[center][h3]Terms and Conditions May Apply[/h3][/center] [hr] A Collab by [@BurningCold] and [@MacabreFox] [i]Skingrad, 5th of Second Seed - Late Evening[/i][s]The Forest[/s] Little streams of wind whipped at Mortalmo’s ears as he strode from the camp; an irritated cacophony of shrill whistles to exacerbate his already troubled thought process. While the creases forming across his visage betrayed only agitation, his psyche was churning with black thoughts. Ever since the odd confrontation with Judena, he had secluded himself from contact with others, deigning instead to pray. His cries for guidance had fallen on deaf ears. Now though, Mortalmo meant to pursue a different avenue of convalescence. He needed something familiar, something to allow him to exert some measure of control. To that end he ventured beyond the shantytown clinging to Skingrad, and off into the woodland. He made sure to avoid the route previously taken with Judena and the Nord. Upon coming across a suitable clearing, Mortalmo extending his arm out carefully, palm held wide open. Purple flickers of arcane energy flitted between the tips of his fingers. A single moment of concentration came and went, and then the spell was cast. Glowering before Mortalmo was a hulking mass of grey flesh, the skin marked by cruel red paints. A violet longsword shimmered into Mortalmo’s still outstretched hand a moment later. The Mer pointed the blade at the Dremora before him. “Try to kill me.” [hr] After leaving Nanine, Rhona headed out to the forest, she needed to replenish her water skin, and running water was freshest. She kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Cezare hadn’t found her. She wondered where had Tobias had run off too, but she knew that Tobias was not a pet, he had chosen her for company and if he wished to leave, she wouldn’t stop him. She picked her way through the trees until she arrived at the stream she had found two days ago. Kneeling, she let the water flow into the leather skin before she closed it off. “Kynareth, I thank you for giving me this water. Let it nourish my body as your rain nourishes the land.” She kissed the water skin, and rose to her feet. She set off to return when she heard a curious sound not far from her. It sounded like someone was… fighting? Curious, she made her way in the direction of the commotion until she arrived at a clearing. Mortalmo ducked beneath the swinging arc of the Dremora’s warhammer, delivering a swift cut to the back of the creature’s leg, causing it to drop to one knee. In the next moment, Mortalmo’s ethereal blade had removed the Dremora’s head from its shoulders. Breathing deeply through his nostrils, he watched dispassionately as the corpse toppled to the ground even as it began to fade into ash. The thing had posed a greater challenge than the three that came before it, yet still, for the next fight Mortalmo decided to eschew the longsword in favor of a smaller and more mundane armament. He began to reach for his dagger’s sheathe then, when an interloper made her presence known to him. He narrowed his eyes at the figure across the clearing. Slight, shapely, and with features both rough and fair. Perhaps of Breton descent, at least partially. Certainly she was no pureblood. Mortalmo raised a hand in greeting, the sharp steel hanging from his belt momentarily forgotten, and took a few steps forward before calling out, “Girl! What is your business and from where do you hail?” His tone was incredulous and rife with irritation. She startled at his tone, flinching as if she had been struck. Oh what had she gotten herself into now? She took a step forward, but dared not another move. She had to answer him, despite the churning in her gut. “I came for water, and I heard you…” Rhona gestured at the clearing, indicating that his antics had caught her ear. He glanced down to the area surrounding him. Several piles of dust and ash dotted the glade. He looked back up at the woman, his expression softening by the barest fraction. “It seems the sounds of my training caught your ears. Now, I shall be more specific in my line of questioning. Do you originate from the camp bordering Skingrad?” “Well yes… I’m not a refugee though. I came from Anvil just a few days prior.” She had the feeling he preferred short and curt answers, he looked so severe for an Altmer, and he was far older than her. “I see. What are you called, girl?” “Rhona Amor-” she caught herself, “my name is Rhona. And what of you, sir?” Her grip tightened on the wooden staff in her hand. Mortalmo’s eyes narrowed then, and a smirk played across his lips. So she was hiding something. How adorable. In another time, that little slip would have had her dragged kicking and screaming into a dungeon. Now though, he couldn’t afford to care. “You may address me as Durantel.” The irony of the situation was not lost on him. “Durantel then. A pleasure to meet you.” She gave a slight nod of her head, when a most peculiar thought ran across her mind. Would he even consider it? “Can you teach me? How to fight like that?” Rhona asked, thinking of how useful it would be to become far more physically capable of fending off Cezare should be lay hands on her again. Her forearm still bore the angry colors he had left. And more importantly, from what she had seen of Durantel, he had had efficient training. Now that was certainly interesting. Teaching the wretch before him might have been beneath his station... but