locale into chaos? Jazechniim saw red eyes.” Inan asked.

“Whatever the case, we know that there is a dark elf in the Pale.” Wuska said. “If we find them and deliver them to Seth, we will know for sure after a time.”

“You would wait for more to die?” Vija-Nim questioned.

“That is all we can do.” Wyledriel answered. “If there’s a second murderer, then we’re looking for a nord who hates non-nords in a nord town that hates non-nords. We know there’s a dunmer. We ought to start there.”

“Forgive me sun-blessed,” replied the warrior, “but when we met - when you pulled me back into the river - you swam in pure streams. If the passing of our egg-brother has poisoned that river, then I would not see you swim in these rapids for your own good.”

“You misunderstand me.” Wylendriel rebuked. “My devotion to Kynareth is as much as it is to Y’ffre. Murderers take more than they need, they harm the natural order. If wolves kill without eating, we cull the wolves. Us bosmer believe life is a cycle, not a river from here to there.”

“That is quite a bloody religion.” Wuska commented. “You believe what you will. The Hist watches us all.”

“Ah-- [i]anyways,[/i]” Inan began, attempting to change the topic to something far less offensive and back to what actually mattered. “There was evidence from the high elf girl’s murder. A bone dagger.”

“Bonemold.” Wuska immediately answered. “A traditional dark elf weapon.”

“That depends on what kind of bone it is. Some nords like to use bone for their hilts and handles sometimes.” Vija-Nim proposed, but Wuska remained unconvinced.

“Nords also like their weapons, especially when they have bone in them. Give them names like Mead-Licker or things stupid like that. Wouldn’t leave them inside the girl like that.”

Vija-Nim nodded and looked to Wylendriel with confidence. He said to her, “It’s looking more and more like these deaths were by the hands of an Armiger. It would moisten my scales to know there is no second killer.”

“We still cannot let our guard down.” Wy insisted. “You cannot be too eager to believe it is a dunmer alone behind it.”

“Why can’t I?” Wuska hissed, standing to her feet. “Because of some preening mammal licker sings a song of justifying hate or racism? Because I’ll be the first to admit it, I [i]hate[/i] the dark elves! I’d see them battered against jagged rocks before I believe they aren’t evil!”

Vija-Nim and Inan both stood to their feet along with Wuska, raising their hands gently and bringing Wuska back down to relax. Vija-Nim gave Wy an apologetic look while Inan shot an irritated glance her way, likely for getting the elder woman so worked up in the first place. The priestess sighed. Tzinasha’s death was taking its toll on everyone, even her. Normally, she wouldn’t be so…

“Inan,” said Vija-Nim, interrupting Wy’s thoughts, “who was outside when Tzinasha fell?”

Fortunately, Vija-Nim’s words gave inspiration for new thoughts. If Tzinasha was outside, then...
 
“Just a few.” Inan answered. “I will see if our egg-brothers saw anything else last night. I will let you know if I find anything.”

“Vija…” Wy started, “have you checked for prints?”

The warrior paused for a moment, then the spines on his head wilted as he hung his neck low. “...No, I did not. I stayed to protect the camp.”

“Coastal village, summer night - there’s bound to be mud.” Wy said. “I’ll look for prints and track them if I can find them, see where they--”

“Vija-Nim!” Blurted out a voice of a Saxhleel that came from outside the tent. The warrior inside rolled his eyes and stood up.

“What?” He answered, annoyed.

“There is a khajiit outside asking to see Tzinasha’s body. Says she’s part of the investigation for the mercenaries.”

“And?” Vija-Nim pried further, looking at Wylendriel with a questioning look. The priestess shrugged. She had no idea there were any khajiit in Ashav’s service.

“I don’t trust cats.” Replied the argonian. Vija-Nim sighed and placed a hand on Wylendriel’s, standing up with her. He nodded with respect to the elder and the matron and looked back to the priestess.

“You too work with the mercenary now, xhu?” He asked. “My egg-brothers and egg-sisters have been hurt enough as it is, I do not wish to risk their safety any further. See if this khajiit is who they claim to be. Work with them if so, find justice for Tzinasha. My place is here, protecting my people.”

“I understand.”

“Our nest is yours. Rains at your back.”

She had bid her farewells to three argonians and carried Tzinasha’s feather with her, sticking the plume back into her braid and left the tent to face the ebbing daylight - had she truly be gone for so long? Ah, still, she saw an armored khajiit out in the road waiting expectantly. If she were not the only khajiit nearby, she would’ve been given away by the nervous darting of the eyes of the refugees between herself and the cat-woman. She did not know her temperament and warrior-woman did not likely care for hers, as small as the priestess was, but even so, she’d only approach with so much caution. If she was lying about who she was, then she’d find that she had very little patience left.

She stepped forward, her robes brushing against the tall grass, and looked up at the much taller khajiit.

“Good afternoon! I hear you’re working for… [i]who?[/i]” Wy asked. There was a bit of a challenge in the tone of her voice, like she was expecting to hear the right answer instead of asking a real question. Her face was still, but her fingers were twitching in anticipation, though not nervously.