even that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He was walking ground that he had never once before tread. To the Thalmor he would be a disgrace, to those beneath the Dominion’s boot he was a villain. His true identity was dead to the world, and now he assumed the alias of a common drifter. Confiding in someone for the first time in nearly a decade... and it was a thrice damned lizard. What was he? What was she? Surely Breton. Trace amounts of Mer blood already put the girl in higher esteem than the rest of Lorkhan’s spawn deserved. “I am an enchantress… I could offer my services to you as payment.” She added softly. He gazed at Rhona appraisingly. “I will teach you what I can, to the best of my abilities. I have no use for an enchanter at present, however.” He paused, a muscle in his neck spasming. His lips twisted into a grimace. “It is of no matter. You will find some other way to be useful.” Rhona shifted uncomfortably, she wasn’t sure what he meant by finding other ways to be useful, but in the current situation she needed to know how to defend herself proper. Viras had taught her what he knew, but it was little in regard for actual defense. “Very well. I… know a few destruction spells, and my staff can set things aflame. My staff is how I fight. I just… hit people on the head with it. But I want to know more. I need to know how… to hurt someone. How to intimidate them. To get them to leave me alone forever.” Her chest tightened at the words she spoke, not realizing that her knees were shaking. The smirk found its way back onto Mortalmo’s face. If he didn’t know better, he would say that he’d already taken a shine to this wretch. At the very least, she was intriguing. A darkness crept into his voice that hadn’t previously been present. “It sounds as if you are not asking for typical combat lessons.” Her brows rose at his suggestive tone, what was she trying to accomplish exactly? She wanted Cezare to leave her alone, [i]for good[/i]. But did that mean she wanted him dead? Rhona couldn’t bring herself to answer the question directly. She lowered her gaze, staring at the tips of her bare feet, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, “There is someone… I am afraid of. My… husband. I left him two years ago to find freedom and peace… and after all these years… he’s here. He’s here in this camp, and he found me. I won’t go back with him. No matter what it takes, Durantel. I won’t.” Her throat tightened, she shook her head before lifting her gaze again. He felt a pang at her words, sharp and swift. A wife fleeing from the husband that she so greatly feared. What had this man done to her? His mind drifted to Faewynn, and a deep scowl came to twist across his visage. “It is reprehensible, his actions. He has mistreated you, this is apparent. And then... [i]he came looking for you?[/i]” Something fiery wrapped itself around Mortalmo’s heart. “Yes, I will help you Rhona. I will teach you what I know, and in turn you may teach him.” He fixed her with a dangerous stare. “Teach him to fear [i]you[/i] far more than you ever feared [i]him.[/i]” A hopeful smile crossed her lips, “Truly, this has been a wondrous day. Azura smiles upon me.” She took a step towards Durantel, and bowed at the waist, it only seemed proper. “Thank you, for your kindness.” Azura? That certainly warranted further questioning at some point. Mortalmo remained impassive though, for the time being. “I once knew someone, someone dear to me, that was in a plight similar to your own. It grieves me to say that I was unable to help her. Auri-El as my witness, I won’t fail another soul that has been wounded in such a way.” The words he spoke sickened him. The sincerity with which they were uttered nearly made him gag. Her brows furrowed at his words, her heart went out to him, women that suffered at the hands of men made her heart weep with sadness. She remembered the tragedies Aurelia spoke of from her own husband. Rhona could feel the hard lump forming in her throat as she remembered how she wept in her arms. Rhona could do little at the time to comfort her, and so she let her cry until she could cry no more. “It is… more common than I would wish to believe. I am sorry… that your heart has known such pain.” She shook her head, digging the end of her staff into the soil below. Rhona shifted her weight with unease, “Cezare and I… our parents arranged our marriage. My mother believed that our union would be prosperous, but alas, such was not what Mara intended.” Mortalmo gestured to the overturned log that he had been using to catch his breath between fights. “Sit with me,” He said, acquiescing to his own request. “And tell me about Cezare, if you are willing. I would appreciate knowing what sort of man I have been tasked with helping you... deal with.” As commanded, she took a seat next to Durantel, placing her staff beside her. She locked her fingers together, and considered his request. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head, “Where do I start?” “From the beginning I suppose is best.” Rhona answered her own question, and nodded solemnly, “I was nineteen when we married, he was but twenty-three. I had had my heart torn to pieces by a lover from my youth, Sayyid was his name. He convinced me to run away with him, only one morning in a field near Chorrol, I woke up and found him gone. He had taken everything I owned. I was but sixteen then. It was a year later when my mother arranged the marriage. At the time, Cezare was away fighting in the Legion. She set a date, three months after his end of service. He was handsome, and I suppose some would consider him to be as such still.” Rhona began to subconsciously wring her hands, but continued speaking nonetheless. “He never told me what happened in the war, what he did, or what he saw… but he started drinking. More than what I would consider normal. This carried on for a few years until one day, as I was balancing our ledger… I noticed some discrepancies… so I went to the bank, and asked them to show me their records. And Cezare…” She could feel hot tears on her cheeks, “he had spent all of his inheritance. He started gambling, we were in debt, and he had taken loans from the bank, none of which he paid back in full. And when I confronted him that evening…” She took a deep breath, that caused her entire body to shudder, “I shouldn’t have asked him. I [i]knew[/i] better than to ask him anything when he was drunk. He was always so angry, and that night was no different. But he was so angry, Durantel.” And so came the tears, “He threw a chair at me, and I fled up the stairs. I locked myself in our bedchamber but he broke down the door. I thought… I thought I would die that night.” “Fear gripped my heart after that, I walked with muscles tensed. I felt that if I so much as did anything wrong, it would send him into a rage, and it often did. Gods forbid if I ever forgot to supply the house with alcohol, or have supper prepared for him. So I started to pocket my coin, I hid every piece of gold from him… I refused to keep living there with him. And so I left.” She used the backs of her hands to wipe away her tears, a strangled smile appearing. “And yet here I am, blathering like a fool to you about my estranged husband, who I am utterly terrified of.” She turned to face him, “You must think me weak.” For a long time Mortalmo was silent. He stared away from Rhona as she spoke, searching the sky above them for something that he knew was not there. When at last he came to look at the Breton, his face was aghast, and his eyes were wet. He blinked the moisture away, and waited a few more moments as his expression regained some semblance of composure. Why should he care for the petty squabbling of animals? Why indeed. When he spoke, his voice was steady, though quiet and hollow. “How vile. How absolutely wicked.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply. “You may be weak, girl. But you are not foolish, as far as I can tell. You fled his presence, which was clearly the only intelligent option afforded to you.” His words took on a harder edge then. “If you are weak now, then I will see to it that you become strong.” His eyes searched hers as he spoke, a mixture of determination and compassion evident in his stare. Something else lingered there too... was it regret? Perhaps guilt. “Mara has brought me many curious people into my life as of late,” She reached out and patted his hand, “and surely, you are amongst them.” Mortalmo’s eyes darted to his hand as she touched him. He remained still, however. Rhona drew her hand away, and shook her head, “I just want him to know that, no matter how hard he may try, that he must leave me be. That [i]I[/i] am no longer his to claim.” Her hand moved to cover the dark splotchy bruise he had left, “Never will I return with him, and when I die, it will be into Arkay’s arms I go.” “You will be free of him, this much I can guarantee you.” He frowned at her. “I do have a number of conditions to lay before you. Firstly, I suggest that you make arrangements to prepare whatever tent or bedroll you may have near my own small camp. I do not desire to scour the entire miserable shantytown for you should I have wisdom to impart or an important topic to discuss. This may also be good for your piece of mind, should Cezare discover your exact location. Secondly, if you are indeed intent on entering my tutelage, it is likely that you will come to meet some of my associates.” He paused, looking at Rhona very carefully. “And this is of the utmost import. Nothing that we discuss in this glade will be known to them, or any other individual that you should come across. I need your word that you will swear our arrangement and anything else we might have discussed here to secrecy. Your own history, of course, you are free to disclose. Thirdly, I will help you with your difficulties with Cezare. In return, I will need to be able to rely on you for assistance should I wish it.” Rhona consider his terms of agreement to training her, they seemed somewhat reasonable, though she did have one question, “If I am to relocate close to your campsite… what should I tell your associates about my sudden appearance, should the question arise?” “Tell them that our goals happened to align. That I’ve... taken you under my wing, in a sense. A word of warning, I am not well liked among the brunt of them.” She nodded dutifully, then this was it, “I agree to the terms and conditions then.” “Excellent. While we remain here, we might as well begin your tutelage in earnest. As a sign of good faith between the two of us.” Surprise filled her, Durantel would keep his promise, and so they would start now, it would seem. Her brows furrowed, from a bit of confusion, “What would you have me do?” Mortalmo’s eyes lazily followed a hare as it bounded across the clearing. “Let’s start with something small.”